Chapter 26

Molly had been too close to Sinead Moriarty when the bullet hit. As she crouched down on the floor she stared in horror at her arms and chest, where the last of the Moriarty family's blood and brain matter had splattered over her and all around her. She panicked and frantically jerked backwards, digging her heels against the wooden floor for leverage to escape from the body of Sinead Moriarty, and the blood pooling around her head and on the floor beside her. She could feel her own blood draining from her face and nausea surging through her entire system.

Then Sherlock was beside her and he was scooping her up and calling her name. She gripped his coat lapel with her good hand and turned her face into his chest but she couldn't stop shaking and she couldn't find her voice. So Sherlock spoke for her. He rocked her into him, and crooned to her, and lifting her up, he carried her out of the room and up the stairs to their bedroom. When he went to put her down she shook her head and gripped him tighter so he sank down on their bed, keeping her cradled in his arms, and still she trembled and latched on rigidly to him. He stroked her back and spoke softly to her,

"You're ok Molly. It's all over now, my darling girl. You're safe now Molly. I have you. Please, just breath with me Molly, come on now, big deep breaths",

He started to inhale long deep breaths and exhale slowly and she felt his chest moving beneath hers and she began to copy him and soon her pulse slowed down and she began to relax and come back to herself, and to him. She pulled back slightly, and looked down between them at her lovely new sweater all ruined, and Sherlock's coat and jacket and even his shirt all bloodied from holding her, and she turned up her face in disgust and looking at him, she said shakily,

"Get her off me please Sherlock? Get her off us?"

He nodded and stroked her face then shucked off his coat and carried her into the bathroom. He took off her lab coat and she helped as much as she could, then hissed in frustration at her cast, and holding it up, she said,

"This too, it's all bloody and some of it splattered inside, and I know it's on my skin. I want to take it off."

He acquiesced reluctantly, and told her that he'd strap her hand up tightly for the night, and that they'd sort it in the morning, and then she smiled tremulously at him and his heart surged in relief. She was coming back to him now. He gripped the plastic cast with his two hands and tugged hard and it popped apart. She grimaced in pain and then sighed heavily.

"I'm so tired Sherlock. I'm sick of being in pain and I was starting to feel slightly better but then, well, she pulled the head off me, and my scalp aches, and my body aches, all over again. I don't feel very well, really."

"That's perfectly understandable Molly, I'm so sorry we had to resort to Plan B. Not ideal." His voice cracked with guilt then, that it had come so close, and he wrapped his arms around her again and planted gentle, apologetic kisses on her face.

"No, don't do that Sherlock, you saved me, you and Mycroft. He took a bullet for Mary too, can you believe it? He protected me Sherlock; he shielded me with his own body for as long as he could."

She laughed softly, "and then you appeared through those doors, like my avenging angel. I was never so happy to see you in my life. I was so bloody terrified and there you were, just like you promised." She laughed a little shyly then.

"I so want to kiss the face off you, Sherlock Holmes, but I feel disgusting. I need to feel clean first."

"Arms up Molly, quickly!" he teasingly instructed and she laughed and raised them in the air, and he pulled her jumper over her head, then the t-shirt followed, and he tossed them into the bath, evidence be damned. He laughed in surprise as, with one hand, she began to help him undress. She pulled his jacket off and popping all the buttons of his shirt open, she peeled the shirt off his back.

"You do that a little too well for my liking, Dr Hooper!" and her mouth turned up in the first genuine smile he'd seen since he'd left for Galway.

"You'd better get used to it, Sherlock Holmes; you've been tormenting me with those shirts for years!"

He pulled his best 'who? me?' face and laughingly replied,

"I don't know what you're talking about Molly!"

"You do too!"

Her voice was weak though and he could still feel her trembling under his hands. He sat her down and pulled off her boots, and then the rest of her clothes. He stripped off his socks and then began to open his trousers. Molly started to chew her bottom lip and looked up at him from under her lashes. The blood rushed back to her face and he saw and gave her his gravelly laugh. Locking his eyes boldly on her, he dropped his trousers and underwear. Molly flicked her eyes down and then back up again and gave him a very approving grin. He smirked back and held out his hand to her, and she grasped it and stood up, and he put a gentle arm around her waist and led her into the large shower unit.

Holding on to her and gently stroking her hip, he turned on the water. It warmed instantly and they stepped under it. Sherlock took up the sponge and gel and washed every inch of her. He frowned at the rainbow of bruising covering her body, and placed gentle kisses where he cleaned. Molly rested her hands on his broad shoulders and closed her eyes, revelling in the sensations of the warm soapy water, and the sponge, and his mouth. She felt languid and cherished and knew that he was cleansing the fear and horror of the last twenty four hours out of her system, in his own inimitable way.

Then he washed her hair once again, and his own, and when he finished he turned off the water, and grasping her firmly to him, he gently combed through her long hair with his fingers. He planted a kiss on the crown of her head, and then, tilting her chin up with his fingers, he murmured,

"Better?"

Her eyes sparkled at him and her dimples were back in full force. Stroking low on his hip, she raised a coquettish brow at him and purred,

"Much, much better Sherlock.."

His eyes popped at her and then he stalled her hand and growled,

"You, woman, are a minx! When you have sufficiently recovered I'm taking you away somewhere where we can be completely alone and undisturbed for at least a week." Then he kissed the knuckles of her captive hand. "Meanwhile, we still have a case. Care to watch the destruction of the Moriarty empire?"

"That would be lovely!" and laughing gleefully, she grabbed towels and they quickly dried and dressed, Sherlock insisting on pyjamas and dressing gowns.

"Well it is night time Molly!"

and she laughed at him and capitulated. Passing John and Mary's room, Sherlock cocked his head to listen and mock shuddered.

"Best leave them to it. Poor Mary. She's in good hands though."

She looked down at the hand clasping hers and smiling, she said quietly,

"As am I," and she proceeded with him back down the stairs to the 'operations room'.