A/N: Rated T. For Day 5 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019, Sherlolly quotes: "But you can't do this again, can you?" and "You're most certainly going to die, so we need to focus."
"But you can't do this again, can you?"
"You're most certainly going to die, so we need to focus."
The words echoed through his mind, going round and round, making him dizzy. Dizzier, actually, since his head was already spinning.
Her voice, his own voice, mixed together in his mind - who was he? Who was she? Not important, she was there to help, that was all he needed to remember.
You can't do this again.
No, he tried to say. I can't do this again. But no words left his lips, just a croak that made his captor cackle with laughter.
I can't do this again. I can't, not without your help.
You're most certainly going to die, so we need to focus.
Focus. Yes. Focus on the important details. Don't get caught up in the larger, painful, far too overwhelming larger picture.
You're most certainly going to die.
But you can't do this again.
No. No, God dammit, no. He was not going to do this again.
You're most certainly going to do this again.
But you can't die.
"No." The word made it past the pain in his throat. His eyes snapped open. His assailant smiled, so certain he was winning, hands around his prisoner's throat, squeezing, squeezing...going to die...certainly can't...you're most certainly going to do this again!
"Damn right." A whisper of sound, but it wasn't sound he needed to focus on, but feelings. Not emotions, but the feel of the other man's hands around his throat, his fingers digging in, the oxygen leaving his lungs.
Molly Hooper wouldn't be very happy if he allowed this two-bit Moriarty wanna-be kill him.
There it was, his focus. Molly's face, her voice, her form in his mind, and his hands found leverage, his legs, his body became the weapon he needed, just long enough to turn the tables, to free his throat, to throw his attacker off his body and roll onto his side, his stomach, climb-crawl to his knees and then, and then…
"I'm fine," he tried to say as John and Lestrade burst into the room. And he was, especially when he saw Molly Hooper rush in right behind them. Her terrified expression turned to one of relief, and he reached up to clasp her hand as she dropped to her knees by his side.
"You stupid, stupid man," she whispered as tears of relief slipped down her cheeks and splashed onto his. He tried to laugh, coughed, cursed, and settled for resting his head on her lap while John and Lestrade took care of the boring post-case details.
He most certainly wasn't going to die.
And as soon as he could focus, he would reassure her of that fact. Today, and every day for the rest of their lives together.