Sherlock wakes up to the fact that many of the relationships he had, as he had known them, have changed irremediably… And to the physical consequences of his actions.
It must be the tension in his back what woke him up from a night of sleep that felt thick and pitch black, as tar. He winces at the light that is coming through the drapes. Well, it's not just his back, but his whole body that reminds him the events of the day before. He just turned in the bed, but stood laying down. Usually, he was able to fight all that back with pure determination: "It's just transport". But not this time. All of a sudden, he felt too old for this —he had just finished recovering after the Smith case, which built up over the drug abuse that started after Magnussen, which was just the final point after a previous lengthy recovery at the hospital, after being shot… by Mary. Oh, God, he missed her. She had traded his appoint in Samarra for hers, in the end, but that does not mean that him hadn't been feeling himself too close to death lately.
The night he spent walking with his sister, when she posed as Faith, came to mind. How many of his deductions about her had been built and predicted by her, and which ones had hit the mark? Self-harm marks, suicidal, living in isolation, no human contact, no visitors. She cut herself as a child, now he knows. Living in a closed cell, in an island prison just taken out of one of those spy movies John was so keen on. Was she suicidal? What would have happened if he was so high that he couldn't spot the gun in her purse? Would she have killed herself? Had she planned another death that night, one he avoided by walking out with her? He even took her for fish and chips. She had liked him… And he felt strangely comfortable with her. They had shared jokes. She had a twisted sense of humour, and she detected the cracks that sentiment made in his deductions. "You think sweetly". "You are nicer than anyone". He shook his head, tried to recompose and sat up in the bed.
He decided to make an inventory of his physical state, even if it was just to take his mind out of racing in circles around every single bit of information he had gotten the day before. Head: a little heavy, with some pounding in the temples. Nothing to worry about. His face felt stiff, and his jaw was tight. Shook his head again and decided to put his feet down to the floor. His clothes were crumpled after being wear for more than 30 hours, and used for sleeping. Before standing up, he rolled his head, softly, just to release some tension from his neck and his upper back.
As soon as he stood in front of his wardrobe and tried to unbutton his shirt, he found out that his hands were in a pretty rough shape. His fingers were swollen, and he could hardly bend the 5th finger on both hands, as well as the 4th in his right hand. The ulnar border of his hands was reddish, but the hypothenar eminence had already started to show purple spots, and it was worse on his dominant one. "Probable damage to the muscular structure, as well as the superficial tissue. I don't think any bones are broken, though". He also noticed a couple of splints under the skin of his left hand. It would be advisable to get those out, but his dominant hand was in no state to help with that, as it was a precision work. He looked at them as if they were not his own, almost fascinated by the amount of damage he had managed to make to them, inadvertently.
Of course. That happened when he smashed the coffin, after being forced to severe his ties with Molly Hooper. Yes, he was aware that asking her for those words mean that their relationship was damaged. Probably over. He had tiptoed around that fact (Molly's love for him) for a long time —after the deduction during that bloody Christmas party, most likely. Before that, he just thought she had a very useful crush on him, one he had played once and again on his favor. After deducing her outfit, her makeup and her gift, and watching her sorrowful face calling him out for "always saying such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always…" things changed. Even when he wasn't a man of sentiment, she has never been nothing but nice to him. He had known he had broken her heart at that exact moment, and he knew he would never allow himself to do that in the future.
She had become the only one (apart from his brother) who knew about The Fall. He found himself thinking about her whereabouts during his two years out, and came back to ask here on a "play date" (those had been Mycroft's words). She was the first woman he had invited to have chips, and that thought brought a sad smile to his face. She and his sister… Fish and chips was his go-to comfort food, a childish gesture, a peace offering. Molly had a boyfriend, though, and thus Sherlock decided to give a little step backwards. However, they grew closer, and became friends of sorts in a way that felt totally different from the excitement and the adrenaline and that "keeping me straight" thing that John was —she was the person he searched for to "rest his head". With John having his own domestic life, planning a wedding, and becoming increasingly less admiring of Sherlock, he found it easier each time to talk with Molly during any work he had in St. Bart's lab. He asked her about social clues. She was the first person who knew about him being John's best man, and helped him with a book recommendation or two. Just an innocent friendship, but such a haven… But then the 'relapse' happened.
It started as the easiest way to attract Magnussen's attention. However, he didn't imagine the effect that would cause in Molly. She wasn't supposed to find out in the lab… In his plan, she would have heard rumours, would have asked him and he would have dismissed it, downplaying its importance if necessary. She had been useful for confirmation, though. And he had learned that she was no longer engaged —information that he stored in a specific space of his mind, even when he wasn't really sure why. She had been so crossed about it…
He winced, as his mind got back to the task of unbuttoning with his damaged fingers. It took a lot of time, but he was stubborn. He should get a shower. Were the water pipes working after the explosion? His mind ran the simulation: water pipes might be working, but gas pipes must be off. So water, but freezing. After Serbia, he was grateful of whatever he could get. However, today he wasn't in the mood or state for that. He would prepare a bag and go to John's place, where he could have hot water, a good friend by his side… And little Rosie. Had his sister been that small? Had he? Seemed impossible, but they must have been that little, that innocent. Even Eurus should have been, at that point.
He decided to wear just comfortable, easy to put clothes, the kind that he used to sulk around when he was in a bad mood… or to be undercover. Got undressed as fast as he could with his stiff hands, and dressed up in Shezzer's attire; it felt completely out of character, but he couldn't possibly use any of his suits or shirts with his hands in that state. Freezing water might be good for reducing the swelling, he thought. So, he walked to the bathroom, fighting the door and the faucet, and letting water flow freely. It stinged a little, but it also started numbing the worst of it. He closed his eyes. Images of yesterday came flooding through the doors of his mind palace: Moriarty's videos. Eurus' face in the screen. The touch of her hands, so thin and cold. The Governor shooting himself. Mycroft shaking, after the tension of having to kill a man with his own hands. Mycroft's face as he learned Sherlock would have to shoot either John or him. John's soldier stance. "We are soldiers today". John helping him stand up after the… vivisection. And Molly, crying in the screen but with a firm, commanding voice on the phone. He had known she loved him for years. Knowing that the constant care about her well-being, the need of amending things with her that accompanied him even in his drug induced delusions, and his constant worry about what she thought about him was also called "love" was what came as a complete surprise to him. To learn it at the same time he was damaging their relationship irreparably…
The ping of his phone took him out from his thoughts. Mycroft had sent a message. "Talked with Dr. Hooper. She is taking care of Victor. Should pay a visit". Big Brother had been watching over him, as always. He shook his hands dry and prepared to have a terribly uncomfortable time, again.
Author's Note: This chapter owes so much to the wonderful transcripts of Transcripts by Ariane DeVere ( .com). As for the anatomical references, I had to search for them, just because I didn't think Sherlock's mind would be thinking about "little fingers" and "outer border of hands" or "lower side of the palm, below the pinky" (that's why I numbered the fingers and what "ulnar border" and "hypotenar eminence" mean, so I learned something new). Feel free to comment, every review is appreciated.