Hi dear readers. I am having one of my AWOL moments, writingwise, but here is (at long freaking last) the last chapter of Jolt. Please let me know what you think, and I hope you like it.

Many thanks to all who've reviewed this story and added it to favorites or subscription lists. I hope to get to writing again soon :)

Though the voice screaming his name was once again a friend—Gregory Lestrade had been his friend before his first accident, his first fall, he knew now—all Sherlock could think of as he fell was Molly Hooper. The woman he'd loved superimposed over the woman he knew and wanted, the woman he knew clouding his visions of the woman he'd forgotten. At the last second the lorry had jumped the curb and he'd landed on the washing being delivered to the hospital. The cloth beneath him was hard—he could barely breathe from how hard he'd hit, and his nose was bleeding, likely broken—but Sherlock rolled off the back, biting into the capsule Mycroft had given him. A paralytic drug used to mimic coma or even death, he had seconds to throw himself on the pavement before he lost consciousness.

Molly would do the intake and she would do beautifully, he told himself as someone punctured a bag of blood onto his forehead—the excess seeping across the damp concrete below him. By the time John saw him as his body was turned over, Sherlock was unconscious and limp as a corpse.

When he blinked awake several hours later he was in bed, a warm body curled up next to him—his right hand wrapped up between two smaller ones—and for a terrible moment Sherlock wondered if he was dreaming. His eyes quickly focused, though, and his Molly—with her quiet smile and the barest lines of age beginning to show on her face—stared back at him. She worried at her lip when she realized that he was finally awake—Mycroft had offhandedly mentioned something about the drug might paralyze his eyes open, or some other small terror—and Sherlock reached to stroke her cheek, his body stiff from the pounding he'd put it through in the last several days.

"Your brother said I could stay with you," she said quietly, cuddling closer to him after she realized that he'd woken up as himself. Sherlock wondered if, when he'd been in hospital after the accident at the warehouse, she'd ever curled up next to him like this. It was more than pleasant, he half decided and half remembered.

"I don't give a damn about what he said," she stiffened instantly as he spoke, "though I think I might have pitched a fit if I'd woken up without you near, Molly." Sherlock felt he'd said the right thing, because Molly relaxed enough to let go of his hand so he could try to flop onto his back. His muscles felt jittery and weak and he hated it, but here with Mycroft's people in Mycroft's safehouse it was the best place to not be at his best. Molly threaded their fingers together, humming softly and closing her eyes. Sherlock watched the slight movements below her lids.

"Molly?"

"Yes?" she mumbled, snuggled up to him with eyes still shut.

"Marry me? Someday?"

"You needn't keep asking, Sherlock, when I said yes I meant it."

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