AN: This is for enthralledbythevoice who has had a pretty rotten morning and needs to be reminded that there are good things in the world. Hope this helps. "You count."

Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to these characters. No copyright infringement intended.

It was Murphy's Law, anything that could go wrong, would go wrong.

Molly was having a Murphy kind of day. She had overslept and in her haste to get to work, her umbrella was left at home. So of course, halfway to work a cold drizzle began to fall and her light jacket was no protection. Groggy, soggy and freezing she tumbled into the locker room and changed into her lab coat. It was dry but not very warm.

Rushing to get into the lab and finally start her day, her coat pocket caught on the door handle and ripped, spilling its contents all over the floor. Just as she was crawling under a table to retrieve a pen which had rolled just out of reach, the lab door was flung open. Startled, she jumped up and slammed the back of her head on the bottom of the metal table.

Molly looked up at her unexpected visitor and of course, it was Sherlock Holmes. She couldn't hold back any more. Tired, cold, wet, and embarrassed she just sat there on the floor and began to cry. Leave it to her to become a simpering child in front of him. His cutting remarks were going to be the icing on the cake of her horrible morning.

Sherlock stared down at the sobbing woman on the floor. It didn't take any effort at all for him to deduce the series of events that had landed his pathologist in a shivering, sniffling mess. Not saying a word he crouched down, took her arms and guided her into a chair. She followed with barely a whimper. He removed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Sherlock rubbed on the outside of her arms to try to warm her up and looked into her eyes. Molly suddenly realized how close he was and forgot how to breathe.

"Relax, Molly. Calm down, breathe. I'm just checking to see if you gave yourself a concussion." Sherlock's voice was calm and strong. He reached to the back of her head and gingerly touched the bump forming there. "I'll go get some ice for your head and some tea to warm you up."

When he left the room, Molly tried to process what had just happened. Sherlock Holmes had voluntarily helped her. She wondered if she might be in shock or maybe the bump to the head had caused her to black out and this was all a dream. But then he was back, handing her a cup and placing a cold pack on her head.

"Why?" she asked him, voice still creaky with tears.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, "How often do I need to tell you, Molly Hooper? You count."

A small smile formed on her face as she looked at the detective. Her morning may have been pretty rotten, but nothing felt better than having him remind her that she really did count.