Chapter 20: Eyes on You

Sherlock heard a gasp as he hit the floor, but he couldn't identify from whom. Then there was loud, piercing ring that echoed through his skull as the pain overcame his body once again. Everything was a blur and fading all around him; he couldn't think, he couldn't move, he was completely catatonic. His mind was blank except for one thought: he wanted this to end. Sherlock groaned and curled in on himself, shivering from the pain and the fever coursing through him. Nothing was worth this amount of pain he was feeling. There was no point in fighting it. All he wanted to do was just sleep.

Even in his state, though, Sherlock was aware of a pair of hands running across his bare back. He then felt those same hands pulling him up and cradling him, gently rocking him back and forth and holding him close. They were softer hands then the ones that belonged to Moriarty, much more delicate and comforting. This pair was one that often brought him so much comfort in even his darkest moments. Somehow, through his overwhelming pain, Sherlock knew who was holding him, taking care of him, and being exactly what he needed.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, love, can you hear me?" Molly called to him, "Sherlock, please! Talk to me, say anything!"

Very slowly, Sherlock blinked his eyes open and was met with Molly cradling him in her lap and looking at him with the dearest eyes he had ever seen. He reached his hand up and brushed his shaking fingers across her cheek. Her skin felt so soft to him and a wave of comfort overcame his aching body, momentarily numbing the pain; "I'm sorry," was all he managed to say just before the darkness over took him once more.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" Molly cried, shaking him, "Come back to me! Sherlock! Wake up!" There was no response. He was just prone in her arms, completely still and out of it. She shook him again, but there still was no response. "Oh wake up, you bastard," she cried, her voice soft like a whisper, "Please don't do this to me." Molly hung head low and placed her forehead against his. She could feel the fever radiating off of Sherlock's skin as she held his body close. "Please don't do this," she said again, "Not here. Not now."

"Aw, is he out again?" Moriarty said with disappointment, "This isn't any fun, what with him going in and out like a faulty light bulb."

"Oh dear God," Kitty Riley breathed out from her place by the bathroom door. She was seated on the floor, her wounded shoulder wrapped up in a makeshift casting to help stop the bleeding, "Look at the poor man."

"Change of tune there, Ms. Riley," Moriarty taunted as he leaned in the doorway as if there wasn't a care in the world, "I thought you would say some witty comment about dear Mr. Holmes here. Then again, you two had quiet the chat during dinner."

"You heard that. Of course," she replied, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

"Well, I had to keep up with all the gossip," Moriarty said as he turned his gaze toward Molly again, "Lucky for you and your love, Molly," Moriarty said, shaking his head, "it seems that we have to take an unplanned intermission." His eyes then landed on the shivering figure at the far side of the room, "Mrs. Pierce, you look concerned. Is something the matter?" he taunted, "Not used to seeing someone in Sherlock's state, are we?"

Anna just shook her head, not in disagreement but in despair, as she looked to the floor. She held tightly to one of the bed posts and started chewing at the bit of skin on her left middle finger. She wasn't being held there by force; she just seemed to be planted there in fear.

"Leave her be," Kitty barked, going to the woman's side, "Haven't you done enough?"

"Never enough, honey," Moriarty chuckled, "I'm only just getting started."

"Wha-what have you done with my husband?" Anna Pierce finally spoke, her bottom lip quivering with every word.

"Oh! That's right, silly me," he taunted, rolling his eyes, "I almost forgot about that, Mrs. Pierce. Your husband is-hmm, how shall I put this? Indisposed? Yeah, that seems about right."

Curious, but also terrified, Anna slowly headed toward the living room. Moriarty merely glided to the side so to let the woman see the results of the scene that had just transpired there. Her eyes instantly landed on the still form of her husband, laying in a pool of blood. Anna let out a scream and ran to his side.

"GOD, NO!" she wailed, cupping his face in her shaking hands, "RICHARD! OH GOD!"

"You absolute monster," Kitty breathed out, glaring Moriarty right in the eyes, "what do you gain by this? Murdering an innocent man."

"Innocent? Hardly. Look what he did to our dear Sherlock?" Moriarty laughed, "He was a necessary loss. I always have a plan, never forget that." He then turned his attention to Molly once more; "Poor, little, sad Molly," he said, shaking his head, "You know, I honestly thought you could do so much better than Sherlock. You are far too good for him, you must know this."

Molly didn't reply. She had blocked out everything that was happening around her. Her sole focus was on the man in her arms, fighting for his life as she cradled him close. He look as though he were fast asleep, deeply relaxed and out of any pain. 'How could this have happened?' she though as she stroked his curls, 'What are we doing here?' She couldn't help but feel partially responsible for the state Sherlock was now in. After all, she had pushed him to keep working. Perhaps, John was right.

"Is he breathing?" came a voice through Molly's thoughts.

Molly lifted her head and turned her attention towards the speaker kneeling beside her: What had he said his name was? David, wasn't it?; "Y-yes," she managed to say, holding back her tears for the moment, "He's breathing."

"Good, that's a good sign," David replied, placing two fingers on Sherlock's neck, "There's a pulse, but his fever is far too high. That's why he's so out of it. Come now, help me guide him to the bath, cook him down a bit. We need to take a look at that arm and those cuts as well. Can you let go of him for just a moment? I promise you, it'll only be for a short time."

Surprised at how calm and reassuring this man was, Molly nodded and loosened her grip on Sherlock. David then took hold of him, tucking one arm under Sherlock's knees and the other under his arms. Surprising all those who was looking on with his strength, David lifted the limp man up into his arms and carried him toward the bathroom.

"What about Richard?!" cried Anna from the other room, "Will you help him too!?"

"Not much one can do for the dead, Former Mrs. Pierce," Moriarty said, heading for the main door, "Tell you what, I'll allow this small interval for this small gathering: let you all sit with your thoughts and such. Who knows maybe things will play out the way I want them to without me? Doubt it, but then again...who knows." He chuckled then motioned for his remaining men to follow him out. In mere moments, the guests were left alone in the state room:

Alone.

Confused.

Afraid.

"Doctor Hooper, I need your help!" David called from the bathroom after what felt like an eternity of silence. Not wasting another moment, Molly sprung up from where she was sitting and practically ran into the bathroom.

Sherlock was now propped up on the toilet with David keeping him upright and wrapping a towel around Sherlock's wounded bicep. Water was rushing from the faucet, slowly filling the tub. It was an old med trick, one that Molly had personally ever seen used once: a lukewarm bath can bring a person's fever down temporally. Did it really work? She wasn't sure, but at this moment she would take any method that would help Sherlock. Seeing him like this, a nearly senseless state, was too painful to bear.

"Does he have any medication?" David asked, breaking Molly from her thoughts.

"Um, yes, yes he does." she managed to reply, "He had them on him before we left for dinner."

Finishing up tying his makeshift cast around Sherlock's arm, David then began to check Sherlock's trouser pockets; "Lucky us, eh Sherlock?" he said mainly to himself as he pulled the small orange pill bottle from the left trouser pocket.

Sherlock just let out a deep groan and slumped forward, nearly falling onto the ground if it weren't for David's quick response.

"Whoa, whoa, alright," he said, catching the sickly man, "Stay with us, now, okay? No need to just give up." He then turned to Molly, "Can you manage to get him into the bath?" he asked, "That's just about enough water; he'll be fine."

Molly simply nodded and entered the room completely. She went over to where David was kneeling and took Sherlock into her arms once more. To the best of her ability, Molly stripped him down to just his pants then-with some help from David-carried Sherlock to the tub. Carefully, they set him down into the water, situating him so that he could lean back in a somewhat upright position.

"Alright, I will be right back," David said, handing Molly the pill bottle, "I'll assist the others for now and grab Sherlock some clean clothes as well. If he wakes up, trying to get him to take his meds. I know you can handle yourself, Dr. Hooper. Sherlock is in good hands." He then exited the room, leaving Molly alone with her thoughts.

Trying to keep her emotions at bay, Molly mentally stepped into the role of doctor and began to asses her patient. She placed her fingers on his neck to search for a pulse; she found one but it wasn't to her liking. Very carefully, Molly she kicked off her heels (she was still dressed like she was at dinner) and stepped into the tub, adjusting herself so to look Sherlock head on, and quickly started to examine his cuts. The very sight of them made her want to burst into tears, but she held it together. 'Focus, Molly, focus,' she told herself, 'He needs you. Help him.'

Setting the pill bottle down, Molly grabbed a nearby hand towel, dabbed part of it with water, then began to clean Sherlock's cuts. They were mere scratches, some a tad deeper than others, but nothing to fret over. The one that worried her, though, was the stab wound on his arm. It wasn't bleeding profusely, but it obviously needed to be stitched up sooner rather than later.

"Your dress will be soaked," Sherlock breathed out, taking her completely by surprise. His eyes were open just about halfway and not entirely focused, but Molly still took it as a good sign: 'He's coherent,' she thought, 'That's a start.'

"Hey," she sighed, cupping his face with her hands, "Stay with me, alright? Can you do that for me? Can you stay awake?"

A soft, half-mouth smile grew across his lips as he tilted his head into her palm; "Yeah," he sighed, his voice very distant and sluggish, "I believe I can manage that."

Molly smiled back and leaned forward a bit. She placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's forehead then moved her way down to kiss his lips. Sherlock, surprisingly, returned the gesture.

"I need you to take your medicine," Molly whispered when they parted.

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed in reply. He then lifted a shaking hand out of the water, palm up, and held it out to her. Molly picked up the bottle again and shook out a couple pills.

"These cuts," she said, placing them in his hand, "Do they hurt?"

"I've suffered worse," he replied, slowly popping the pills into his mouth, "I've jumped off a roof, remember?"

"Yes, but you didn't hit the ground," she pointed out, "and I was there to help you. I-I'm sorry I wasn't there now."

He chuckled, then, with some struggle, managed to swallow his medicine; "Don't," he sighed, sinking further down into the lukewarm water, "Don't put any blame on yourself."

"I was just on the other side of the door."

"Molly, please."

Seeing the genuine concern behind his gaze, Molly decided to drop the subject. That didn't mean she tucked away her guilt, though; she could've helped him. She knew that.

"Your arm," she said, resuming her care for his wounds, "Moriarty did that to you, didn't he?"

"No," Sherlock replied, "Pierce."

"Pierce? Anna's husband?" Molly asked, "But, why would he?"

"You know," Sherlock chuckled, "You were listening."

Molly looked up so to lock here eyes with his, a pink blush tinting her cheeks. Of course he knew she was listening from the other side of the door. "I fooled them," she said, "the men watching us. I sat curled up as close to the door as possible, hunched over, so they thought I was crying. I really had my ear pressed against the crack in door."

"My clever girl," Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes.

"Sherlock, what does it all mean?" she asked, "Moriarty has brought these people together because of you, but...why?"

"Why do psychopaths do anything, Molly?" he replied, "It's all for sport."

"Will he kill us?"

"Unpredictable."

"Will he kill you?"

Sherlock sighed and gave her hand a comforting squeeze, unable to speak an answer for her. As his features started to relax once more, Molly took note of how slow his breathing was becoming.

"Sherlock," Molly called out, gently tapping his cheek, "love, stay awake."

"Hmm," he hummed in reply, "Trying."

"Try harder."

Sherlock let out a small laugh; "Your bedside manner is...unique," he said, "Good thing you work with the dead."

"I just don't want you to just give up," she explained, "Please, don't give up. We can fight through this."

"Hmm, maybe John was right."

"How?"

"I think...this case may be my last."

Before Molly could ask him anything more, Sherlock slipped back into unconsciousness. She tried stirring him awake again, but it was of no use. Accepting defeat, Molly reached back and pulled the drain plug; they had been in the bath water long enough, she thought.

"Ms. Riley is attempting to comfort Mrs. Pierce," David said, reentering the bathroom with what appeared to be a pair of loose pants and a gray t-shirt, "Sorry I dug through your bags."

"It's fine," Molly said, "He was awake. He took his medicine and the fever seems to be under control, for now."

With a nod, David quickly came to her aide and helped Molly get Sherlock back on his feet. To Molly's surprise, David snatched up a towel (the last dry one in the bathroom, it seemed) and started to dry Sherlock off. He then guided them toward the toilet and gently placed Sherlock down to sit up on it again.

"Here," Molly said, taking the clothes from him, "I'll dress him." David nodded and turned away, allowing her to remove Sherlock's wet pants and dress him in his warmer, cleaner clothes. "You are very calm," Molly said, pulling Sherlock's shirt on over his head, "Are you a doctor?"

"In a way," he replied, kneeling beside the tub and checking Sherlock's breathing, "I used to run a rehab facility out in Milton Keynes, far from London and all those people running about."

"A rehab," she replied, "so...is that how you know Sherlock?"

"Pieced that together, did you?" he asked with a chuckle, "I guess it was bound to come out. Yes, I treated Sherlock back when he was a teen. Hadn't seen or spoken to him in years, obviously. That's why I was so surprised to see him walk into the dinning room; I had no idea what had happened to him since he left my care."

"He willingly left rehab?" Molly asked, bringing Sherlock to his feet again.

"No, no, he completed his treatment," David replied, helping her, "It wasn't an easy road, but-Well, Sherlock surprised me."

"How so?"

"When his brother brought him to my clinic, Sherlock was small and frail. He hadn't eaten in days and, according to his brother, had been living in some warehouse. For the first few weeks, he never spoke or left his room. Then, one day, he came into my office and just started talking. He told me about his school life, his skills, his ability to deduce anything from anyone. I was taken back, but at the same time intrigued. I had never met someone like this Sherlock Holmes.

He also proceeded to tell me that he didn't have a drug problem and that he could prove it to me. I saw him at his lowest and...and I honestly feared for his life. But then, he would bounce right back. When his treatment was finished, that 16 year-old boy simply walked out of the clinic and was on the next train back to London by midday."

"Sounds like Sherlock," Molly replied with a smile, "Determined."

"Indeed," David said. The two of them managed to guide Sherlock back into the bedroom and lay him atop the bed. "He'll sleep for a bit longer, I think," David went on, checking Sherlock's pulse, "When did he fall ill?"

"Almost a month ago now," Molly answered, sitting beside Sherlock, "The official diagnosis is Aplastic Anemia, but...well, I think it's developed into something more."

"It wouldn't be uncommon," David said, "And, I hate to say it Molly, but Sherlock's health record isn't the best."

"I know, I know," she agreed, turning her gaze to the man she loved. She gently began to stroke his curls off of his forehead, both for her own comfort and his.

"I'll clean up the bathroom," David said, gently patting her shoulder, "God knows when Moriarty will be back and you two need this moment."

Molly just nodded as she continued to look upon Sherlock's sleeping form. Her mind started to wander away from the now; she thought about where they would be if he hadn't taken this case. They'd be at Baker Street, away from any chaos and healing. Sherlock would be in the living room, fiddling with his violin or napping on the couch, while she'd be in the kitchen or by the fireside reading a book. Life would be simpler and calmer, a rarity for them, but a cherished one at that.

"What have we done, Sherlock?" Molly whispered, leaning forward and kissing his cheek, "What are we doing here?"

"Horrible man, that Moriarty," Kitty said as she and Anna walked back into the bedroom, "What are we to do now?"

"What can we do?" Anna cried, "That man will kill us!"

"You know what? We escape," Kitty replied, "Come on, we have a genius in our company. Surely we can make a plan!"

"And where would we go? We're in the middle of the North Atlantic," Molly said, surprising both women, "You're wounded, Anna's in shock and Sherlock...Sherlock is too ill to go anywhere. Moriarty won't kill us, not yet at least...I don't think."

"Wouldn't he just," Kitty replied with a laugh, "What kind of sick, delusional word do you live in, Dr. Hooper? Moriarty is a mad man! Look what he did to Sherlock!"

"Sherlock's been...been ill for awhile," Molly said, rising from the bed, "I'm not trying to make excuses or anything-"

"It sure as hell sounds like you are," Anna snapped, "He killed my husband!"

"Molly's right," David said, reemerging from the bathroom, "Moriarty has a plan; he's no idiot, that much is clear. Mad? Yes. Stupid? Definitely not. We are in the middle of nowhere, unable to get in contact with anyone back home since his men took our phones, and weak."

"You think we should just put up with this then?" Kitty snapped, "I promise you, sir, I will not die a captive!"

"That is what you are, Ms. Riley!" he replied, "Do you think they shot you just for kicks?"

"So we stay prisoners," Anna said, crying once more, "Wait this out for-for God knows how long."

"No! No, I won't just give in!" Kitty barked, "I'm not waiting for the inevitable! The man doesn't even want us here; you all heard him! This is all about Sherlock! I say we use him."

"What? Bargain his life for ours?" David asked, shaking his head, "You'd trade a sick man's life just to possibly save yourself?"

"Survival of the fittest," Kitty coldly replied, "and it is damn obvious who of us is the weakest link."

"Only physically, Kitty, I assure you."

All of the passengers turned their attention toward Sherlock, who was slowly situating himself into a standing position. Molly reached out to help him and he accepted gratefully. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders while she held him up by his waist.

"You're awake," Kitty said

"See? You're proving my point," Sherlock said with a smirk, "Stating the obvious." He then turned his attention to Anna, who was gazing at him with a look of pure hatred; "Your husband did not deserve to die," he said, clearing his throat, "He was being used, like we all are."

"Then why aren't we doing something about it?" Kitty continued to push, "Come on, detective, surely you must have a plan to get out of this!"

"I don't," Sherlock admitted, "but I trust that someone will come up with one." he turned his gaze toward Molly, who just looked back at him in utter confusion.

"Me?" she asked, "But, Sherlock, I-I don't even know what's going on here! Truly!"

"Doesn't matter," he replied, slightly loosing his footing. Molly quickly reacted and gently guided him to sit back down the bed. Breathing a little heavier than before, Sherlock pressed on: "You've saved me before, Molly. You can save these people as well."

"How? I don't even know-"

"You'll find the right moment, I know you will."

"And you? What about you?"

Sherlock let out a heavy sigh then cupped her face in his hands: "I have to finish my work, Molly," he said plainly, "No matter what, I have to finish this."

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

"I think you already know." he replied, running his thumbs across her cheeks.

Before Molly could replied, the front door to the cabin banged open. Within seconds, Moriarty and his men had entered the bedroom and taken over the room once more. Two men snatched Sherlock by the arms and practically dragged him over to where Moriarty now stood beside the bedroom door.

"Well, how was the interval?" he taunted, running a finger across Sherlock's cheek, "You seem more...alert."

"I'm sure you are going to amend that," Sherlock replied.

"Maybe," Moriarty sang. He then waltzed over to where David was standing and wrapped an arm around the man's tense shoulders. Surprisingly, David did not fight it. "Well, Doctor Peterson," the consulting criminal said with a smile, "how about you regale Sherlock and I with your tales from that clinic of yours? You remember, don't you Sherlock? Or are the drugged out days all a blur to you now?"

Neither Sherlock nor David replied as they were both dragged into the living room. Just before the door was shut, Sherlock and Molly made eye contact for a short moment. He simply nodded to her as if to reiterate what he had told her. She could only nod back, wordlessly telling him that she trusted him.

'I'll save you Sherlock,' she said to herself, 'I promise you.'

Hope you all enjoyed this update. It's a long one and a lot to take in. Let me know what you all think as your responses are always appreciated. I'll see you all soon, I hope. That is if life doesn't get in the way :)
Much love and many thanks,

Samwise221b