Our share of smiles and frowns


Gunshots rang through the building.

"Molly-!"

There was a terrific crash, followed by gunshot, seconds later, another rang out.

John crouched over the pathologist, pressing the scarf Mrs. Hudson had knitted him just under her right breast. Some distance from them another body lay, groaning. John knew Sherlock would thank him for not killing the man. A dead man couldn't answer questions. For now, the shooter was incapacitated, quite unable to move. John turned to Molly, gently moving her so she was flat on her back.

"Stay with me, Molly, can you hear me?" John's voice was almost calm, though fear was in his eyes.

"Mm here," her voice was soft.

"We'll get an ambulance here for you-"

"Yes," she blinked slowly, feeling her strength draining, pain throbbing all over her body. In the distance she heard footsteps.

"Stay awake, Molly," John's voice was steady and urgent, almost jarring to the white peace that seemed to overtake her. "Listen to me, state your name, rank- er, job, where do you work?"

"Molly Hooper," she murmured. "Forensic pathologist, St. Bartholomew's." The footsteps had stopped nearby. In the back of her mind, she supposed it was Sherlock.

Sherlock had heard the shots and came running, finding John speaking softly to Molly, scarf pressed over the gunshot wound.

"Family?" John was trying to keep her awake as he pulled open an emergency kit in his messenger bag he carried with him.

"No…" her eyes were dull and she felt listless. "No family…" she blinked, looking over to Sherlock. "I could've had one…" John glanced up to the Consulting Detective. Sherlock did not look at his friend; he kept his gaze on Molly.

"Listen to John, do as he says and stay awake."

"Do my best," she murmured. "Mm cold though."

"I know, we'll sort that soon," John said.

"I'll stay still, I promise…"

"Good, keep talking, tell me about the last autopsy you performed, every detail, come on, was a man, wasn't it?"

"Yes…Gerald Fuller…male…"

It all became hazy after that. She was sure she'd heard sirens in the distance, and somewhere Greg had come around, pulling the man who'd shot her to his feet, sparing no rough treatment. She recalled EMT's bending over her, shining more lights in her eyes.

Hours Later…

The first thing she realized was that she was finally warm, cozily so. No fever, that was good. Molly blinked, opening her eyes properly. Carefully turning her head, she saw a figure slumped over in a chair.

"John?" she murmured. The figure jerked awake with a start.

"Molly!" It was Sherlock, and she found herself smiling. She would expect John to sit at her bedside, but finding Sherlock doing so was rather a pleasant surprise. "I convinced John to fetch a cup of tea for himself. He needed it."

"How long have I been out of it?" she asked.

"A little over two days."

"Two days?!"

"Steady," he gently pushed her back down on the bed, looking at the monitor displaying her vitals. "You lost a good deal of blood, it was uncertain for quite some time if you'd come through."

"Oh…" she murmured. "Why are you here?" He blinked.
"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, I thought you'd need that case solved, you'd find another pathologist."

"I only have one, and she's rather incapacitated at the moment," he replied with a small grin.

"I knew it," she said.

"What?"

"You only want me for my bodies," she almost laughed then, had the morphine not been wearing off. Sherlock offered a grin at her joke, and she decided the pain of laughter was almost worth seeing him smile. "How is John?" she asked.

"Quite worried for you," Sherlock replied. "Mary and I had to convince him to let someone else have a chance to look after you."

"Why?" she asked. "It wasn't his fault I was shot." A figure at the doorway made them pause. John, looking worse for wear, stepped in the door.

"Sherlock, the tests on what the shooter was on came through. You're wanted down in the lab."

"Molly is awake," Sherlock announced before turning for the door. "I'll be downstairs," he swept past John, fairly skipping with delight, quite certain of the results of the tests.

"How are you feeling?" John asked.

"Better," Molly replied. "Well…better than I was two days ago," she sobered. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

"I should have known better," he said. "I shouldn't have let you go first."

"I went ahead of you, because you wanted to look around some more, and I was impatient," Molly countered. "He would have shot the both of us. Besides its better that I was shot. What would I do against a man with a gun? I don't know how to shoot," she made to sit up but John stopped her, finding the remote for the bed. He helped her drink, the cool water soothing her parched throat. "Anyway," she said, once settled. "You handled things very well, you shot the criminal, whoever he was, without killing him, and you dialed for the EMT's and kept me awake. I'd say you did very well." She reached for his hand, squeezing gently. "So stop blaming yourself. If I had to be shot, I'm glad you were there to take care of me." John smiled a little then.

"Sherlock wouldn't stop boasting that nobody else could take a bullet like you," he said, and then almost laughed, shaking his head. "He paced the hallway for the better half of the first night. We were all worried, but I think he took it harder," John was quiet. "I don't know what we'd do if you didn't pull through, Molls."

"How's Mary?" she asked, embarrassed.

"Taking it all like a pro, she only sobbed for the better half of an hour when she first saw you after surgery," John smiled a little, and Molly knew he was only half-lying. "She's been reading to you, and keeps insisting if you don't wake up she'll steal all your good yarn." Molly laughed at that.

In a little while, John remembered to text Mary, who came over right away, bearing flowers, a box of chocolates, and celebrity gossip magazines.

"It's been ages since anyone's smiled in here," Mary said, and Molly looked around, even Sherlock was smiling, well, for him it was smiling. She supposed to everyone else it looked like a grimace.

"I wish I'd felt more like staying awake," Molly said. "I'd rather visit with everyone than rest."

"You rest, I'll read, and when you wake up again, we'll tell you how Greg played good cop, bad cop with your shooter," Mary said. Obediently, Molly shut her eyes while Mary opened up a magazine. Sleepily, she giggled as Mary scoffed and complained at the latest gossip until she slipped back into unconsciousness, pleased that her friends were nearby.