Chemistry Beyond
Every tick of the clock beats down on his back as he works; he's not known for sweating like a pig when he chases after criminals and jumping from building to building, but right now he feels he's sweating inside out and if he doesn't drink a glass of water soon he'll probably collapse.
But he can't.
He can't stop. There is no time for him to stop and get refreshed. No, not when she needs him. Not when this needs to be done, now, and he'll push himself to his very limit.
Because for once it's her who needs him, not the other way around.
It's crucial, every drop, every turn, the temperature of the system has to dip and rise at every precise point in time because if not, the whole thing is ruined and he cannot fail.
He knows everything there is to know about chemistry, but he's vastly miscalculated the difficulty of this task and in the back rooms of his mind palace his respect for people who do this everyday is skyrocketing by the second.
He looks at what he's doing and it scares him. He's ashamed to admit it to himself but it scares the living daylights out of him.
What would happen if this doesn't work? He doesn't even want to think about it.
He could hear her, and it both inspires him and pressures him and it's almost too much.
Waiting is almost as daunting, as painful, as nerve-wracking as when he was working every cell in his body and mind just a few minutes ago.
Who is he kidding? It's every bit as agonizing as it had been in that hell of a laboratory.
He could cry. Of course he won't, of course he disguises his inner anxiety to near perfection, but it doesn't make feeling it any easier.
After what seems like an eternity standing by her bed, she finally responds.
"It's good…"
Sherlock Holmes fights his very hardest not to sigh in relief. He maintains his composure, just nodding. "There's more if you want."
Molly smiles weakly, her flu still affecting her. "Thank you love. I'll just finish this and then maybe I'll grab a bit more shut-eye, yeah?" she says, yawning and taking another spoonful of her husband's creamy chicken soup.
He smiles at her, his eyes following the path of the spoon from the bowl to her lips. "Alright. I'll be studying the case files Lestrade gave me this morning. Just shout if you need anything."
She nods, smiling warmly at him. Sometimes Sherlock Holmes can be the sweetest man alive. It's very rare, but she's incredibly blessed to have the privilege of seeing him like that.
And when she's back to full health, she'll tell him that he needs to cook off the flour in the roux more, but for now, she'll enjoy his flour-flavored chicken soup and she'll enjoy it a lot.
Note: A particular memory comes up for the author, having undercooked the roux in culinary school and consequently getting her arse kicked because of it. :)) Cooking is a chemistry, yes, however it does involve a lot of intuition and feeling and such, so being in a professional kitchen is both similar and a far cry to being in a science lab.
In this wave, the author would like to dedicate every note to thanking the people who have started the challenges too, and also to those who are planning to join, and also to those who are still thinking about it. The more the merrier, as they say, and it definitely inspires her to see people express desire to participate.