A/N: Whenever I work on Sherlolly music, I am always filled with massive Reichenbach feels after. The only other things that gets me as much as Chrismas Sherlolly is Reichenbach Sherlolly. One cannot shake off the feeling that Molly was paramount in the Reichenbach fall. So, I wrote this started-angsty-but-ended-up-fluffy piece.
Also, I want to apologise for taking forever on The Admirer. Forgive me! :(
Heart
It was her job to resuscitate him. The impact of his faux fall would have still knocked him out. Not to mention the drug she had had to administer to him exactly six hours before.
"Come on…" she whispered anxiously as she injected into his skin the antidote that was to wake him.
When he failed to rouse, Molly placed two hands on his chest and expertly pressed against his chest, trying to kickstart his heartbeat.
"You're a heartless creature, Sherlock Holmes, but I know you have a pulse," she exclaimed, gritting her teeth as she continued pushing her palms hard against his chest.
Molly finally heard the gasp she had wanted to hear. The detective, pale as a ghost and stained with a stranger's blood, sat up with a start. His eyes were wide from having been yanked back into consciousness. The adrenalin flowed through his veins like the waters of a burst dam.
"You're back…" Molly exclaimed, smiling in relief.
Sherlock stared at her, wide-eyed, then began to smile as his consciousness slowly began to settle back in. He had survived. Sitting up in a stretcher on the floor of a dark storeroom below Bart's meant he had survived.
"You did it," he said, turning to Molly.
"The plan worked," she replied. Molly's own eyes were bright with adrenalin too.
"Although, there's something I should like to clarify." he said, trying to get up on his feet.
Molly helped him up and led him to sit on a rickety office chair.
"And what's that?" she asked, as she proceeded to her next task which was to clean the blood off his face and neck.
Sherlock reached for her wrist, causing her to jump and drop the gauze she was holding. He smirked, before pulling her towards him, kissing her quickly on the cheek.
"You called me a heartless creature." he said, whispering beneath her ear.
"You were dead, you could not have heard that," she answered with a start.
"I most certainly did." he said with a wry chuckle.
He then stood up and reached for her face, kissing her squarely but gently on the lips. When he was done, he smirked, taking all the cleaning paraphernalia away from her. Sherlock walked over to a rusty mirrored cupboard and began cleaning himself in front of it.
"Perhaps, Molly, if you hadn't inadvertently come to possess it," he began, tilting his chin as he rubbed the blood away from his face, "I might not quite be so heartless."
He paused, then turned, only to find her smirking at him.
"Of all the times to tell me such a thing," she said with a laugh.
Molly then strode over to him and retrieved her equipment. She ushered him back to the creaky chair and resumed her task of cleaning the face of this recently resurrected detective. Sherlock smiled as he sat back and relished the cool touch of the one who had saved him, and the one to whom he had given his heart.
END