A/N: Falling terribly sick over the weekend has given me not only a terrible urge to write, but also inspiration. So here's a fluffy little one-shot. It made me feel better, so I hope you'll enjoy it too. x

Firsts

It had started with a pair of kidneys. He had accidentally flambéed the pair he had taken from Bart's, courtesy of Molly. He needed another pair, just to test another mad theory of his. He was determined not to cause any fires this time. However, after a quick call to Bart's, he was informed that Molly had called in sick and had not been in to work for three days.

"Three days?" he repeated incredulously.
"Yes, that's what it says on the staff records…" came the voice on the other end.

Sherlock was horrified. Had he not noticed? Three days. Twenty-four hours multiplied by three. Sixty minutes multiplied by seventy two. It was a criminally long time. How had he not noticed? With silent panic running through him, he abandoned his makeshift laboratory, threw on his coat and made a dash for Molly's.

"Molly?" he said quietly, the moment he opened the door to her flat.

There was no response. She was probably resting in her room, or maybe taking a slow bath. It was a favourite past-time of hers.

"Molly?" he called out again, this time, opening the door to her bedroom.

To his relief, her resting figure stirred from beneath the covers and turned to face him. Rubbing her eyes groggily, she slowly sat up and recognised the tall figure standing in her door way.

"Oh, hey." she said, only to reach suddenly for a tissue and sneezed violently into it.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock said fiercely as he strode over to her side of the bed.

He handed her another tissue as she sneezed once more and blew her nose in an attempt to clear her terribly and obviously clogged sinuses.

"Well, you were busy…that robbery and…" she paused this time to cough a terribly wheezy cough.
"You sound terrible." the detective muttered.
"I feel terrible," she said, holding a piece of tissue up to her nose again, "I took my normal decongestants, had some paracetamol to help with the sinus headaches but…"
"Molly, you should have told me," Sherlock said.
"Well, if you had contacted me, you'd have found out." she said, eyeing him behind her tissue-covered face.

Sherlock sighed. He then planted a quick kiss on her forehead.

"I'll get you sorted," he whispered. He removed is coat and scarf and marched off to the kitchen.

Before long, Molly was warm and comfortable once more. There was always piping hot tea at the ready and Sherlock had even called in a member of Myrcoft's elite medical personnel to give Molly the once-over and to prescribe any necessary medication. He readied her bath for her, dried her hair for her and prepared all her meals, ensuring she had all the nourishment required to recover properly.

When night fell, Molly was feeling significantly better. The sinus headaches had reduced significantly and she felt like she could breathe through her nose again. She was all curled up in bed with her favourite movie playing on the bedroom telly when Sherlock, fresh from his bath, walked over to join her in bed.

"Hello," she said, smiling at him.
"Anything you need?" he asked quietly.
"Nothing really," she said, "Just for the man I love to take a break and come lie down beside me."

Sherlock smiled and moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her while she rested her head against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.
"What for?" she said.
"For being absent, not being in touch for three whole days," he said, "Therefore not realising that you'd fallen ill."
"Don't be silly." she remarked with a laugh, "Nothing to be sorry about. You've more than made up for it anyway."
"If I'm to be your significant other, Molly, is it not the very least I could have done?"
"Well, you are Sherlock Holmes…" she said with a chuckle.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, Sherlock, that I know what I'm in for."
"And you don't regret it?" he asked quietly.

Molly sat up and turned to face her rather solemn-faced boyfriend. There was a look in his eyes, a mixture of worry, bashfulness and anger.

"No, I don't." she answered simply.
"Why?"
"Because you're Sherlock Holmes."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing now? I'm a little perplexed…"

Chuckling to herself, Molly took his hand and wrapped it tightly in both of hers.

"Just because you…forget to care," she whispered, stroking his hand, "Doesn't mean you don't."

It was spoken so softly but its impact was great. The detective felt a warmth in his chest, as his heart felt ready to explode.

"You really can see me…" he said gently, looking down at her hands that held his.
"It's only because you let me," she replied.
"I don't do it intentionally, you know…"
"Well, I'll just take that as our natural chemistry then," Molly answered with a smile.

She let go of his hand and turned away from him, settling herself once more against his chest. He moved to wrap his arms around her and kissed her hair again.

"So, how did the 'elasticity-of-the-kidney-membrane' experiment go?" she asked, her mind no longer focusing on the movie playing.
"Hmm, in flames." he said with a huff, "Literally."
"Ah. So you'll need another pair then." she said.
"Yes, but not urgently."
"Oh? Why? You need time to amend your methodology?" she asked, curiously.

Sherlock laughed. Trust Molly to be more concerned about his experiments than her health. She was more concerned about everything else, really, never herself.

"No, Molly," he said, smiling against her peach-scented hair, "My girlfriend's sick and I should like to take care of her. The kidneys can wait."
"That's a first," she said, laughing. Her hands reached to cup over the hands that held her.
"Well, you're my first," he said, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against her hair.
"Your first what?" she asked, amused.

The detective laughed quietly to himself as he moved to kiss her gently on her cheek.

"Love, Molly Hooper," he whispered. "Love."

END