Title: Tremor

Fandom: BBC Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlolly, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper

Synopsis: There was a time when she had been hopeful, hopeful that everything had a silverlining. However this was not it. Some side effects are permanent...she was realizing.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, I only take ownership of this plotbunny in all it's complexity. Please enjoy it.

part one/five

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

The sound seemed to be the only thing that was registering in her brain as the shaking pathologist walked almost on autopilot towards the door that she hadn't been to it seemed like in a decade. It never really registered in her head that no one could be there. Baker Street was closer than her home and she hadn't been thinking.

There hadn't really been any time. It was just her body reacting to her situation or what it chose to fight to keep away from the front of her head. Just for a moment.

There is a buzzing now, coming from as she looked down at her feet her finger pressing against the buzzer several times. She hears a voice but she really doesn't notice it as places her hand down to her side and turns away slightly. She's gone back inside of her head. There are pictures there flickering around like a movie giving her a replay of what she can recall. What she will recall at the present.

The door opens and there is a familiar voice but it as if she can't hear it, or him rather. John Watson looks both alarmed and relieved to see what he can of the woman standing in front of the door. It has been a long month of inquiries of her whereabouts.

She's here now. John calls her name again but with no answer he reluctantly reaches out and grabs her hand and pulls her gently inside. It is when she is turned towards him and the door is closed that his mouth opens up and he finds himself yelling for his flatmate who is churning a tune on his violin. "SHERLOCK!"

He turned away as not to shout at her. She looks disoriented he notices but that is not what worries him the most. It's what is on her person. What hasn't been washed away as of yet from the downpour outside.

There is a sound of footsteps as Sherlock Holmes' lanky form walks towards the open doorway at the top of the stairs. It takes the man a moment to look past his best mate who is looking rather worse for wear. He doesn't think much of it until he sees the woman standing just behind him not exactly looking any better.

He resists the urge to deduce what is clearly obvious when he notices the falter of the way she is standing. He yells for John to grab her as she is falling backwards. He does so ungracefully due to how unexpected the fall was for him. It had been obvious.

Sherlock moves back in the central location of what is home before joining John below. He is carrying a large blanket in his arms. He doesn't stare at his friend as he takes the wet form of Molly Hooper out of his grasp and wraps her in the blanket carefully before hoisting her in his arms and up the stairs.

He hesitates a moment before going towards his own bedroom and placing there on his bed. He turns back only a fraction of a moment to make sure she isn't going to fall off before joining his friend in their sitting quarters. He doesn't sit. He plans to make things comfortable for the lady who looked lost mere moments before.

"Did you know it had been a month, Sherlock?"

Sherlock walks over to the window gazing briefly outside as he speaks. "I don't forget things like that. We did try to look for her, it seemed that she was hidden somewhere we couldn't find ...unfortunately."

"Can you tell what happened?"

"From what is visible and the way she seems disconnected it is highly probable that she was tortured somewhere. The effects are at an unknown. The why is still unclear as well. I won't know more until I can actually see her. I have a feeling finding out what happened won't be as easy as I would like. There is something wrong."

"Wrong? You mean besides the fact that Molly Hooper disappeared for an entire month only to come back down soaking wet and covered in blood."

"Yes John, that is exactly what I'm saying." Sherlock takes a pause and turns in the direction of the his bedroom. "She was out in the rain for awhile. It would be best to get her into some warm clothes."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment before noticing that his friend didn't plan on doing that part himself. He sighed before getting up and heading towards the bedroom where their friend lay unconscious. John was quick about changing Molly into a pair of Sherlock's large cotton t-shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms. He towel dried her hair as to keep her from getting worse off that she was currently. He knew she would probably be sick when she woke up. It least they could take a few precautions.

He wrapped tossed the wet blanket away and tucked her under the comforts of the warm sheets. John didn't pretend not to notice the lacterations marks that were in her skin. He saw many of them.

It was only when he left the room did he comment on it. "We may need to call in a specialist." He mumbled as he sat back down in his chair. He watched Sherlock look over him with a look of utter repulsion and confusion on his face.

"Why would we do that?"

"This is beyond what I am capable of, Sherlock. There was something that I saw. We don't know for sure but I have seen this before once and I couldn't do anything for him."

"What exactly do you think we're dealing with?"

"I don't want to say unless I'm sure. You did say you felt something was off. I suppose we'll see exactly what we're dealing with tomorrow." John said as he shut his eyes.

That couldn't be anywhere further from the truth, Sherlock concluded the following day as he found himself staring at a sight. It had been suggested by Mrs. Hudson upon hearing of the new tenant residing within 221B that someone should bring food to Molly. It's a nice thing to do she gathered.

John had left early because of hours he had picked up at the clinic. That left Sherlock alone with someone he had come to see of much greater importance than a few years ago. He had come to call her a friend. A much lesser important friend than John was to him at first but she had been a great companion to have at times. The fact that despite her actions before when it came to him they had come to an compass.

The sight before him both shocked him into action and nearly made him step back out his bedroom. Molly Hooper was awake - sitting straight up but the feeling from last night seemed more weak now that he was seeing it first hand.

Molly didn't even look up as Sherlock entered the room, her body was shaking. It wasn't what one would deem as a shiver from the cold. Instead it worse. It was close to trembling but it wasn't her whole form. It almost resembled the effects of a seizure but Sherlock dismissed that thought as he placed the tray on the ground and crouched down in front of her. "Molly." He called, testing to see if she could hear him or would react.

Molly didn't turn at his voice. She seemed to be lost somewhere. Just like before downstairs the previous night.

Sherlock wracked his mind for something that would stop the shaking. He could almost pinpoint what it was. As John had mentioned the night before he didn't want to do something wrong and misdiagnose it.

He tilted his head to the side as he thought of what to do. It wasn't something he was accustomed to doing. It made me uncomfortable and unease but he wanted it to stop.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, the right one seeing as that's where it looked to be at it's worse. It was then that it gradually stopped. She looked at him then. Though she didn't say anything, just as he had thought. She just stared at him, blinking.

Sherlock took his hand away quietly, filing away what he had uncovered in his mind palace and reaching for the tray again.

"Here. Eat." He spoke quietly as he placed the tray in her lap and stood. He watched her glance at it before looking towards the window. She looked vaguely attentive. That was good.

He didn't stay to watch and see what she would do, however that seemed to be something he should do. He needed to watch her but he had something slightly more pressing to get to first.

He sat at his desk and logged onto his computer and went onto a search online. He had very little data on the subject, he needed more information.

He typed just six little letters before hitting enter:

tremor.

Well I was gonna just write the whole thing out as a one-shot but this is a heavy one and with the finale of Doctor Who just hours away (for those of us in the US of A) I couldn't do that to myself. Instead this one will be told in five chapters.

Interested? Please drop a little note in the review box below, I would really appreciate it.

much love,

day