Molly had never known fear, known heartache to the point where she wanted nothing more than to lie down and give up. That was until three weeks ago when Sherlock showed up at her flat. It had scared her when she had opened the door to find the detective barely able to hold himself up.
His eyes had been drawn, his skin pallid, and his whole body covered in sweat. He had been shaking, his teeth practically chattering in his mouth. She had taken him in, set him down in the bathroom, and proceeded to wash away the stench of an unwashed body.
Molly allowed a tear to fall down her cheek, slipping to wet her hair that had been draped over her pillow. She could hear him in the next room, the moans, the little screams. She wanted to go to him, to hold him in her arms, but last time he had tossed her away.
She clenched her eyes shut as he screams grew louder. She could hear the squeaking of his bedsprings as he thrashed about, and she worried that the bed would eventually give way. Over and over she prayed that he would calm, asking God to give him strength. In the end she flung herself from her bed, unable to ignore the loud thump of Sherlock's body hitting the floor.
When she opened the door, it was to find the man in question writhing in his bed sheet on the floor. He was kicking and punching, screaming as he did so. She couldn't help the sob that left her mouth. He had always been so strong, seemed so unflappable. Now there he was an utter mess on her guestroom floor.
"Oh Sherlock…" Not caring that she would most likely end up bruised, or possibly worse, she dove to the floor, gathering the troubled man in her arms.
"Open the lid….d-don't! I'm not dead! O-open the lid!" Sherlock fought Molly's hold, fought the sheet that had wrap around his body. His eyes were unfocused, glazed and red with fever. He pushed out his arms, trying desperately to keep the coffin lid from closing down on him.
"Shhh, shhh, now Sherlock, it's not real, it's just the drugs…just the drugs…." Molly had to force herself to stop the crying, Sherlock needed her. He once again needed her and she refused to fail him.
"I…I'm not dead….it was a trick…." Sherlock's voice came out in a timid whisper. To Molly he almost sounded childlike, fraught with night terrors.
"No, you're not dead; you're alive, alive Sherlock." She hated this, the illusions, the hysterics. She could deal with the anger, even the violent outburst, but not this. Not when he was so scared, so much like a lost and frightened child. This wasn't Sherlock, not her Sherlock.
"Not dead…..alive…." Sherlock finally stopped thrashing about, his long body curling up against Molly's shorter one. He sighed as she ran her hand through his sweat soaked hair, her fingers slipping down and across his jaw, coming to rest against his cheek.
"Hush now my Love, you are safe. I'll always keep you safe."
A.N: OK, so this is a oneshot that I posted quite a while ago on my Tumblr, and I had been planning on continuing it. With the events of the last ep….well let's just say that I still do, but I'm going to really play around with this to make it compliant with S3. Just thought I would post it here since I haven't had time to work on my other Sherlolly, Cradle and All…though I am hoping to get the next chap up tomorrow for anyone reading that.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.