Here's the fourth chapter! Sorry it took so long. This was a difficult chapter to write and it is a long one. Thanks goes to amirizar2003 for chatting with me about my story and about Benedict. If only you guys saw our conversation! Haha! Sorry there's no Sherlock's POV! I'm starting next chapter as his though! Enjoy!
Molly's POV
It was the day. The day when a detective who is accused of being a fake, falls to his death in a horrific suicide that will shock all of England. But they don't know that Sherlock Holmes is faking his death to save his friends. It's funny that the first time Sherlock has ever done something for someone he cares about, he has to fake his death just to do it. I now recall the last conversation me and Sherlock had. I went over the plan in my head again.
"Well. Here goes nothing," Sherlock said.
Uh…good luck, Sherlock."
"Thank you, Molly. For everything," he said and gave me a quick hug to show his gratitude. I barely got to hug him back before he pulled away again, "Okay. John will be back any moment. I need you to go out the back way and into the alley and wait. Do you have the blood?"
"Yes. It's right here," I said and opened up my lab coat to show him the packet of blood in the inner pocket, "Do you have something to use to stop your pulse?"
"Yes," he pulled a small ball out of his pocket.
"I guess that will do. Make sure you stay perfectly still."
"Of course, yes. Well…see you soon?"
"Yeah. Be careful, Sherlock," I said and gave him a small reassuring smile. I walked out quickly and sighed heavily while I walked down the hallway. I'm so nervous and I'm not even the one who has to fall to their fake death today. I hope this all goes according to plan. I stepped out into the crisp air and walked a couple of feet up the alley and waited. After about ten minutes I heard a loud pop. It made me jump and I put my hand over my heart. Sherlock told me Moriarty would most likely commit suicide himself. I tried to settle down and wait calmly for Sherlock to fall but my heart never slowed down. Another couple of minutes passed and there he was, his coat flapping in the wind. I thought I might cry but I held it back. He landed on a truck. He hit it face down and hard. Sherlock told me he made Mycroft use a big and tall truck because he had to have something that wasn't too low to the ground where he could possibly die or miss. Mycroft also hired people from Sherlock's homeless network to be on the streets in front of Bart's that day. He also told me that he had the driver put a bed up on top of the truck to cushion his fall. It wouldn't help much but it would absorb some of the impact. Sherlock rolled off the side. He had a large gash on the side of his head that was already bleeding down his face. He probably dislocated his shoulder and broke a rib or two. He only had to walk a couple of feet and he met up with me and he dropped to the ground quickly and face down. He went limp but kept his right arm tight to his side. I didn't even notice that I started to cry while I was ripping the top of the packet off with my teeth but Sherlock did. He looked at the tear running down my face one last time and then closed his eyes. Within a matter of seconds all of the blood was on the ground and in his hair. I took a bag out of my pocket and quickly put the empty packet inside, making sure not to get blood on my lab coat. I didn't know where to go or what to do so I did what any other person would do. Scream.
I screamed at the top of my lungs and put my hands over my mouth to look like I was scared. There were hospital workers outside having a smoking break. They ran over and dropped their cigarettes on the ground. Three of them went to Sherlock's body to see if he was alive. One of them came over to me. He was a nurse so he didn't recognize me and neither did anyone else. He took me inside the hospital and sat me down in the waiting room.
"You'll be alright, miss," he said and ran further into the hospital. Within a couple of seconds, he appeared again with two other doctors with a stretcher. I was unsure if they would recognize me so I put my head on my hands and pretended to cry. But I was crying. Seeing Sherlock like that was horrible. I never want to see him like that again. They passed by me and I got up and went to the mortuary. I shoved the door open, sat down with a huff, and let my head hit the table. I sat there for only a couple of seconds before I had to get up again to answer the phone.
I wiped my tears away and cleared my throat, "Hello, this is Molly Hooper."
Hey, Molly. It's Mary. I have a bit of bad news. Your friend, Sherlock Holmes, committed suicide. Jumped off of Bart's. He was dead on impact. We're bringing him down to you. Can you manage?"
"Oh, yeah. I'll be fine. I hardly knew him," I lied. That image of Sherlock "dead" on the ground will never go away, "You can bring him down to me."
"Alright," Mary said and hung up.
I waited at the door for the paramedics to wheel him down the hallway. After about a minute they were inside the mortuary with Sherlock. As he rolled past me I looked at him carefully. He wasn't moving. I didn't even see his eyes move under his eyelids that were peeking out under the sheet. He's good at playing dead.
All of the other hospital staff had left except for Mary. She woke me out of my thoughts. Apparently I was staring at him, "Molly are you all right?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. It's not every day you get to do an autopsy on a celebrity."
Mary gave out a small laugh and then left. I walked slowly up to Sherlock. I pulled the sheet down off to his chest.
"Sherlock?" I asked quietly.
He didn't move again, "Sherlock?"
He opened his eyes hesitantly, "Is anyone here?"
I sighed heavily, "No they're all gone. Why didn't you answer me the first time?"
"I was making sure they all left."
"Sherlock, I wouldn't start talking to a 'dead' body if they were still here," I said and used air quotes with my hands.
"Right," he said while trying to get up quickly. He slammed back into the table.
"You've got a large gash on your head, you've broken two ribs, and you've dislocated your shoulder. How about you try sitting up slowly this time."
He used his left arm to lift himself up and I pushed on his back softly. He finally sat managed to sit up with a soft grunt. He swung his legs off and dangled them off of the side. I started with his head wound. It was on the right side of his face and was about 3 inches long from his eyebrow down to his cheek. I wiped off of the blood that was now trailing down his neck and cleaned the wound. I grabbed a large piece of gauze and taped it on his face gently making sure not to hurt him.
"Now for your shoulder. I'll-"
He reached up to his right shoulder and popped it back into place. He let out a muffled grunt and sighed heavily.
"Okay. Or you could. Um… I need you to take off your clothes so I can wrap up your ribs."
"Yes of course," he said and hopped off of the table and grunted again. He stood hunched. He tried taking off of his coat but he couldn't so I stood in front of him and took off the right side carefully and walked around him and took off the left side. I set his coat on the back of the chair and did the same with his scarf. He was wearing that purple shirt again. Oh, god. Sherlock Syndrome. I stood in front of him again, "Do you need me to help you with your shirt too."
"I'm afraid so," he said with an awkward smile.
I reached up slowly and grabbed the first button my hands shaking.
"Molly?"
"Yeah?" I said not looking up at him.
"Calm down."
"I'm just nervous, you faking your death and all," I lied and laughed nervously.
"All right then," he said and looked away from me.
I sighed heavily but not loud enough for him to hear me. I grasped the top button again with confidence. It came loose and so did the next one. I got down to the final buttons and walked around him, untucking his shirt. I released the final button and pulled it off slowly on his right side and pulled the rest of it off on his left side. I walked out and went to the same storage room again and grabbed some injury wrap. Once I got to the door I walked to it slowly and breathed in and out, calming myself down and opened the door. He was still standing there in the same spot, unmoved. I walked over and stopped in front of him, staring into his icy blue eyes. I quickly looked at anywhere else. I took the wrap and started on his stomach. My fingers occasionally grazed his cold skin as I walked around him. He shivered and flinched whenever I did and I gave a curt sorry. I had walked around about 10 times. I did it in a figure eight motion. I learned that from a doctor who wrapped up my brother's ribs up a few years back. He said that would give the person's ribs more support.
"Why'd you do it like that?"
"It gives your ribs extra support."
"Oh," he said and stared down at me.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said and motioned to me to help him with his shirt and coat. I almost forgot his scarf. I snatched it off of the table and stood on my tiptoes tying it expertly around his neck. Our faces were barely four inches away from each other. I brought my feet back down. I turned around and took my lab coat off and put my coat on and grabbed my bag. I turned around and asked,"So where will you be staying?"
"Your flat, of course."
"What?"
"Where else do you expect me to go? Don't worry. I won't get too bored that I do experiments on your cat while you're at work. Well…I can't really promise that, can I?" he gave me a short smile and walked past me and out the door.
There it is! That was very difficult for me. This is a conglomeration of all of the Reichenbach theories i've heard. Please review and tell me if something is wrong!
