She hadn't seen him since the day John Watson had dragged him into her lab, Mary and Billy Wiggins in tow, and insisted she run his urine for drugs. She had sent John into the bathroom with him to make sure he actually gave a sample - it wouldn't surprise her in the least if Sherlock kept warm pee on him to pass drug tests when he was using.
But of course he'd failed her drug test...failed it spectacularly. The last she saw of him was when he and John slunk out of the lab after she'd slapped him and yelled at him. Of course he'd picked that moment to comment on her lack of engagement ring. Even high as a kite, he'd observed. She hadn't told him she'd given it back, she hadn't seen him since before she did. She'd wanted to talk to him about it, but no, it all had to happen the way it did.
Now? Now he was six floors up, having been shot. Sherlock Holmes had been shot. He'd flatlined twice. Sherlock Holmes was too stubborn to die, she scoffed. They weren't letting anyone into his room to see him. He was still sedated. Being a doctor had its upsides, though, and she knew she could get in. She could see with her own eyes that he was still alive.
She forced herself to finish her shift. From the nurses' gossip she overheard throughout the day, they were going to keep him sedated at least until tomorrow. There was nothing to gain by rushing up there. The later she waited, the better chance of missing the nurses on their rounds, who would undoubtedly refuse her entrance.
It was around 8:00 when she finally showered and changed back into her street clothes, then took the elevator up to the floor Sherlock was being kept on. She made her way down to his room. Peeking in, she saw he was alone. She stepped in, and stood by his bedside.
He looked almost peaceful, despite the tubes and wires attached to him. She seldom ever saw Sherlock completely still, much less sleeping. She stood at his bedside for a few moments, then reached out and took his hand.
"Sherlock, you're going to pull through this. You're going to pull through this and we're going to figure out what the hell is going on between us because we have wasted. So. Much. Time." Tears tumbled out of her eyes down her face as she gently squeezed his hand. "I don't know what "this" is, or what we should do about it but I am done not doing anything. I can't lose you before we figure out why you keep showing up to my house when you're upset, why we cuddle and watch telly and act like best friends, but we can't take that final step. I know you don't know how to deal with your feelings but this is too much. I can't lose you like this, with things left unsaid, unfinished."
Molly stood there a few more moments, long enough for Mycroft Holmes to quietly walk away from his spot in the doorway. He hadn't heard everything Molly Hooper had said to his little brother, but he'd heard most of it.
Molly collapsed on the sofa as soon as she got home. The idea of getting ready for bed was too exhausting, and she pulled the quilt off the the back of the couch over her. She'd sleep here, where she'd napped so many times in Sherlock's nap, or against his shoulder. He'd be working on his phone, or his laptop, and she'd pass out watching telly or reading a book. It was comforting.
Just as she got settled in, however, there was a knock at the door. Molly bolted out of bed. Who would be here? If it were about Sherlock, surely someone would call? But what if he was...dead? They wouldn't want her to be alone when she got the news. Her mind was spinning as she threw open the front door to see Mycroft Holmes standing there.
"My-mycroft." said Molly, stepping back to let him in.
"I'm just going to be a moment, Miss. Hooper."
"Doctor" corrected Molly automatically.
"Doctor, yes. Dr. Hooper, I couldn't help but overhear you talking to my brother today."
"Oh. Um, I thought I was alone."
Mycroft smiled a condescending smile at her. "Yes, I know. Have you been seeing a lot of my brother?"
Molly blinked. "He gets lonely, with John living with Mary now. He comes over. Most of the time he works and I watch telly and half the time I fall asleep. I don't know that I'd call it 'seeing', as such."
Mycroft nodded. "My brother is a troubled man, Dr. Hooper."
Molly laughed at this, the ridiculousness of the statement overpowering any fear she had of Mycroft Holmes. "Mr. Holmes, you are not telling me anything I don't already know."
Mycroft nodded, then picked up his umbrella from where he'd propped it against the wall just outside the door. "Dr. Hooper, I try to stay out of my brother's ...personal affairs. Just know what you're getting into."
Molly could feel her blood begin to boil. She tried to hold her composure as she glared at Mycroft. "I've known your brother for over four years, and I have "gotten into" plenty already. Or did you forget that I was the one that falsified his death records, who put her career on the line to protect him. I'm the one who stole a CORPSE and threw it out a window. So don't tell me about what kind of trouble your brother could get me in, because I have been there, Mr. Holmes. Now if you don't mind, we've both had a long, emotional day and I'd like to sleep before I get up and go back to St. Barts."
Mycroft stared at her for a moment, then spoke, almost to himself. "It appears that my brother's pathologist is a lot stronger than I expected. Just be careful, Dr. Hooper. I've known my brother since the day he was born, and even I keep him at arm's length." He turned, at this, and walked away, not looking back.
Molly stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him go, and then turned and closed the door. It seemed that when one Holmes brother was too incapacitated to complicate her life, the other one was more than capable of stepping in.