Chapter 9
The next day was the worst of Molly's life. When she woke up Sherlock had all ready left. Feeling lost she, showered and got ready for the day. No skirts today she would need to be able to move freely. Her heart was heavy, replaying the events from last night. She flipped from dread for the day to giddiness from last night to fear for Sherlock and what it had meant to him. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts she missed him walking in. it wasn' t until his warm hands rested on her shoulders that his presence registered to her.
"hello Molly." his breath was right on her ear.
Molly closed her eyes trying to still the shiver that it sent down her spine and how her pulse reacted to just those two words. Sherlock missed neither one of them but continued with his business. "are we ready for this?"
Molly nodded and ran thru all their preparations knowing it all had to be perfect. Sherlock agreed they were ready now they just had to wait for right time.
A few hours later it was done. Molly was back in the morgue and Sherlock was laying upon a slab waiting for the compound to leave his system. Paperwork forged (illegal? Didn't matter) duplicate body, autopsied and bagged back up. The fear from last night's nightmare was slowly becoming real. He hadn't woke up and they were reaching the five minute mark. Molly prayed she would not have to use the adrenalin injection she had, but she would.
She figured Sherlock had a few broken ribs maybe a concussion but until he woke up she wouldn't be sure. She had his new clothes ready for him.. why hadn't he woke up.. had it all gone wrong... unable to stay away she went and checked again for his very slow pulse. A repeating word kept falling from her lips. Please please please …. thump thump... a sigh/sob escaped her. She bent over him wiping the hair away from his face. "Sherlock wake up..."his eyes opened slowly.. and met the tearful eyes of Molly Hooper.
Upon Seeing those tri-colored eyes, Molly stood up. A quite "welcome back" was all she said. Sherlock still woozy from the drug tried to sit up and was met with a lot of pain. Molly saw the look of pain cross his face and went to help him sit up.
"Feels like a couple of bruised or broken ribs..." Sherlock grumbled. "the laundry wasn't as full as we had hoped, was it?"
Molly smiled at her detectives train of thought. "no I guess not, Sherlock."
"let's get you sorted then. After that I'll get you back to the flat. It's going to be a while before you heal …." Molly didn't finish the thought out loud, and you leave me.
Sherlock looked around the lab, his eyes settled on the bag that contained "his body." then to her desk where his file was sitting.
"have they come to identify the body yet Molly?" He didn't specify who but Molly heard the names none the less.
"no, not yet. I wanted you out of the way before... they came and I couldn't bear putting you into one …. of..the.. vaults." Molly looked away from him then. It was all most too real that he could have died and that she would have had to do just that.
Molly swallowed her fear and continued "lets get these ribs wrapped and that head wound cleaned and then I can put you … I don't know where yet. And then I'll call them down. I have the door locked so we need to get this done quickly."
fifteen minutes later Sherlock was bandaged, his head wound was cleaned up and he was wearing new clothes. He didn't recognize himself. Gone were the suit, the coat, the ever present scarf and in it's place was a man with slicked back hair wearing a blue gray t-shirt with a bridge on it, ratty jeans and a leather bomber jacket (a least it had a nice wide collar) he was holding some kind of cap in his hand, at least it's not a death Frisbee.
Molly had stuck him in the broom closet as soon as she knew that John and Mycroft were on the way back to Bart's. She dreaded what was coming. The start of all the lies that she would have to tell to keep the secret. A necessary evil if Sherlock and the others were to stay safe. She didn't bother fixing her make-up because the tears stains would only sell the facade that Sherlock was dead.
Mycroft's and John's argument was cut short as soon as they walked in. At John's appearance molly's heart sank. He was bleeding from a cut on his head and his face bore the signs of crying. She walked up to him and after another quick once over she grabbed his hand and walked him to her chair.
"sit down and let me take a look at that John." John started to protest but Molly shook her head. "No John. The living first... the.. the dead can wait." She turned to Mycroft "and so can you. Mycroft. I'll answer your questions but I am taking care of John first."
Grabbing the kit she kept handy for Sherlock... she cleaned and stitched up the laceration on John's scalp. She turned and took a huge breath.
"OK" on that word she seemed to shrink. The pain of what was to happen next settled on her shoulders. She looked into John's sad face.
"Molly are you sure.. are you sure it was him?" The tone of pleading brought tears to Molly's eyes, she let them fall. "John, I am so sorry, but it is him. The records all match.. the face was … but it is him. The DNA was a match." her breath caught and she continued. "he really his gone."
John broke at those cold final words. He ran his hand through his hair as if to rip those words out of his brain. His eyes showed all the pain and Molly closed the two steps and gathered him into her arms. Soothing words came out of her mouth but she couldn't recall what she said. It seemed she held him for hours till he got him self together. He pulled away from her with a quiet "thanks Molly" and literally quick marched out of the morgue.
She stood there looking at the doors pulling herself together before facing Mycroft. This part had to be spot on. She couldn't give anything away to him. When she turned Mycroft was standing next to the bag that contained his "brother"
She approached the quiet man... "Mycroft... he didn't suffer.. he.. he died upon impact. Blunt force trauma, multiple broken bones."
Mycroft just nodded at the information. He closed his eyes … and bowed his head. Molly heard he say to himself "I had hoped to mend …." then his head snapped up like he remembered who was standing next to him. Molly watched as Mycroft's amour fell back into place. He nodded and said "thank you Dr. Hooper. I'll be in touch about releasing the body for burial." then he too walked briskly out of her morgue.
Sherlock had heard and seen everything that had just transpired and wanted nothing more than to tell them both that he was alive. He had tried to give John a hint that it was all just a trick a magic trick, but knew that John had to believe him dead to save them all. Mycroft was a surprise to him. What had he meant.. Molly interrupted his thoughts then by opening the door and telling him it was time.
Getting a battered and bruised Sherlock Holmes back to her flat was interesting to say the least. The few people that saw the short Dr with the staggering hulk of a man paid them much attention. Just another girlfriend helping her sodden boyfriend back to his flat. Molly for her part thought her back was surly broken from supporting most of Sherlock's weight. When she finally got him through her door and settled on the couch. All she wanted to do was eat shower and sleep in that order but first she needed to sort out Sherlock first.
"hungry?"
"not really, Molly."
"OK, do you want to get into the bed you need to rest."
When no response came from Sherlock, Molly went into the kitchen and started to make a sandwich. She made some for Sherlock just in case he changed his mind. Grabbing sodas she took all of it into the sitting room. She set his in front of him, and settled into her favorite chair and started nibbling.
Sherlock seemed to rouse himself when Molly sat down. Seeing the sandwich in front of him and the soda, he reached out and started to eat. What he didn't notice was the small smile on Molly's face.
"good now that you have eaten something. I can give you some pain killers to help you sleep." Molly got up and went to her jacket. Pulling a bottle out of her coat she shook out two and walked them back to the man on her couch. He looked at the small pills and before he could say no(who was the mind reader now?) she explained why he would be taking them.
"you are going to be in a lot of pain Sherlock. Nothing can be done tonight or in the next few days till you heal. So take the pills and rest." she held her hand out not moving till he reached out and took them from her.
Unable to refute her logic Sherlock reached out and took the pills. He swallowed them with a swig of soda and leaned back into the sofa.
"Sherlock we need to get you cleaned up and into some sleep clothes before those pills knock you out." Come on. She took his hand and gently tugged him off the couch. She helped undress him all business and joined him in the shower.
Like a pagan worshiper of old, she cleaned the dirt for the street and smell of the morgue off him. She dried him off taking care of his ribs and his head wound. She helped him into the sleep pants she had got for him (was it just yesterday?) he moved like a sleep walker. After re-bandaging his ribs she helped him into the bed.
After a quick shower herself, she brushed out her hair and braided up and crawled into her side of the bed. One last look at the man lying beside her she turned away from him and whispered " good night Sherlock."
