Sherlolly Fanfiction - New Order
Chapter 4 - I Shall Obey
Sherlock hadn't moved at all. He was still trying to work out what had just happened. Moriarty had said something about 'Hell'. There had been a bang. Why was Molly standing like that? What was she doing with the gun? Why was Moriarty on the floor? Why was the smell and colour of blood assaulting his senses?
Molly hadn't moved either.
She still held the gun out in front of her, except now her hand was shaking violently.
She cried.
Sherlock's head snapped to her. The look of horror and disbelief as he finally believed the evidence in front of him.
He looked at the gun and Molly's quivering hands dropped it to the floor.
Sherlock moved to pick up the pistol and then guided the weeping doctor back to his side.
He tightened the coat around her, put the weapon in his back pocket and then they silently left the room.
The silence was unnerving until Sherlock told the cabbie where to take them.
"221b Baker Street. Please."
"Sherlock...Why are we...?...why am I...?...I thought that-" she spluttered.
"No. You are coming back with me. Do you really think you'd like to be alone after what just happened? Also, I need to get you patched up. I have a first aid kit."
He sounded shaken as he settled down in the cab - not as much as Molly, nevertheless you could hear it - but he also sounded strangely triumphant by the fact that he owned a first aid kit.
Oh, the wonders of the modern world.
The cab stopped and Sherlock helped Molly out. Unsure whether she'd be able to make it all the way to 221b without buckling over, they walked side by side, with his hand supporting her around her waist and he made sure that her arms was over his shoulders.
Molly trod as far as she could with no shoes, without making a fuss. That was until Sherlock insisted on making a fuss.
There was a perfectly placed puddle right outside 221b, just the right width so you couldn't go around it. She had planned to hop over it. However, it seemed that Mr. Holmes had other ideas when he pulled her, extremely awkwardly, in front of his face, they were practically nose to nose and Sherlock held her under the armpits like a three year old being picked up by it's dad. Molly was so much shorter than Sherlock that her feet merely dangled, disgracefully, in midair, until she was plonked back down, the other side of the threshold.
Neither of them knew what to say. They just sort of shuffled and shoved their hands in their pockets, mumbling 'thank you's and 'Its fine's.
Sherlock turned, hurriedly, up the stairs and Molly followed after closing the open door and shrugging off the heavy coat.
He had left the door of the flat open.
It was very quiet and very messy. You could tell that John hadn't been round for a while to clean things up and he would never let Mrs Hudson touch his things.
She walked through to the kitchen where Sherlock has cleared a space on the table in the centre and he had placed the first aid kit he was so proud of, near him on the left side.
He gestured for her to sit in the chair that he had pulled round in front of him; he was already assessing the wounds.
Antiseptic. Possible stitches - he would need to get a closer look - if not, a plaster would suffice. She would also need bruise cream for the bruise on her right cheek and some ibuprofen for the headache that was imminent.
Sherlock also thought that they wouldn't go amiss with him either.
Molly seated herself on the chair, then he set to work, breaking out the antiseptic wipes.
Molly winced when he first touched the cuts, but then the pain subsided and she began feeling thankful that her wounds weren't fatal and also for that fact it was Sherlock who was tending to them. For lots of reasons.
"Do you want me to put some of that on your bruises?" Molly asked, quietly, when he squirted a small amount onto his finger and began applying it to the tender area on her cheek.
"...no...I think I can manage well enough by myself." He replied, looking at Molly as if she was mad.
"But you can't see-"
"I do own a mirror."
Molly blushed, realising that she could have saved him a lot of work and herself a lot of awkwardness.
"Shit. Sorry. I didn't realise - I mean - um...I just...I didn't think." Molly apologized, looking away as he touched her cheek again.
"What are you sorry for?" Sherlock asked, stopping and putting the bottle of cream back on the table.
"I could have saved you a lot of time and effort if I hadn't been stupid enough to think of the existence of mirrors."
"No. I don't mind. I was going to put stitches in so thats why I initially did it. I don't recommend putting stitches in yourself. Especially with your hand shaking like yours." He looked to Molly's hand which had only a slight tremor, but obviously enough to stop her from performing simple medical procedures.
"Also. I want to. It's the least I can do."
Molly smiled gently at Sherlock. He smiled briefly back, then carried on dabbing her face and finishing with the final flourish of a plaster on the deeper cut on her forehead. They shared a small laugh and both downed two pills of ibuprofen each.
Sherlock glided back into the living room; Molly had more trouble getting there, carefully avoiding random piles of books, lab equipment, a blowtorch (was it considered a fire hazard if it wasn't plugged in?), and at one point, a violin which she thought looked remarkably like a Stradivarius, but couldn't possibly be. He wouldn't leave that on the floor.
He quietly slumped back into his, worn, black, low-slung chair, and his arms bounced up into his default thinking position.
His eyes closed and Molly perched herself carefully on the arm of 'John's chair'. She didn't think that he would like her to sit there.
She was wrong apparently.
"Unless you have some aversion or allergy to Joh - that chair, I think you'd find it more comfortable if you sat in it."
He still had his eyes closed. How did he do that? Molly didn't question, she just did as he asked and sat - or rather sunk - into the armchair.
After a long silence, in which Molly just stared at Sherlock, he piped up;
"Molly?" He questioned, she looked at him, "Would you like to dance with me?"