A/N: A songfic prompt fill for 'Ultraviolet' by U2. xx
Seeing Light
The ache in his chest throbbed steadily as he made his way out of the hospital. Climbing out of the window had not helped with the heaviness in his head. Sherlock had contemplated ripping the bag of morphine along with him, but he figured it could be sorted later. There were far more pressing matters at hand.
By the time he arrived at her flat, he was in such a state that Molly forgot her anger from the afternoon and ended up in a state of panic. She quickly nudged the heap that was Sherlock Holmes' internally bleeding body into her flat and shut the door.
"What are you doing, you idiot?" she exclaimed, trying desperately to check his vitals.
"I just…I wanted…" he paused to cough. The pain in his chest was choking him.
"You can explain later," Molly said authoritatively, "Now, tell me, do you think you can make it to the sofa?"
With a nod and a great wince, Sherlock, with Molly's help, stumbled towards her sofa and collapsed on it in a heap. Within a few hours and with very discreet help from Meena, Molly had Sherlock settled safely and comfortably on her sofa, his vitals nice and steady. Molly exhaled, sinking to the floor as she leaned her head back against the sofa, inadvertently resting her head against the side of his hip.
Sherlock let his hand drop down, brushing past her shoulder and tried to reach for her hand. Molly did not want to reciprocate, but when she saw the blue veins under his pale skin, worry flooded her heart once more and she gripped his hand tightly, clutching it close to her chest.
"What are you doing, you idiot?" she asked again, whispering angrily.
"I wanted to apologise for this morning, and wanted to assure you, that it was all for a case." Sherlock said, "Truly."
"Why are you bothering to assure me?" she asked with a wry laugh.
The sofa creaked and Molly could hear Sherlock hiss quietly under his breath as he removed his hand from her and struggled to sit up.
"Don't be stupid, what are you doing?!" Molly asked, getting up in a hurry to ensure his drips were all in place.
"When this is all over, Molly," Sherlock said, managing a smirk, "We're going to have fish and chips."
"Have I given you too much morphine?" she remarked dryly.
"Or, if you'd prefer, we can go to Angelo's."
"I'd prefer if you shut up and got better, Sherlock Holmes," she answered.
Sherlock laughed dryly and reached to pry her reluctant hand from underneath her folded arms.
"I'm much better already, thank you." he said.
"Good," she remarked stoically, "Now, may I have my hand back please?"
"No."
"No?"
"I never imagined I'd see your hand without a ring again." Sherlock confessed, "Now that it's without one, I don't intend to let it go."
"What are you on about?" she asked, finally cracking a smile.
"Besides, the coat and scarf look far better on me," he said, looking up at her with a twinkle in his eye.
It was Molly's turn to laugh now.
"I suppose it does," she said, relenting as she let him pull her in for a kiss.