A/N: I don't know how, but this chapter got really long. I will warn you, it's a bit tense and some medical jargon got in there somehow. Anyway I hope you like it and thanks for reading!
"I'll find out the source of the bio—" Sherlock shut the door before Mycroft could finish his sentence. People in hazmat suits were ushering crowds away from the hospital entrance but he didn't hesitate to boulder his way through them.
"Sherlock, wait!" John ran to catch up with him, apologizing profusely as he jumped over the men Sherlock had knocked to the ground in his haste to get to the building. He finally caught up just as they got to the lower level.
They both faltered upon seeing the morgue entrance doors marked with the dripping letters.
Sherlock could hear his own blood roaring in his ears as he walked closer as he banged the doors open. He whirled around desperately trying to find her when he saw the blood peaking out of a corner of the table across the room. As he walked closer, his heart sank as when her limp hand came into view.
"Jesus Christ," John whispered.
Molly was laying on her side with her head resting on her outstretched arm. Rivers of blood were flowing from deep cuts on her wrist and expanded to the already large pool of blood around her. Time seemed to stop for Sherlock as he looked at her. Her normally rosy cheeks were deathly pale. He didn't want to, but he could feel himself retreating far from the scene and wasn't aware that John was talking until he received a hard punch.
"Sherlock! Get a grip. I need you to call Mycroft to get medics in here now!" John then grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the nearby shelf and was slowly turning Molly to lie on her back. The resonating pain on his cheek pulled him back to reality and he wasted no time dialing his brother.
"Get medics to the morgue now. Molly's bleeding out." He was surprised how calm he sounded for he was anything but that.
"Sherlock! I need your help." John looked down to see Molly's eyes flutter open. Sherlock was at his side immediately, trying his best not to calculate how much blood she had already lost. Almost a litre, his treacherous mind concluded.
"Molly? Molly can you hear me? You need to stay awake for me alright?" John looked up.
"Are they coming?" Sherlock nodded as he knelt beside them. "Good, keep her arms up, we need to slow down the blood loss." John quickly inspected the rest of her body for other injuries before focusing back on her wrists.
"Shit, they must have cut through to her artery. Put pressure on her left while I do the same on the right. Wait!" John suddenly bellowed. He grabbed the extra pair of gloves and handed it to him
"Here, put on a glove before you touch her wound. Not sterile enough but it'll have to do."
Sherlock nodded as he followed the doctor's instructions. It was all he could do to just focus on that and not her shallow breath and dead cold skin.
The three minutes it took for the paramedics and doctors felt like an eternity. Sherlock never hated his mind as much as he did then. Endless memories, scenarios and regrets surrounding his pathologists plagued his conscious. Nothing tortured him as much as the guilt and regret for what was happening to her; guilt for not taking her uncharacteristic call seriously, and regret for letting it get this bad.
He noted he faint heart beat pulsing against his palm and was receding into his mind palace when he felt Molly's hand tense slightly. She must have done the same for her other hand as John too turned to look down at her.
"I'm O—" she gasped.
"Molly please, don't try to speak" John urged. "Help will be here right away." But Molly shook her head slightly and struggled on.
"H…Bom—" She couldn't finish her next words before losing consciousness. Almost immediately, her pulse though, weak began to race.
"Molly?" John asked. "She's going into shock. I'll hold the other arm. Raise her feet, now!" At the moment the paramedics ran in with a gurney prepared.
John was jogging opposite the gurney as he rattled his update to the attending doctor. "We found almost unconscious on the floor. The vertical slits on her wrists may have cut through to her radial arteries. She was probably bleeding for about half an hour—"
"At least thirty seven," Sherlock corrected distractedly. He was trying to understand what Molly had been saying. It must have taken a lot of effort to spend her last lucid thoughts on her words.
"O-H, Bom…" he mouthed. Come on, he chastised himself. Think, think!
They had arrived at the A&E by then. John glanced at Sherlock before continuing.
"Right, and her radial arteries have been cut. She's showing early signs of shock and She's going to need immediate blood transfusion." It wasn't until Sherlock saw the nurses set up the blood bags that it clicked.
"No, stop, STOP!" Sherlock reached to stop them from inserting the IV.
"Sherlock what the hell are you doing!" John screamed as he tugged him back.
"It's going to be incompatible! She's an OH blood type."
The nurse froze at his words and looked to the doctor for instructions. The doctor stared at Sherlock as he continued to explain.
"O-H. Bombay blood group. She was trying to say that earlier."
The doctor eyed him carefully before instructing the other nurse beside him. "Go check the BloodTrack for OH blood supplies."
"Doctor," the paramedic called, "She's going into hypovolemic shock."
"Dammit. Get her more oxygen and set up the bore IV lines and prepare for recussitation."
"She's lost too much blood, her organs are failing' he updated..
Sherlock knew almost the second what the doctor was going to do next.
"No—" he croaked.
"Isn't Miss Hooper registered as an O type?" The paramedic nodded nervously. "Then give her the O negative. Get inflammatory drugs and steroids on standby just in case start the deliberator. "
"She could die—"
The doctor turned to them. "You two thank you but please get out!"
"Sherlock let them do their job!" John bellowed as he dragged the agitated consulting detective out of the A&E.
Sherlock didn't wait until they got to the waiting room before he turned on John.
"How could you let them make that decision!"
John sighed, "If she is an OH—"
"She is!" He spat. " And you know that's what she was trying to say."
"Fine but Barts most certainly won't have her type on standby."
"But provoking a hemolytic reaction in her state might—"
"Kill her, I know" John said wearily. "I don't like it either but she most certainly was going to die without the blood. There would have been no point going on without it."
Sherlock was still glaring at him. John could see it was really tearing him up but he had to hear it.
"Sherlock, you don't understand the kind of pressure you get in there. It was a life or death situation and it was his call. Let's just hope she they control the effects before a supply comes in."
Hope. Sherlock deflated at that word. Such a painful sentimental state of unknowing.
"She's going to be fine," John reassured. Sherlock could hear uncertainty in his voice but chose not to acknowledge it. Mary and Mycroft turned around the corner to meet them.
"How is she?" Mary asked apprehensively.
Sherlock walked away as John explained what happened. Mycroft watched him sit on a bench across the hallway, eyes shut, and hands cradling his head. He walked up to him, umbrella in hand.
"Don't," Sherlock's voice cracked. "Say. A word."
The Elder Holmes nodded before taking the seat next to his brother and remained silent.
The hospital was coming back to life around them as the last few patients and staff members were allowed back in. But Sherlock didn't notice. There was only one life in that hospital he cared about. And it was dying.
A/N: I love too much drama. Sorry, if I'm agitating any readers. I didn't realize this was going to be so medical-ish until I started writing the dialogues out, and I'm anal about technicalities and had to stop myself from going into too much detail. I kind of feel bad for putting them through this. Don't hate me yet okay?
Notes about some words I used:
BloodTrack is a blood management system used in the UK. I just assumed Barts would use it to.
Hypovolemic shock happens when there is sever blood loss and organs are starting to fail.
The hemolytic reaction that Sherlock mentions is a blood transfusion reaction that takes place when the blood is incompatible and the body's immune system is reacting badly to it. It can show up within minutes of transfusion and is scary to deal with. In this case Molly has the rare OH blood type which can't receive any blood from the ABO blood group. People with her blood type are often mistaken for being a type O.
