Chapter 6, Part 2: Just by a Thread
The ride to the hospital came in waves and patches; Molly was in and out of consciousness, the EMT's trying to stop the bleeding, to get a transfusion. She was rushed to the operating room and there was more hurrying: to get the metal out, to get the IV in, to get the crash cart- her body seized as her heart faltered and stopped, the strain and the blood loss too much for it. Then there was a high whine and a shock and a jolt. Then -pain-. All was pain. The surgeons finally took mercy on her and put her under, carefully monitoring her heartbeat and oxygen levels, taking her pulse, giving her blood and fluids as they patched her up.
Sherlock was adrift in darkness, limbs so heavy that he had no hope of moving at all. He struggled, terrified he was finally drowning, dying, so when he saw the light, he fought tooth and nail to avoid it, even as it pulled him back into his body, gasping in his hospital bed, thrashing and yelling as the nurses came in to restrain him.
The dark was warm and comforting. Molly smiled in her sleep. Then there was a light...a pinprick at first, but growing stronger as she reached it. It was lovely...she wanted to go, to walk into it, to get out of the dark. But something was wrong...there was something here that wasn't with the light. Sherlock... her mind said. If you go, you'll leave Sherlock. And that...no, that would not do. Not at all. She turned away from the light, going back down into the darkness, settling into her bones once more. She knew it would hurt when she woke up, but she didn't care. She had to stay.
Sherlock fought off several nurses, screaming and howling to beat the band until his eyes managed to focus on the bed next to him. "Molly!" his voice in a half sob.
"Mister Holmes! If you do not let us treat you, we'll have to remove you from the room!" a harried-looking doctor who was sporting a black eye told him sternly.
"Is she alive? Is she all right?" Sherlock's face twisted in pain as he moved, panic constricting his chest until he saw Molly breathing. The doctor's face looked grave. "She needs rest. A lot of rest. We fixed her up, but lost her on the table for a minute. Now it's up to her," he said.
Sherlock stopped moving, heart beating frantically. He stared at the sleeping, possibly comatose woman next to him. "Molly, wake up," he said. "Please, for me. Molly, oh Molly." He started to sob softly, whimpering her name over and over again. The doctor (Alfred, his name badge read, Doctor Alfred) looked at him. "The sooner we can treat you, the sooner you can go to her. Please...let us help you," he said, sighing. Sherlock nodded, holding still as the doctors checked him over, replacing his IV and looking at his back; it was tender and sore, but some painkillers took care of it. "Now can I see her?"
Doctor Alfred paused...and nodded. Technically, he couldn't, but this man was volatile and would start fighting again if he told him otherwise. "Be careful with her; no moving or jostling her of any type," he warned.
Sherlock nodded as the doctors wheeled him over to Molly. He took her hand carefully in his, squeezing gently it was so, so cold. "Wake up, Molly please wake up my love, my Rose," He started to sob again, convinced he'd lost her: all his stupid fault. In spite of himself, he began to sing their chant, pausing frequently to take a shuddering breath. Her brow furrowed; she could hear Latin, the chant, their chant. A hand holding hers. It took a monumental effort, but she opened her eyes; each of them felt like they weighed six tons apiece. And there he was, her dearest love, her Sherlock. She would have smiled if she could.
He gasped. "Oh thank God, you're alive," he sobbed. She used almost all the force she could muster and gently squeezed his hand.
"Rest," he whispered, seeing the strain it caused her. "You nearly died." Oh god, she nearly died and it was all his fault. Sherlock could feel his mind shutting down as he continued to hold her hand. She could see him shutting down, see the wheels in his head turning, and she knew it wouldn't amount to anything good. She dredged up all the strength she had and spoke. "Don't blame you. Please..." she murmured.
"Don't speak." His eyes flashed slightly and his grip tightened, loosening again as he realized what he was doing. "You need to rest and get better. I won't forgive myself if you-" He choked on his words, astounded by the pain he felt, the care he had for her. She squeezed his hand once, an assent. She was tired...so tired. She gave him a small smile and drifted off to sleep.
Sherlock insisted that the doctors let him have his bed right next to hers, the number of bruises and black eyes he could see on various employees backing up his request. He held her hand until he too finally passed out, still slightly weak from the drugs in his system He lost track of how long he slept, drifting in and out of consciousness, only waking when he heard Molly's heart monitor start blaring.
Molly woke to pain, agonizing pain. She vaguely realized that there was a long mad droning noise... 'Oh... my heart's stopped...' she thought, then she was out. The doctors called a code and raced in with the crash cart and began their work.
Sherlock tried to protest as he was wheeled away, watching in horror as they charged the paddles and shocked her heart. No response. They charged again and just managed to get a heartbeat. They gave her more meds and finally wheeled the detective back next to his fiancée, him taking her hand in his and holding tight. "Don't you leave me, Molly Hooper," he whispered fiercely. She squeezed his hand. Even unconscious, she would never think of leaving him. Not ever.
oOoOo
It took a week before she was conscious for longer than ten minutes at a time, another two before she could sit up and eat again. Sherlock had been discharged after the first week, but he practically lived in her hospital room, even bringing his violin with him; it was nearly confiscated even though he protested that the music would help Molly get better. He secretly suspected Mycroft's hand in making his stay easier even though he didn't see his brother once.
Three weeks, three long weeks of rest and recovery. Molly thought that she was going to go mad. Thankfully, Sherlock was there whenever she was awake; he was there when she was able to sit up and feed herself again. She laughed for the first time since the incident when his violin was nearly confiscated, protesting loudly that the music would make her better faster. He was such a child in some ways. "I can't wait to get out of here and go back home with you," she said one night, as he sat beside her bed as per usual.
He stroked her hands, tracing the lines on her palm, relieved to see so much color back in her face; they'd given her the last blood bag a few days before and she was going to be discharged in a few days. "I can't wait to bring you back home," he murmured, kissing her palm and her fingers. "You're safe now. I've made sure that you're safe. Mycroft and his team have been through the entire flat, debugging it. There will be no more eyes on us."
She breathed a sigh of relief. That was good...no more invasions of privacy, though she knew that she would be jumping at shadows for a long time. She didn't even want to think about the nightmares; she hadn't had one yet, but that was most likely due to the medicine that was pumped into her. She didn't know if Sherlock had any; he was usually right here with her...the hospital staff tended to look the other way if he wanted to spend the night (which he almost always did).
"They'll let you go soon. You've been healing really well, and they know I'll take care of you." He wasn't going to tell her about the pills he'd been taking to let him sleep, sitting in his chair with his head by her side some nights, to curl up beside her others, staving off the eventuality of nightmares. She nodded, taking his hand in hers and rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. She loved this man so much...he was always there for her.
Finally...FINALLY the day came where she was discharged. She gratefully packed up what meager things she had and they took a cab back to her flat. She was sad that they had been forced to get rid of the rose pajamas; they'd had to cut them off of her to operate and dispose of them since they were covered in blood. She breathed a sigh of relief when she walked through the door of their home; everything was right where she left it last; except for a large bouquet of flowers on the coffee table. There was a card- "Wishing you a speedy recovery. MH" Her eyebrows went up. Even if Sherlock's older brother was an utter arse, he could still be...human. She smiled. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the flowers but didn't get rid of them. Instead, he helped Molly into their room and then went back and brought the flowers in to put on her side table. He sat next to her on the bed, took her face in his hands and kissed her very gently as though the slightest move would shatter her.
She kissed him back; the last time she had been kissed, it was...she blanched. Moriarty was the person who kissed her last. She quickly put the memory out of her head and focused entirely on the man in front of her, her fiancée, her dearest love. She held him a little more tightly. "It's not like I'm going to break," she said quietly against his mouth. He felt her grow cold, pulling back slightly. "Where did he touch you," he asked quietly.
She swallowed hard. Wordlessly, she gestured to her lips, to the crook of her neck and shoulder, to her breasts. Thank God Sherlock had shown up when he did...if he hadn't...she would have had a lot more trouble and would have probably been in the hospital for much longer than she originally was.
Sherlock kissed her lips again, very gentle and sweet before moving down her neck to her shoulder, trying to repair the damage the psychopath had done. He undid the top few buttons of her blouse to kiss and stroke her gently, finally returning to her lips. "Anywhere else?"
She gestured to her ear. "He...he used your name for me...he sang your song..." she said softly, the memory still fresh in her mind. Sherlock felt the rest of the blood drain from his face as he kissed her ear gently, trailing his tongue around the shell of it. He kissed the flat of her ear whispering, "I can pick a new name, a new song, whatever you need."
She shook her head. "No...I just need you."
He kissed her again, gathering her in his arms and holding her close, suppressing his fear and tears as he softly sang their song, the chant in his low, rumbling baritone, stroking her hair. She closed her eyes and burrowed her head into his chest, feeling his voice reverberate through her, holding him tightly. He finished the song, whispering his name for her over and over again as he let down, silently crying into her hair. "You're alive...I'm so glad you're alive and safe."
She could feel his body shaking, could feel the tears that landed on her head. "I'm glad that you're alive and safe as well. Oh, Sherlock...I love you...I love you so much," she said, tilting her head up and lifting her hands to wipe the tears from his face. She was swimming in front of his eyes as the tears fell; he'd come so close to losing the only person who loved him, who really and truly cared about him. "I love you too, my red, red Rose," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.
She claimed his mouth in a fierce kiss (well, as fierce a kiss that she could give). She needed him; needed to feel that he was there, that he was safe, that she was alive. She needed his warmth after the cold sterility of the hospital. He deepened it swiftly, exploring her mouth, cleansing it from that creep, petting and stroking her hair as he held her, moaning against her, warming her as best he could, finally wrapping her in his coat and kissing her again. She felt so small and fragile; it was an odd feeling. She held him tighter, pressing him to her. "Oh, my dearest love, how I've missed this," she murmured in between kisses.
"As have I," he whispered back, snogging her as if his life depended on it, gently massaging her neck as he kissed her more. She purred into his touch, reveling in the way he kissed her. It made her feel better, feel more normal after the long stay at the hospital.
"What can I do? To help you, I mean. What do you need?"
She put her fingers to his lips. "All I need is you. Just you...you being yourself. That is all I need. That is all I want. If I need anything else, I'll ask you." She gently cupped his face in her hands and gently rubbed her thumbs over his cheekbones, smiling softly at him. He nodded, turning to kiss her palms in turn. "I'm here."
She linked her arms around his neck and pulled him to her in an embrace. "Good."
He pressed his hands to the small of her back as tightly as he dared, stroking her scar with his fingertips, fighting the urge to apologize again She shivered slightly as his fingertips gently stroked the scar that the knife left on her lower back; from what the doctors told her, she had been insanely lucky. Any lower and it would have pierced her spinal column and she would never have walked again. Any higher, and it would have gone through her large intestine.
Sherlock blinked back tears of self-loathing and anger, still blaming himself. He moved his hands upwards and clutched her to him, nose wrinkling at the antiseptic hospital smell that still clung to her. She felt him stiffen in her embrace and instantly knew what was going on. She saw the looks of anger and self-hatred that flared in his eyes whenever he thought she wasn't looking. "Stop it;" she chided. "Stop blaming yourself. It's not your fault. Moriarty was a complete psychopath...he had had my flat bugged long before you came back. I'm fine. That's all that matters."
He nodded, not willing to accept it yet but putting on a brave face. "I just-I nearly lost you and-and he knew how to get to me. It's just-he always attacks those people that matter to me."
She sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right about that. "Because he didn't play fair." The words left her mouth before she really knew what she was saying. She bit her tongue. WRONG thing to say. She quickly went on, elaborating, praying that he knew she didn't mean it like that...didn't mean it like he meant it. "It isn't fair to anyone to use someone important to them to make them do what the other person wants; that's just...sick and wrong," she continued.
"But it's effective. He got me involved, he got me invested, he got me to care about the outcome, Molly. I stood to lose everything."
Molly held him closer. "But you didn't. You won. He's dead, permanently this time. And I'm safe. And you're here with me. You won."
He started to cry again, fear slowly replaced with joy and triumph, a hollow triumph as he had been forced to kill again, but a triumph nonetheless. "Yes you are, and we-are we still engaged?"
She kissed him, a burning kiss. "The only way we wouldn't still be engaged would be if I were dead, or if...if you didn't want to be any more," she said fiercely. He smiled, breaking the kiss to look her in the eye. "I was terrified that I had screwed everything up at that disaster of a dinner and then you were taken and then injured-Molly, I want to still be with you."
She rested her forehead on his. "Oh, Sherlock...I may have been mad at you, but I wouldn't end our engagement over a single fight. It would take something...huge and...devastating for me to not want to be engaged to you anymore. And I still want to be with you."
"Good," he murmured before kissing her again, letting her straddle his lap. He had no intentions of taking things too far; she still needed to heal, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to enjoy himself a little. She straddled him as they kissed; she was frustrated with her own body's healing rate. She wanted to be with him so bad... but she had to be careful. The doctors had specifically told her that she couldn't have sex for a month after she was released from the hospital which she thought was supremely unfair, even though they did have a point. But that didn't mean she couldn't find other ways of enjoying herself. She gently arched into him, grinding her hips against his. He gasped, moaning deep in his chest. "Your-stitches-" he panted.
"As much as I want to...not taking it any farther than this..." she said, slightly breathless. She could feel him growing hard underneath her and it set a fire in her belly.
"Yes-but-not-fair," he whined, lips attaching themselves to her neck as she continued grinding their hips together. She bit her lip as the seam of his jeans caught on her just in the right place as she moved against him. "Doesn't mean we can't find...other ways," she said, giving a roll of her hips as she spoke, her breath catching in her throat as he kissed her neck.
He was careful not to use teeth, not yet and maybe not again for a long time. The friction of her and his jeans against his arousal rubbed just the right way. He was close already and kissed her hungrily, desperate for her. She could feel the desperation in his kiss. She moved her hand down; the friction of grinding against him was good, but it wasn't quite enough for her. She found the right spot and bit her lip, arching her head backwards as she touched herself and him, working towards that peak.
With a shudder and a groan, he came, bucking involuntarily against her, his hand joining hers. She gasped, and with a few more well-practiced strokes, she followed him, shuddering and keening. He chuckled, panting against her lips. "Wow."
She let out a breathy laugh. "Wow indeed. Not as good as having you inside me...but it will have to do for now."
He groaned. "Don't give my mind any more stimulation than it already has."
She gave a wicked smirk. "Why ever not?" she asked, playing innocent.
"Because self control in the face of keeping you safe in this regard is getting very difficult," he growled, kissing her ear gently. She sighed regretfully. "Fine," she said, pouting a little, pressing a quick kiss to his pulse, then letting her lips linger.
He sighed, pulling back gently. "Need to get cleaned up."
She made a slightly embarrassed face. "Er...yes. Sorry about that," she said. She hadn't thought of opening his pants to avoid a mess. Oops...
He grinned, kissing her blushing cheeks before standing, walking with some difficulty to grab a pair of trousers and heading to the bathroom to clean up, back in less than 15 seconds. "Better," he said, grabbing a new pair of knickers from her drawer and holding out a soft, wrapped bundle. "Welcome home, love."
She took the bundle and unwrapped it; it was a new pair of rose pajamas. She dropped them as if they burned her. "Ah..." she quickly composed herself. "I...thank you, Sherlock, but I...I don't think I can wear these for...a while," she said. She felt horrible for saying so...he was trying so hard. He nodded; this had been one of the possible scenarios he had been prepared for. He pulled out another bundle from under the bed, blue pajamas this time with Celtic knots on them. "Will these do?"
"Oh, Sherlock! These are lovely!" she breathed, admiring the soft cloth and the intricate designs. The color was beautiful and she stood carefully, quickly stripping herself to put on the new pajamas. The royal blue looked beautiful against her skin and Sherlock smiled She did a small twirl, admiring the way that they felt against her skin. She walked over to him and gave him a hug. "These are gorgeous...thank you so much," she said, nuzzling into his chest. He hugged her back, pressing soft kisses to her hair. "The others are for when you're ready, but these are for healing, for starting over. And the knot has a special significance as well."
"Oh really?" she said, tracing the pattern on the cloth of her sleeve.
"The double spirals in the spaces between the knots are for balance, the regular spirals for birth and re-growth, and the knot itself stands for family and marriage, creating new ties to a new life."
She felt a pleased shiver run up her spine as she clutched him tightly to her. A thought that she had pushed down a long time ago suddenly came back to her; a child. Their child. She flushed brilliantly and hid her face underneath her long hair.
"What?" He tilted her chin up, laughing softly at the sight of her pink face. "Did I say something?"
She smiled and knew it looked slightly silly. "Well, yes and no. Just a thought I had," she said.
"Do tell." He could read some of it, but this was difficult to make out. It had something to do with their future, but something about Molly wouldn't let him deduce any further. She took a breath and bit her lip. "Well...you said marriage and family and new life. That just got me thinking about...about eventually...having a child of our own," she murmured.
Now it was his turn to flush. "I don't think I'd be a good father," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze. Her eyebrows went up. "Sherlock, I think you'd be a wonderful father. If you give any child we have even half the love and care that you give me, they'd be spoiled rotten," she said.
"But-my father-I don't want to risk doing that to another child."
She took his face in her hands and looked him dead in the eyes. "Sherlock...you are not your father. Have you in any way at all made the same choices he did?" she asked him. He almost instantly shook his head no
"Exactly." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You would be an excellent father. I know you would be."
He smiled and turned down the sheets on their bed. "Let me put my pajama bottoms on, but go ahead and lay down."
She smiled and nodded, getting in under the covers, wriggling slightly in delight to be under clean sheets in their bed in their flat. She watched as he shucked his shirt off and her smile faded. There were countless puckered scars along his back. The scars were tiny, but they were still there. She swallowed hard. He didn't notice anything until he was tugging on his pajamas and turned to face her, the shock and horror still on her face. "Oh, my scars."
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Oh, my dearest love...come here..." she said, holding her arms out to him. She needed to be close to him now; she had forgotten about the countless number of darts that had been fired from hidden mechanisms in the walls in the room that Moriarty had taken her to. He crawled under the covers, letting his back face her.
She lightly traced each scar with her fingers, followed by her lips. She felt as though she were trying to remove them with her willpower, but she knew that if she had a choice, she never would. These scars, as much as they made her feel horribly guilty, were a sign of just how much he loved her. He shivered under her ministrations, toes curling at the sensation. He hated the wounds, but she was treating them with such reverence, such love that he felt himself relax, rolling over to face her as soon as she reached the last one. She looked up at him, her eyes full of intense emotion she didn't have words for. She just...looked at him, and hoped that he could understand her.
He kissed her gently before gathering her in his arms. "Sleep my love and peace attend thee, all through the night." (1)
She swallowed hard, feeling tears sting her eyes, melting into his embrace. He rocked her back and forth, crooning the rest of the song in her ear until he felt her fall asleep, lulling himself into the same state, forgetting to take his meds beforehand. She was lulled to sleep by his singing and gentle rocking and breathing, the warmth of him and the feel of his heartbeat. She slept in his arms, content, for a few hours. But that didn't last long.
Molly trapped, screaming, Jim riding her in the chair, each thrust driving her onto the blade, his love hooked up to a device that just pumped the blood back into her body so she didn't die, trying to run to her, an explosion of pain in his back from darts and bullets and poison, but he didn't die. Jim stuck him to the wall and made him watch as he violated Molly over and over, finally turning to Sherlock, grinning, Molly's blood at his mouth before snapping his fingers. Sherlock had a gun in his hand, it's sight for Molly's head and he couldn't stop himself as he pulled the trigger "MOLLY!" He started thrashing, still deeply asleep.
She woke with a start as Sherlock began to thrash. She moved away from him as his arms and legs flew out, careful to avoid his path so her stitches didn't re-open. He was caught in the jaws of a horrible nightmare. She took a shoulder and shook him. "Sherlock! Sherlock! My dearest love...please wake up," she said, slightly frantic. She was afraid that he'd hurt himself.
"Leave her alone...no...stop...give her back...NO!"
She shook him harder, now even more worried for him. She knew exactly what he was dreaming of. "Sherlock! It's me... it's your Rose, your Molly. I'm here, I'm safe. Please wake up..." she begged.
He started sobbing. "Please...please bring her back..."
Not knowing what else to do, she slapped his face gently. "Sherlock!" she called him. She hardly expected what happened next.
His hand lashed out, catching her on the cheek as he threw himself back off the bed, landing on the floor jolting him out of the dream. He was on his feet in a second, wide eyed and searching for Moriarty, for Molly's corpse, the details of their room slowly coming into focus as the dream began to fade. Her head rocked back with the force of his blow, catching her completely off guard. She fell off the bed with a cry, clutching her cheek and jaw.
He shook his head a few times, finally registering the bed and their room. He saw the covers and Molly's arm, flying around the bed to help her up, checking her stitches: still fine. "What happened?"
"Nightmare," she said, still hiding her face from him. She could feel the burn of blood; he had split her lip. Or had she split it when she fell? It all happened so fast.
"Molly? Molly did I do something?" Then he caught a glimpse of her face, her lip split in the same place as when-
He saw his knuckles and the blood there. "Oh no..."
"It was an accident. You were having a nightmare," she said. She could already see the self-loathing in his eyes, and she'd be damned if he hated himself for something that he had no control over.
"But I hit you-"
"You were dreaming. I tried to wake you up. That's all that happened," she said, trying to stem the flow of blood. He fumbled for the first aid kit in her side table, pressing gauze to her lip. She hissed as he applied pressure. That stung. "I'm fine. I really am," she said, trying to reassure him.
He waited until it stopped bleeding, silently thanking whomever was listening for keeping blood off of the new pajamas and avoiding another blood trauma to something he'd given her. "I'm sorry," he murmured before going back to bed, swallowing two pills before climbing under the covers. The meds hit him fast. "Come back to bed," he said, words slurring slightly. "I need you."
Her frown deepened. She'd have to talk to him about whatever he was taking when it wore off. Right now, they both needed sleep.
"Please," he whispered when she didn't move. Slowly, she got into bed. Her mind was racing a million miles a minute. He curled up against her, nuzzling her chest before he fell into a dreamless sleep. She stroked his hair as he quickly fell asleep. She followed not soon after, she slept for hours.
I promise there will be more. This was a 30 page chapter when I started. Read and Respond. I'm back in Editing mode.
(1)- All through the Night- seen in previous chapter (Chapter 5)
