thank you so much to all who Favorited and followed the last chapter
II.
The shower was hot and painful, but exactly what he needed. Sherlock watched as the water travelling down the drain turned red, mixing with the dried blood from his body. He washed gingerly and got out quickly, taking deep breaths through the pain. He leaned over the sink and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and upon disbelief of what he was seeing looked up and stared in shock at his reflection.
He really did die and come back to life, his body proved it. Haggard, worn, purple with dark bruising that was scattered across his pale skin. One half of his body having clearly taken most of the impact as his left side of his face was badly bruised. Followed by a distorted black shoulder from being dislocated and a convoy of dark bruises ran down and across the left side of his broken ribs.
'But John's alive', was all he could think of. Sherlock slowly dried off and slipped on the pyjama bottoms Molly had provided, fitting reasonably well if he tied the draw string. Feeling incredibly tired, Sherlock slowly left the bathroom. Molly appeared with a slice of toast.
'Eat this,' she said.
He stopped and looked at her. 'Really don't feel like it now thanks.'
She shook her head. 'It's best that you have something in your stomach with all this medication your taking, believe me, I've done autopsies on this sort of thing.'
Sherlock sighed, 'In bed?' he asked, realising that standing was soon going to stop being an option.
Molly nodded happy and helped him back into her bed where he sat up and slowly ate the toast. Once finished (most of it) she, under the instructions of Sherlock, taped his broken ribs and dislocated shoulder with Sherlock practically falling asleep in the process.
Molly realised that she was going to have to go shopping. Leaving a note for Sherlock she said goodbye to Toby who replied with a disinterested purr.
After getting the usual food items she found herself buying a few items of men's clothing for Sherlock. Weighing between two sizes, she got both with a shrug and grabbed a few shirts and jumpers, knowing that his usual taste in clothing was going to have to change. Molly started to fret when she realised she had been gone for almost two hours and hastily, with arms full of shopping dumped everything in the back and drove home.
Upon entering her flat, she immediately felt that something was off, the flat had a too quite feeling and Toby did not greet her as usual.
Molly dumped the shopping and hurried to her bedroom, the sight she saw was not expected. Sherlock lay awake on his back, covered in sweat and clearly drained. Toby was curled up against his side, purring deeply as the detective lightly stroked the length of his back. Sherlock gave Molly a tired smile, 'Had a bit of a...moment, its fine now.'
Molly nodded, wanting to sink down to the ground in relief. 'Do you want some more painkillers?'
'No. Better not this time.' He flinched as he shifted his weight on the bed. Molly sighed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.
'I wish I could do more for you.'
Sherlock shook his head quickly, 'You've already done enough Molly, more than I deserve...thank you.'
Molly felt a small blush in her cheeks and she looked away from his intense gaze.
'I would like to get up though. I can't stand lying in this bed much longer.'
'Alright,' she couldn't see any harm and wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible. She slowly helped him up with an annoyed hiss from Toby in objection to being moved. Together, they limped to the couch were Sherlock sat panting.
Molly eyed him worryingly, 'Maybe that wasn't a good idea.'
'No,' he replied sitting up straighter, 'it's alright.'
An awkward silence began to grow and Molly bit her lip. 'Hungry?' she asked already moving to the kitchen area. She got a grunt in reply as she began un-packing the shopping. 'Oh', she said remembering and gave him one of the bags, 'I got you some clothes.'
Sherlock opened his lent forward and slowly rummaged through the bag.
'I hope they fit. I really just ended up guessing your size.'
He wrinkled his nose at the style of clothing but gave Molly a reassuring smile, 'They should be fine.'
Molly, satisfied, went back to unpacking. 'I'm going to have some crumpets do you want some?'
'One,' Sherlock replied tiredly, knowing that he should eat.
'I'm making you two.' Molly stated with a sweet smile that made Sherlock huff.
'Can I borrow your laptop?'
Molly looked up from the toaster and retrieved it for him, turning it on and passing it over. Sherlock placed it in his lap.
'Oh no wait, its password prote-'
Sherlock quickly typed and was rewarded with the logged in chime. He gave a smirk and Molly pulled a face before retreating back to the cooking crumpets.
'Butter and honey?' Molly asked five minutes later, to which Sherlock merely grunted in reply. She carried over the plate of his crumpets, took away the laptop with an outraged cry from Sherlock and replaced it with the steaming, golden-brown crumpets. 'Now eat. I don't want you getting honey all over my keys.'
Sherlock mumbled something along the lines of "I wouldn't get honey all over...I'm not" something or other. Molly ignored his grumblings, instead focusing on her own crumpets. Sherlock eventually stated too, eating slowly. Molly naturally finished first and grabbed the laptop, having a few things to do herself. Sherlock finished one crumpet then gave up and lay down on the couch, already exhausted.
Molly got up and draped a blanket over the sleeping man with a sigh, 'What are you planning on doing Sherlock?'
Molly got a bit of the work done around the flat that she hadn't had time for in a while. Moving around the sleeping detective, she organised and cleaned and got a lot of back load of work down. Sherlock only stirred once with a small groan as he shifted in his sleep but other than that was dead to the world...well.
The time flew by once Molly had something productive to do and focus her energy on. Soon she found herself cooking pasta for dinner. Sick of the hours of silence she turned the TV on, flicking through the channels, avoiding the majority that concerned 'Fake genius' suicide' headline and settled for a re-run of Friends. Sherlock conveniently woke just as the pasta was finishing, outside a storm raged.
Sherlock sat up stiffly, ribs aching, shoulder burning, head throbbing and pretty much feeling like one giant bruise. He accepted the bowl of pasta Molly proffered. At least he's eating, Molly thought sitting down next to him on the couch, curling up to watch the rest of Friends.
'How do you feel?' she asked for what felt like the millionth time.
'Like a wreck,' he replied. He put down his mostly empty bowl on the coffee table and sat up perfectly straight with strain, eyes closed. Molly watched as his eyes danced beneath the dark ringed lids. He appeared to be organising, planning. Molly was surprised at how quick he was moving, planning for god knows what. She was amazed at his confidence in his new situation. How do you go about pretending to be dead while destroying a criminal network? But this was Sherlock; he most probably knew what he was doing. She turned from and the time passed as she watched telly while he organised and planned. She eventually elicited a response when she brought him a cup of tea. He opened his tired eyes and sipped, sinking heavily into the sofa, clearly summarising over all he had just considered. Molly eventually gave up on the television and Sherlock, instead getting ready for bed. She came out into her room, only to find Sherlock sitting up shirtless in bed, all bruising and damage in clear display.
'Molly,' he said.
'Hmmm?'
'Don't sleep on the couch. You don't have to put yourself out and I now know how uncomfortable it is. There's plenty of room in your bed. It would be ridiculous for one to not take advantage of it.'
'Molly stiffened at the unexpected reply and tried hard not to show her embarrassment at the self-conscious situation.
'It's fine really,' she assured. 'Besides its quite comfortable if you're not six-foot something or heavily injured.' She smiled, Sherlock didn't.
'Please don't hesitate if you change your mind.' He replied, not pressing the matter further and slipping down under the covers to sleep.
Molly bit her lip at the now positively awkward position she was in. Had he insisted further, she would have given in. Although not bad for one night, Molly was dreading sleeping on the couch again. She did a small dance in frustration before padding over and hopping in bed next to Sherlock. She lay on her side trying to relax her stiff body and not think of the little gap between their two bodies.
'Thank you, Molly,' Sherlock's deep baritone echoed in the darkened room.
Molly wasn't sure if he was thanking her for her help or for doing as he had asked. She had a feeling it was the latter. He was dead and lonely. John Watson had changed him so much.
love to hear your thoughts
