Chapter Text
It all happened so quickly.
Molly knew something big was happening. She saw the pictures in the papers - “Get Sherlock” scrawled across soon-to-be-broken glass. She heard the news about the kidnappings. She argued with the people who claimed that Sherlock was involved. She heard the rushed mentions of Sherlock taking John hostage even. Anyone could guess that that was a ruse.
What Molly Hooper did not guess was that Sherlock Holmes would show up at her work to tell her that he was going to die.
She had been in love with Sherlock for a long time, if one could call it love. Perhaps it was merely infatuation. Regardless, Molly cared deeply about Sherlock. He was brilliant, mysterious, blunt, exciting...and, if she were pushed to admit it, sexy. She still blushed like a cliché when she thought about that aspect of the man.
It wasn't all about her attraction to him though. She had gotten a bit closer to Sherlock in the recent months. Though she knew his flirtations were merely him trying to get her to do more favors for him (manipulative, charming bastard)... He also had shown real vulnerability with her at times.
Still, that small friendship couldn't have possibly prepared her for Sherlock Holmes to appear at her work while he was on the run from police. He was just standing there in the dark, talking about death. Her mind was racing but she knew this was an urgent matter. All she could think of was to keep asking what it was he needed. He obviously needed something – he only ever came to her when he needed something – and she was beginning to become frightened from how he was carrying on.
“You.”
The fall was frightening. Even with everything put in place for him to be perfectly fine, aside from some bruising... Molly was still worried. If anything went wrong, she wasn't sure how she would cope.
Luckily, the fall went as well as it could.
Which resulted in the current situation: A very exhausted Sherlock Holmes, sitting in Molly Hooper's flat a little past 3am.
“Are you alright?” Molly asked.
Sherlock didn't respond right away. He had spent the past several hours sending messages from burner phones, showering, and doing god-knows-what on Molly's old laptop. Now he was merely sitting there, silent and unmoving.
“I'm fine Molly.”
That statement was debatable, which became clearer as she got closer to him. She had initially been annoyed that the light and his footsteps woke her up, but now she could see him and he just looked...tired and empty.
“Sherlock, have you tried sleeping at all?” She inquired, gently.
The only answer she received was him looking downwards. His face moved up to rub his face for a moment, as he rose from the couch. He moved slowly, yet he still somehow managed to walk directly into the corner of her table, swearing ensuing.
“Okay, you need to sleep.”
Molly tried to reach for his arm, to direct him, but he yanked away.
“I'm fine, Molly. I've gone days without sleep before while working on cases and some of those involved far more physical activity than today did. I'll survive.”
His tone had a bite to it. She cringed, but wouldn't back down. She wanted to point out the fact that none of those past cases involved everyone thinking he was a liar. None of them involved him pretending to be dead. None of them involved him having to leave his entire life behind, unable to speak to his best friend – who has to stay thinking that he's gone forever in order to protect him. None of them involved Sherlock's world falling apart.
She said none of those things. He wasn't in the mood to listen.
“Sherlock Holmes, I am risking my life in order to give you a place to stay. You need rest, and I need rest. I cannot sleep until you sleep.” She stated, firmly.
Then, she grabbed his arm and dragged him into her bedroom. She initially had intended to have him sleep on the couch, but things had changed after seeing him. She pulled back the blanket and gestured for him to get in the bed.
Sherlock gave her an unreadable expression.
“While I appreciate the offer, I think you know that I'm married to my work and now is not the ti-”
“Sherlock!” Molly exclaimed, “I'm not propositioning you. You need the sleep. My bed is the best for that, and I need to know that you will actually sleep. No more easy access to computers and things. I'll be out in the living room if you need anything.”
“The living room?”
“Yes, to sleep on the couch.”
He looked down at her bed, then back to her and down her frame in a way that caused her to blush. He then took a step closer, his hand reaching for her face, his eyes scanning her face for...
“Molly, you are showing clear signs of sleep deprivation. Your eyes are slightly bloodshot, the bags under them are worse, you keep closing your eyes in a way that would indicate a headache, you have suppressed a yawn a total of three times since you've come in here, and...” He grabbed her wrist, “...your hands are shaking.”
She wasn't sure if her trembling hands had to do with lack of sleep or Sherlock's closeness, but he was right, of course. She was exhausted.
“I didn't ask to be deduced.”
“Very few do. Regardless, you have clearly been overworking yourself and need rest on a proper bed. I know that you will continue protesting that I need the rest of a proper bed as well, so I propose a compromise: We both sleep on the bed.” Sherlock stated, clapping his hands together.
This woke Molly up a bit more, though it took a bit for what he had said to process still.
“We both...?”
Sherlock was already removing his outer layers. He paused when he heard her question.
“If you're comfortable. There's no reason not to be. Your bed is unnaturally large for such a small woman, and it's not like you have guests visiting it oft-” He stopped himself, realizing for once that the comment he was about to make wouldn't be one that would end with his pathologist being very happy with him. “There's adequate space for both of us. It would be nearly like sleeping on two separate beds anyways.”
So, that's what they did.
If they woke up in the morning with Molly's arm and head rested on Sherlock's chest, one of his arms wrapped around her small form, and their legs intertwined... They gave no acknowledgment of it and simply went along with breakfast.
Sherlock knew that was the best sleep he had gotten in a long time.