Part One, Chapter One-
Prologue
Pain.
The word didn't even come close to describing what he felt. It was like someone was dragging a heated cattle rod over his chest, over his ribs. Each breath brought agony. Sherlock cursed his binding, trying hard not to force himself to whine in pain.
Molly, Lestrade, and Mycroft were basically the only ones who knew. Molly, because she had been the first person he'd come out to. She made a bit of a pet of him once she found out, fussing over how his binding was too tight or snapping at people when they confused him for a girl. The next person he'd come out to was Mycroft, because they were brothers and neither one of them was an idiot. Mycroft knew something was happening, and was surprisingly calm with Sherlock being male.
Lestrade had found out when he began dating Mycroft. When Sherlock had discovered that Lestrade and Mycroft were a couple, he'd felt obliged to explain to Lestrade about his past body. Lestrade had already figured it out, and cut Sherlock off with a, "I'm fine with it, ok? That stuff just isn't…my division.", which, translated, was, "I accept you, I'd just rather not talk about the past. You are yourself now, the past doesn't matter."
Sherlock didn't tell John. Mostly because John was different, and if John hated him, Sherlock would fall apart.
Telling John previously may have been helpful in this situation
Sherlock can't help but wonder why he never got surgery. His binding is almost always too tight, and he currently feels as though his ribs may shatter. Perhaps it's because if the consulting detective suddenly had surgery, people would ask questions.
But now pain is shooting up his ribs, and he sees Molly raise her eyebrows slightly, then turn and walk out the room abruptly. John, in confusion, stares after her, and Sherlock excuses himself to follow her. She walks straight into the men's bathroom at the morgue, followed shortly by Sherlock.
"Take it off or loosen it." She said, clearly worried. Sherlock sighed, and tried to reassure her that he was fine. Molly cut him off, saying,
"Sherlock, do you want another broken rib?" He looked down, just for a moment, before replying,
"No."
Molly rolled her eyes, then reached out to begin unbuttoning his shirt,
"Then let me help you. I'm just going to loosen it, don't worry."
The last part was directed at his flinch as she undid the first button. Silently, he thanked her; the pain from the tight bandages was beginning to make each movement, each breath, painful. After a few minutes, she'd removed his shirt.
"My god, Sherlock…" Molly muttered, seeing the deep red lines around the binding, bruises peaking out from under the bandages. She moved so she was facing Sherlock's back, and he was looking away from her. Molly shook her head, pulling the fasteners off of the tight binding.
At the slight removal, Sherlock exhaled, feeling his lungs being almost freed form the prison of the bandages. Molly undid another layer of the binding, then re-bound it, not nearly as tight as before. Sherlock exhaled heavily, then said very quietly,
"Thank You."
The door opened, cracking open, ever so slightly. Sherlock heard someone catch their breath, then the door close.
"Who was that?" Sherlock asked, hoping it was Lestrade, almost praying it was Lestrade. Although, in reality, Sherlock didn't really have a God, or anyone to pray to. He was alone, as far as he was aware. He had no one.
Molly's response was delayed, and when she began to speak, her voice was flat,
"John."
Sherlock spun around, facing her in alarm. Seeing truth in her eyes and posture, he picked up his discarded shirt, buttoned it up, and went to find John.
(I do not own anything)