Molly blinked. Air return to her starved lungs. Her leaden feet lightened and she edged away from Sherrinford. She wanted to run but he stood between her and the lab's exit and she didn't think she'd make it, especially since she still felt winded.
He grinned. "Don't bother, you wouldn't get far."
Her lungs prickled as she drew in each breath. Her voice came out wispy like a snuffed candle. "Please, I am sorry for anything I said. I say stupid things all the time. I-I run at the mouth, to be honest."
Sherrinford's glacial smile sent a shiver through Molly. She didn't understand how his mood could change so quickly from white-hot anger to sub-zero coolness. He checked a rather expensive looking timepiece on his wrist before glancing up.
"Hush, now, Miss Molly. While it's tempting to see if I can make that fetching rose color about your neck appear other places, I do not have the time."
Molly shrank back as he moved towards her one last time.
"You should rethink my proposal, my little philosopher," he flicked the end of her nose, "because I offer you deliverance. Sherlock is a false idol. Ask him sometime about how he razed my library. Ask him to convince you that he was just and moral in the execution of his duties. I think you'll find your faith tested."
Sherrinford gave her one last saccharine smile. He spun slowly away and then sauntered towards the door. He paused as his hand fell on the handle.
"Good afternoon, Molly Hooper."
Molly collapsed to the floor sobbing the instant he left. Hiccupping, she reached into her pocket to retrieve her phone. When she looked at it through bleary eyes, she saw that the video app was recording. She stopped it and played it back. Somehow, she had inadvertently captured their entire exchange.
She stared at her phone for a few seconds. Her fingers felt numb and clumsy and she was starting to feel cold but also sweaty. She experienced a pain in her chest and began wheezing. It took her several attempts to compose a coherent message. She sent it off to Sherlock.
Sherrinford visited. I will be upstairs getting checked out if you have any questions.
Then she called the hospital's emergency security number.
"H-hello," she whispered when a young man answered, "I'm Dr. Hooper. I work downstairs in pathology. I've just been attacked. C-can you please send someone to help me?"
Molly stared out the hospital room window feeling scattered not unlike the clouds above her in the stratosphere being shorn apart by passing jets. She was a fraud, really, to lie there as if she were really in medical distress. Her injuries were mental, at best.
She heard the door open behind her and tensed up. She clutched a wad of the thin hospital blanket against her chest. Visions of Sherrinford Holmes sneaking up behind her and finishing what he started sent a violent shiver through her body. She should roll over but the bit of sedative a nurse had administered when she first arrived made her feel listless.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark figure round the end of the narrow bed. She closed her eyes tightly. Footfalls continued deliberately until she sensed a change in light through her lids. Whomever it was now stood between her and the window.
"Molly."
She opened her eyes to see Sherlock standing like a black monolith. His expression above his upturned collar was stoic. He assessed her for several seconds. She unfolded somewhat, letting her grip on the blanket relax and her chin rise up from her chest. His eyes glanced down at her neck briefly. Something rippled across his face like a coy swimming just beneath the surface of a pond. His left eyelid contracted in a minor spasm. Her vision began to swim again as she looked up at him. She didn't want to erupt in tears. She wanted to be strong and unaffected by what had happened but his all-knowing gaze caused her to unravel. She shuddered as a sob percolated and shook her body.
Sherlock's jaw slackened then and he drew in a stiff breath. He half turned, snapped back and a second later his Belstaff hit the floor. He slowly collapsed until he leaned on his knees with his head hanging down. When he looked at her again, his eyes had a sheen.
"Molly," He sounded winded, "I cannot . . . ahem, c-cannot, mm-mm . . . cannot b-breath, actually."
He tugged at his collar and drew in a few noisy inhalations. "Are you w-well? Oh, Christ, what am I going on about? You're obviously not. There are red marks about your neck so he throttled you, for at least a minute. He varied his pressure several times, tightening as his mental faculties slipped. That is why you suffered skin abrasions and petechial hemorrhaging beneath the subcutaneous surface of your skin . . ."
"Sherlock, shut up."
His mouth snapped closed in a grim line. Molly rose to a sitting position, dangled her feet over the edge of the bed and stared down at him. He was disgustingly endearing.
"You're rambling."
He nodded. "Apologies, I could not think of a single appropriate thing to say."
She raised her brows. "So, you thought you'd say everything?"
Sherlock rose to his feet over her. He scrutinized her face, then his hand shakily lifted and his fingers feathered her cheek.
"Molly, I . . ."
Molly felt a gust of air at her back and clenched her teeth. Sherlock's hand fell like a stone. Someone with the worst timing ever entered the room. She shuffled around to see a familiar brunette with a faint smirk waltz into the room.
"Anthea."
She dipped her head. "Sherlock."
"Where's your keeper?"
She wrinkled her nose and smiled through her teeth. "Positing a new career path for one of our security teams, I think. He'll be here shortly."
Anthea strode to a chair in the corner and took a seat with her cell in her hands.
"Do you mind?" She smiled.
Sherlock huffed. He looked at Molly who shrugged. He picked up his jacket from the floor and shook it out. Just as he slung it over a chair, Mycroft stepped into the room.
Molly's eyes flicked to Anthea, She crossed her legs and tucked them under the chair as she looked at Mycroft. A small smile played across her lips as their gazes intermingled. Mycroft appeared to swallow then and flush. He averted his gaze away from his employee to Molly.
"Hello, Dr. Hooper, sorry that we keep meeting this way."
"Erm, it's fine."
Sherlock seemed to notice the same silent message that went between the pair as Molly had. Molly watched Sherlock's eyes narrow.
"Why are the buttons on your vest misaligned?" He asked.
Mycroft's face went a brilliant shade of pink. Molly glanced quickly to Anthea who raised her cell phone almost directly in front of her face and typed away furiously. Sherlock's eyes followed the same path.
"Taken up aquaculture recently, Mycroft?" He bit out.
Mycroft poked his lips to one side and looked down a moment. He tucked his umbrella under his arm before his gaze lifted to Molly.
"Mm, anyways, I hear you had a visit from our dear brother, Sherrinford. I beg your forgiveness, Dr. Hooper. I assure you, his apprehension is our government's top priority but he is, you must appreciate, difficult to apprehend."
She pressed her lips together. "I understand."
"Can you tell us what happened, if it's not too difficult for you?"
Molly retrieved her mobile. "I can do better than that, actually."
She opened the video file she'd recorded. "I accidently triggered my phone when he came in. It was in my pocket so there's nothing to see but you can hear what happened at least."
Sherlock's eyes widened as she activated the recording. When Sherrinford's voice hissed from the speaker, he let out a sharp exhale.
"Oh, good girl, Molly."
He stared intently down at the cell as it played the video. Every so often his lips would twitch or his eyes flare. When they reached the loud swishes and thumps that denoted the moments when Sherrinford attacked her, his brows drew together and his hands clenched on his lap.
Then, the recording faded but Sherrinford's last words rang out clear.
". . . Sherlock is a false idol. Ask him sometime about how he razed my library. Ask him to convince you that he was just and moral in the execution of his duties. I think you'll find your faith tested."
Molly looked at Sherlock but felt a little ashamed that she wanted to ask him for an explanation. She should disregard Sherrinford's whole rant but surprisingly, Sherlock paled and regarded Mycroft. A lump moved in his throat. She hated that he looked guilty.
"What did he mean, Sherlock? Is there something I should know?"
Mycroft cut her off. "No, Dr. Hooper, Sherrinford is a master manipulator. Disregard everything he said."
"Sherlock?" Her voice sounded reedy in her own ears.
He gave his head a shake as if to clear a stray thought. His eyes kept darting to Mycroft.
"Contain yourself, little brother! Doctor, please do not ask any more about this, it is a matter of national security and frankly, none of your concern. Now, you've been very brave today. You should rest. I will ensure you are better protected in the future."
Molly didn't respond but set her eyes on Sherlock. One way or the other, she would have her answers.