Sherlock dreamed. He dreamed of nothing and of everything...of past experiences, deductions, cases. He tossed and turned upon the long futon like couch that Lestrade and John had confiscated from somewhere within the hospital and brought into the makeshift ICU room. Sherlock was too terrified of harming Molly by climbing into the hospital bed with her while she was intubated through her trach. He'd hardly slept for hours on end. He looked ragged, pale, scrawny, and stretched entirely too thin. John and Lestrade took their watches more so to watch over Sherlock's condition than Molly's. Molly was flourishing, but she was still comatose and no real reaction could be seen towards the serum that John had injected into her. She lay a sleeping beauty, still within the hospital bed.

Sherlock had taken a nearly 24 hour long watch, despite John's nagging and Lestrade's bullying. He had ignored them both. He sat in the chair next to Molly, watching her sleep, her chest rising and falling. He held her hand, feeling the warmth within his, reminding him that she was indeed alive and well. He was starting to lose touch with reality, and the warmth of her skin coursing with life seemed the only thing anchoring him to the world they lived in.

It hadn't been until Mycroft and John got together and slipped a bit of narcotic into his tea that Sherlock slept, unaware that he'd been unknowingly drugged by his best friend and brother. John felt only a wee bit guilty about taking that path but he knew the downward spiral that Sherlock was quickly heading down if something wasn't done. There was no reasoning with Sherlock once his mind was set.

John and Lestrade had moved Sherlock's dozing body to the futon and covered him with the spare hospital blanket. Currently he'd been asleep a good 12 hours with no signs of waking. He'd sleep walked himself to the bathroom at about hour nine with John's assistance and back to the futon without waking. No he lay, drooling and snoring loudly upon the smallish couch like piece of furniture, dreaming rapidly changing and barely comprehensible dreams.

Hour 15 Sherlock lay in a strangely calm state. He could hear the sounds of the hospital room, but was unable to note whether the view of the room when he opened his eyes was reality or just another piece of his neverending drug and exhaustion induced dreaming. His eyes fluttered open and watered a bit as he glanced askew at the bed and the somewhat empty room. The monitor beeped, the light let off its strangely dim and comforting glow. No one seemed to be in attendance. Sherlock closed his eyes, but the sound of shuffling about in the bathroom to the right of him forced him to open them again. Someone was in there. Probably just Lestrade or John. Doubtful it's Mycroft. He doesn't use public restrooms if he doesn't have to. Strange thoughts, but still the genius brain of Sherlock rambled off its usual deductions as he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position. The shuffling continued, such as that of bare feet upon slick tile. He sleepily ran his hand through his disheveled curls and glanced towards the bed.

The bed was empty. He hadn't noticed it at first. The blankets were tossed about, but no one occupied it. Where had they taken Molly? Had something happened and they had to whisk her back off to surgery? Had he let himself get to the point of exhaustion where he wasn't able to be roused? Sherlock's heart was suddenly within his throat and his stomach felt full of stones. Oh gods, what if...Sherlock dared not finish the thought but felt the panic starting to quickly gnaw at him. He was trying vainly to shake himself from the grogginess and rise to his feet.

Movement towards the bathroom door. He quickly turned his eyes to the doorway and they widened in shock and awe. A slender woman with long brownish hair in a much too large hospital gown stood in the doorway steadying herself by grasping the trim along the door jam. Her eyes were wide open, beautiful, staring down at him as he sat upon the futon. A strange, boxlike device sat in the middle of the porcelian skin of her throat. Realization was slow to come but when it dawned on him, Sherlock felt he might burst. "Molly?" He barely choked out. She smiled, nodding tiredly, the bags under her eyes prominent but her color good. "It can't be..."

"Oy, let's not test it. You've been in bed for ages, love." Lestrade's head popped up from beside her, a strong, steadying hand under her right elbow and the other behind her just in case she became too weak. "Let's get back and sit down." He noticed that Sherlock had awoken and his eyes widened as well. This was apparently an unexpected development. Molly began to turn, her feet uneasy and unsteady, but Lestrade guided her slowly and gently back to the hospital bed and helped her sit. When he could see that she was okay he quickly stepped to Sherlock, who could do nothing more than stare slack jawed at his wife as she sat up in the bed. "We tried to rouse you, Sherlock. She woke up about an hour and a half ago. Didn't take her long to want to get up and take a few steps. John popped out to the flat to get Abigail and Mrs. Hudson so I thought I'd help her to the bathroom." Lestrade explained quietly. "You getting this, mate?" He asked, looking over Sherlock as his eyes slowly had met Lestrade's.

"Yes." Sherlock started to push off against the futon so as to stand up and found his own equilibrium betraying him. Lestrade caught him by the right arm and helped haul him up to a standing position. "I'm alright." Sherlock tried to shake him off. Lestrade put his hands in the air in surrender and backed off a few steps to allow him room. Sherlock quickly regained himself and hurried to Molly's side. He said nothing as he bent and took her into his arms, hugging her fiercely and tightly to him. Molly couldn't help but smile and if she could have laughed she would have, but the trach didn't allow much for vocalization. "You came back." He refused to release her until he felt her pushing against him slightly. He dropped to his knees in front of her, between her bare legs and wrapped his arms about her waist, leaning into her, overwhelmed with the joy and emotion that encompassed the realization that his wife was finally awake and seemingly well. He glanced up at her, head up against her stomach. "How do you feel?"

Molly said nothing but smiled warmly at him and nodded. Sherlock wrinkled his brow. "What's wrong? Can you not speak?"

"The trach is probably not allowing her to vocalize, Sherlock. Now that she's awoken, after we've examined her, we can probably take out the trach but it's going to take a bit for her to be able to talk again." A voice spoke up from the door behind her. Mycroft and John entered. John smiled to see the two reunited. Molly was blushing and beautiful, Sherlock could barely take his eyes off of her. "Mrs. Hudson is on her way in with Abigail. I'm sure she's been missing both her husband and her baby." John stated.

Sherlock seemed more at ease after the explanation and resumed his embrace upon his wife from his position in front of her. She hugged him tight to her a hand petting his unruly curls lovingly as she did. She placed both hands upon his cheekbones and pulled him up onto the bed with her and into a loving kiss. Sherlock lost himself in the moment for which he'd waited what seemed like an eternity. The rest of the room quieted and gave them their moment before Mrs. Hudson popped in, swaddling a cooing baby Abigail close to her as she did so. "Oh! I didn't mean to interrupt-" She began.

"No, no." Sherlock broke the kiss and stood to take Abigail from her arms. "You're just in time." Sherlock pulled her close and kissed the top of her head in appreciation before whisking their baby girl over to her mother and sitting upon the bed. "She's missed you, no doubt. I've been a bastard of a father lately." Sherlock started. It seemed that momentarily Molly had lost interest in her husband and became fully encompassed in taking her baby girl into her arms. She rocked her and smiled wider as Abigail giggled and cooed and reached up towards her mother whom she hadn't had much interaction with lately. My baby Abigail, gods how I missed you. You're father has taken lovely care of you, as have your Uncle John and Lestrade and possibly even your Uncle Mycroft. You're so unbelievably beautiful. How could I have left you? Molly's eyes began to fill with tears. Guilt for being gone from caring for Abigail, joy at being reunited, fear of what all had happened while she had been wandering in the blackness. And no way to communicate vocally. She wanted so desperately to tell her family and friends how much she loved them.

Sherlock watched her as she rocked their daughter, the smiles and joy turning into a frown of despair and tears that drifted down her face. He put a hand to her cheek and wiped them away with his thumb. "Everything is okay, love. You're here now, we are all together. Nothing will separate us. Why are you crying?" He whispered. Molly gazed into his eyes, memories of before their relationship flashing in. The seriousness, the concentration upon his work...how those eyes had always been so focused on a case, or on what John had to say, or on whatever it was he was examining under a microscope. The way his eyes were always focused on something other than her. How she had longed for them to be focused on her. Now here they were, blue green pools of sincerity and soul staring deeply into hers, genuinely interested in nothing else in that room but his wife and their child. This only brought more tears, but they were tears of feeling blessed and loved and wanted. I love you, she mouthed with only a whisp of breath to be heard as she said the words. Sherlock smiled. "I love you too." And he kissed her. He then glanced back down at Abigail as she reached up towards her parents and planted a loving kiss upon her as well.

The group allowed them all a good hour to reunite with each other before Abigail needed a bottle and Sherlock quickly prepared it for her. She sat holding the infant as she fed her, somewhat saddened by the fact that she could no longer breastfeed her due to her illness and her condition. The baby had come to rely upon formula and two dads while she'd been gone. John explained to her all that had happened, including the faked death, Mycroft's involvement, and the poisoning as well as the injection he'd made to combat the effects. Lestrade had found Molly a paper notebook and a pen to write upon and she had been communicating with it before feeding the baby girl. She listened intently as Sherlock sat beside her, engrossed in her, his hand upon her lower back as they sat together, mindlessly rubbing her with his warm, loving hand. When Abigail had finished, she handed her off to Sherlock and began to write upon her notebook. So, Mycroft is not involved with Moriarty? I remember him in the bedroom that night. Molly wrote and glanced at Mycroft, whose face for once was a mask of sorrow and mournfulness that she had never seen displayed before.

"I cannot deny that I was in that bedroom to inject you with someone on Moriarty's behalf but I was being forced with my own life to do so. I will never forgive myself, and I don't expect you to either." Mycroft stated. The room went silent.

"As I said, Molly, we were all poisoned. It just so happened that you and Mycroft were the only two actually effected by the effects of the chemical compound used on us. If Mycroft didn't follow through he wouldn't have received the antidote." John explained.

I hope that you understand the consequences of your actions, Mycroft. Molly wrote. "To the fullest extent." Mycroft answered. That being said, I do forgive you. You're only human. Molly wrote. Mycroft gazed at her in disbelief. "You don't have to. You have every right-" Mycroft found himself with arms full of Molly as she leaned forward and hugged him close. No words were spoken. As she pulled away he wiped a tear or two from his eye and averted his gaze. "Thank you, love. You're more humble and loving than I'll ever find myself."

"Irene didn't call you Ice Man for nothing." Sherlock mumbled and John elbowed him knowingly. Mycroft's face returned to its usual unamused scowl as he met his brother's gaze.

"On a bright note, we will be getting your scans done in the next hour or two so we can check to see how you're getting on and if the antidote has reversed any of the previous damage done." John piped up. Molly smiled and took hold of his hand, squeezing it thankfully. "Until then I do believe we should leave the three of you to yourself to do some catching up." John rose, as did the others and excused themself. John winked at Sherlock as he exited the room and Sherlock felt a brother love for the man rise within him. Molly took Abigail back from Sherlock's arms, as she now slept and sucked upon her thumb as infants often do. The loving couple settled back upon the bed, Molly within Sherlock's arms and the baby resting between them. Molly reveled in the warmth and love of the family she had been allowed to return to.


You're welcome.

:)

Next chapter: Molly goes through her tests wondering if the results will be positive. Will she remain clear? Did the antidote work? What will the films show?

Hope you guys are happy she's awake once more. :) Sorry for the long wait as well. I was 800 miles away for a while but I'm back home and hoping to start updating regularly again.

Thank you all for reading still! I love you all. :)