Mercy
Synopsis: "I should slap you again for putting your friends through this again." - For putting me through this, is what he hears ultimately in his blurry state as he slips his gaze over to her. She looks torn but he knows it's within good reason. He's at her mercy again, and he can only hope she doesn't decide to let him rot when he finds her more comforting than the morphine he has been given.
I have a multitude of semi-heartbreaking scenarios in my head this one just really needed to be out in the open. It isn't as bad as the others, I think. Hope you like it.
much love,
day
xx
Sherlock figured that after the slew of guests he wouldn't get another for at least a few more days. He didn't really deserve all the attention. Not when he had merely gotten shot, most common men have been shot and lived to tell the tale. He supposed he wasn't neither common or alive really. Though he had heard the word lucky a lot. He had died for a few minutes much to his annoyance.
That had not been the plan. Neither had being shot by a woman he had come to adore and call a friend. No, that hadn't been on his radar at all. At least she had the decency to call for help. He had no doubt that she would. That was a lie. He hadn't known what to think when she so effortlessly shot him and turned away telling him how sorry she was.
He had been in this room for about twelve hours if he had to count. Maybe longer, he had been in and out of unconsciousness in between visitors. It was trying to stay awake when he was feeling so utterly dreadful. So human.
He had been out for another four hours if the lack of light outside gave him the time. It was past the time for visitors to still be allowed in here but there she was. Sitting close but so far away from his bedside. A low light from a lamp that he hadn't noticed before was sitting beside the flowers that Mrs. Hudson had brought in earlier when she was here.
"Visiting hours are past over. How did you get in? You've been here for a little while, Molly." His voice came out low and scratchy, a mere correlation of how uncomfortable his throat felt.
Molly sat there watching him for a few quiet moments. Sherlock chose to wait instead of inquiring more. She was here for a reason and as much as he'd like to think she was being there for him as she had been when he was trying to escape death in his mind palace. This was much more real.
Molly's eyes were shining and Sherlock could see that she had been crying previously. When she opened her mouth to address him finally she started but stopped. Her voice was as thick and strangled as his own. "I suppose there are particular privileges for working in a hospital. Even if you don't work with living patients. I suppose you don't believe that entirely so I used up an old favor from one of the nurses in charge of your floor."
"Why would you do that?"
She smiled at him and Sherlock swallowed the moisture that was trying to rise in his throat. He groaned in pain at how much that hurt going down. "You turned down your morphine."
He moved to shrug. "Didn't seem good to use it when I already had a problem with addiction. Someone had been toying with it earlier apparently to spite me."
"Your ex-girlfriend you mean, or wasn't fiancee?" Molly reached over and begun to read the headlines of a newspaper. "She calls you Sherl." Sherlock fists clinched at his side as he watched Molly continue to list indiscretions that were as far from the truth. She should know him better than that.
"Molly…" He sighed trying to turn his body over so that he could really see her. It was too painful to do so but she did stop reading and walk over to him. "Reporters are such vile creatures. They'll believe anything." He told her quietly as she pressed her hands against his chest trying to keep him on the bed.
"I know that." She told him. "Doesn't make it hurt any less when you read things like that about someone you care about." She sighed, closing her eyes and Sherlock began to reach up to take her hand when she pulled away. "Besides, how am I ever to know with you. You shot up for a case to get into the mind of the same person who ended up getting you shot."
"It wasn't him though, Molly." He told her and she gave him the most tortured look. He could tell her. She was the only one he could trust with this information. John couldn't know.
"Who then?"
He made a choice then. He trusted her enough to save his life twice. So he beckoned her over to him and he told her a small truth. Not who but the fact that he knew he had to fix it and he would when he got out of there. Molly had stayed with him then, as close as ever inquiring if she could be of any assistance.
That was his Molly. Always willing to lend a hand even when he hadn't asked. His reply, "No, you've done enough already but thank you for coming to see me even though you don't agree with my methods as of late."
Molly just smiled, pressing a hesitant yet quick peck on his cheek before letting out a shaky breath telling him softly "when has that ever stopped me from being there for you, Sherlock Holmes."
She was right of course. He reached up and took her hand then even though she looked to ready to take a few steps back or retreat all together. Molly stayed there beside him for a little bit longer, mentioning that he should get some more rest because he would need it. He let her go then. It wasn't the last time he saw her in a hospital room.
He ended up going back days after being released, and she was there in the dead of the night just like the last time.
She is talking before he can really process the fact that she's there, holding his hand. Or she was before he could decide to grip her hold she slid her hand up towards his wrist. It was much more harder to turn his hand upwards to grab it back. It had felt nice. She was crying, fully crying in front of him and she was pissed.
"I should slap you again for putting your friends through this again." - For putting me through this, is what he hears ultimately in his blurry state as he slips his gaze over to her. She looks torn but he knows it's within good reason. "Why did you leave the hospital if you weren't well?"
He gives up trying to take her hand, knowing that if she was this annoyed with him over something so petty as ending back in the hospital again she wouldn't be so pleasing about touching him or letting him grasp at her. It wasn't even something he ever realized his enjoyed until he experienced it in this way.
"I had to try to fix it. I got a head start if you were curious." He tells her but it seemed to be the wrong thing to say for she smacks him across the face anyway. He bites his tongue in order to not let out any indication that hurt more than the last time. He had been sent back to the hospital after collapsing from internal bleeding. This was hardly a good time for him to be suffering such abuse. "Sorry." She sighs as she lets go of him and turns away. "Why do you have to be so reckless? Do you have any idea what it does to people who actually care about your well-being?"
"I have an idea, yes. Why do people care...about me? I'm not exactly kind."
Molly seems to be happy that he owns up to it. "You have your moments Sherlock. It doesn't matter if you don't see it. You have people who love and care that you do try to be better and that's what makes being there to see it all the more gratifying." She brightens up a bit and Sherlock is glad. He has never seen her so livid about something before.
He realizes that it's him. She's passionate about him and it does something to him. It's different from the way John sees him. He can try to call him out on it but he never goes to the lengths that she does. He is a mere shadow of what she offers him, and he can never imagine what his life would have been like if she wasn't there to smack him around a bit. She's gotten some practice apparently.
They are silent for a little while, both watching each other carefully. Sherlock doesn't duck into his mind palace. He wants to be alert for this. She keeps him on his toes and he would hate to miss anything else that she might do or say to him because he knows how much she cares about him. He can see it in the way her form shakes and the barely there smile that she has been trying to hide through her rage towards his actions.
"You care more than the rest of them, Molly Hooper." You do realize that, he adds silently.
She stands there blinking at him as if this is news to here. "I..." She starts but she doesn't know what to say to that. Is it a bad thing that she cares for him to such lengths? She knows she can't exactly hide it, not anymore. They've come so far and she knows he will listen to her now so why take a step back. She isn't like him, she can only move forward and if it helps him she won't stop.
Sherlock laughs a little, as he watches her dumbfounded expression. She frowns at him not seeing why he is amused at her. "You'll hurt yourself laughing like that." She reminds him as she grabs the chair she had been sitting in previously and sits next to him. "What more could happen when I'm already in a hospital?"
"Death seems to be in your sights." She isn't being serious but his mouth curves up a little as he opens his palm and looks down at it silently asking her to hold his hand. She could deny him and that would okay. Who would really hold the hand of a man you were pissed off at for a long time about several different things? He supposed if she was being truly merciful she would. He almost smacks himself in the face with the thought that swims through his head.
She's his merciful angel. He nearly closes his eyes at such an odd thought of phrasing. It is true, however. How common, how droll of him to think it. He forgets it after a minute when he feels the slight warmth of her hands as she slips her fingers around his much larger hands. He looks up at her. She isn't looking at him at first. Her fingers squeeze around his a small fraction before she looks at him. "You can't keep doing this, Sherlock." There is a quake to her voice as she says it. It is a mere repetition of something he told her months ago. His breath comes in shallow when he hears it knowing that like then this is her way of telling him how affected she is by his two close together stints in the ER.
He can't promise her that it won't, because in all likelihood it probably will but he does try to ease her aches from having to see him like this again. He is weak and he hates the look of sadness that is bordering under her disappointment and anger for this happening again. "If I were to die someday, I would want you to be the last one to see me alive." He doesn't know why he phrases it like that. He knows that she can read every little piece of it and know that he doesn't truly believe in his demise coming so soon. It doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate his words as they are spoken to her in the silence of the night.
It's just the two of them, holding hands and sharing quiet truths of honesty and things that might never be spoken when there is light. He wouldn't have any other way. This is them.
He imagines this will always be them and he hopes with all the good parts of his beating heart that it is.
When Molly leans over him and he can feel the drop of her tears as they hit his cheek, he almost begins to panic. Her hand slides away from his and he moves to get it back only to find something increasingly better. Her mouth is pressed lightly against his and she is pouring something almost intangible into this moment. She gives and he takes and just for a little while everything seems less strained, he relishes in it until she pulls away sniffling a little.
She doesn't leave as he imagines she would out of embarrassment after sharing a kiss with him. Instead she sits back down and takes his hand and tells him, "Don't die just yet."
He tries to hold onto that brief moment with Molly even after she is gone. He remembers it when he tells her he's going away for an undetermined time and he feels his chest tighten when the plane takes off seeming to take him away from any more moments that might have been able to have with not just her but everyone. Instead when he gets the calls he feels trepidation because of that moment. It leads to fear of the unknown. He makes a promise that he plans to keep as they touch down again on the soil of the airstrip.
He has to be the one to keep her safe. He owes her that much. For all her mercy and everything in between. He owes her everything. Even if he dies to make it happen. "I might have to." He whispers silently to himself as he is left alone to think. The only thing that runs through his head is the last thing she told him when they were alone. "Don't die just yet."
I am sorry. Please forgive me.
A/N #2: In all honesty I'm surprised no one has stopped me from writing these damn angst fests by now. I am in tears now. Oh god. Damn my brain for latching on to such things. I hope no one cried too hard about it, but I totally get it if you hate me now. Um, but please let me know what you think, please? Thanks.