A/N: For sherlollyistheunicronshit on tumblr, who got injured and is feeling rotten. Hope this will cheer her up, and anyone else too, who's having a bad day! xx
Insufferable
It had been an insufferable day.
Molly's lab reports had turned out problematic, and she had had to take on extra morgue rounds for two sick colleagues. To top it off, she had taken a little tumble getting a coffee between meetings.
The throb in her ankle was mostly forgotten as the day progressed, but when Molly's work day finally came to an end, the pain hit her like a speeding train.
"Marvellous," she muttered, rubbing her ankle as she steeled herself for a painful journey home.
She almost fainted with relief when she put her key in the door and let herself into her flat.
"You're hurt," came a voice from somewhere within her dimly lit flat.
"No, I'm fine," she replied. His voice no longer stunned her. She had heard it before in the dark, in the middle of her bath, while she was cooking, cleaning… Sherlock Holmes could no longer surprise her.
More lights were turned on and his tall figure emerged from the living area. He had been working, for she saw maps and strange documents sprawled across her carpet and the coffee table.
"Let me take a look," he said, taking her by the arm and gently leading her to an armchair. Molly was too tired to resist or argue and merely followed him. She sank into the armchair and relished being off her feet at last. Sherlock, by his usual powers of deduction, knew right away that she had hurt her ankle, and on which foot, for that matter. He removed both her shoes, peeling off her socks, but rolled up the cuff of only the right leg of her slacks.
"It's fine, Sherlock," she muttered, rubbing her temples as she stifled a yawn. She was too exhausted to care about her injury. Surely it could wait until tomorrow.
"It's very swollen, Molly, and the veins look a little bruised around here," he said, his fingers lightly tracing the part of her ankle that had streaks of blue and grey on it.
"Just…leave it, I'll fix it tomorrow."
"You're hurt," he repeated, "We're fixing it now,"
"What do you care…" she murmured, sleepy and irritated.
"Molly Hooper," he said sharply.
The tone of his voice snapped her out of her tired and irritable state.
"You're being insufferable," he said.
"Me? Insufferable?" she remarked incredulously.
"You've let me stay here, taking care of me tirelessly, tolerating me tirelessly, and you won't let me do one thing for you?" he said in an unexpected barrage of sentiment.
His words made Molly laugh, which in turn induced a small smile of his own.
"You mustn't forget you saved me, you know?" he said, solemnly this time.
"I never forget," she answered with a smirk.
"Good," he replied, smiling in return.
Molly sat up and leaned forward, taking his face in her hands and giving him a quick kiss on the forehead.
"Right, how would you like to fix this then?" she asked, tilting her head in the direction of her swollen right ankle.
"First, we ice it. Then wrap it…"
The detective got up from his crouched position, but not before pausing to return Molly's kiss, placing a gentle one on her cheek. He then marched off to the kitchen, returning with a bag of ice from the freezer, a towel, and some bandages. While he was setting up to treat Molly's foot, he reached into his pocket and handed her his mobile phone.
"Here, take this,"
"What for?" asked Molly, raising an eyebrow.
"While I'm wrapping your foot," he said, "You're going to call Mycroft."
"What? Why?"
Sherlock smirked as he perched Molly's injured foot gently on his bent knee.
"The one who saved me is hurt," said the detective, "And I will not let it go unattended, not under my watch at least."
"Under your watch?" Molly said with a laugh, "Who ever said anything about being under your watch?"
The detective placed the compact bag of ice on her inflamed ankle and smiled wryly to himself.
"I did," he answered plainly.
Sherlock got up on his feet and bent down to kiss her again, this time, on her very surprised lips. He had only done this twice before, and made a mental note to do so a little more often. He then made sure she held the ice bag properly over her ankle, whilst taking the phone from her and making a call to his brother. Before long, Mycroft's top medical team, fully equipped and carrying stretchers, made their way up to Molly's flat. Despite her protests, Molly let herself be put on the stretcher. Together with the insufferable man she loved, Sherlock Holmes, she was then ferried off to get medical attention. Sherlock never once left her side and made sure to hold her hand, all the time contemplating how best to tell her that he loved her too.
END