Summary: The events immediately after the fall, a medical team attempt to save Sherlock.
Spoiler Warning: Major spoilers for Season 2 Episode 3 'The Reichenbach Fall'
General Warning: Mentions character death and hints at suicide.
Author's Note: This is my attempt at filling a gap in 'The Reichenbach Fall'. One shot for now. I'm not medically knowledgeable, so please humour me on some points if they don't appear to be believable! Please leave a review; I'd love to hear what you think.
Disclaimer: I am not associated with, nor do I own the BBC's epic Sherlock TV show.
Between Life and Death
The trolley was wheeled quickly but expertly away from the crimson pool on the pavement. Its precious cargo, a man in his thirties, gazed unseeing blue eyes heavenward. Someone thoughtfully reached across and placed the man's hands on his stomach, so they weren't vulnerable at his sides.
Moving fluidly as one, the team of Doctors and Paramedics passed through the double doors at the side of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Each one of them knew it was too late, there couldn't possibly be any hope, but their oath to heal made them each compelled to try.
As they rushed down the corridor, curious eyes lingered on the form on the trolley - dark, blood soaked curls; face covered in blood. Then the look of shock as their brains registered who was being wheeled passed (the man had recently become a recipient of unsought fame).
The team reached a cubicle and the trolley was wheeled into place and the brakes engaged. One of the Doctors pulled the curtains around it, hiding their charge from the curious onlookers.
A female Nurse joined them and unknotted the man's scarf, freeing it from his neck. With no time to be delicate, she grabbed a pair of scissors from a nearby cart and started to cut the front of the man's shirt in a straight line up the front. The deep purple material now ruined beyond repair was pulled apart to reveal the man's bare chest. The man was then hooked up to machines and a deafening monotone alarm filled the room – no pulse.
The team went to work quickly with one of the Paramedics beginning chest compressions and the Nurse using a manual oxygen pump to force air into the man's lungs. After a few minutes with no improvement, one of the Doctors examined the man's head. He studied the severe damage and shined a torch into the man's eyes. With a sad look the Doctor shook his head and indicated to the Paramedic that he should cease the compressions. The Nurse also stopped squeezing the pump and slowly removed it from the man's mouth. Now rendered useless, the pump was placed onto the nearby cart.
Looking at his watch, the Doctor spoke "Time of death 10.56am." He switched the heart rate monitor off and the alarm stopped. Silence filled the room.
They all took a step back and glanced at the prone form, "Didn't stand a chance," someone stated matter of factly, "dead on impact."
They all left until one lone Nurse remained. She gazed into the open eyes of the man. No longer able to see the individual behind the deathly stare, she reached over with her hand and gently lowered his eyelids. "I'm sorry Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she whispered into the man's ear.
The silence was suddenly broken by someone yelling, "Where is he? What have you done to him? If you don't take me to him right now, I swear I'll…"
"Sir please," someone tried to calm the anxious individual, "calm down."
"Calm down, calm down, I just saw my friend jump off the roof of this building and you're telling me to bloody calm down." The voice was getting louder, closer, "Where is he?"
The curtain was ripped back and there stood John Watson staring at the lifeless form of his best friend.
"What?" John looked around at all the faces just staring at him sadly, "What is wrong with you people? Help him!" He yelled.
"Sir, listen to me, I'm very sorry but your friend is dead, there was nothing we could do."
"No." John shook his head. His voice became quieter, close to a whisper, "No… he can't be. Sher… No."
The Doctor who was speaking to John moved closer and gingerly placed a hand on his arm, "I'm sorry."
John shrugged off the Doctor's comforting attempt and slowly moved towards Sherlock. He reached for Sherlock's hand but couldn't bring himself to touch him.
The medical team moved away to give him some privacy. John gazed at his lifeless friend unable to comprehend what had just happened. His eyes began to wander away from Sherlock and focused on a piece of equipment standing close by. Quickly looking over his shoulder to check the hospital staff still weren't watching; John moved towards the defibrillator. Without thinking, his medical training kicked in and he reached for it, charging the unit and lifting the paddles until they hovered over Sherlock's chest.
The Doctor heard the whine of electricity charging and turned back to John with a shocked expression. He rushed towards John, while yelling "SECURITY!" He managed to carefully push John away from Sherlock and John stood their dumbfounded as two Security guards approached. The paddles now fully charged held up in front of him like a shield.
"I'm a Doctor," John stated, starting to feel the emotions build in his face, "you have to let me save him." A single tear fell from his right eye.
"Please Sir, please switch the machine off and put the paddles down. This isn't helping your friend, he's gone. The impact was so severe not even shocking his heart will bring him back. I'm sorry."
John looked as them and then back to Sherlock. They had lost. His brilliantly minded friend would never again enjoy the thrill of a good mystery and never again annoy him with his unintentional obnoxious ways. His eyes would never see again, his body never breathe and his heart had beat for the final time. Defeated, John slowly switched the machine off and placed the paddles back into their holders. The second he had, the Security guards had tackled him to the floor and pulled him away down the corridor. John took one last look at Sherlock before he disappeared from sight and then hung his head in despair letting the full reality hit him.
After the commotion had ended, a young woman emerged from the shadows and approached the dead Detective. She held up her ID badge to the Nurse who was pulling off the wires from Sherlock's chest. "Molly Hooper, from the morgue, I hear you've got one for me?" She risked a glance down to Sherlock and her heart sank in her chest, he looked so white.
The Nurse studied Molly's ID in surprise, "That was fast, he's only been dead a couple of minutes."
"Well, you know I was just passing through. I might as well take him back to the morgue with me, saves a second trip you know." Her voice began to waver. Molly never thought of herself as a good liar, and she began to fear the Nurse was going to see through her lie. She could feel her whole body begin to shake with nerves.
After a moment which felt like an eternity, the Nurse replied, "Sure why not, he's all yours."
Molly let out a subtle sigh of relief, "Thanks ever so," she said chirpily. Quickly moving to the top of the trolley, Molly lifted a sheet over Sherlock to conceal him, took the brakes off and wheeled him away, not giving the Nurse a second glance.
She had to move quickly, she wheeled Sherlock down the corridor and into a nearby open lift. She pressed the button for the floor the morgue was on and the lift's doors began to close. But suddenly a hand slammed in-between the almost closed doors causing them to reopen and making Molly jump. A man in his forties appeared and wanted to get into the lift. Recovering quickly from the shock, Molly quickly held up her hand and blocked his entrance, "Sorry you'll have to wait for another lift, highly contagious," she said pointing to the body under the sheet. He gave her a look of disgust and quickly disappeared down the corridor. Smiling slightly to herself for her quick thinking, Molly pressed the button to close the doors again. Once the lift began to move, Molly checked around the lift to ensure there were no CCTV cameras and reached out to press the stop button. The lift came to an abrupt halt.
Molly rushed back to the side of the trolley and pulled the sheet off, throwing it to the side. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a syringe with a long needle. She allowed herself the briefest of seconds to look at his face, noting how peaceful he looked. But this wasn't how he should be; Sherlock was always so full of life and energy, full of adventure. Determined, she concentrated on the task at hand. She pulled the safety cap off the syringe and raised it high above Sherlock's chest. Without hesitation her hand came down and plunged the needle into his heart, emptying the full contents of the syringe into his bloodstream. She then pulled it out.
Sherlock immediately inhaled a deep breath and sat straight up, one hand automatically reaching for his chest (above his heart) and the other unconsciously grabbing Molly's hand which was resting on the side of the trolley. Molly looked down at their hands, surprised by the rare physical contact between them. Looking back at his face Molly asked worriedly, "Sherlock, are you ok?" Her free hand reached for his neck and felt a steady pulse beating.
"Moll..ly?" He stuttered the word.
"It's me Sherlock," she confirmed as he slowly became aware of his surroundings.
"What happened? Where am I?" He sounded a little panicked which Molly found unnerving. Sherlock was many things, but panicked was never one of them.
"We're in a lift at St. Bart's. You just jumped off the roof remember? You jumped into the back of the truck with the linen bags and while John wasn't looking you positioned yourself on the pavement and covered yourself in blood. You then took that new experimental drug which gave the appearance of death and I've just administered the antidote. If I had left it any longer I don't think I would have got you back."
He truly looked confused for a minute, "Why would I jump off a building?"
"For John, to save John; and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. You called me before you jumped, before you called John, to explain what you had to do and that I was set our plan in motion."
Slowly recognition started to fill his eyes and Molly could see the Detective she knew and admired coming back in their blue depths.
"Oh yes, of course. Did it work?"
"Yes it worked."
"Good."
"You're going to be ok." She gave him a glorious smile as she said the words, knowing that it was true.
"Thank you," he whispered sincerely.
"You're welcome. Look, you need to lie back down and play dead for a little bit longer, I've got to get this lift moving before any one suspects anything." She pulled her hand free of his and went to push him gently back, but he wouldn't budge; his eyes were now fixed staring down at his chest. "What's wrong?" She asked concerned, her forehead frowning, worried she had done something wrong.
"They cut my shirt… my purple shirt." His hands played with the two frayed, roughly cut edges of his shirt.
Molly couldn't help but chuckle and forcefully pushed him back down onto the trolley, "It could've been worse; John wanted to shock your heart with the defibrillator."
She threw the sheet back over his head and reached over to the stop button on the lift and released it. Moving back to his side she heard him say, "That was my favourite shirt."
"I'll buy you a new one. Now shut up and be quiet, and don't move. Corpses don't really tend to move and talk, you'll give the game away. All of this would've been for nothing if someone hears you complaining, I mean 'saying' about your beloved shirt." The only response she got was a string of muttering she couldn't quite make out. She rolled her eyes and smiled, Sherlock was going to be just fine.