Posting a bit earlier than my normal Sunday. I'm aiming to finish this story before I go in holiday next weekend. Thank you all for your follows, your favourites and most of all your reviews. I have some amazing followers. Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate and to those that don't Happy Chocolate Egg Day.

Chapter 17

Molly wondered if she would ever get used to the calls in the middle of the night that sent her flying desperately to a hospital praying all the while that Sherlock would still be alive when she got there.

The call had come through just before midnight from Greg saying that Sherlock, with John in attendance, was heading to a local hospital. She knew he had a head wound and that he was unconscious but Greg didn't have much more information than that, from all the noise in the background she knew he must be in the middle of a big operation.

She threw on some clothes as she called a cab and was soon sitting in the back driving through the dark streets biting on her thumb nail. She'd texted John and tried to ring him but she hadn't received an answer.

When she arrived in A&E no one seemed to have heard of Sherlock or know where he was. It was a typical weekend night though filled with drunks and victims of fights. The nurses and reception were over worked and under staffed. The receptionist told her to wait and if any paperwork came her way with Sherlock's name on she would let her know.

It was the longest fifteen minutes of Molly's life as she sat there wondering who she could call or what she could do to get more information. If this had been Bart's it would have been so much easier, she knew people, hell she had a staff badge. She could have checked all the cubicles looking for him. She chewed on her lip for a second glancing up at the receptionist who was now busy dealing with another person.

Sod it! Molly made her way to the Ladies toilets and once inside she hung up her coat, if it was stolen so be it, she could buy a new one. Next she found her badge in her bag and pinned it onto her shirt so it was partially covered by her cardigan, then she exited the toilets and made her way into the main treatment area. She just needed to look confident, as though she was meant to be there.

She walked through glancing briefly into each bay, listening out for any mention of Sherlock or the sound of John's voice. About half way round she heard Sherlock's unmistakeable tones and she sighed with relief.

'For God's Sake John, he's out there and those incompetent buffoons will never track him down.'

Molly made her way, smiling now, towards the argument.

'Sherlock, you are concussed. You are not going anywhere so you might as well just suck it up and lie back down before I have you sedated.'

Molly swept the curtain back to find Sherlock sitting up half in and half out of the bed with John trying to physically wrestle him back in.

They comically both looked round in surprise as Molly entered. It was John who reacted first, 'Molly, thank God you're here. Please talk some sense into him. He's not in any fit state to go chasing criminals. He's definitely concussed and with a possible fracture, we're supposed to be waiting for a skull X-Ray.'

Sherlock just rolled his eyes, 'I can tell you both right now, I have no fracture. I just need some pain killers and we can be in our way.'

Molly assessed the situation and grinned, 'it's alright John, let him up.'

John frowned at Molly but moved back.

'Thank you Molly, a voice of reason at last,' said Sherlock as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

He made to move forward but stopped, swaying slightly; he put a hand out to balance himself but missed the edge of the bedside cabinet. He was about to topple to the floor when John caught him and pushed him back towards the bed.

By the time he lay back down he was a strange shade of white and Molly knew that that was the nausea kicking in. She'd seen enough cases of concussion during her time in A&E when she'd been a junior doctor to know he wouldn't want to go anywhere now.

He was right about the x-ray, there was no fracture and once he'd been given some anti-nausea medication and pain killers there was no reason for him to be kept in further. John and Molly were given permission to take him home on the understanding that he would have bed rest for at least 24 hours. The fact that they were both doctors helped and Molly knew Sherlock would hate being forced to stay in hospital.

John travelled back to Baker St. and stayed long enough to help Molly get Sherlock into the bedroom. They had also ensured he was given a sleeping draught as neither of them trusted him to stay there without one.

'Are you going to be OK looking after him Molly?' Asked John yawning as he did.

'Yes, of course. Now off you go, you look dead on your feet. Although you know we still have your bed upstairs, if you'd prefer to crash there?'

'No, no, I want to get back to Mary and Elizabeth.' He kissed Molly on the cheek, 'I'll call you tomorrow and check on how he is. 'Goodnight Molly.'

Molly made herself a cup of tea, she needed to take a moment to breath and calm her emotions before heading to bed. She knew this was what she had signed up for the moment she fell in love with Sherlock Holmes but it didn't make the reality of living it any easier. She hated how vulnerable and scared the thought of losing him made her feel.

She sat quietly on the settee, in the dark, sipping her cuppa. Her hand swiped at a single tear falling down her face as she remembered the sinking in her stomach, the ice cold grip of terror on her heart when she'd taken the call earlier that night. She knew though, without a doubt, that she couldn't and wouldn't walk away. She would never say goodbye to Sherlock, she would always be his probably even after death.

She shook her head quickly pulling herself out of her momentary black mood. Things always seemed bleaker in the middle of the night. What she needed was a good night's sleep and everything would be back to normal in the morning.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock woke the next day with a blinding headache. He groaned as he rolled over squinting at the sunlight creeping around the edges of his curtains. As he rolled a surge of nausea rippled through his body, his mouth immediately filling with saliva. He groaned and stopped moving, trying to calm his mind and his body, willing himself not to be sick. It was like a mantra repeated over and over in his head. He couldn't think about anything other than how sick he felt.

As he lay there he suddenly felt a cold cloth being placed on his forehead and heard Molly gently talking to him. 'Sherlock, can you sit up a bit? I've got some painkillers and your anti-sickness tablets. Do you think you can manage them?'

It was the promise of imminent relief from the pain and sickness that had him edging up onto his elbows. He looked up at Molly who was backlit by the light from the kitchen and thought she looked like an angel. Then he frowned slightly wondering if he was feeling febrile, he was obviously more ill than he'd realised to be so horribly romantic.

At Molly's prompting he opened his mouth and received the pill sipping on the water she was holding for him. He repeated again with a different pill before allowing Molly to push him back gently onto the bed. She used the cold cloth to cool off his face and chest until his colour returned to something more like normal.

Gradually, the pounding in his head reduced and he felt able to sit more upright in the bed.

'Do you think you could manage a cup of tea? I can make you some toast as well if you want.'

'Just tea... What happened last night? After I was hit I mean, did they catch him?'

Molly talked to him from the kitchen where she was filling the kettle. 'No, they didn't. Greg called this morning, he's coming round in an hour or so to get your advice on what to do next.' As she said that her head appeared round the doorway, 'get back in that bed right now, you are not going anywhere but the loo today. Greg can consult with you in here!'

In the end she relented and allowed Sherlock to at least move to the front room where he half lay on the settee covered by a blanket and still in his pyjamas and a dressing gown. She was fairly surprised with how compliant he was being but in all honesty Sherlock felt like shit and didn't really have any desire to be anywhere else. He hadn't been punched the night before he'd been hit with a cosh and he was lucky not to have suffered more serious damage. He remembered seeing the cosh at the last minute and managing to turn his head just enough for it to not kill him or shatter his skull.

John turned up ten minutes before Greg and went straight into doctor mode checking Sherlock's pulse, shining a light into his eyes and making him visually follow his finger until Sherlock huffed and batted it away with an irritated, 'I'm fine John.'

When Greg arrived Molly made them all coffee (tea in Sherlock's case) and they pulled the chairs round so they could sit facing Sherlock. Molly sat at the end of the settee lifting his legs so they went across her lap. She absentmindedly stroked his calf and feet and John was struck by how domestic and comfortable they looked. Molly really was perfect for Sherlock and he was glad the great oaf had finally realised it.

Lestrade brought them all up to speed with what had happened after John and Sherlock had left. The killer was now confirmed as Michael Royston just as Sherlock had predicted. His photo had been sent round the Met and all his known friends and family were being visited but so far with no success.

'What I need to know now Sherlock, is what you think he will do next and where? Am I looking at more murders?'

Sherlock sighed. He closed his eyes whilst he thought through everything about the case so far and the limited information they had about Royston. 'I don't think so. Last night will have been something of a wakeup call for him. This is the reality of being a killer and being on the run. It's not something he has experience with and not something he planned for. I suspect the end is in sight and I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't take his own life, he won't want to risk being imprisoned. He'd see that as being as bad as his time in the children's home, locked up and at the mercy of people with more power than him, it would be his worst nightmare.'

Greg nodded his head looking relieved. 'Alright, I'll keep you informed as and when I have any more information. Get well soon Sherlock. Thanks for the coffee Molly. John.' With that he left.

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