Tired and exhausted from a long day, there was only one thing on earth that could convince Molly Hooper to return to work.
Come to Bart's NOW. Sherlock's hurt badly – JW
Upon receiving the vague (yet urgent) text from John, she pulled on her coat as she ran out the door and hailed a nearby cab, her warm dinner left forgotten on the table.
"St. Bartholomew's hospital!" She told the cabbie breathlessly, dialing John's number as she buckled in.
Thankfully, he picked up on the first ring. "Molly?"
"John, what's happened?" she asked anxiously.
There was a short pause on the other line, and she could've sworn she heard his breath hitch. "Molly, he… he's been shot."
Molly gasped. "Oh my God… is he going to be okay?" she choked out, almost too shocked to speak.
"I'm not sure… He's in surgery right now, but things aren't looking good," John said solemnly. "We almost lost him once already in the ambulance."
Molly was struggling not to cry. The last time she had seen him, she'd yelled at him, even slapped him across the face. If he didn't make it through this, those would be the last words she ever said to him – 'Say you're sorry.'
"Molly, are you still there?" John asked, snapping her out of her painful recollection.
"Yeah, I'm just getting here now," she told him as the driver pulled to the curb near the hospital's entrance.
"Alright, come meet me in the—"
"I work here, I know where I'm going," she interrupted him rather abruptly. "See you soon."
She paid the fare for the taxi and ran frantically through the doors, throwing her mobile back in her purse as she went. Without a second thought, she began to jog haphazardly towards the emergency wing, ignoring the questioning stares she received from her co-workers and their patients. Tears stung her eyes as she bolted through corridor after corridor. She normally didn't make her way around this side of St. Bartholomew's, considering she spent the majority of her time in the morgue on the other side of the building. Perhaps she should've accepted John's offer of directions. She already felt bad for cutting him off in such a rude manner. He was only trying to help, after all.
Finally, as John came into view , she began to slow her pace, trying to catch her breath. As she drew nearer, John noticed her frazzled appearance and came to meet her halfway. "You look like you just ran a mile," he observed, taking her arm and ushering her to the nearest seat.
She collapsed gratefully into the chair, overlooking his brief attempt at idle conversation. "Any news?"
John shook his head. "Not since I got off the phone with you," he said, sitting down beside her. "I guess they're still operating."
Molly sighed heavily, her heart weighing down like a stone. "How long has he been in there?"
John glanced at his phone. "About an hour now, I think. Typically, people with fatal gunshot wounds tend to die before then," he told her. "That's a good sign. He's fighting it."
She nodded almost robotically in response. "Yeah," she whispered, trying to hide the water welling in her eyes. A lone tear managed to escape and stroll down her face, unceremoniously dripping from her cheek onto the floor.
John's features softened upon seeing her emotional state. "Are you okay, Molly?"
She slowly shook her head. "No, not really," she whispered. "When I last saw him, after the drug test, I was just so angry, I couldn't control it. I wasn't even myself anymore," she explained quietly. "I don't want that to be the last impression he had of me."
John laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure he wasn't upset with you," he assured her. "And if we're being completely honest here, you had a right to be cross with him," he admitted. "He's lucky he has a friend like you to keep him on the right path."
"I shouldn't have been so harsh though," she insisted. "Besides, I'm not even sure he thinks of me as a friend more than an associate."
John shook his head, "Molly, that's ridiculous, and you know it," he told her. "You've known him longer than anyone. He trusts you. For Christ's sake, he asked for your help to fake his death!"
"Because I work here and I have access to cadavers," she scoffed. "It was just logical, I guess—"
"Molly Hooper, stop arguing and listen to me!" John interrupted, turning her to face him. "Sherlock has a funny way of showing that he cares, but I know that he does. He's comfortable around you. He's open with you. He says exactly what's on his mind when you're with him. You're one of his best friends! Sometimes, he's just not sure how to be a friend in return."
Molly couldn't hold her tears back any longer. She let her head fall into her hands and silently began to sob. John said nothing, but he wrapped an arm around her and allowed her to lean into his shoulder as she cried. They sat together in comforting silence, both hoping and praying that Sherlock would pull through.
They were both too lost in their thoughts that neither of them realized when one of the doctors entered the room. "Family and friends of Sherlock Holmes?"
John and Molly immediately sprung from their seats. "How is he?" John asked, his hands shaking nervously.
"He's had a very close call," the doctor told them. "He was pronounced dead for over two minutes, flatlined and all."
Molly gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "Is he going to be alright?"
He smiled at the two of them. "I'll tell you, your friend has a guardian angel watching over him. He woke up at the last minute, and he's remained stable since then."
They let out a collective sigh of relief, exhaling breaths they hadn't even known they'd been holding. "Thank you," Molly choked out as John shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you so much."
"You can both go see him, if you'd like. He's been dipping in and out of consciousness for a while, and he's very disoriented, but it's completely normal for his condition," he explained to them. "Just speak softly, and don't keep him talking for too long."
They both nodded their agreement, and with a few more expressions of gratitude, they sped off down the corridor towards his room. By the time they reached the door, Molly was still crying. John gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and opened the door for her, ushering her inside. "Thank God," she whispered as she heard the familiar beeping of a heart monitor.
Although she knew he was alive, she would have almost believed he were dead if not for the faint rise and fall of his chest. He looked more like a ghost than a man. He had always been naturally pale, but the waxy pallor of his skin was now white as a sheet. He must have lost a lot of blood. However, in his current unconscious state, he looked even more different from his usual self. She'd never seen him sleeping before, and therefore, she'd never known it was possible for him to seem so vulnerable, almost childlike. He almost looked like he was at peace. Then again, that seemed a bit difficult to attain with a gunshot wound in your chest.
She pulled up a chair beside him and grasped his hand between her own, taking care not to rouse him from his sleep. He was cold as ice, probably resulting from the blood loss and lack of a shirt. Noting how freezing his skin was, she realized that he was shivering slightly. She leaned down towards the end of his bed, grabbed the hem of the thin sheet covering him, and pulled it up to his chin. It probably wouldn't do much good, but she wanted to help him in any way she could, as useless as it may have seemed. She couldn't make the wound disappear and take his pain away. All she could do was be there for him, and she intended to do exactly that, no matter how hard he tried to push her away.
However, as his shivering slowed to a stop, he began to fidget as he awoke from his slumber. He let out a small moan, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
John and Molly exchanged a quick glance before returning their attention to their injured friend. "Sherlock, it's me, John. Can you hear me?" John asked quietly. "Are you in pain?"
Sherlock weakly bobbed his head, unable to do much else. Hurriedly, John circled around to Molly's side of the bed and checked his morphine tap, turning it up just a bit to take the edge off. "That should help," he assured his friend. "Just give it a minute to kick in."
True to his word, Sherlock visibly relaxed soon afterward. After taking a cleansing breath in, he slowly managed to open his eyes. The bright light in the room took a minute to adjust to, but he quickly recognized the outline of John Watson above him. He swallowed with a great deal of effort, trying unsuccessfully to speak. He tried to form syllables, but he couldn't quite manage to find his voice.
John smiled. "It's alright, you don't have to talk right now. Just try to rest."
Sherlock shook his head minutely in disagreement. He struggled for another minute or so, and finally managed to force the sound from his lips. "M-Mary…" he coughed.
John's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "What about Mary?" he asked curiously. However, before Sherlock could speak again, his eyes widened. "Mary!" He exclaimed, turning to Molly. "I have to call her and tell her what's going on. I'll be back in an hour or so," he told her. "Will you stay here with him?"
"Of course," Molly agreed with a small smile, slightly anxious at the thought of her and Sherlock being alone after their recent argument.
"Thank you," he replied gratefully, running out the door to phone his wife. Sherlock looked slightly defeated as he left the room, and Molly couldn't help but feel a little inferior. Even when he was incapacitated, he could still manage to hurt her feelings.
"So…" she said, trying to start conversation. "What's up with Mary? Did you need to tell her something?"
"Not important right now," He murmured, the annoyance in his voice almost tangible. "I just need to… oh, never mind."
She wasn't quite sure what he was getting at, but she thought it best not to ask. It was his own business, after all. "Well, anyway, how are you feeling?" she asked, trying to keep the concern out of her voice.
He sighed in response, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut as the pain sent tremors through his body. "I've been better," he replied, his voice hoarse.
Molly chuckled. "Yeah, I'll bet you have," she agreed. "Do you need anything? Water, some painkillers…"
"I'm fine for now, Molly. Thank you," he replied. However, after a few moments of somewhat awkward silence, he spoke again, his eyes still closed. "Why are you holding my hand?"
Molly's gaze turned to their entwined fingers as a light blush rose in her cheeks. "I-I don't know. It's just what people do, I suppose," she stammered. "W-Would you like me to stop?"
"No, if it brings you comfort, go right ahead. I don't mind," he assured her, squinting his eyes to see her properly. "Your eyes are red, Molly. Have you been crying?"
She looked down at her feet, ashamed that he'd taken notice. "Um… yeah, I was," she admitted embarrassedly.
"Why were you crying?" he asked. "It wasn't about Tom, was it? I never thought much of him."
Molly couldn't help but laugh. "No, I wasn't crying for Tom," she told him. "I wasn't quite ready to get married anyway."
"Then why?"
She took a breath to compose herself before she met his gaze again. "I was crying for you, actually."
"Me? Why...?" he began to say, but the blunt realization soon reached his eyes. "Oh."
"I didn't want to have you die without giving me a chance to apologize," she explained. "So… I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm truly sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
She was shocked that he hadn't already deduced what she was apologizing for. Then again, he was pretty drugged up. "For yelling at you earlier. You didn't deserve any of that… A good scolding, maybe! But I had no right to lose my temper like that… I slapped you three times, for God's sake!"
A small smirk spread across his face. "All is forgiven, Molly. If truth be told, I'd already forgotten about that," he assured her. "Besides, it takes more than a bullet to put me down."
She couldn't help but giggle at his last comment. "What does it take then?"
"Let's hope I never find out!" he exclaimed, letting out a small laugh. However, it soon turned into a hiss of pain as he clutched at his bandaged chest.
"Oh, Sherlock..." Molly whispered with sympathy. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do?"
He slowly shook his head as the pain began to wear away. "Really, Molly, I'm fine—"
"Sherlock Holmes, you listen to me!" She told him firmly. "If you need anything, don't lie to me. You may enjoy being superior to everyone else most of the time, but right now, you have to let the rest of us take care of you," she articulated. "Now, let's try this again! Is there anything I can do?"
Sherlock was shocked into submission. If there was anyone who could break his resolve so easily, it was Molly Hooper. "Some water would be great, I suppose."
Molly grinned, reveling in her success. She stood to her feet and poured a glass of water from the available pitcher into a Styrofoam cup. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" she teased as she brought him the drink. He raised his arm to take it from her, but quickly lowered it again as another spasm of pain shot through him.
Molly shook her head exasperatedly. "When will you learn?" she sighed. "C'mon, let me help you."
As humiliating as it was, Sherlock knew he was incapable of much movement. Rolling his eyes, he relented, opening his mouth as she held the cup to his lips. Once the cool liquid had touched his tongue, he realized how thirsty he was and gulped it down eagerly until the last drop was gone, appreciating the cool, refreshing taste.
"See? Sometimes you do need my help, after all," she joked, setting the empty cup on his bedside table.
"This isn't the first time I've required your assistance," he reminded her. "And I'm sure it won't be the last."
"That's not true," she chuckled somewhat sadly. "You've got John, and Mycroft, and—"
"John is my blogger. Mycroft is my insufferable brother. You, Molly, are the one who helped me cheat death. You helped me save the lives of the people I care about most."
"I'm sure anyone else would have done the same," she told him, eager to change the subject. This was turning into a touchy topic for her.
"No, they wouldn't have," he insisted. "You're special, Molly. Why don't you understand that?"
As the tears threatened to overflow once more, she stood from her seat and walked over to the window, pretending to admire the view. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"
"That was a horrible attempt at redirecting the conversation."
"You ignore me, Sherlock!" she snapped, turning on her heel to face him. "You've always ignored me! That's why I don't believe I'm anything special. You knew I had feelings for you, and you toyed with my emotions more than I could bear. You only returned my affections when you needed spare body parts for your silly little experiments, and frankly, that does a hell of a lot of damage to a girl's self-esteem!"
Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but Molly cut him off. "I never thought I'd get all of this off my chest in one go, so just let me finish! Tom and I broke things off because we both knew it wasn't going to work out between us. He could tell that I still loved you, and I just couldn't marry him knowing that there would always be a place in my heart that didn't belong to him. You're my friend, Sherlock, and I hope that I'm the same to you, but you're hurting me. You hurt me almost every day of my life, but I put up with it because it would hurt even more to let you go!"
She felt sick, almost like she was going to vomit, and began to head for the door. She was already halfway there when he spoke. "Wait," he croaked. "Please don't go, Molly."
She choked back a sob, tears rolling in torrents down her cheeks. "Why shouldn't I?" she whispered, holding back the urge to sprint from the room.
"Because I don't want to hurt you anymore," he insisted. "Molly, you've already apologized to me today. Now let me apologize to you."
She considered ignoring him just as he had ignored her throughout the years, but she couldn't help but detect a hint of sincerity in his voice. She sighed, unable to leave him, and turned around, waiting for him to speak. "I know I've been horrible to you. I realize that now," he began to say. "Things have always just been arranged like a map in my head, and as much I hate to say it, I used to see you as one of the obstacles I had to bypass in order to reach my goal: to examine the cadavers or use the lab, and using your feelings against you was a horrible way to get what I wanted.
"It wasn't until recently that I gained enough sense to see you as an asset. You are brilliant, Molly. Smarter than most people would dream of achieving," he told her genuinely. "You should never doubt yourself, much less because of me. I never knew that my actions had taken such a toll on your self-confidence, and I apologize for that. I wish you'd told me how you felt sooner so that I could've come to my senses. That being said, I won't blame you if you can't find it in your heart to forgive me, but I wish that you could. You mean more to me than I can explain, Molly, but I'm not even half the man you deserve."
Molly felt as if her entire body was dissolving into shock. "Sherlock…" she whispered, her mouth suddenly very dry. "If you're saying this for my benefit, please don't lie to me. I can't take this anymore."
"It's the truth, Molly," he said. "I told you that I didn't want to hurt you anymore, and I intend to keep that promise. Let me prove it to you."
"How?" Molly sniffled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
A small smile spread across his face. "Come here," he said softly, extending his good arm towards her and patting the spot on the bed beside him. "I don't see much of a point in hugging, but if John insists on it every few minutes, perhaps it'll do some good in our case."
The corners of her lips began to turn upward at his feeble attempt at sentiment, but she obliged him. She carefully climbed up onto the bed beside him and laid her head on his shoulder, delicately wrapping his arms around him. "I'm pretty sure we're breaking post-op regulations," she chuckled.
"Damn the rules! I know what I can afford to handle," he proclaimed, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of her head. "And you, Molly Hooper, are definitely worth the risk."
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