Molly runs across the street, barely allowing the cars to pass before shoving through a small crowd that was beginning to form near her dearest friend.

It just so happened that she had been on her lunch break and was walking back to Bart's since the sun was shining. As she rounded a corner, she heard a familiar voice yell and peered over to see the beginning of a heavy struggle.

There was Sherlock Holmes in a tussle with a much heavier, more muscular man who was being relentless in his attack. Sherlock couldn't even reach for his gun, as the unnamed perp had his arms occupied trying to avoid blows to his perfectly chiseled face or a stab wound from the large dagger the criminal had slipped out of his waistband and clutched.

Then everything happened in a blur. Molly began to run towards them, not even knowing how she would help when she got there. Before her feet even hit the darker pavement of the street, cars began to pass by, and she heard a distressed yell from the man she had loved for so long. As the last of the vehicles that had blocked the assault from view for a few seconds passed by, her eyes landed on the horrific sight in front of her. Sherlock had been stabbed in his femoral artery and was on the ground, hands tight over the wound, blood gushing through his fingers like a fire hose.

The would-be killer flees as Molly sprints full speed the rest of the way across the street, noticing people beginning to form in the opening of the small alley. She pushes through them a bit too harshly and clamors to Sherlock's side, to his confusion. Molly screams at them to call 999. One of the bystanders does as she asks, shakily dialing and holding it to his ear.

Sherlock sweats and sags against the brick, breathing hard, blood staining his trousers and covering his pale hands, flowing like a tap. Tearing up but not skipping a beat, Molly takes off her sweater and rips it into three pieces. Grabbing a larger shred, she turns it into a makeshift tourniquet and looks at him empathetically.

"Sherlock, hey…this is really gonna hurt, but I have to do it to help you ok?"

Sherlock's dark curls stick to his sweaty forehead, his body losing blood fast and making him weak. He gives a small nod and clenches his jaw. Molly ties it tightly around the wound and he yells out in pain. He pants hard and leans his head back against the brick again, groaning in pain. His vision begins to blur, and he grabs her arm in an attempt to ground himself, leaving a bloody handprint on her skin.

"Mhh...shock...", he mumbles to her before his body erupts into a tremor. She holds him close and strokes his curls away from his face as the bystander hangs up the phone, reporting that the EMTs are on their way and that he had stated how bad the injury was, that Sherlock Holmes was bleeding out. Molly wraps the other two shreds of her sweater around the wound as blood begins to drench it and seep through.

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, I know it must hurt...you'll be okay. I promise. I'll make sure you're okay.

Sherlock looks up at her, his kaleidoscope eyes filled with fear, and she immediately understands that he believes he won't be so lucky this time.

"I can hear the sirens. They're coming Sherlock, just hold on for me, ok? You're the strongest person I know. But I've got you too. You can lean on me, just…just try to stay awake, okay?", her eyes tear up again. "You're going to be fine."

"K..ke..keep..", he murmurs, blinking rapidly, trying not to lose consciousness.

"Keep talking…right. Okay. They're almost here, and they'll fix you up. I'll ride in the ambulance with you to Bart's. I'm here, I'll be here, it's okay. I promise. You're such a fool for going on a case this dangerous alone, you knew John was working today and you never should've taken one this risky. How dare you put yourself in grave danger like this, you idiot."

Sherlock cracks a teeny smile through the pain before succumbing to the blood loss, finally slumping over and losing consciousness.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!?", Molly sits up and checks his pulse. It's barely there and extremely thready. Moving him to the ground, she begins chest compressions and CPR, trying her very best not to panic as well. Counting to six, she leans down and covers his mouth with hers, breathing out a puff of air until his chest rises, then pumping his chest again for beats of six and does it again. Two rounds into CPR, the ambulance shows up and EMTs run over with their equipment. Molly immediately steps back and lets them take over. The small crowd disperses and the only one left is her, standing in the alley as he is loaded into the rig. Tears finally begin to flow down her face as the reality hits her that there is a very real possibility of him dying from this injury, despite her best efforts.

When she had looked into his eyes after wrapping the wound, she knew that he was trying to communicate his apology to her for once again jumping into risky behavior without a second thought, all for stimulation. Molly knows his habits but can't take this devastation every couple of years, because of his less than brilliant actions. Bringing her hands to her face, she allows herself to finally break down in sobs, her body shaking with the force of them, especially when she sees the bloody handprint of his upon her arm, now nearly dry.

Once they get him as stable as he can get, they let her in the ambulance. They rush to St. Bart's and she holds his blood-soaked hand gently, not bothered by it. She tells herself that it's to comfort him, but it is really so that she can monitor his pulse and make sure the machine is correct. His skin is that of what one would imagine a vampire to be. As white and translucent as paper.

Once they at Bart's time seems to go quickly. He is ushered into surgery immediately to try to repair his artery. Mycroft and John are called, and both show up. Molly tells them about the ordeal, and her brain goes a bit foggy. The next time she looks at the clock it's nearly 9pm. John looks empathetic but says he can't wait any longer because he has to pick Rosie up from Mrs. H and get her to bed. Saying his farewells for now, he promises to update Mrs. Hudson.

Molly nods and sags back into her chair. She hasn't left for a single moment.

Mycroft looks a bit awkward but takes a breath. "Ms. Hooper, you should really get some sustenance before the café closes. I'll be waiting here, and I pushed all my meetings for the morning."

"Wow, how /nice/ of you to push your meetings for your brother who could possibly be dead from blood loss", she snaps. "I don't need food; I need to see him alive. That's what I need. Nothing else can happen until that does. I-I can't. I have no appetite and I'd vomit if I ate. I-...you didn't see him lying there with blood gushing through his fingers like a waterfall…", she takes a shaky breath.

Mycroft looks her over and looks at all the blood that was on her clothing, still sickened by the fact that it all came from Sherlock. Molly looked like she had been in a horror movie. "Apologies...I can't imagine witnessing that. But my brother is strong, and he'll pull through. He always does."

Molly scoffs and tears up. "He always does, until the day he won't. Fucking hell, yeah...he's had more than his fair share of miracles but that's the thing, right? He always finds a miracle to save him. Well Mycroft, unbeknownst to most of this damn city including you, Sherlock is still HUMAN. Susceptible to death, especially when he was stabbed in the femoral artery! Do you even know how bad that is? He could have bled out in mere minutes, Mycroft. MINUTES. They felt like hours. He nearly died in that alley. I had to wrap his leg which was /literally/ streaming with blood, do CPR chest compressions, and mouth to mouth until the ambulance came JUST to keep a tiny register of a pulse for him. There is a very real chance he won't make it past this surgery because he was paler than I ever could have imagined, and I work with corpses. I've seen flesh tones rosier than his was on dead men. He went into shock and had a minor seizure, I kept his head elevated...you have no clue how close he was and is to not making it."

Mycroft's face falls a bit, and he nods slowly. He notices Sherlock's handprint on her arm near her wrist and takes out a handkerchief. "You are a strong woman, Ms. Hooper", he states as he hands her the hanky.

Molly sniffles and sighs, taking it. "Doctor."

"Hm?"

"It's Doctor Hooper, not Ms. Hooper."

"Yes, of course."

Taking slow steps over to the water fountain and dampening the handkerchief, she goes to wipe the blood off but stops for a moment. She strokes where his hand was, grasping at her to ground him, save him. Tears fall down her face as she traces the pattern of his fingers and palm on her skin, not wanting to wash it off, but also not wanting to seem creepy.

Mycroft observes her hesitation and the look on her face as she remembered the moment Sherlock's desperation took over and he was genuinely afraid of his mortality. "You...care for him deeply..."

Molly returns to her seat and slowly wipes as much of his blood off of her as she can, focusing on that and not having to look at Mycroft. "Of course I do...we've been friends for years, Mycroft. I may not be one of his most important or prestigious or best knows friends, but a friend all the same."

"But you care for him more than just a friend would, do you not?"

"I'm not desperate Mycroft, if that's what you're implying. In fact, I'm a bit offended that you would even bring that up right now. He's hurt and dying, and I care about him so much that's all that's on my mind."

"Well...I'm hardly one to speak on matters of the heart, but I do know what it looks like. I did grow up with my parents. As you know, they are nothing like us, unfortunately. But I've seen that look before."

"What look?"

"When our mother had a minor heart attack years ago, my father was devastated. He doted on her hand and foot for as long as I can remember afterward. He always had that look in his eyes."

"What look, Mycroft...?"

He takes a deep sigh to prepare himself to even say the dreaded word. "Love", he bites out bitterly.

Molly keeps quiet and looks up at the wall clock for what seems like the millionth time since they've been in the waiting room.

Mycroft continues, treading carefully, as he can sense that her feelings for his little brother have become a touchy subject in the past year or so. "I know that we have not had many interactions through the years, but I do know that you have helped my brother on many an occasion, including but not limited to cases and of course, allowing him to take up residence in your home when he needed a detox. I trusted you with him and his reputation because, despite your usually soft demeanor, I know that you don't take those things lightly and that he listens to you when you are angry with him. I'd go as far as to say you're the only person in the world who could truly intimidate him, Mi- Doctor Hooper. I also know that the anger is due to you caring so much as to be terrified of losing him. Much like...much like I myself sometimes. He has a bad habit of allowing himself to be put in situations with a high likelihood of turning grave, regardless of consequences. As much of a thinker as he is, he doesn't truly think in regard to his own well-being. One of the things that the whole of London will never see in Sherlock Holmes is that as arrogant and detestable as he can be, he really isn't a selfish man, though his personality at first does give that impression. I suppose that selflessness is a small flaw that comes with owning a working heart. You've seen that side of him more often than anyone else I would assume, especially after that entire Reichenbach nonsense with James, and of course...my sister. Which I am still guiltily at fault for."

Molly sighs shakily and wipes her face. "Yes, at first he came on strong and was very rude and arrogant and he just made you want to hate him. But there was always this deeper, inner softness about him, even if you can't put your finger on it. The more I got to know him, the more I realized that it was just a self-preservation tactic. He plays the tough guy because he has to Mycroft. Can you imagine if Jim Moriarty even thought Sherlock was more sentimental than he already believed him to be? I'd be dead, and so would he because Sherlock would have too selflessly thrown himself off of this roof for the people he cares about. I guess I have the upper hand because I've known him longest of all his friends aside from Greg. I've seen him in the most vulnerable and lowest points of his life. I saw the dirty, broken, homeless addict that he was when I first met him, and Greg believed in him enough to encourage his potential. I witnessed how terrified he was when you and Greg told him that he was going to rehab, and I watched him come out with a new lease on life and a determination that hasn't faded since. I've seen him slip here and there and so I've cooled his forehead after watching him wretch for days on end, twitching like a fish out of water when his body hated him because I knew how being in an institution for addiction would taint the reputation he had tried to uphold ever since the first time his life went to shit. I've also seen him at his highest...the day he solved his first freelance case, the day he met John and formed a friendship with another guy for the first time, I've seen him become a better man and a godfather to little Rosie. I've seen him slowly over the years realize that he means something to all of us, that we are his ride or dies, and that he doesn't just have to protect us, but that we are here to have his back too. That he has a safety net after years of people despising him for his differences." She fiddles with her hands then looks at him.

"So yes, we have both evolved into different people over the last decade, my feelings have evolved too. Back when I had a crush on him, that's all it was. He was attractive and smart, but his personality was rubbish. Then he found friendship and became better, and he was worth helping and so those evolved, but I knew he wasn't even in the market for any type of partner, so I told myself to move on. We all know how that ended...I couldn't marry Tom. Despite what other people think, it wasn't because of Sherlock. Tom wanted to move for his job, wanted me to give up mine and stay home and raise our kids. I love my job, and it wasn't going to work, and we had been arguing anyway. We mutually broke it off. Just so you know, because I know how people looked at me like a lovesick, pathetic puppy and it had nothing to do with how I felt about your brother. Though I admit, I was happy to be able to breathe again after Tom, and then when Eurus happened...it's not how I wanted to say it to him. I could tell there was something wrong, I played along, but I was upset at him...I didn't know it was her at the time. In fact, I don't know if I ever would have said those words, had it not been for her telling him to save me...falsely."

Mycroft cracks a bit of a smile and nods. "Well, that's one thing about my sister...she's acutely in tune to truths that exist that others, including myself, would never notice. She knew how you two felt and played on his emotional side using you as bait...because you are his emotional context, Molly Hooper. You're his safety net before everyone else. I believe my sister knew it would never come to pass unless she forced you and seeing as she could work it into her twisted game, she took that opportunity to make him vulnerable to the one person he has trusted above all others for a decade."

Molly furrows her brow. "A-are you saying...what exactly are you saying, Mycroft?"

"He meant it, Doctor Hooper. I know when my brother is lying, just as he knows when I am. Those words he spoke to you, however in distress, was not a lie."

Tears fill her eyes, and she casts her eyes downwards again. "Well, i-it doesn't matter now, all that I care about is him surviving…again. I just need him to be okay. I don't care about the past anymore; I care about him being more careful if he gets through this surgery..."

Mycroft nods slowly, and after a few moments, the surgeon comes out of the operating room, bearing somewhat good news.

"Luckily, we were able to fix the tear in the femoral artery. It was a very deep wound that required extensive repair. However, it is going to take months or more of physical therapy for him to be able to use his leg again. He's a lucky man that we could salvage that artery and that he survived. The blood loss was significant, and he lost a pulse once during the surgery, but we were able to get him back pretty quickly, and a transfusion was done as well. He's very resilient. He will be resting in room 462 if you would like to go visit. Keep in mind that he is still asleep due to the dose of anesthesia used and may not wake up until tomorrow. We will give him some morphine for the pain, but I see on his chart that we shan't use more than a small dose due to his history of substance abuse. It'll be a rough few days, and it will be painful for him. I'm glad he has a good support system."

Mycroft nods and chats with the doctor about what Sherlock can and can't do with his leg wrapped and stitched. Molly half-listens and tear flow down her face, relief flooding through her own veins, in awe that once again, Sherlock had pulled through a situation which could prove fatal to anyone else.