Chapter Text
Chapter 14
NILIN
Pleased to meet you, Hope you guessed my name.
But, what's confusing you is just the nature of my game.
Mick Jagger and Keith Richards
London Bridge Hospital
7 February 2016
11:53 PM
Mycroft Holmes stood in the threshold of the dimly lit hospital room, leaning on his signature umbrella, watching the lines of the vital signs monitor scroll blue, red and yellow rhythmic patterns in time with their designated beeps. Although not 'out of the woods,' the crisis was passing, according to the doctors of the woman lying peacefully in the bed, who had been washed and carefully tucked beneath white sheets – a stark contrast to how she was found barely twelve hours earlier. A few tubes from her arms connected with bags of fluid hanging from the shiny chrome stand, and reminded him of when his brother was in a similar position not that long ago…his life had also hung in the balance. Still, she was strong and had the room not been so dark, he would swear the pink was returning to her cheeks. While Mycroft would never admit this openly, he was terribly fond of Molly Hooper and seeing her here, alive and recovering, brought about a relief he rarely allowed himself to feel, let alone show.
He turned his gaze to the corner chair, where a dark figure sat still and statuesque, hands perched before his lips as though in prayer. Might as well get it over with, he thought to himself. Sherlock would be disappointed if he didn't.
"Has she woken?" Mycroft asked, his voice hushed as he stepped further into the room.
A brief moment passed before Sherlock relinquished his silence. "No."
Both men, from their place on either side of Molly's bed, acted as sentries over the woman, who unwittingly found her way into their hearts. Both willing to be her warrior and do whatever was necessary to keep her safe…
Sherlock tousled his hair as though clearing away unwanted thoughts, then looked over to his brother. "Why here?"
"You mean beside the fact she's the only living witness for the Crown? It's state of the art, private and the staff is completely trustworthy-"
"Armed, too," Sherlock interrupted while standing, stretching his arms far above his head, giving his shoulders and back some much needed relief from sitting too long.
"Of course," Mycroft admitted with half-hearted righteousness. "I see you've taken your own security precautions from the media frenzy downstairs."
"Of course."
Sherlock leaned over Molly, and gently ran his hand over her hair, then rested it along her cheek. "Her fever broke about an hour ago," he offered softly, more for his own comfort than that of his brother's. "But, they made a mess of her hair."
"Excuse me?" Mycroft asked, tossing Sherlock a bewildered glare.
"They cut her hair…the matted areas."
"It'll grow back," Mycroft offered reassuringly, wishing the same were true for his thinning crop. "Do you need anything? There's a lounge down the hall. Quite nice and a fairly good selection of coffee, tea and fresh sandwiches. I'll stay with her, if you'd like."
"Just coffee. Black-"
"Two sugars. Yes, I know," Mycroft paused. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"
Sherlock adjusted the blankets around Molly, making sure her shoulders were covered, then dipped a small sponge into water before placing it to her dry lips.
"She still feels cold…" He murmured, his voice trailing.
"Pardon?"
"Is surveillance in place?"
"Yes. Accounts flagged, passports monitored, at least the ones we know about."
"And, still not on the run?"
Mycroft sighed, and steeled his gaze upon his brother. "No."
"Boasting…how predictable," Sherlock scoffed.
"Elementary. When do you plan on leaving?"
Sherlock sat back down in the over-sized lounge chair, and stretched his long legs out before him. "After she wakes. She's not to be left alone, Mycroft. I've made a list, no one stays with her, or has access, that's not on the list. You'll see to it?"
"Yes."
"I have your promise?"
"Sherlock…yes, of course. You should know, however, our parents will be in London later today.
"What for?"
"Why do you think? They've 'deduced' you're in a relationship, although clearly it wasn't difficult. After Sherrinford…they want to be 'here for you,' make sure you're alright. Our mother was insistent."
"You'll keep them occupied?"
Mycroft threw his younger brother a look of incredulity, then took a deep sigh. "While you're gone, but this is what parents do, Sherlock…we've just never allowed them. Now that you've entered the world of domestic bliss-"
"You say that as though it were something distasteful."
"Not so. I'm quite happy for you. Just…call them. It's what sons do."
8 February 2016
2:22 AM
"Mmmm," a faint groaning came from the still figure on the bed, causing the man dozing in the chair to wake. "Shhh…," was a whispered slurred, as she tried to stay focused and awake.
"Molly." he answered softly, gently brushing the hair off her forehead. Nothing. She fell back into a deep sleep and he settled into the chair, making note of the time, and continued to watch...and wait.
4:20 AM
Molly's eyes flew open, the stark smell of bleach and medicine felt assaulting, and left her quietly gasping for breath. Frightened, she blinked rapidly to adjust her eyes to the dim lighting of the room, while searching for anything familiar, anything to soothe the overwhelming sense of panic rising within. But, then, she saw him…the dark silhouetted figure standing along side her bed, his hands resting against her body, speaking to her. Warm tears streaked down her face as terror gave way to relief, and though she wanted to say something, her words were drowned by hitching sobs.
"It's okay, Molly, you're safe. You're with me now," Sherlock whispered reassuringly, hitting the call button for the medical staff. "Listen to me, you're safe…just breathe, that's it, breathe with me, we can do this." He cradled her face and leaned down to place a kiss along her cheek, tasting the salty tears before wiping them away with his thumbs. "I've got you…you're safe now…you're safe…."
Within seconds, the quiet room burst into activity, causing Molly to recoil from the bright light and noise. "You're alright," Sherlock called out, as he was ushered into the hall, the door closed behind him. He pulled the phone from his pocket, his deft fingers flying quickly over the keypad to send a text:
"She's awake."
5:01 AM
"Remarkably, Molly is doing better than expected and, for now, I'm cautiously optimistic. She's critical, but stable." Doctor Chaudhary continued his clinic assessment while guiding Sherlock toward the private lounge area. "Her body temperature is good, and blood pressure normalizing, so I allowed a slight elevation of her head, and we'll evaluate again in twenty-four hours. I'll have to wait for the lab results before I know any improvement with her white count, liver / kidney function and such. The nutritionist will see you sometime within the next day regarding the starvation to food protocol-"
"Marilyn Wilcox, the nutritionist needs to speak with her," Sherlock interrupted.
"I'll make a note. She's receiving hydration intravenously, so nothing more than a damp sponge to her lips, perhaps a few ice chips every fifteen minutes or so if she tolerates. We'll see about starting water, and perhaps some clear fluids tomorrow. I'd tell you the importance of letting her rest, but I doubt that'll be a problem. She has very little strength to do much else.
"I understand there's an ongoing investigation, but I must insist her physical recovery be given priority. If malnutrition and dehydration weren't difficult enough, her immune system is working overtime to heal broken bones. When she was brought in, Molly was entering vasogenic shock. She is a small woman, with a very low BMI, and moving past ketosis of fasting, she was in protein degradation. In effect, her organs were shutting down, accelerated by wide spread infection. Had you not found her when you did, Mr. Holmes, I doubt she would have lived another twenty-four hours."
5:15 AM
Sherlock paused to collect his thoughts before opening the door to Molly's room. He knew all too well the consequences Doctor Chaudhary spoke of…it was the Shade that slithered into his nightmares and fed the worst of his fears for almost six weeks. But she was here, on the other side of the door...sleeping…stabilizing, and real. He didn't have to attenuate to every strand of thought moving though the webs of consciousness for precognition. He only had to attenuate to her, and she to him…the invisible link connecting them - without words, without body.
He sat on the edge of her bed, watching her sleep, and brushed his fingers along her cheek. Molly stirred, her eyes fluttering to stay open as she struggled against her body's overpowering demand for sleep.
"Youfounme...Isawyou…" she whispered, her voice trailing indistinctive slurs as she drifted through tides of sleep.
"I saw you too," Sherlock answered softly, placing a kiss on the pale hand that was frighteningly skeletal. All of her was…pelvic bones protruding, he could count her ribs if he had the stomach to do so, and her face was so gaunt it left the skin around her eyes etched with dark gray circles. He remembered that he once offered a cruel observation her about her weight, intended as a sneer against her irritatingly blind trust in dating partners. Or maybe it was just her dating…things were always so much more clear in retrospect. It was a lifetime ago, but he wished he could take it back, that he never uttered the words that hurt.
"You came to me…I listened…I didn't laugh." Sherlock felt the irony grip at him, something he told no one. She felt disappointed, thinking she gave him a less than challenging cold case for a Christmas gift. But, now, watching her lay here, the tendrils of death fading, how could either of them have known that by giving him a case, she would become one.
"Molly…nan is here, with Laura…they're going to stay with you for a while. I have to go away, but I promise you, I'll be back soon."
Hearing a rustling sound, Sherlock turned to see Marilyn standing at the end of the bed, massaging Molly's feet. "I know nothing about…what do they call it…um…oh, reflexology. But, when she was little and not feeling well, she liked her feet rubbed," Marilyn said, her eyes glistening and watery. "Maybe it's a Pisces trait?"
"She still does."
"If I were a younger woman, I'd go with you. Don't look at me like that...I'd insist." The stern look she offered left no doubt regarding Marilyn's resolve. "It's probably for the best, though. I'm not feeling very merciful these days."
Sherlock nodded his understanding, then whispered something into Molly's ear, before leaving to meet John Watson in the hall. Walking down the brightly lit corridor, he shrugged his arms into his Belstaff and tied the woolen, navy scarf around his neck.
"Rosie?"
"With Mrs. Hudson. Mycroft has a jet waiting for us. Where are we going?" John asked, as he and Sherlock stepped inside the lift.
"Press the down button, John. We have an appointment with the Devil."
Author's notes:NILIN is from the ancient Enochian alphabet created by Dr. John Dee in the late 1500's. It's a bit evil of me, but I'll let you all work out the mystery of it's meaning. Thank you all for waiting so patiently for this last chapter! Sincere apologies for it taking much longer than expected.