Chapter 26

John worked in silence for another twenty minutes. Molly could feel tears threatening, not from pain, just from the relief that her journey was nearly done. She'd never thought much about what she would do afterwards because it hadn't mattered. It's not like she could wander off and marry some average man, have his children, and hold down a "regular" job. Not anymore. Maybe she'd take Mycroft up on his offer. MI-6 would get her out of the country and likely dead before she ceased to be useful to them. It wasn't a bad plan. Brendan told her knew a few people at the NSA and Homeland Security who would offer her employment on the spot with his recommendation. Maybe that was the better plan. Mycroft would tell Sherlock where she was if the price was right.

Molly inspected the wound when John was finished. "Thank you, John. I'm sure it will heal up quite nicely now. You should really get back into the OR. You're an excellent physician." She sat up as he put the dressing on.

"Thank you, but you are trying to use flattery to distract me. I wonder where you learned that trick," John said, trying to sound teasing, but she knew he was serious. "Are you going to let me look at your hands?"

"They're okay, really."

"They are significantly swollen and bruised, and your left hand had an obvious deformity when Greg and I first…got to you."

She sighed. "Seems you learned a few tricks as well."

"Yes, but those I learned taking care of battlefield injuries. Are you going to let me look?"

Molly unwrapped her hands and John hid his concern behind the physician mask. "I dislocated my first carpometacarpal joints to get free."

"How the hell did you do that? That joint is very stable." He asked, running his strong but gentle fingers across the rest of the joints in her hands and wrists.

"Yes it is."

"You've done that before, haven't you?" He could feel how loose those joints were.

"Three other times on the right, twice on the left, to make sure the ligaments were sufficiently lax."

"That's not something you could have done on your own the first time or two." When she said nothing, John closed his eyes and let his head drop forward, trying to push away the idea of someone hurting her like that. He settled for just holding her small hands. "Jesus, Molly. I wish you told me. I wish you hadn't done this to yourself. We could have figured something else out."

"I'm an adult, John. You are not responsible for me, so stop feeling guilty. I made my choices and I will live with the consequences. I went into this with my eyes open." She glanced towards her office, towards Sherlock, for just a moment before she took a deep breath and rewrapped her hands.

"You killed two men today. Granted, it was self-defense, but that kind of thing takes a toll on you when you've never…"

"I have absolutely no problem with killing them, and if it reassures you, they weren't the first. I killed Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's right hand man, and two others that worked for him. They didn't bother me either. They deserved to die."

John nodded, but the emptiness in her eyes made him shiver. He put an IV into her good arm, withdrawing a few tubes of blood and administering fluids and antibiotics. "Do you want something to help with the pain?"

"I'm okay." Now that she was calmer, and around someone she trusted, the pain was creeping back along with a deep weariness.

John started to clean up. "Are you really, though, okay?" His voice cracked a little.

"John. Look at me." He did, the concern evident on his face. "I was prepared for him, for Moriarty. I trained for it. When I cried and whimpered for him, it wasn't real, okay? It was part of the act. I needed him to think I was beaten, that I was no threat to him, that I'd surrendered, so he'd unchain my ankles. Stop feeling sorry for me." She tried to stand up, since storming off seemed so appropriate, but the dizziness and nausea had other ideas. John eased her back down to the table.

"Did you tell him?" John gestured towards where Sherlock was working.

"I'm sure he knows. Nothing gets past him." She snuggled her cheek into Sherlock's coat, and he saw her inhale deeply and close her eyes. He watched her until her breathing became slow and even.

"Oh, I think this did."