Thanks to GoodShipSherlollipop for betaing!
Sherlock sprinted forward on the streets of London, his coat flapping around him, and he gained speed with each step. His hands pushed away any obstacles in the way, be it people, solitary bicycles or whichever object blocking the pavement here and there. His gaze was fixed on the criminal he was chasing, and he didn't bother to look at anyone else or offer any apologies for constantly barging into people. The criminal suddenly changed its path into an alleyway and Sherlock followed. They ran up a flight of stairs appearing, two steps at a time. After making a round inside what must have been a museum of some kind, they returned to the flight of stairs and Sherlock instinctively matched the criminal in jumping down the last half of the stone steps. When he resumed his running on the ground, it was like knives or needles had appeared inside his left foot and it had lost the ability to support him properly. After a minute or so he had to surrender to the pain and sit down.
"No! He's getting away. Ugh!"
He watched all the people hurrying past him, and looked out for any available cabs.
His foot was throbbing more and more by the second and he figured the adrenaline in his body had worn off. He saw himself grab his phone from the pocket and call Molly. It rang for quite a while before she picked up.
"Hello, Sherlock," Molly answered curtly.
"Yes, hello Molly. I need your help," Sherlock explained.
"This isn't another one of your stupid games is it?" Molly asked, raising her voice.
Sherlock felt like someone had hit him in the chest all of a sudden, and his voice dropped to a lower note, before he replied, "No, Molly."
Molly sighed and forced her words out, more collected this time, saying, "What do you need help with this time?"
Sherlock tried to move and cried out.
"What's wrong?" Molly said tentatively, while trying to ignore her racing heartbeat.
"I just need someone to follow me to A&E," Sherlock answered matter-of-factly.
He cried silently while listening to the sound of keyboard tapping and glass hitting something else made of glass.
"But if you're at work, I won't disturb you," Sherlock said.
"How serious is it? Do you need me to call an ambulance?" Molly answered, sounding surprised.
"It's not that serious, I think. You were just the first person I thought to call," Sherlock breathed out as the pain peaked again.
"Oh," Molly exclaimed, before she continued and said, "I take it you are far from the main road then? If there's no one else there to ask for help."
Sherlock moved again and felt another tear trickle down his cheek.
"Molly, please," he begged and started to breathe more heavily.
"Well, ok, I guess I could come. Where are you?" she asked and started to put away her lab equipment.
"I'm by the Zoology Museum at the University College campus area," he said as he looked around.
"Oh, you're close to the University College Hospital. I can follow you there," she chirped.
"What about St. Barts?" Sherlock asked, and noticed some people starting to point at him.
Molly closed the door to a glass cabinet at her lab. "I'll take you to the closest one."
Molly disconnected the call, and Sherlock stared at his phone for a few seconds, observing Molly's name disappear. After a good 15 minutes he heard a vehicle stopping, a door being opened and some hurried steps walking around.
"Sherlock?!"
"Molly," Sherlock said calmly and waved one of his arms up in the air.
Molly was soon standing next to him, looking down on his crouched figure, asking, "So, how did this happen?" with a smile on her face.
He met Molly's gaze and answered a bit hesitantly, "Oh, just running and usual."
She crouched down to his level and said, "Can you get up yourself?" while smirking.
He got up slowly on his good leg and grabbed the nearby fence where they stood.
"You look terrible," Molly stated and assessed him from top to bottom. She gestured at the cabbie to drive over to them.
When Sherlock had to let go of the fence, he limped considerably while gritting his teeth. He managed to get himself inside the cab and gasped when the cabbie turned through an intersection. As the cab arrived outside the A&E, Molly said that she would get a wheelchair or something, but Sherlock refused. He limped his way inside, through the sliding doors, and sat down in the waiting area closest to the entrance.
Molly grabbed the forms and started filling them out. Sherlock watched the paper
intently before he rested his head back on the top of his seat, closed his eyes and
asked, "Any chance it's a sprain, you think?" rather hopefully.
Molly smirked again and answered, "I think you have to prepare yourself that it might be broken."
Sherlock groaned.
Molly laughed a little, saying, "I know you don't want to have a cast and crutches, Sherlock, but if it is broken, you have to allow it enough time to heal."
Sherlock spent the rest of the time in the waiting area nodding off, and readjusting his position now and then.
They were finally called after what seemed like hours, and Molly woke him. He forced himself to focus so that he could get to the x-ray room. When he got there, he placed his left leg on the table covered with a paper sheet which had a red glowing cross on it. He gasped when he had to put pressure on the impacted area, but it was over in a jiffy.
Once again they had to wait. They were let into another room with a computer screen showing his x-ray images. The radiologist there pointed to a bone in his foot. "You have broken your fifth metatarsal. Below the bone in your little toe, there is another longer bone that goes from the bone in your toe and to the heel. A fracture like this can happen if you jump or change direction quickly. It is stable and nondisplaced. No surgery needed."
Molly smiled and looked Sherlock in the eyes, speaking softly, "Well, that's good news at least, Sherlock. You don't need surgery."
Sherlock smiled back and answered just as softly, "I think I'm in need of a wheelchair."
Sherlock and Molly were then directed to another room where an orthopedic technician waited for them. The technician explained the process of casting while measuring the stockinette, as the technician said. Sherlock watched in fascination as the stockinette and padding were fitted around his leg. A part of him wanted to protest, but he thought about what Molly had said about letting his foot heal, and also he was too exhausted to bother about protesting anything at the moment. When the orthopedic technician was ready to put on the cast tape he asked Sherlock which color he wanted.
"Scarf," he said absentmindedly.
"What?" Molly chuckled. "Do you mean the color of your scarf?"
"Yes."
The technician brought out a box of rolls in different colors and Sherlock chose one. After having applied the deep blue color all around the leg, folded the stockinette over the edges and put on another layer, the technician announced that it was finished.
"It will set completely in a few minutes," he said.
"Don't you need any of the water things?" Sherlock asked, blinking rapidly and rubbing his eyes.
"Not with this kind," the technician answered and took off his latex gloves.
Molly elevated Sherlock's casted leg with the wheelchair's left leg plate, and Sherlock started to fall forward. Molly placed a hand on his torso and pulled him back.
"Sherlock?"
He didn't respond.
Molly shook him lightly.
"Hey, Sherlock?"
When he still didn't make any responses, he was transferred to another room to check for dehydration as Molly suspected he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a while.
With a confirmed diagnosis of severe dehydration, he was admitted for the night and was hooked up to an IV. It was almost tea time when Molly called around to tell people what had happened. John wondered what the "bloody git had done now", Greg asked how he was doing, and Mycroft merely thanked her for telling him.
They all arrived shortly after and found themselves in the hospital room with the beeps and sounds, Sherlock's limp figure dressed in a hospital gown and covered by a hospital blanket from the waist down, his cast barely visible.
"I'm not sure if he will wake before tomorrow," Molly told them all. "He was completely blacked out when they admitted him."
Mycroft glared at his little brother before taking out his phone, tapping something, and holding it up to his ear. "Oh, Sherlock."
Mycroft strolled to the other side of the room and started talking, his voice sometimes interrupted by another, seemingly far away. This went on for about five minutes before he removed the phone from his ear and put it back in his pocket.
"I have informed our parents of my brother's latest endeavour," Mycroft stated as he walked back.
They all stayed there through the visiting hours. John and Greg were chatting, Molly was reading a magazine by Sherlock's bedside, and Mycroft was sitting alone reading a newspaper and checking something or other on his phone from time to time. They were just about to leave the room when Sherlock stirred.
"Molly, what are you still doing here? Please go home, I'll be fine," Sherlock muttered huskily.
"Look who's here," she said, and Sherlock turned to look around the rest of the room.
"Oh, hello," he exclaimed.
"Molly told us all about your accident," Greg said and gestured in the direction of Sherlock's casted leg.
Sherlock glanced towards his cast and replied, "Well, it was most unfortunate."
John interjected and pursed his lips, speaking firmly, saying, "You've only just recovered from your last hospital stay. What case is this then?"
After a moment of silence Sherlock answered back in a warmer voice, answering, "This was an accident, John. Sorry for not catching that criminal, Greg."
Sherlock glanced everywhere else but John's face, and suddenly had to brush something off the edge of his bed.
John placed his hands on his hips and puffed.
"It's never an accident with you, is it? What's going on?"
Sherlock turned his head tentatively, but turned it back before replying, "I know my accidents are few and far between, but you have to trust me on this one, John. It really was an accident."
Sherlock rummaged through the bedside drawer before closing it again. He sighed and said: "Will you sign my cast when I find a marker?" more to distract John, than anything.
A nurse entered in the middle of it and checked on Sherlock's infusion pump and fluid bag, before leaving without a word. Everyone else left immediately after and promised to come back the next day.
Sherlock had just about opened his eyes in the morning, when a doctor stood by his bedside and told him they needed to run some blood tests to evaluate if he was ready to be discharged. The doctor turned on his heel and walked out in hurried steps.
And now was the first moment Sherlock tried to move his left toes since the cast had been put on. It felt weird, although he was glad he could still move them. He stroked the cast up and down with his palm to feel the material, and knocked on it with his knuckles to feel its firmness.
Shortly after that he heard familiar voices further down the ward, and Molly appeared in the doorway, followed by John, Greg and Mycroft.
"Good morning, Sherlock," Molly greeted him and took a sip of her coffee.
"Has the doctor been here?" Mycroft asked right away.
Sherlock sighed before answering, "Yes, they just need to run some blood tests and I'll hopefully be discharged if everything looks good."
"Well, brother, we will have to discuss your further care," Mycroft said sternly.
"I'm sure I'll manage on my own, Mycroft," Sherlock hissed and gave his brother one of his deadly stares.
"Oh, I can follow him back to his flat," Molly chirped and sat down in the chair closest to Sherlock's bed.
Mycroft held his nose up in the air and squeezed the handle of his cane, "Yes, thank you, Miss Hooper. I am merely referring to the rest of the weeks he will be in this state."
John stared intensely at Mycroft, joined in, and said, "I'm sure we can all visit Sherlock now and then and help him out. He won't be left all alone."
Mycroft took out his phone again and put it back, before he replied, "Very well, Dr Watson. I suppose your medical expertise will come in handy."
John pursed his lips, and moved his head in the opposite direction without saying anything.
"Yeah, I'll come for visits, Sherlock," Greg interjected. "I might even give you a case now and then. You know without the….yeah, one where you don't have to…" he muttered and gestured to show someone running.
A doctor entered the room, muting the discussion, asking, "Alright, Mr Holmes. Are you ready for your blood tests?"
"Yes," Sherlock answered.
The doctor positioned the wheelchair by Sherlock's bedside and Sherlock stumbled onto it. He noticed that the venous catheter had been disconnected from the fluid bag during the night.
"We will be back soon," the doctor stated and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair, pushing it out of the room and down the ward.
Sherlock was taken to yet another room in the hospital and read "biomedical laboratory scientist" on the badge of the person holding the form Sherlock's doctor had provided. She cheerfully greeted him with "Hello, I will be conducting your blood tests today."
"Great," Sherlock exclaimed and smiled.
An uncomfortably tight band was wrapped around Sherlock's upper arm.
"You have good and visible veins, Mr..," the laboratory scientist informed him while looking at the form to see Sherlock's name, and almost yelled out, "Oh, you're Sherlock Holmes! That's why you look so familiar!"
Sherlock laughed and answered, "Yes, I usually appear in a long dark coat and a scarf," he paused and pointed to his cast, "in this color."
"It seems you have been a bit unlucky, Mr Holmes. Now this might sting a bit."
"Oh, I'm used to needles," Sherlock replied.
"I will notify your doctor when the results are ready. Get well soon, Mr Holmes," she said when she had removed the needle from his arm and labeled the vials of blood.
Sherlock steered the wheelchair out into the corridor and tried to remember where his room was. Someone in scrubs asked him if he needed help getting back to his room almost instantly, and he said yes.
"I think I know where you belong," the person in scrubs said, who Sherlock deduced to be a 35 year old nurse who recently started working again after being away on maternity leave. The nurse took him through the corridor, up to his floor, and into his room.
"Oh, hi, Sherlock. How did it go?" Molly asked as she saw him.
"Exceptionally well, Molly. Met some fans, you know. Took a while."
Molly laughed.
Sherlock stretched for some crutches which had been placed on the floor, and Molly picked them up and gave them to him.
He rose on his good leg, grabbed around the handles of both crutches and finally stood up to his full height. He took one step, and then another.
Molly laughed again, and barely managed to utter, "You know hospital gowns are open in the back, right?"
Sherlock blushed and humped back to the wheelchair, muttering, "Oh sorry, Molly." He heard the rest of them laugh too. Greg and John talked about something from the newspaper, and Molly ate some crisps while reading the magazine from earlier. Mycroft was consumed by something interesting on his phone, apparently.
Sherlock rolled to the door to look out in the hallway. The fast pace of people in scrubs and other patients in wheelchairs and crutches calmed him down somehow. Someone in a white cloak and stethoscope headed towards Sherlock, and he rolled inside the room again.
"We have finished your blood work, and everything looks great. You will be discharged," the doctor entering the room announced.
"Thank you, doctor. We will leave shortly," Sherlock replied.
The nurse entered as well and passed by the doctor to remove the venous catheter still attached to the back of Sherlock's hand.
"Does anyone know where my clothes are?" Sherlock asked and looked at Molly.
Molly went into one of the cupboards and grabbed the clothes Sherlock wore before he was admitted.
"I'm afraid your shirt is a bit wrinkled and stained," Molly said as she dumped the clothes in Sherlock's lap.
Sherlock held up the shirt and studied it, answering, "It's fine for the way home."
He asked for some privacy while he took off his hospital gown and put on his shirt. His black trousers were torn on the left leg, and he figured they had to tear it when he was admitted. He put on his suit jacket and then his coat, which was long enough to cover his bare legs, but couldn't find his scarf. He told everyone to open their eyes.
"Now you're starting to look like yourself again," Greg said happily.
"Why can't I find my scarf?" Sherlock asked while checking his pockets.
"Oh, I think we might have left that in the cab we took to the hospital," Molly told him.
Sherlock started to rise from the wheelchair again, and stood on his good leg while lifting up the crutches and grabbing around the handles. Greg held his left shoe, tucking the left sock into it, and Molly carried his trousers. Mycroft said that a car was waiting outside. The doors to the hospital were automatic doors fortunately, and Sherlock went out first. They all gathered next to the waiting car by the entrance, and Sherlock let the others get in before himself.
Mycroft took the passenger seat in the front, and John and Molly sat themselves in the back. Sherlock went in the back seat as well and placed his casted leg in Molly and John's laps. "I'll take a cab instead," Greg said and handed Sherlock his left shoe before saying goodbye.
When the car arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock managed to get out of the car, and Mycroft unlocked the door with Sherlock's key. Mycroft walked in while Molly held the door open. Sherlock staggered inside, and Mrs Hudson came out of her downstairs flat.
"Oh, dear," she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
"It's fine, Mrs Hudson. I've just had an accident," Sherlock reassured her.
He started on his way up the stairs, and when he was out of earshot, John told Mrs Hudson more about what had happened.
"Oh." Mrs Hudson said again. "Well, it was only a matter of time with all his running about," she concluded and went back to her flat.
The rest of them trudged upstairs, and Sherlock was already seated on the sofa reading a book.
"Is that the book I gave you for your birthday?" Molly asked.
"Yes, it's rather interesting. 'Beekeeping'," he read aloud, after closing the book to see the cover and opening it again before continuing, "I might even take it up as a hobby myself."
Molly beamed.
Mycroft and John opened up all the cupboards and the fridge. "Dr Watson and I will stroll outside to do some shopping." Mycroft announced.
"You, going shopping as a commoner?" Sherlock laughed. "Have you been frequenting the House of Commons?"
Mycroft scoffed. "Well, I'm not a Lord, am I?"
"Maybe that should be your next goal. I'm sure Lady Smallwood can help you with that." Sherlock laughed and smirked.
"That's not how it works, Sherlock. Good day." Mycroft hurried down the stairs, followed by John.
Molly got some cushions from the chairs and placed them under Sherlock's left leg. "Your leg needs to be elevated. If it starts to itch or tingle, I can try to change the position a bit."
"Ok. Thank you."
Sherlock resumed his reading while Molly had her own literature to read. Later, he told her about several parts in the book he found interesting and asked what she was reading at the moment.
John and Mycroft appeared in the stairway later in the day with several shopping bags and some takeaway. They filled up the fridge and left some space for Sherlock to do experiments.
"We thought we'd just eat some takeaway," John said and handed everyone a takeaway carton and some cutlery.
Molly was mostly the person talking through the meal. When it was finished, John had to go and pick up Rosie, and Mycroft had something of national importance to attend to, as he liked to say.
Molly yawned after hearing the door close.
"I need to go home and sleep before my night shift. Will you be okay?"
"Yes," Sherlock replied.
"Okay, well, see you later," she said and left.
Sherlock fetched the crutches and walked around with them in all the rooms, up the stairs, and down the stairs a few times to see if he could find the most efficient way of walking with them. Mrs Hudson came upstairs and asked him what he was doing and what all the noise was, to which he answered, "Just an experiment, Mrs Hudson" as he usually did.
He sat down in his chair afterwards, and turned both chairs towards each other. He moved the cushions from the sofa to the chair opposite the one he was sitting in, positioned his leg and turned on the telly to see if there were any crap shows as John had told him they were called. Or maybe it was crap telly?
The hours went by, and suddenly it was late at night. He turned off the telly, put his hands behind his head and lay back in the chair.
I haven't solved a case today. And I'm fine. Should I be worried?
He went to the bathroom to get ready for the night.
The next morning, he felt more rested than he had in a long time, and it was still early. He picked up the crutches from the floor, and went into the bathroom to relieve himself. He went back into the bedroom and put on his pyjamas bottoms. Fortunately, they were wide enough to be stretched over his cast. He jumped on one leg to the cupboard containing his dressing gowns. "Hmm. It seems the only one that truly matches the cast is my camel one. And obviously all my suits."
He took the camel dressing gown from its hanger and put it on. It also matched the white t-shirt he had worn during the night. He made his way to the sofa to resume his reading from yesterday and plan his next experiment.
Mrs Hudson entered with a tray of her usual morning tea. She put the tray down on the coffee table and looked at Sherlock's leg placed on the cushions. "Oh, dear."
"It's fine, Mrs Hudson. It's going surprisingly well," he said, glancing at her quickly before reading again.
She made a cup of tea and handed it to him.
"Thank you," he said, laying the book down and accepting the cup. He drank a few sips before he put the cup and saucer on the table.
"Just let me know if there's anything more you need, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said as she walked out of the living room.
Molly came to visit around noon.
"How is it going?" she greeted him and sat down next to him on the edge of the sofa.
"Oh, you know. Well," he said, smiling widely.
"Have you had anything to eat today?" she asked him firmly.
He stopped reading his book.
"I knew there was something slipping my mind."
"Have you at least had anything to drink?" she asked again and sighed.
He pointed at the tea cup still present by his side. "Yes."
Molly went to the kitchen, sliced up vegetables and fried up some eggs she had dragged out from the fridge. She filled a plate to the brim, and gave it to Sherlock without saying anything.
"You didn't have to, Molly. I could have ordered takeaway."
He ate it anyway, and Molly brought him a glass of water. "Make sure to drink it all. We don't want you to get dehydrated again."
"We?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head.
"Mrs Hudson, Greg, John, your brother and myself," Molly stated and gave the glass to him, accepting the empty plate back.
"Oh," he uttered and wiggled his left toes again.
"What about you Molly? Have you managed to sleep after your night shift?"
Molly went to the kitchen, washed the dirty plate in the kitchen sink and put it back in the cupboard, replying, "Yes, I usually sleep a few hours after work, stay awake for a few hours and then I sleep again in the evening before the shift starts."
"And you chose to spend your waking hours here. I'm honoured," Sherlock said and smiled warmly, a hint of sparkle in his eye.
Molly smiled back, and her eyes sparkled as well.
"I have read more in the book you gave me, by the way. I'm almost finished."
They started chatting about the new chapters he had been reading and Sherlock ended with "What do you say, Molly? You and I, beekeeping partners in the future?" he asked and Molly burst out with "I'd love that!" and took the book from him to look at some of the pages in it.
"And Molly, speaking of love, I do, in fact, love you," he said, smiling.
"What?" she exclaimed loudly. "I thought that was just a game. An experiment?"
She wiped a tear off her cheek and saw that Sherlock's eyes were just as red as hers. "Molly. I was unaware of this until recently. Until my sister made it obvious for me. I only realised how true it was after I heard myself say those words. I think she knew, and wanted to show me. I have been oblivious, Molly. Completely and utterly oblivious."
She reached for his hand, their fingers interlacing, "Really?"
"I am aware of my lack of experience in regard to romantic entanglements. I never bothered to acquire such skills, because I never thought it would be a possibility. I am ridiculous, self-righteous, set in my own ways, and I get into trouble everywhere I go. I didn't think anyone would want that in their lives."
"Why do you always see the worst in yourself, Sherlock? You have so much potential. Your heart is in the right place, you would go to the ends of the earth to protect your friends and family, and you want to make the world a better and safer place by helping people with their problems and catching criminals. I wouldn't be surprised if you actually get that knighthood some day."
Sherlock felt his face flush and smiled from ear to ear. "My dearest Molly. You always see the best in me. How can I ever repay you? Will my feeble attempts at loving you ever be enough?"
Molly blushed in response and her heart started racing again.
"That's all I've ever wanted."
Her eyes met his, and she felt she could get lost in his intense stare and multicolored eyes one more time.
"And you will get better, Sherlock. As you say, you just lack the practical experience."Sherlock laughed.
"Ok, so first things first. Maybe I can take you out on one of those…ehm…dates?"
Molly giggled back. "Yes, you can. Must be weird for you to do that when it's not for a case."
Sherlock let go of her hand. "Possibly."