A HUGE THANKS to the loveliest writingwife83 for always being so helpful. You are level best and a constant source of encouragement for me. ;) If you know how she writes, and I'm sure you do, you'll know exactly which part of this chapter has her touch. Another person that I'm so thankful of having is obviously by sweetest beta MrsMCrieff. Thank you for bearing with me..
He ran along, holding her hand in his both, as the medical assistants wheeled the stretcher towards ICU.
"We'll take it from here." One of the doctors obstructed Sherlock and her hand slipped out of his grip, her fingertips sliding over his. The wheels turned and within a blink of an eye she was separated from him. Sherlock stood still like a living statue, his hand still hanging loosely as he watched her disappearing behind the doors of ICU. Unable to think about anyone else but her; he stood there like that for God knows how long.
"Maybe now you should give a little consideration to attend some of your own wounds as well, brother dear. You look terrible." A possessively authoritative voice brought him back to the world of reasoning again. Sherlock snapped his head up to see Mycroft standing next to him, eyes on the door in front of them.
"And perhaps have a seat as well, if I might suggest it." He rounded his head to see Sherlock glaring at him intensely. "One hour is a long period to stand like this, Sherlock."
One hour…
There was a burning silence as the two Holmes stood in front of each other.
"I'm sure they will take good care of our patient." Mycroft spoke again, watching him carefully as he slipped his hands into his pockets.
Sherlock glared daggers at him. "Why did you keep this from me?" Mycroft knew that the calmness of his voice was a screaming signal of the storm raging behind the words he spoke.
"I can assure you, Sherlock, that my intentions were never…"
"NEVER WHAT?" His voice shattered the walls of silence created around them. Mycroft stared at him.
"You intended to keep this to yourself rather than letting any other person in," he hissed at him. "You intended to let her suffer? The woman who saved my life – but your mind seemed to conveniently forget this simple little favour."
"Think again, brother mine." Mycroft calmly controlled his voice. "Did my mind slip on this little favour? Am I the forgetful one? Is it really me who should struggle to remember who his savior was?" Colour was also rising in Mycroft's cheeks ever so slightly. "Should I remind you that I was never the one considered as a friend of Miss Hooper."
Sherlock opened his mouth to spit back but his brother gave him no chance.
"I kept a closer eye on your pathologist, making sure she was physically alright. I offered what I best could with the level of association I have with your friend." He emphasized the f word. "Because I never forgot, for a second, what she did for us. I provided her with what I could – surveillance; making sure that she wasn't hurt, at least physically, when you were obsessing over Magnusson." He paused just a little before speaking again. "So when I say I haven't forgotten the virtues of that woman, I indeed proved it. And I invite you to reconsider the fact again as to whether it was I or you who forgot about Miss Hooper and what she did for us, Sherlock." He faced away as he finally finished.
Sherlock's eyes flickered as the bitter truth of Mycroft's words blew severely across his head. There he was accusing his brother who had taken care of his friend despite that fact that it wasn't Mycroft's responsibility as Molly was Sherlock's associate. His insides began to itch at the realization of how accurate his words were. They stood like that for minutes, Mycroft facing away from Sherlock, who stood stupefied.
"You could have just let me know." His lips gradually parted, keeping his voice low this time.
Mycroft rounded his head to see him again. "Tell me brother, how many time did you allow my intervention in your dealings with, what you so delightfully call, your friends?"
Sherlock looked up at him with absolute pain in his eyes. Right again. He never did let Mycroft interfere in his life let alone getting him to access the most restricted part of his private life – the little band of people he trusted and loved. And he remembered how he had almost broken Mycroft's arm the last time he had intervened. The two of them had had little to no conversation in the weeks following as Sherlock had ignored every call and every text he had received from him thereafter.
"Molly has been on her own for almost three months, Sherlock." He continued. "We both know what it was that occupied you during that time. But I suppose, you should have displayed a bit more thought and understanding regarding what was going on in the lives of your other friends."
Mycroft flinched internally at the sight of Sherlock, now clinging to the edges of the bench he had finally occupied, sitting muted. In that moment, to Mycroft, he looked like a ten year old Sherlock getting caught doing something very naughty. Making him feel guilty wasn't the intent of the elder brother who loves Sherlock more than he'd care to admit.
But before he could say anything which could be labelled as "comforting words", the door of the ICU opened and a senior doctor emerged.
"Mycroft!" he greeted no sooner had he spotted him.
With the most formal and calm posture, that he was so masterly an expert at wearing, Mycroft smiled at the doctor.
"Dr. Gallus!" Mycroft shook the hand the neurologist offered.
"I'm glad you've finally made here. The team of specialists, that you requested earlier, has arrived," he informed him seriously as their hands parted. "It's too early to say anything about the patient's condition. But right now, immediate action is required."
"Yes?" Mycroft inquired.
"The haemoglobin level has reduced to critical. 5.4 to be exact. Blood samples are being taken and I strongly recommend an immediate blood transfusion."
"What are the complications then?"
Sherlock too looked up at the doctor, mentally asking the same question.
"Blood group. Your patient's blood group is very rare. We currently don't have enough of it in the blood bank."
Mycroft frowned in anticipation. "And the blood group is?"
"O negative." The creases on the forehead of both the Holmes momentary relaxed at the reply of the doctor.
"We happen to be lucky in this respect, Dr. Gallus." Mycroft smiled. "I can be a donor as I share the same blood group." Mycroft proposed.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Dr. Gallus. "Please accompany me. We'll need to run a few tests on you first if you don't mind."
Mycroft hesitated for the briefest moment as he glanced back at Sherlock sitting on the bench. Their eyes meet for a second before Sherlock looked away. Without saying another word Mycroft marched past him, following the senior neurologist. As he did so, he caught the slight hint of pain in the piercing bluish green eyes. But of course he couldn't do anything to help ease it right then, so he decided to leave it for another time may be. He knew he was needed by both but right now Molly's need was far greater than his brother's.
He turned, however, as he walked past Sherlock. "I'll send a nurse to attend to your injuries. Do me a favor and be a little cooperative."
Nothing came back from the detective who continued to look away. And without even waiting for his answer Mycroft quit the otherwise deserted corridor.
Mary shifted uncomfortably on the couch, dragging the soft cushion into a more favourable position. She was near her due date. She huffed as she checked her mobile for the millionth time before dropping it with a thud onto the table and nervously bit her lower lip. Mary was a woman of extraordinary talents with investigative ability and intelligence and yet here she was stuck at home, especially when she could have been part of so much more going on in their life. She badly wanted to know where her friend Molly was. John was off to have a chat with Tom. And she knew her husband's temper. She went through her text history again all the while trying to ignore the slight pain that was starting to niggle.
John exhaled slowly through his nose to calm himself down as he stepped out of the café and flagged the cab. He noticed his phone buzzing against his coat pocket. He gave the address to the cabbie and then busied himself with his next task. Smiling just a little for the first time since he left the café he read the texts.
REMEMBER WHAT WE AGREED ABOUT IN THE MORNING JOHN. WHATEVER THE REASONS, DO NOT TAKE MATTERS IN YOUR HANDS! - MW
MAYBE YOU SHOULD CONSIDER TAKING GREG WITH YOU. – MW
And then he read the one received just now.
IS IT GOING WELL JOHN? IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? - MW
He shook his head slightly, pulling his gloves off as he started texting. She knew him so well, that woman. It was lucky for Tom that John had made a promise to his pregnant wife at the breakfast table to go easy on him if anything happened.
YES MARY. DON'T WORRY I'VE KEPT MY PROMISE. HE'S STILL INTACT. AND NO ONE BUT YOU CAN BE BLAMED FOR THAT. HE CLEARLY NEEDED IT. – JW
Mary jumped ever so slightly as her phone beeped loudly and she latched onto it. She sighed in relief as she went through the text. Only ten hours earlier she was groaning at the breakfast table about not being able to go with John, to do something. But in reality, John's temper was her real worry. And this had made her entire day restless.
John could almost imagine Mary relaxing now but his face dropped at the thought of how short lived her relief will be when she hears about Molly. He wanted to get back to her as soon as possible.
He tried shaking off the words of the recent conversation; they were still throbbing in his mind. He had to pacify the feeling of guilt, at least for now; it wasn't letting him think straight.
"If I am to do this, I need to do it right!" he murmured to himself as he looked down at the device in his hands, scrolling down the contact list. He decided this was the perfect task for the British government. Since Sherlock wasn't there it was now the other Holmes he needed to count on. John cleared his throat loudly as he waited for Mycroft to pick up the phone. But to his surprise, the call wasn't answered. Leaving a message at that number he moved to the second and possibly last person on his list.
"John." Lestrade answered.
"Hi Greg. Can you come over to my place tonight?" he asked, skipping all the polite yap and yack.
"Well yes. Of course mate," Lestrade replied as he pushed the case file he had just closed and nodded to Sally to take it away. "As a matter of fact, I was planning to visit you."
John peered out of the window as he spoke again. "There's something I found out about Molly today."
Lestrade waited for Sally to pick up the file from the table and march out of the room. His tone changed entirely no sooner had the sergeant left the room. "How serious?" he asked him hastily.
"Very." was John's only answer.
The DI frowned. "I have something to tell you as well… about her of course." He rubbed his temple in concentration. "Alright! I'm heading for an arrest right now. I'll drive directly from there to you. Expect me within two hours. Okay?"
"Okay. See you there then."
But what John didn't know was that Mary had different plans for the night. So no sooner had he stepped foot in his home, her labour pains started and he had to rush her to the hospital.
Mycroft returned back after the blood donation was completed. He felt internally relieved as he slowly approached Sherlock, now all cleaned. Neatly attended but deep gashes were now clearly visible on his pale face. He was leaning on the wall, hands buried in his coat and mind so occupied that he didn't even notice when Mycroft came to stand behind him.
"I'm glad you cooperated," he gave him a small smile which Sherlock didn't return. There was a pause whilst they stood staring at each other.
"I.. am.. sorry." Sherlock was the first to speak. Mycroft's jaw dropped a little at those three small words. He searched his face and what he found touched his heart. Sherlock's eyes were bewildered.
"I am sorry too, Sherlock." He felt no shame in admitting so. "I couldn't provide her with any emotional comfort, when all the time, I was aware that she needed it more than anything else."
They looked at each other again as Mycroft spoke. "I've never been close to Molly. Believe me, there were moments in the past weeks when I wished I were. She's been suffering more than you can imagine, Sherlock."
"But… you should have talked to me about it," Sherlock repeated.
"I did try to tell you." He folded his arms over his chest, raising an accusatory eyebrow at him. "When you were repeatedly ignoring my calls and kicking my men out of your flat," Mycroft's said grudgingly. "Not to mention you drugged me on the day a get together was finally arranged."
Sherlock stood straight as he put his arms behind his back. Mycroft hadn't spoken once about that little incident. Sherlock glanced at him with shame as his words made sense to him. Given his state, Mycroft didn't want to hurt him anymore but it was getting hard as the facts, however bitter they were, needed to be spoken.
"Of course the current turn of events are very…unexpected! I never dreamt of her involvement in all this."
"Well you got what you wanted, didn't you?" he replied indifferently.
After three hours of excruciating waiting, both of them were finally sitting in a little conference room with a team of doctors. Mycroft briefly watched Sherlock as his fingers continued tapping the table unconsciously. He had never seen him being this patient and still being so at war with himself internally.
"The injuries except for a few are not major." One of the surgeons broached the subject. "But those are external. The worry lies internally, Mr. Holmes."
"Go on please." Mycroft replied.
"I'm sure you realize your patient has been suffering from Acute Stress Disorder. She's been exposed to a severe mental and neurological stress for an ominously long period. The recent physical attack did drastic damage to an already feeble psychogenic situation in her mind. The body is suffering from prolonged malnutrition that has weakened the immunity system. There's a huge depletion in both calcium and Iron levels."
Locking his fingers together, he looked from Sherlock to Mycroft again.
"I'm afraid the fainting wasn't just due to a regular case of high fever." Sitting all stiff, Sherlock frowned at this. There was a very brief pause before the neurologist opened his mouth again.
"The receptors of the brain are not responding as we would expect them to."
Sherlock's mouth dried as he visibly swallowed the words.
"This is a case of Chronic Insomnia..there's a threatening level of sleep deprivation. So coupled with all the symptoms I've mentioned earlier..Her brain is shutting down. I'm sorry but we have done everything that we can with all these complications. The next twenty four hours are very critical. If her brain does not signal the body to respond to the all the medication we have provided..I'm afraid we won't be able to stop her from going into coma."
Mycroft instantly looked at Sherlock who gasped.
"I'm really sorry, Mr. Holmes, but all we can do now is to wait." He added apologetically.
At that one moment, Sherlock loudly stood up making all the doctors eye him questioningly. Mycroft rubbed his temple uncomfortably as he waited for Sherlock to spit out some kind of insult but his heart sank when Sherlock opened his mouth.
"Can I see her…?"
"Uh..you're a sensible man, Mr. Holmes. Surely you know we can't let you in the ICU when the patient is in an extremely critical situation. Besides, it's very likely she won't respond to anything you say or do at the moment."
"She will! She always has. Why wouldn't she now? Molly never says no to anything I ask for." He replied childishly.
"But.."
"..Let me see her… please."
"I suppose it's possible to arrange?" Mycroft asked calmly yet authoritatively.
Dr Gallus looked at Mycroft thinking for a moment before nodding. "Of course! It is possible. Mr Sherlock Holmes Jnr can visit the patient. But I strongly recommend it be brief."
"It will be." Mycroft assured him as Sherlock hastily exited the room.
Within two hours John was joined in the hospital by Lestrade.
"Thanks for coming Greg." John said sounding a bit tired.
"No problem," He replied. The two men took a seat on a bench nearby. "How's Mary? So what is the progress so far?" Lestrade asked him once they'd settled down.
"Well, she's progressing well so far. It's her first though, so it could certainly be a while. Her water hasn't broken yet, and things will probably speed up once that happens. She's stable so they'd like to get her up and walking to help move things along." John paused and then looked at Lestrade with a grimace. "She's in a fair bit of pain already, of course."
Lestrade shook his head with a look that conveyed both horror and respect. "I don't know how they do it, mate," he said quietly and puffed out a breath.
They sat silenced for some seconds when Lestrade spoke again. "So, now obviously isn't the right time to speak about what we expected to discuss some hours earlier I think."
John shrugged. "Yes. The timing isn't perfect but I want to discuss it anyway Greg. I don't think we can lose any more time," he said seriously.
Lestrade settled himself as John recalled his little meeting with Tom just a few short hours ago. He repeated the tale Molly's ex fiancé had told him and by the end of his talk John was partially relieved when the desire to punch Tom came out of Lestrade's mouth bluntly. At least he wasn't alone in this thought.
"That little piece of crap." Lestrade spat. "I already saw how dim witted he was at your wedding, John. I'm glad Molly ended it. He didn't deserve a woman like her."
John nodded in agreement as he sighed. "I told him the same. So what now? What are we going to do? We have to find her and quick, Greg. You and I are both smart enough to know what her reaction was to this news." He rubbed his thigh in tension recalling what they saw at Molly's flat. "I just hope we are not too late."
"That I hope too, John. I've checked Molly's official records. There's nothing very unusual there. She was raised in Glasgow; only child, and had no family except for the father who died five years ago of cancer. No relatives whatsoever, and that leads me to believe that she might have lied about the ill relative. On that basis I don't think she is in Edinburgh." Lestrade said as he supplied John with his own investigations.
"So where do you think she is?" John looked troubled.
"I'm not sure I can answer that, not one hundred percent. There's a family house in Glasgow. I had been planning to visit it for some time but given the situation, I think I need to head to it tomorrow. We need to start somewhere."
John brightened up a little at this. "Excellent! That sounds like a plan. Keep me informed. I wish I could come along but Mary needs me.
"Sure will," he assured him. "And you let me know about the baby."
Sherlock had been in such a tearing hurry to see her, but his feet slowed once the nurse opened the door, allowing him entry. He was afraid; afraid of what might happen and of what he might have to live with. But he did go in. The nurses left him alone with only the soft beeping of the monitors to fill the silence.
She looked so small. She was almost like a child lying in that bed. It's not as if Sherlock ever thought of her as tall before, but he realized that even in her small stature she commanded his attention so easily that he didn't think of her as being this small. In his life, she occupied such a prominent place; it was easy to forget how physically small she was.
Sherlock pulled a chair over as close to the bed as it could go, never taking his eyes off her as he did. He sat down and his eyes immediately went to the pale and fragile looking hand lying at her side. He gingerly slid his fingers around it and grasped it gently, as if he was afraid he might do some damage.
"Molly, I…" He stopped and closed his mouth again. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to say now. He wasn't sure he could find the words.
As he looked at her deathly still features, he felt a lump of emotion rise in his throat. He wished that she would just open her eyes. Then he would hardly even need words. Molly, his Molly, never needed much to understand him.
She had only to look at him and she could make sense of the turmoil beneath the surface. Now he felt like he was alone and out of his depth. He had so make her see…when she couldn't.
"Please hear me, Molly," he began slowly. "I know you're tired, so very tired…but I can't let you slip away like this. You're not alone anymore, Molly. Please don't feel as if you're alone."
He chuckled a little and smiled suddenly. "Do you remember when I came to you for help? Of course, I know you do. I was so desperate and afraid." He frowned as if he'd had an epiphany. "And you weren't. You were calm and strong. I'd rarely ever seen you so focused and efficient, not that you aren't normally…but that was really something. I was impressed. And after that, I remember thinking often that if you ever came to me for anything, I would do everything in my power to help you in just the same way."
His eyes clouded a little and he had to pause. "This…should have been how I repaid you. You should have been able to show up at my door and beg me to help, and I would have been there for you…no questions asked. But I was far away. Once again, I didn't see you the way that you have always seen me. Once again, I was selfish."
He cleared his throat. "I've been working on this case, Molly…your case. There's still more to be done, as I'm sure you know. There are questions that need answering, more so now than ever before."
He reached up and moved some hair from off her face, moving a bit closer in the process. His voice dropped to a lower whisper as he spoke again.
"But I can't keep working on this case anymore…not without you. This is your case, Molly. And I'm not doing it for Mycroft anymore, or the British government, or least of all myself…I'm doing it for you." His grip on her hand tightened and his eyes raked over her still face. "Wake up, Molly. Wake up, and we will face this together. I wasn't there like I should have been, but I'm here now…and I'm not going anywhere."
The door opened and a nurse stuck her head in. "The doctor would like you to finish up for now. We can let you back in later."
Sherlock nodded and stood up. He leaned down and briefly pressed his lips to her forehead before releasing her hand and finally walking away. He kept looking back as he left the room, hoping that he'd see her eyes fly open.
But she was far away…
The cool breeze gently caressed her face as she slowly opened her eyes; slipping her hands off of her eyes. Gradually as the blurriness faded from her pupils, the brown eyes started taking in their surroundings. Her head rested against the soft grass beneath as she smiled at the cool happy blue sky above. For what felt like an eternity, she just continued lying on the soft grass, staring at a stray cloud which came hovering above her no sooner she had opened her eyes. She smiled peacefully and reached out her hand, as if trying to touch the cool white wool when her eyes drifted to her hand. Abruptly she sat up and looked down at herself. She laughed as she spotted her small hands, her little body – the body of seven year old Molly. Her hands travelled from her bright blood free face to down her bare uninjured arm as she giggled.
"Molly…"
Gleefully, she turned her head as she heard a voice – a very familiar one. She looked around the stretched lengths of peaceful deserted meadow in which she was sat all alone.
"I'm coming, ready or not," she said in sing song way as she whirled about.
"Come on my love." She heard the invisible voice saying playfully to her.
She spotted a figure standing far over at the other edge of the vast field but the next moment it disappeared. Getting up she ran in that direction – her laughter ringing like bells in the air. Her hair flowing like waves behind her.
"If I find you.." she called a little breathlessly. "Am Icoming with you?" she questioned as her voice echoed across the field.
"You have to win first! Come on." The voice came again, making her grin.
"I always win,dad!"she cried back happily as she resumed running.
The next twenty four hours proved most heavy on Sherlock. He ruefully ignored every attempt of Mycroft to get him to take some rest. He just sat on the bench with his limbs tightly knotted. It was somewhere in the morning when he dozed off for few minutes, his head resting at the wall. The certain noise suddenly woke him up from a confused dream – he had a strange sinking feeling of time slipping out of his hands. He abruptly stood up, taking two strides in a beat and peered through the glass window. The world around him dissolved into nothingness as his hands stilled on the glass window of the ICU door the moment his eyes landed on Molly… watching her breathing becoming rapid.
"No.. Molly.." he whispered.
"Increase the oxygen intake!" the elder neurosurgeon spat out instructions to his colleagues. "Stabilize the.." his face burned up at an unexpected intrusion. "Mr Holmes!" he yelled at Sherlock. "Please wait outside!" His voice came as a growl at this unprofessional intrusion. "No one is allowed in here right now."
But Sherlock barely registered him yelling at him to stay out as he practically knocked the doctor who was fixing the ventilator over and took a quick step forward, reaching out for her.
"Molly!" His breaths sharp with fear as his hands darted out and cradled her face firmly.
"Mr. Holmes, we must ask you to leave the ICU now!" The team of doctors were baffled at this behaviour from a fully grown man. "The patient is in an extremely critical condition…"
She laughed wholeheartedly when her hand curled around a wrist in the thin air.
"Found you!"She laughed in triumph when out of the chilling soft fog appeared a man, giving her a gentle defeated smile. Seven years old Molly, standing on a high hillock, hugged Arthur - her beloved father- around his neck as he lowered himself to his daughter.
"I told you,daddy. You always lose the hide and seek game. Even my teddy can find you."
"Listen to me." he removed the oxygen mask that was hindering their faces. "Come back to me, Molly," Sherlock begged.
"Take me with you daddy." she happily held a hand out.
"Her body is shutting down. She is going into coma. It's too late now." He heard them saying. There was a great hustle around him.
"SHUT UP!" he screamed at them like a madman.
"What is going on…?" the authoritative voice of Mycroft joined in. His face turned into a grimace when he peered at the face of his desperate brother who was very near to tears.
"Let him stay please." He requested apologetically.
"Molly.. You cannot do this to me. I know I've done wrong. I always do things that make you angry but you never got this angry with me. Talk to me! Don't punish me like this." Sherlock said hysterically as the beeps of monitor slowed with each passing second. Tears finally dripped down his face as he rested his forehead against hers.
"I want to be with you.. I want to go with you."
"Stay..p..please."
Arthur nodded and gently took her small hand in his and the two of them started walking down wards… very slowly into the faded valley.
His rumblings went low as one of his tear slid over her face.
"Listen to me." a voice called to her. "Come back to me.." Someone was saying….was whispering..
With a defeated sigh Sherlock mumbled against her faintly breathing lips. "I…I..need you, Molly."
They halted as Arthur looked down to see his seven year old daughter.
"I need you,Molly." The voices said again, this time as a rasp.
"Looks like someone is in need of you."He gave her a watery smile.
Molly looked back. "I don't want to go,daddy,"she protested innocently.
"I will be right here,"he assured her but took a step back as he slowly let go of her hand. "I'll be waiting for you."
Sherlock lifted his face just a little as he discerned her body becoming still and her breathing barely registering.
"Remember I love you,my Molls."
"No… wait!"She ran towards him but he was swallowed up into the chilly fog again. "Let go. Let go."His final words echoed.
She was back as an adult again as she turned to face the direction of the voice that she'd heard earlier…
The dead silence of the room was suddenly broken by a beep. With a faint grunt the machines started operating again. The doctors looked at Molly, still covered by Sherlock and then back to the machine in disbelief. With a jerk, like she was pulled by a gravitational force, she felt her brain coming back to reality.
"That's impossible!" one of the surgeons breathed out, wide-eyed, as the spikes of waves on EEG machine were becoming more and more regular.
Sherlock abruptly stood straight, immediately stepping away to let them treat her once more and a great hustle started around Molly. He pressed his eyes closed and let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. Slowly, very slowly he moved away from the bed, never breaking his gaze from her.
"Let's wait outside now, Sherlock." Mycroft patted his shoulder, encouraging him outside. "You've done well. Let them take it from here."
Thanks again writingwife83 for writing this special Sherlolly ICU moment.