Hi, so this is my first Sherlock/Molly one-shot I'm actually kind of proud of :) So, blahblahblah-I don't own anything-blahblahblah


His lean figure stirred on the over-stuffed couch. The darkness felt like it was suddenly suffocating him. Only one word escaped his lips, in a slightly-choked whisper.


Said girl was fast asleep in her bed, the room beside where his figure lie. A fist pressed up against her pursed lips in sleepy content. Short, deep breaths escaping her body. So peaceful and quiet. In the dark.

His head was pounding, and he stood up slowly. A deep blue blanket wrapped around him, trailing behind his silently shuffling feet. He had to see her. See her face. See her breathe. Why, he had no clue. He just knew that it would drive him insane if he didn't check to make sure she wasn't still there.

Her bedroom door creaked open, but she didn't stir. Instead, her delicate form sank into the bed; rising as her breaths came in and out.

Somehow, it didn't feel like it was enough.

He crept closer to her bedside, hands twitching at his sides. He ached to feel the heat of her shoulder, but he hadn't the faintest why. After a moment of unbearable silence, he placed his palm on her pale shoulder. The fabric of her Doctor Who nightshirt slipped down her arm, revealing a constellation of freckles.

He hated to disturb her. He truly did.

"Molly?" he nudged her slightly. Gently. She stirred slightly, and he removed his hand from her bare shoulder. Her eyes opened slightly, drooping with sleep.

Her hand found his, "Everything okay, Sherlock? I know this is hard f-for you." She yawned, covering her petite mouth with her free hand. He tightened the grip on her hand, then let go.

Should he admit his nightmare?

His fear of losing her?

"Yes, Molly. I am fine."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."