"What do you need?"
"You."
She should have known then how far gone she was. Sure it was no surprise that she had been in love with Sherlock Holmes for years but that night she knew she would put everything on the line for that man.
Molly stood on the side of the building, watching and waiting with baited breath. There were so many things that could go wrong with the plan, what if he missed the mattress, or John made it over before they were finished.
She watched as he dropped from the roof, flinching as he landed on the mattress, she let out a breath she didn't know she'd held. "Alright Molly, just like you planned," she whispered to herself. She quickly ushered their hired crew to the scene, making sure they had the bag of blood to pour on the pavement, and the sedative for John. As soon as she saw them lift his body onto the gurney she was two steps ahead of them, ready to meet them in the morgue to switch the bodies and fill out the coroner's report.
In her head she knew he was alive, a little bruised and broken from the fall, but alive nonetheless. "He's alive, he's alive because of you," she reminded herself, pushing her thoughts aside she directed them into her lab, thanked them as they left and locked the door behind them.
She set to work cataloging his injuries, a sprained wrist and ankle, a few bruises here and there, the worst by far were his cracked ribs, he'd need at least a few weeks of recovery before he could attempt to function normally. She grimaced at the thought of telling him that he'd need to recover before doing anything dangerous, this was Sherlock Holmes she might as well tell the ocean to stop being salty.
She dressed his wounds, waiting to tape his ribs until he came to, and began to wash the blood out of his hair. She'd often found herself wondering what it would be like to run her fingers through his luxurious curls.
"Come on now, keep it together," she muttered to herself. "You can do this, don't think about it being him, just rinse and go...and oh God they are as soft as they look..." She took a step back and a deep breath, trying to calm her fluttering stomach.
Sherlock groaned, slowly coming to, "Urgh...Moll...di...t...w-rk?" he attempted to say between sharp stabs of pain, his ribs hurting with every breath.
"Oh!" she jumped in surprise, "you're awake, thank goodness." She quickly helped him to a siting position so she could begin bandaging his ribs.
"Yes it worked. John saw everything he was supposed to, then we sedated him, he'll be out for a few hours giving us a chance to get away."
He nodded sadly, attempted to stand up and hissed in pain. He glanced sharply at Molly as though she were the cause of it.
"You've managed to sustain only a few injuries, a sprained wrist and ankle, I managed to wrap those up, a few scrapes and bruises, but I haven't been able to tape your ribs yet. The impact even with the mattress there was too much and you've cracked two of your ribs." Molly was proud of herself for having gotten through that without stammering once, though it helped that she was keeping herself busy looking for the tape and bandages.
"Suppose it could have been worse," he managed to hiss out, holding his side and following Molly's movements with his eyes.
"Alright, I'm going to need to take your shirt off so I can fix up your ribs and dress the other body."
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at her, she blushed, "No...I didn't mean..." damn she was back to her stuttering self, she hated that he did that to her.
Without a word Sherlock removed his shirt, silently asking for help getting it over his sore wrist. Within minutes Molly had him patched up and set to work dressing the replacement body, and preparing it for the mortuary to take away. Under normal circumstances the body would remain at Barts until the investigation was complete, but after calling in a few favors and expediting the autopsy report and death certificate (both with her signature, which if she were caught could cost her license) they were able to get the body removed immediately.
While they waited Molly explained to Sherlock that his injuries would require some rest, and that he surely couldn't expect to run off in search for Moriarty's ring with cracked ribs. Sherlock scoffed, "I'll be fine Molly, I need to leave right away, the sooner I start this the sooner its over." Molly glared at him, "I just saved you from death, I sure as hell didn't do that so you could walk right out and tempt fate a second time!"
Sherlock frowned at her, "You know how important this is Molly, you know I can't afford to wait."
"I don't give a damn, you are in no condition to go out there chasing dangerous criminals. You will stay at my flat until I deem you well enough to travel, do you understand?" Molly was yelling now, did he not realize how foolish he was being? That she wasn't going to be there to patch him up all the time, and that if he died for real out there only she would know and mourn.
Sherlock was shocked, this was not the sweet, shy pathologist he knew, the last time he had heard her speak so plainly to him was at that terrible Christmas party when he was a complete arse and she called him out on it. But this was different, this involved people's lives on the line, how could she expect him to not take action.
He stood up, peering down at her, "Molly you know...OW!" he hissed as she poked him in the ribs. "What the blazes did you do that for?" he growled, wobbling on his feet from the pain.
She smirked, "All I did was poke you and now you can barely stand. I won't repeat myself again, you will be staying at my flat until I say otherwise, end of discussion."
He gaped at her, where did this fire come from? Did she suddenly grow a backbone, and he just hadn't noticed? He would just have to observe her further to see if this was merely the adrenaline talking or if she really had changed.
The mortuary staff came and took the body with little fuss, while Sherlock hid in Molly's office. After they left, Molly grabbed her purse, stuffing a few extra bandages and mild painkillers into it and turned to Sherlock.
"You'll need to lean on me until we get you into the cab, and then it's bed rest for you tonight."
He nodded, leaning on her for support they managed to shuffle out the back with little notice, and grab a cab to Molly's flat.
Thankfully she lived on the ground floor, she doubted she'd have been able to help him up a flight of stairs.
"Toby? Mummy's home," she called to her cat. Sherlock rolled his eyes and scoffed, of course she had a cat, typical Molly.
She eased Sherlock onto the couch and busied herself feeding Toby and getting some water so Sherlock could take the anti-inflammatory she had snagged for him.
Toby walked warily over to the couch and sat staring at Sherlock as though deducing him. Sherlock returned the look and waited. Eventually Toby seemed to find nothing incriminating about him and jumped up to settle down next to him.
Molly returned from the kitchen water and pill in hand to find Toby contentedly purring as Sherlock absentmindedly scratched his head.
"I see you've made a new friend already," she said chuckling. "Here take this, it should help with the swelling, and then you need to sleep. I'll go make the bed up for you."
"I don't sleep. And the sofa is fine for me," he said not wanting to put her out of her bed.
"Sherlock I'm too tired to argue tonight, you're injured, my couch is not comfortable to sleep on and we've both had a long day. Please just take my bed, I'll take the couch and let that be the end of it?"
"Fine I'll sleep in your bed, but if the sofa is so uncomfortable then you shouldn't sleep on it either, it won't help you to sleep poorly."
"I only have the one bed, and the more injured one gets it. Besides sleeping on the couch isn't going to kill me, but it isn't going to help you heal any quicker."
She quickly walked down the hall preventing further conversation. She grabbed some linens from the closet and fixed her bed up. She returned to the living room and helped him off the couch and into her room. Sherlock Holmes in her room, sleeping in her bed, oh she had dreamed of this day...well not like this of course, but still.
She helped him lie comfortably on the bed, checked his bandages and headed out to the living room.
"Molly," he called, stopping her in her tracks. She turned and looked at him questioningly. "Thank you, for everything." She smiled sadly, "You're welcome Sherlock. You know I'd do anything for you. Good night."
She closed the door and wandered out to the living room, her head spinning with the events of the day and collapsed on the couch. Within minutes she was asleep, she was going to need it for the weeks ahead.
