A/N: Hey guys!

A few announcements before we start this:

1. (the only important one you actually have to read) this is Sherlock's POV (yet still in 3rd person) of 'The Angel in St Barts' and was requested by SammyKatz.

2. My parentals haven't changed the wifi password so I am still in the clear. This means you can send me prompts whenever the bloody hell you'd like. Just PM me or leave a review.

3. I've just recently (meaning yesterday or something) become a Beta-reader! Yay! So, heads up fellow friendlings, you may request for me to Beta-read and I will not say no because I love you!

4. Finally… oh. I don't actually think I have anything else to say… erm… yes! I have one! My tumblr is accio-feels. tumblr. com so please feel free to send me prompts via tumblr, that's also an acceptable method of sending prompts and I will always get those.

I think that is everything for today! Have a nice day!

Dedicated to SammyKatz for requesting this.

Sherlock sat in an ice-cream shop in the heart of London with John opposite him. John had his attention fixed on the lemon sorbet while Sherlock let the chocolate ice-cream roll down his fingers. At the window they sat at, their view consisted of people walking past. Sherlock enjoyed sitting at the window because he could look out and deduce people without appearing to be staring at them.

"The criminals of London need to get their act together," Sherlock grumbled before licking his chocolate ice-cream.

John rolled his eyes and looked out the window. "We could always help out with petty cases. I'm sure Lestrade would be happy to have them solved as soon as possible."

There was an audible sigh from Sherlock who gave John that look of "you'd better be joking, you fool" or as Sherlock called it "Anderson, please". With a shake of his head, he replied with: "nothing under a seven, John."

"There are no bloody sevens or higher. Just don't be a dick for three minutes and help Lestrade. It'll give you something to do," John cried before looking over at the people surrounding. A few people gave him irritated looks, especially the parents of children who were asking for a clarification on particular words used by John.

Sherlock frowned at his ice-cream and pondered while the chocolate continued to melt over his fingers. "We could visit Molly and help her out."

"Molly doesn't need help, Lestrade does. Did you not listen to anything I say?" John frowned at his friend.

Sherlock grimaced at his fingers and slowly lifted his gaze up John and stared into his eyes. "Yes, you're right. Let's visit Molly."

"You're such a prat. Do you really think Molly's going to let you in so you can stop feeling bored?"

"It's not a party until Molly Hooper is there," Sherlock told his blogger while standing up and shrugging on his coat. "Come along, John."

"You've got to wash your hands before we enter that morgue. You've already got chocolate on your coat," John informed his friend who rolled his eyes.

"Why do you always have to be so anal about everything?" Sherlock asked as he began to leave the shop.

"I am not anal-retentive. And don't go saying I'm anal to Mrs Hudson. She already thinks I'm gay," John grumbled as he followed his friend out.

Sherlock laughed to himself as he hailed a cab. John was ridiculous when it came to how he appeared to others. It wasn't anyone's business what his sexuality was.

"Saint Bart's hospital, please," Sherlock said as he crawled into the cab, John waiting for Sherlock to get comfortable before following after.

"All I'm saying, Sherlock," John said once he had closed the door and the cabbie was driving, "is that Molly isn't your lap dog. You can't just barge into her work uninvited and complain while she works. That's not how life works, Sherlock."

The consulting detective rolled his eyes and gave John that look again. "John, Molly is more than happy to let me in. And I don't sit there and complain. I help her out and she appreciates it."

John scoffed and shook his head. "She doesn't like you there when you don't have a case. She actually sent me a text requesting I kept you away when you didn't have to be there."

Sherlock decided to ignore the bloggers comment and instead, pretended to text someone.

~oOo~

"Molly," Sherlock called out as he entered the morgue.

"Can we please leave?" John asked as Sherlock looked around vaguely for the young pathologist.

"Nope." Sherlock popped the 'p' while bending down to check under the table. Why Molly would be there, he didn't know, nor did he care. "Molly!" he called out again.

"She's probably in the lab," John said and walked up stairs.

Sherlock stalked after him and looked around the room. She wasn't at her desk or using equipment. In fact, Molly was nowhere to be seen. Again, Sherlock bend down to look for the woman and what he saw had him questioning his sanity. Without a word, Sherlock stood up and walked to the body of Molly Hooper. He leaned down and held his head above hers.

"Molly. Molly. Molly!" he attempted to wake her up while John walked towards them.

The woman on the ground began to stir as she heard her name being called. Her eyes flickered open after a few seconds and Sherlock looked down into her eyes. She smiled slightly as if she wasn't in any pain.

"Molly," he said again, hoping she would talk to him while he examined the damage. He placed a hand by the side of her head and pulled back when he felt something warm on his fingers. There was a read substance, an idiot could realise what it was. "Shit. John, there's blood."

He moved back and John got moved towards her, checking her head for the trauma. For one of the first times in his life, Sherlock didn't want to see what Molly had done to herself from her clumsiness. She had tripped over a few scattered pens before spilling what tasted like brain fluid and sliding on that. She hit her head once on the bench and a second time on the ground, inflicting the blood and causing her to become unconscious. She hadn't been out long, maybe about-

"Fuck. This is terrible, Sherlock. She can't be in here and yet, we can't move her. Keep her conscious and I'll be right back." John slid his folded up jumper under Molly's head before running out of the lab.

"Molly, talk to me. You need to stay conscious."

Her eyes opened again and her smile returned. "Are you an angel?" she slurred out and lifted her hand to his cheek.

He wasn't one to lie, but he would not flinch away from Molly's touch. Not now, not today. But then she slid her hand into his hair and he had to restrain himself from pushing her away from him.

"It's Sherlock Holmes. I can assure you I am not an angel," he informed her.

Molly dropped her hand and her smile turned into a frown at his words. "Are you sure you're not an angel? No-one should be here and Sherlock doesn't need to be here today," she told him before gasping. "Am I going to die now?"

Sherlock sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Why did Molly have to be so irritating? Why are people so irritating? Where's John? "I'm not an angel and you're not going to die on my watch. John Watson, my blogger, is getting resources so as to help you. You're bleeding from the back of your head. It's really bad and it looks like it's been bleeding for a while."

Molly sighed and bit her lip. "Don't leave me, angel. I don't want to be alone."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock nodded before leaning towards her and kissing her cheek. "I won't leave you, Molly Hooper."

"I'm dying?" she asked before placing her hand on his shoulder and sliding it down his arm. Here he was trying to make her feel better and she was molesting his arm.

"Without medical attention, yes. However, there is a doctor coming to help you now." Molly tok his hand and squeezed it. Oh.

"I don't want to die .I don't want to go." Her eyes welled up and Sherlock began to get really irritated. This was not worth his time.

"Molly Hooper, you are not going to die because I've got the best man on the job of saving your life. You are going to be fine and you are going to live a full, long life. Do you understand?" he told her.

Molly screwed up her face in the ugly crying face she so often adopted when she was watching 'Glee' and she cautiously tilted her head from left to right to indicate 'no'. "I'm not going to be fine, angel. Even after this, I'm going to go home and be alone with Toby. Once again, like today, if I die, no-one's going to know. No-one will find me. No-one will care." She dropped his hand and began to cry freely.

"That's not true. You have people who care and love you." What had he signed himself up to? What was she doing? Why was she talking to him about her self-confidence issues?

Molly squeezed her eyes closed.

"Molly Hooper, come now. Do you really think I'm going to let you just die here? Do you really think no-one loves you? I need you, Molly, alright?" he poked her cheek and frowned when she didn't respond.

Dammit! She was drifting off! That was never a good sign when dealing with head trauma.

John arrived again with a team of people to help Molly. Sherlock took a step back and admired the scene as they worked on Molly on the lab floor.

~oOo~

She lay in her bed in a stable condition. It was a good thing Sherlock and John had found her when they did; any longer and she could have died. Her heartbeat and breathing rate was steady. John had taken one of the seats and looked up expectantly at Sherlock.

"Well? Aren't you going to take a seat?" he asked to which Sherlock screwed up his nose.

"I think you were right. I'll help Lestrade. He's baffled by a case, one I'll solve in seconds. I'm off," Sherlock replied and turned around to leave.

"Is that it, then? We save her life, our friend's life, and you leave the first moment you can? You're not even going to wait and talk to her?" John asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes before spinning around on the balls of his feet.

"John, there is no point. Besides, I've got a better offer than sitting around waiting for Molly to recover. She'll recover at the same, if not faster, rate if I'm not here. No reason for me to stay. Good bye, John," he said before turning around again and walking out as briskly as possible, ignoring the 'SHERLOCK!' that echoed after him.

It was hard for Sherlock to see the people he loved in pain or danger. He couldn't stand to see a gun pointed to John's head, he hated to see his mother in hospital a few years back, he hated to see Mrs Hudson after those Americans got to her. He hated seeing Molly oozing blood and looking poorly. She's the meek, shy, Molly Hooper who always had a certain bubble to her. He couldn't stand to see her bubble missing and a shell of a person remaining.

He had begun to worry for a few minutes that he was too late and Molly was about to die. But he knew Molly was a strong woman who could overcome anything, this accident being no exception.

Sherlock Holmes was not an angel but for Molly Hooper, he'd be anything she wanted.