Mycroft Holmes was running on pure adrenaline. The heavy man braced firmly on his back had lost consciousness long before they even reached the hospital, and Mycroft had wasted no time hoisting him on his back and then charging down the halls to admit him to the ER. Medical staff flooded around him as he relinquished his heavy load onto a gurney. He shouted above the thrum of nursing staff to deliver what little information he had to offer regarding his injuries. In a flash they were gone, plunging through the ER doors to surgery before Mycroft had a chance to recover his breath.
He crouched down momentarily, elbows supporting his upper body on his thighs as he fought to slow his racing heart beat. He looked at both his hands: they were covered in blood. Once regaining composure, he stormed outside via a side entrance that led to the hospital's expansive courtyard. Giving the empty landscape a quick once over to ensure privacy, he radioed his man from the line attached to his chest.
"White Knight to Red Rook, over." He didn't bother speaking quietly as his temper started to flare.
The radio buzzed in his ear, "Red Rook to White Knight, copy."
"I have been running these men for fifteen years and they have left every mission without so much as a hangnail! You can tell Black Bishop that he will be court-martialed with insurrection for disobeying my direct orders! White Knight out!" He ripped the ear piece out and fought the urge to punch something.
He reached a stone bench and took a moment to rake his hands through his short red hair as he sat. He didn't even want to begin thinking about what he was going to tell the poor man's family.
"Mr. Holmes?" Mycroft heard before he looked up and spotted Molly making her way over as she pushed a small boy in a wheel chair covered in blankets in front of her. Mycroft instinctually stood up and addressed her with a head nod and put his bloody hands behind his back to hide them.
"Dr. Hooper," he tried to keep the surprise out of his voice but failed. He noticed the volunteer badge hanging from her neck. He hadn't realized that she volunteered, let alone outside of Bart's. He nervously itched the dried blood on his hands.
The small child in the wheel chair was obviously dying. He noted the pallor of his visage and frailty of his emaciated frame. He was certain he didn't have much more than a few more months left to live. Mycroft's heart sank just a bit more that night. There was only so much tragedy he could cope with until he broke apart at the seams.
"Whoa!" the child in the wheel chair spoke with awe first, "You're not a White Knight! You're a ninja!" The child marveled at Mycroft's appearance as he looked him up and down, and it was no wonder he settled on ninja. Mycroft was dressed head to toe in black, complete with guns strapped to various places and combat boots. His Kevlar vest was just as bulky as some of the other equipment he was required to carry during a black opts missions.
"But you don't have a mask," the boy sounded almost disappointed. "Ninjas always wear masks," he stated matter-of-factly with a head shake. Then, like an epiphany, it hit him, "You must be a secret agent! Like James Bond!" The kid's face lit up with delight concluding his deductive reasoning. He looked back at Molly who was smiling in confirmation. "You didn't tell me you knew a superhero, Dr. Molly!" Molly just continued to smile at him, and when she redirected her focus on Mycroft, the look on her face told him it was okay to play along.
Mycroft crouched down to his level as he put his finger to his nose to confirm the little boy's theory. Then he placed his finger over his mouth in the "shhh" position.
"There are spies all around us. Can you keep my identity safe?" Mycroft asked of the small child suffering from cachexia.
The boy looked earnest as he crossed his heart and pledged the other one in the air ceremoniously. "I promise!"
Mycroft saw a nurse coming to retrieve the small boy from Molly. Molly turned and spotted her as well, and then she picked up the small child and kissed him soundly on the cheek with a big snog.
The child marveled in awe as he rubbed his cheek from Molly's exaggerated kiss. "My wish came true and I got to meet a superhero! This is the best day ever!"
The nurse eyed Mycroft suspiciously and gave Molly the are you okay with this strange man? look. Molly nodded and smiled which appeased the relief nurse enough, even though she eyed Mycroft warningly a second time before leaving. Molly waved to the little boy. "Good night, Jimmy!"
"Good night, Dr. Molly!" the little boy called with a hand wave back.
Molly settled in next to Mycroft on the bench and wrapped her white lab coat around her tighter for warmth. She gazed up at the stars.
"There is a meteor shower tonight," she said passively. Mycroft rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced upwards. They were far enough outside of the big city for light pollution not to be a problem and the dimly lit courtyard was a perfect spot for viewing the night sky.
"Is that why you brought little Jimmy out here? So he could look at the stars?" Molly nodded. Mycroft guessed as much. He himself enjoyed to watch a meteor shower when he had the opportunity."He wished upon a falling star. Does that mean that he is going to make a full recovery?"
Molly sadly shook her head no.
Mycroft could understand all her pain all too well and took a seat beside her.
They gazed in comfortable silence at the night sky. It wasn't long before a large white blaze trekked itself in a long streak, splitting the dark plane above them.
After a few moments in reverent awe, Mycroft heard Molly's voice ask tentatively, "What did you wish for?"
"That I wasn't covered in someone else's blood." Mycroft scratched more of the dried blood from his hands and then looked over at her. "I can only imagine what you wished for."
"For a viable heart for poor young Jimmy and a doctor with enough cahones to perform a risky operation on a child that probably won't survive the surgery."
"He seems to have a lot of life for one so small," Mycroft commented in low voice. Only the good die young, he remembered the old adage. He hoped that his man wasn't one of them as much as little Jimmy.
Molly smiled a sad smile at Mycroft's last statement. "He told me he wants to love as much as he can while he still can, even if his heart is weak. He thinks that if he does that, it will make him stronger, because even if he does die, he at least used his heart well."
Molly wiped some tears from her eyes and Mycroft scooted closer to her to at least share some of his body heat as he put a comforting arm around her.
"His wish was that you would kiss him good-night," Mycroft concluded in a mere whisper. Molly nodded.
"He is a lucky boy to have you in his life, Dr. Hooper." He meant it. She turned to him and opened her mouth to say something back but instead her eyebrows scrunched together with discernment.
"Mr. Holmes," she touched a place above his eye that itched terribly. Warm liquid trickled down his face. As he tried to wipe it away he finally noticed that he was indeed injured. "Your bleeding, let's get you inside."
Once inside, Molly made arrangements for her to inspect him in a private room. She turned out supplies as he sat on the exam table while he held his hand to his temple to dampen the blood flow. He was lucky the courtyard lights were so dim and Jimmy had been turned to his good side. He wouldn't have wanted to scare the little guy.
Molly slipped on some rubber gloves and gently washed around the wound to remove the dried blood. Then she carefully sewed him back together. He received over half a dozen stitches right above his eyebrow.
"Lucky seven," she noted with a small quirk of her lips. "Now take off the vest, I'll have a look you're not bleeding anywhere else."
Mycroft wasn't about to argue with the pathologist. She slowly helped him remove the heavy chest plate, only to discover that it had taken severe damage.
"Looks like you will need a new vest, Mr. Holmes," Molly commented as Mycroft grunted the weighted material off of him and Molly carefully laid it aside. He almost forgot that he had fallen from a decent height trying to get to his man. The fall alone would have been enough to break the Kevlar on impact. He felt like he had bruised several ribs. He took a second to take in a full breath and instantly regretted it.
"Off with the shirt too," Molly instructed, "I want to make sure you didn't break any ribs."
He could have assured her that he did. He had a hard time lifting his left shoulder above his head, and Molly had to assist him the rest of the way to peel the black tee off.
His shoulder was heavily bruised and matched the color of the places where he suspected his ribs had been cracked. He'd probably need to be checked for internal bleeding. He cursed at the thought of filling out more paperwork and having more insufferable tests ran on him.
Molly grabbed a phone and started scheduling an MRI right away. The whole time she stared as his torso before giving him a smile and turning away and then turning back to stare at him again. He found the whole fidgeting thing rather odd for Molly Hooper. She probably was worried what she would say to Sherlock if her brother died of internal bleeding on her clock. Molly gave him a fake smile as her eyes grazed over his torso once more.
Then Sherlock's words about him being a fatty came to mind. He had to admit to himself that had been the impetus for his extraneous workouts over the last three months. The weight lifting had paid off in at least he could see bulk and definition to his muscles where before he seemed one lumpy mass. That unfortunately led him to have to buy bigger clothes as his shoulders could no longer fit the shirts and suits without the risk of busting them at the seams. It was part of the reason they had to peel off his shirt as well. Mycroft hadn't gotten around to purchasing new shirts for his black opts mission.
He got up off the table to wash the rest of the dried blood from his hands and face while Molly continued to arrange his exams. He noted the perfect stitching above his brow, and remembered how both he and his agent landed directly on Mycroft's left side. At least Mycroft had taken the brunt of the fall. He said another silent prayer that his man would pull through as he splashed water on his face to try and stay awake.
He looked at his haggard appearance in the mirror. His stubble was starting in already, and Mycroft scratched at it with what little nails he possessed. Dark circles lined his eyes making him appear more pale than usual. It didn't help that he had lost quite a bit of blood from the cut above his eye. His face had minor scrapes and bruising by the site of the cut, which was to be expected. He was just grateful he didn't lose an eye.
He wiped his face dry of the water and took his place back down on the exam table.
Mycroft silently obeyed every order that Dr. Hooper had given him, and in her presence, the whole process of exams and x-rays and bloody paperwork seemed to go faster.
He suffered a broken clavicle, several cracked ribs, but no internal bleeding so he was free to go and see his agent whenever he was ready.
Molly gave him the room number and wished him a speedy recovery. Mycroft offered up a heartfelt thanks and made his accent in the elevator with a heavy heart.
He was shocked when he entered his field agent's room. His man was awake and fighting a nurse regarding removing his heart monitor so he could leave. Upon spotting Mycroft, the man smiled. Mycroft pulled his medical chart and flipped through it. No internal bleeding and no broken bones: Mycroft was relieved. He noted his man's Kevlar vest and inspected it thoroughly. The vest was still completely intact.
"I passed out once you hit me," he confessed, and then added, "no trauma to the old noggin though, so that is a relief." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
Mycroft noted that he wasn't labeled with even a small concussion.
"I'll see that you get checked out and cleared to leave immediately," Mycroft nodded to his man who brightened at the thought considerably.
Mycroft left to reexamine his own vest. He was absolutely sure that his man had taken a bullet to the chest under the heavy fire he had been under earlier that night. Depending on the type of bullets, it could have easily penetrated the armor. He fingered the left side of the damaged vest until the sound like a coin dropping on the floor was heard. He picked up the bullet and eyed it curiously.
Mycroft had gotten lucky. The bullet hit the part of his chest that could take the impact best. He had gotten to his man just in time.
He pocketed the bullet as a souvenir and headed home for the night. Thoughts of Molly's gentle touch lingered as he reached up to touch his stitches. He'd make it a point to personally find Jimmy a new heart and a doctor that would perform the risky surgery the next day. For now, he was happy to let sweet smiles of a rather attractive pathologist dominate his thoughts.