It's been long time since I last translated something into English, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know, I will be glad to correct myself.

The story is kind of missing scenes from "His last vow". To be exact, it's Sherlock's escape from hospital, seen by Molly's eyes. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Where no one looks

Help me. SH

Molly called back after five minutes, frightened why Sherlock had sent her such message from hospital. She had seen him two days ago, when he had been drugged up and white as a sheet, looking almost like the corpses in her morgue. Why did he need her help? She got even more frightened when Sherlock answered her second call.

"Sherlock? What's going on? You didn't pick up..."

"Hi, Molly. Eeeem, sorry, my phone fell," said Sherlock. He seemed a bit out of breath.

"How are you feeling?" asked Molly.

"Nooot bad," she heard his insincere reply. "Molly, I must ask you a favour."

"What is it?" The pathologist stopped on the corridor leading to the changing room. "What's the problem?"

"I need some decent trousers, shoes and a coat," explained Sherlock. "And a shirt would do. I need to go out."

"Sherlock..." sighed Molly. "I know it's no fun laying in hospital, but where would you like to go? You're in no shape to..."

"Molly, it's not about boredom," snapped Sherlock, but then he softened. "Please. It's very important. No one can know, especially John and Mary... Please."

Molly bit her lip. She had already heard this tone once. She knew she wouldn't refuse.

"I'll be there in an hour," she promised. "And you'll explain what's the matter," she added.

"It might be... complicated," answered the detective after a moment of silence. "I don't know if it's up to me to..."

"You will tell me and I will decide if it's really important enough to risk your health," Molly interrupted him. Sherlock's lack of concern when it came to his health had unnerved her. "And there is one more condition."

"Yes?" Sherlock's voice was full of resignation. "What now?"

"Wherever you go, I'm coming with you," said the pathologist with all the strength she could manage.

"No way!" protested the detective.

"Sherlock, this is out of question," said Molly firmly, cutting all the protests. "I won't let you go on your own in this condition. And if you don't promise you won't move a finger out of your room till I got there, I swear I'm calling everyone right now, from John to Mycroft," she threatened. "I'm serious."

"I know," sighed Sherlock. "You have my word, I won't do anything without you... Come after one."

xxx

„So? What is it?" asked Molly an hour later, putting a bag with clothes on the bed. She seriously wondered if she should have agreed to that, because Sherlock looked rather unhealthy. Well, she didn't expect anything else.

"I need to meet with the person who shot me," answered Sherlock, putting himself into a sitting position. "On my terms."

"Are you out of your mind?" hissed Molly, barely containing herself from shouting. "Or you're drugged up."

"I wish I was," winced Sherlock. Molly glanced on his morphine and increased the dose without a word. "It's hard to think with that."

"But it works," the pathologist pointed out, seeing that Sherlock relaxed. "So, who shot you? Greg said that the doctors didn't allow to interrogate you."

"And I did my best to make them do so," added Sherlock. "That's the problem, I can't say who that was without ruining John's life."

"Sherlock, it doesn't make sense," said Molly. "You know who shot you, you don't want to tell anyone and you want to meet them, all to protect John," she repeated questioningly and the detective nodded his head. "So, who was it?"

Sherlock hesitated only for a moment. He looked at Molly and answered.

"Mary Watson."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mary," repeated Sherlock impatiently. "I've made some assumptions about her motives, but I want to confirm them. I won't force her to talk to me in here, laying in bed, and certainly not in John's presence. And if I just tell John, he probably won't believe me," he started explaining quickly. "I need to meet Mary alone. If I disappear from the hospital, they will start looking for me, Mary too, because otherwise she would look suspicious. And she will be anxious. All I have to do is to wait until they split up and then arrange a meeting."

"So you just want to go out from here and wait somewhere for few hours?" asked Molly to be sure. "Where?"

"Not in any place John and Mycroft know about," replied Sherlock. "I will think of something. Are you happy now?"

"No," Molly stopped the detective before he sat up.

"What else?" whined Sherlock.

"I won't allow you to go to any dirty den. You're right after an operation, you have freshly repaired liver, I won't let you damage it," said Molly firmly. "If you want to wait a few hours, we're going to my place."

"Alright," agreed Sherlock without hesitation and he sat up. He took the trousers from the bag, but before he had a chance to use them, Molly took them from him. "What now?!"

"Lie down, I'll do it. Don't lean and don't move if you don't have to," she ordered and removed the hospital sheet. She had undressed so many stiffs in her morgue that putting the trousers on a cooperative Sherlock wasn't difficult at all. Because they were going to her flat, she didn't change his shirt.

"There's a bag under the bed," said Sherlock when Molly finished with the shoes. "Could you?"

Molly did as requested and found a bag full of drip and sterile needles.

"Where did you get that from?" she asked, surprised. She didn't expect Sherlock to be so well prepared.

"Billy stole," explained Sherlock. "I won't last long without morphine and I can't eat much.. You will know what to do with all this," he said matter-of-factly. He carefully leaned his legs and stood up, accepting Molly's help.

"You sure you'll make it?" asked Molly doubtfully, watching as Sherlock went across the room. The detective turned to face her and frowned.

"These are not my clothes," he said. "Too big."

"Where I was supposed to take your clothes from?" replied Molly with a question. "These are Tom's, he somehow left them at my place," she shrugged her shoulders.

"Ok, I'm not asking." With Molly's help, Sherlock put a coat, also not his, and let her grab his arm. He hoped he estimated his strength correctly, because otherwise Molly would be scared and angry. Everything he had to do right now was to make it to her car. He was drugged enough to hope he would succeed.

"Open the window," he asked before they left. Seeing Molly's surprise gaze, he explained with a wicked smile. "Make them wonder how I left."

"You know no one in their right mind will believe in you leaving through the window on a second floor?" asked Molly, but she went to open the window. "And then what, through the cornice to the fire stairs? Quite improbable."

"But dramatic enough."

Molly took the bag and embraced Sherlock again. Walking like that, they could easily pass for a happy couple, content that one of them was leaving hospital. They made it to the lifts without anyone noticing, but then he pathologist stopped.

"Wait, we have a change of plans," she said.

"Hmm?" asked Sherlock, surprised. "I'm fine."

"You will ride from here," replied Molly. There was a wheelchair in the corner and she was about to use it. "Sit down and don't object, I parked quite far from here."

Sherlock agreed, though as it turned up, he was more dependent in this venture than he liked. He slipped on the wheelchair and let Molly lead the way.

.