SHERLOCK
Molly faded from consciousness as I squeezed her hand, silently begging her to come back to me. Sudden loss of consciousness meant she was losing blood rapidly, and there was nothing I could do. I barked orders at the emergency personnel, and they methodically placed her on the gurney and rolled her out of the building. I kept in step with them, looking at her pale, gaunt face and silently begging for her to look back at me with those honey-brown eyes again. I climbed into the ambulance, and as the driver attempted to object, one look from Mycroft silenced him. I looked back at him with gratitude. Mycroft and I had always been at odds. I had always been the unruly, tempestuous younger brother, and he always kept me from making a complete mess of myself, even if I was steps away from completely unraveling. That's the roles we played, and we played them well. Come to think of it, this was the first time Mycroft had ever deliberately inserted himself into my personal affairs, apart from making sure I didn't overdose in a back alley somewhere. Mycroft had been invested in protecting Molly from the beginning of this whole fiasco. I now took it as silent approval. As Mycroft nodded solemnly, his gaze strong and resolute, the ambulance doors shut and we were whisked away down the busy London streets.
They wouldn't let me go back with her. I explained she had no family to accompany her, and they still shut me out. I squeezed her hand tightly, checking her pulse on my own every few seconds, and I could feel her heartbeat getting faint as the gurney was unloaded and pushed down the long hallway. I attempted to push through the double doors but a male nurse stopped me, his hand firmly on my shoulder as I watched her being wheeled into the Emergency Room and out of sight. I watched the double doors swing, and then realized how enormously heavy I felt. My whole body felt like it was being dragged to the floor, and before I knew it, my left knee dropped suddenly, as if succumbing to gravity's pull. A nurse laid her hand on my shoulder. I was hyperventilating and shuddering. Normally I could mentally fight through this. I had been through worse and made myself at least appear functional to the average human being. This time I didn't fight it or try to control it. A pair of strong hands pulled me to my feet, and I followed the nurse numbly to be evaluated for shock.
My mind was reeling, I barely paid enough attention when the nurse stated commands I was to follow. Close your left eye, now your right eye. Let's take your temperature. Blood pressure. I felt like I was in a fog and to be honest, I'd rather be lost in it. One feeling I hated the most was helplessness, and I avoided it at all costs. Numb was better than feeling helpless, and so I took it for what it was. I felt a strong hand on my shoulder, and John smiled tightly down at me. He said nothing, and I was thankful for it. My eyes drifted in front of me, staring at nothing for what seemed like hours, but was in truth only a few minutes. "What's the prognosis?" I asked him, clearing my throat to fend off the hoarseness. "The nurse cleared you, though they'd prefer that you stayed here for observation," I scoffed, "Did you tell them you'd keep me under observation? I need to wait for Molly," I said, "I did tell them yes, but Sherlock you need to rest." John started, but I silenced him with a hand. "You know better than to patronize me Dr. John Watson," I stated hurriedly, "I'll be here…. And you can keep an eye on me should I collapse or whatever it is you're afraid of," My eyes focused on him again. "What's her prognosis?" I swallowed, nervous as to what John might say. John ruffled his hair, his eyes were tired. He knew his opinion was more valuable to me than anything this world could offer. "She should be fine, she lost a lot of blood, but the bullet didn't hit any major arteries, and once they manage to remove the bullet, they'll patch her up and send her to a recovery room." John smiled slightly, and his smile reached his eyes; a good sign. "But she's not out of the woods yet, Sherlock." John's smiled faded slightly, "She's going to need physical therapy for some time to regain the full use of her arm," John added, and I nodded. But she'd make it. She's going to make it. I know it. I kept repeating these words in my mind over and over. All I could do now was wait.
The monitors beeped rhythmically, one machine, then the other, and back and forth it went. These were the only sounds in the recovery room. This room, hospitals in general made me feel uncomfortable, but I would stay until I saw Molly open her eyes again. Molly was still incredibly pale, but she seemed peaceful as she slept; a painless, dreamless sleep, I knew. I finally acquiesced to John's pleading and took a mild sedative, and I actually felt my eyes begin to droop, the room becoming blurry as my body screamed for rest. Eventually I nodded off, reclining semi comfortably in an armchair in the corner, shoes off, tie undone, and I let myself succumb to sleep.
I stirred only when I heard the monotonous beeping of the machines increase, and I shot up, looking towards the hospital bed for any bad signs. Instead, I saw Molly smiling at me, her expression dazed and her eyelids still drooping.
"Did anyone ever tell you you snore like a train Sherlock Holmes," She let out one airly laugh as I practically leapt over the recliner towards her. "Molly, how are you? How are you feeling?" I searched her expression for signs of pain, discomfort, or confusion. "Like I've just been shot. You?" She teased, and I stroked her hair gently, kissing her on the top of her head and lingering for a few moments. She was so perfect. Even after a near death experience, she still kept me on my toes. God this woman, how could I even endeavor to keep her? The tears started rolling down my cheeks before I could stop them. Molly's unbandaged arm held me close, and she sighed into my shoulder. "Thank you Sherlock. Thank you," She said breathlessly, tears pricking at the edges of her honey brown eyes. "No Molly Hooper. Thank you. Thank you for putting up with my insufferable antics, my mood swings, just… I love you." I said, mumbling the words into her hair. She sighed as if she had been holding onto something for so long and she finally felt able to release it. All of her traumas, her struggles, her suffering, and she finally felt that she could let it go. We cried in each others arms for what seemed like hours, but it was cleansing, we both knew it. No one disturbed us as we sat in comfortable silence.
All of a sudden, Molly sat up slowly, wincing a bit and looking at me, her gaze questioning. "So what happens now?" She said, "We've no more of our own demons to slay," She laughed airily, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Well Molly, you know me. There will always be dangers to face and mysteries to solve, maybe less of them so... close to home," I said quietly, looking down. Molly laughed, "I'm ready when you are, Mr. Holmes." I smiled slightly, looking up and stroking her hair back behind her ear. "That's what I love to hear, Ms. Hooper."