When Molly arrived at the warehouses near to Northampton she was exhausted from the long trip and the constant worrying. She stopped the car in the shadow of an alley and got out of it while frowning above her phone. She grabbed her now huge backpack from the backseat.

She quickly stepped inside a deep green building, one of the smaller ones, following the coordinates Sherlock has sent her, walking deep into the huge depository, she faced a closed steel door in one corner of the place. The dead air smelled like rotten wet wood and the huge amount of the dust on the walls and the windows told her that the place hadn't been in use for years. Although she recognised that the floor was quite clear in a wide area near to the door. Sherlock had covered his tracks. If somebody didn't know what to look for, they definitely wouldn't find any sign of a permanent habitat.

She hesitated for a while, not knowing how to make him notice her presence. When she finally decided to simply knock and shifted her fist, the door opened and a bony pale face appeared in the crack. She immediately recognised the familiar green-blue eyes, bloodshot in fewer before they turned back into the containing head, and with a loud thump Sherlock's whole body disappeared behind the slightly opened door.

'Oh, Geez.' Molly whispered then pulled her whole weight and pushed the heavy steel door with her shoulder.

The creaking door balked by Sherlock's unconscious body slowly moved by each brunt, made by her small fragile body. It was amazing what a human body was capable of in a state of panic. For the forth push the door was opened enough to squeeze herself through the gap leaving behind the huge bag. Molly immediately kneeled beside Sherlock and checked his vital signs. His pulse was palpable, his breathing was steady. The wound on his left thigh looked awful but she diagnosed him movable. She placed her lips to his temple to check his temperature. He was in fever which was definitely not a good sign. The wound had to be cleaned as soon as possible.

Molly looked around the small late staff room; she saw huge sink on the wall opposite the door, a mattress in one corner with several blankets on it, a bunch of clothes, some leftover boxes from last week but what caught her eyes were the bloodstains all over the place.

She quickly pulled Sherlock's body to the doss, placed it properly, covered his upper body with the blankets and dashed out to take in her backpack. Molly locked the door behind her and started to throw the things out of the bag until finally she found what she was searching for. First she had to wake him up, to let him know what would happen and to make him take some painkillers before Molly takes out the bullet from his leg.

Fortunately the water was running from the tap. Molly wetted one random clothe of the mound, squeezed it and kneeling beside Sherlock, started to mop up the sweat from his forehead murmuring his name. He shattered for the cold touch on his face and opened his eyes.

'Molly...' he murmured under his breath on a low hoarse voice trying to focus on the girl's face leaning above him.

'Hush now, and listen carefully, Sherlock.' Molly's voice was calm and steady, although deep inside she could scream from panic and fear. 'I need to remove the bullet, and close the wound. Now, I give you three quite strong painkillers, you have to take them, however I can't guarantee that it won't hurt. Actually it surely will hurt. It will be more endurable tough. You will have to stay with me during the operation no matter how it hurts you mustn't faint or drop off to sleep. Do you understand?' Sherlock merely nodded, trying to gulp the painkillers Molly placed into his mouth. As Molly lifted his head to make him able to drink some water he could see her other hand shaking while holding the bottle of water. As Sherlock swallowed the pills he leaned back exhaling sharply and watched Molly intensely as she prepared and disinfected the tools for the surgery.

Slowly he felt the foggy feeling in his brain, and the pain decreased in his thigh as well. Molly managed to do everything precisely and calmly taking the necessary time .

'Now I cut your trousers off you.' She carefully eased him of his blood soaked pants. 'Then I clean the wound. This will hurt, but you have to focus on me. I will ask questions and as long as you answer I know you are conscious. You have to stay with me.' Molly sighed as she took the antiseptic gauze into her gloved hand. While she washed the surface around the wound methodically she managed to question him in an almost peaceful voice.

'What's your favourite colour?' Molly knew that this wasn't the wisest question, but now it wasn't about witty conversation. 'Sherlock, answer me!' As she demanded, Molly glanced up to his face. Sherlock winced and pushed the reply out through his teeth.

'Black.'

'Well done. What's your mother's name?'

'Elisabeth,' came the slow answer.

'Have you ever had a pet?' Sherlock gulped as Molly continued the cleaning.

'Yes.'

'What kind?'

'Dog.'

'What was it's name?'

'Red...beard.'

'Nice. Can you drive?'

'Yes.'

'Where did you firs meet John?' Molly hoped that mentioning his best friend gives Sherlock strenght to endure the pain.

'You know... lab.'

'Yes, I know. I'm not curious, just want to make you speak. What's your favorite food?'

'Convict... curry.' Sherlock hissed, Molly frowned.

'You are joking, good.' She smiled at him encouragingly. 'Who's your favourite actor?'

'I don't... stupid question...argh.'

'Now I will pull out the bullet, that will be horrible but quick.' Sherlock sucked in a breath, clenched his teeth and knuckled. Molly was fast and precise. The bullet was out in a second. Molly pushed a wick strongly on the freshly bleeding wound.

'Sherlock, are you with me?' When she was given no answer Molly repeated her question louder. 'Sherlock, are you with me?' Sherlock opened his eyes slowly and spoke in a hoarsy voice but his breathing was troubled.

'Yes...painkiller!' Molly had expected this and after pulling down her gloves she gave him another pill and water. Now Sherlock saw her hands were steady. She calmed down as she did her work. She needed to be detached and professional. It was like a kind of trance, Sherlock knew it very well.

'Now I will close the wound. It won't hurt that much, but still want to hear your voice.' Molly said as she fondled his forehead looking tenderly into his eyes. Sherlock suddenly felt calm and his heart rate became slower, his breathing less wheezy. He didn't know it was caused by the forth painkiller or Molly's gentle touch. Maybe both.

'But no stupid questions.'

'Right, tough I can't promise to have conversation about astrophysics while I am taking care of a nearly deadly wound on you.' She smiled her sweet smile again at him as she pulled on a new pair of gloves. She was beautiful, she was glowing, she was tenderness, she was safety, she was everything. Sherlock felt his eyelids became heavier as he watched Molly preparing for the last phase and smiled. Molly glanced at him and quickly leaned above him to see his pupils. They were wide.

'God, too much painkillers, your body is weaker than I thought.' Molly whispered and suddenly gave him a slap. 'Sherlock, stay with me. Stay. With. Me. You. Have. To. Focus. Sherlock!' Molly almost shouted the last words. Sherlock's eyes snapped open and slowly focused on her.

'I'm ...here.' he whispered.

Molly took the wet rug on his forehead hoping to refresh him a bit. When she went back to the wound she noted that the bleeding had reduced, so there was no serious danger of uncontrollable bleeding.

'What did you want to be when you were a little boy?'

'Pirate, Redbeard would have been be my first mate.'

Molly smiled and diffused a great amount of styptic powder in the wound.

'Who is you favourite composer?'

'Sibelius, sooooo beautiful.'

Molly applied a strong dressing, and sighed in relief.

'We are done. You'll be all right.' Molly sat back on her heels and finally after long hours she let herself relax.

'I know. You are wonderful, Molly Hooper. You are so kind, and caring and you are glittering like a star on the night..sky. You...are...an...angel...who...never...lets...me...down...I...' Sherlock spoke slower and slower with every breath.

'Yeah, definitely too much painkillers,' Molly whispered with a frown. She checked his temperature, it was lower, and he had sunk into a deep dreamless sleep. She applied a blood pressure meter on his arm to check it in every twenty minutes while he was sleeping and stood up to make herself something comfortable as a rack from the rest of the blankets. As she lay down next to him listening his steady calm breathing, Molly faced Sherlock and watched his hollow cheeks, lantern jaw, more than three-day-old stable. As she literally felt her level of adrenaline diving under the ground, her silent tears began to draw wet lines on her face chasing each other just to fall on the dirty folded blanket under her head.