*** I do not own any of these characters. Except for Joaquin Norfleet. Dearest Molly can never have just a single moment of uninterrupted happiness. Can she heal Sherlock's wounds? Will it be enough to make him see how much molly loves him? And what exactly does he smell like? Reviews are appreciated! ***
6
I dart over to the couch where Sherlock is sitting perfectly unfazed as blood rushes down the side of his head.
'it's just a scratch. It's of no consequence. Where were you?" He says as I gingerly inspect his wound.
"Sherlock, I need to stitch you up or else you're going to go into shock," I say trying to keep my voice from sounding as panicked as I feel.
I rush into ,y bathroom to grab my medical kit and come back to the living room. I grab Sherlock's arm and gently guide him to the kitchen table. I clean up the gash and am relieved to see that it's not very deep but he goes along the entire side of his head. It takes several stitches to close it up. Sherlock didn't even flinch once. I cover the whole thing in plaster and go to the sink to clean my hands and my tools.
"You're humming," he says in a tired voice.
I turn around to examine his clothes. He's covered in blood.
"Give me your clothes and I'll run them through the wash." I say as I put my medical supplies away. I'd assumed he'd walk to the bathroom but he began to unbutton his shirt right there in the kitchen. I turned around and busied myself with a few dishes. The number of times I was temped to turn around was almost too much to handle. I finally hear him clear his throat. I was relieved to see him in his dressing gown as he held out his bloody clothes to me. After putting them in the wash, I returned to the kitchen to feed Toby before bed. Sherlock was still sitting at the kitchen table.
"Where were you?" he asked as I was pouring the cat food into Toby's bowl.
"I was putting your clothes in the wash…" I answered, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Before you came back to the flat," he said with a frustrated sigh.
"I, uh, I was out having drinks with a friend," I said, shifting uneasily under his gaze.
"Obviously," he said rolling his eyes.
Something in me snapped.
"Well what the bloody hell are you asking me for then? And speaking of 'where were you,' why don't you tell me what in the hell you've been the last couple days? You didn't even send me a single text. You could have been dead. I was so worried, I was-" the tears became to strong to hold back and I began to sob. All the worry of the last few days and the fear that shook me the moment I saw him covered in blood, all of it hit me at once. I was shaking and sobbing standing in the middle of my kitchen. Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to calm down but I only cried harder. I nearly jumped when I felt two arms wrap around me. I buried my head into Sherlock's chest, his dressing gown was slightly open and I could feel the skin of his chest against my face, and I let the tears flow out. I'd been such a mess for so long that I needed to just cry it all out. It felt good. It felt like a cathartic release of everything single thing I had bottled up. Not just for the past couple days but for months of Sherlock in my home and the unrequited feelings I had for him before that. I eventually stopped crying and pulled myself together. I stepped away from Sherlock's arms.
"Thank you," I said nodding and keeping my tone calm.
"Molly, I-"
"Don't ruin it," I added turning around and going into my room.
The second I closed my bedroom door behind me, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He smelled even better than I had ever imagined.