Molly whimpered as she watched Sherlock black out again. Her hands felt frozen and she was starting to feel each distinct bruise. Her mind still felt foggy from a combination of chloroform and shock. The medical, rational part of her mind was cataloging her injuries and suggesting how to properly care for them. Her vision was fuzzy around the edges. Her whole body was shaking. She wrapped her arms around her chest to steady herself. She felt someone touch her arm softly. She snapped her head back, scared till she realized it was just Richard. His eyes were so warm and compassionate. He rubbed her arm and asked, "Hey are you okay?"
Molly's lower lip quivered. "Nooooo!" she wailed. She started to sob uncontrollably again. Richard hugged her for a second and made soothing noises. Molly started babbling, crying about all the awful things she had seen. Richard was listening sympathetically and patting her back. The Marquis de Carabas tried to summon enough strength to roll his eyes. He simply did not have time for this nonsense. He cleared his throat.
"Molly, I appreciate that you've had a phenomenally shitty week, however, I only came along on this jaunt because the blond fellow over there threw some knives into my stomach right after he knocked you out. Since my bowels are currently leaking into my gut and killing me slowly, I'd really prefer it if you stopped your blubbering and help me." He lifted up his shirt, exposing the bloodstained bandages wrapped around his middle.
Molly gulped once and then stopped crying. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. It was time for her to take charge of the situation. She looked at Richard; he was okay, no injuries. She looked at Sherlock, who was still unconscious and still had two dislocated shoulders. She could put them back in, or at least she was pretty sure that she could with help from Richard. She'd need to try and make some splints too. She borrowed Richard's knife and sliced off the de Carabas's bandages. She evaluated his wounds; they were bad, definitely capable of killing him without some serious intervention. She sat back and looked at the two men.
"Alright. We need to get out of here soon, police will be here any time now and I'd rather us not be sitting around. Um, Richard, after I heal him, well, I'm probably going to pass out as well. Do you think you two will be able to get us out of here? At least somewhere inside the building if not farther?" she asked.
Richard looked over at de Carabas. The Marquis nodded. "If you can heal me Molly, we'll be able to get us all out of here" he said.
Richard spoke up then. "Molly, what about the gash on your back? Shouldn't we do something about that?"
She twisted her head as much as she could, but wasn't able to get a good look at her stab wound. She frowned and lightly touched it, getting a sense of the dimensions of the cut. It definitely would need stitches, but that would have to wait. She looked over the rooftop.
"Richard. Can you go and look and see if there are any blankets or sheets over there, in all that camping junk that they brought along? We need some stuff to make slings and bandages. See if they brought any water too" she ordered. Richard nodded and went off to scout the campsite that Sebastian had created. He took a wide berth around the earthly remains of Sebastian Moran. His blood was still spreading in a wide pool. From the streets, he could hear a commotion building. The evening's pedestrians had discovered the body of Jim Moriarty. Sirens were beginning to wail in the distance. Richard dug through the discarded pack and found a thin woolen blanket, a bottle of water and two small airplane sized bottles of vodka. He hurried back to Molly with his loot.
Molly took his knife and cut the blanket into strips. She rinsed off her wound with the water then some vodka. Then she instructed Richard on bandaging her shoulder. Now she looked back at the unconscious form of Sherlock. She really hoped that she could reset his shoulders; it was the sort of thing that should be done at a hospital, but that wasn't exactly an option. Some dark part of her mind pointed out that they were at a hospital, just not inside it. She choked down some nervous giggles and told Richard how to hold Sherlock. Her plan was for Richard to grab Sherlock's torso and she would do the yanking of Sherlock's arms. Hopefully, everything would return to where it belonged and he'd be no worse for the wear in the end. She refused to ponder the implications of her screwing this up. Richard looked at her worriedly; she nodded and heaved backwards with all her strength. Sherlock's eyes briefly fluttered and he grunted, but otherwise did not awake as Molly tugged on his arms, manipulating the bones till they were back in the proper places. Finally, she put his arms in makeshift slings. She and Richard were both sweating from the effort and she could feel her wound start to bleed again. She ignored it for now; she had other things to take care of.
More sirens had joined the first responders to the body below. The lights from emergency vehicles flickered and bounced off the buildings, turning the street into a strange sort of disco. Molly shivered in the cold and rubbed her hands to warm them. Then she knelt down next to the Marquis. Puffs of steam rose from the Marquis' mouth. She placed her hands on his chest. She breathed in slowly and allowed her death sense to open up again. For a second, she almost felt the knives piercing his side. She pushed that aside and focused on the damage. His death was already gathered around the gashes in his midsection. The black mist was stubborn, too many times had this man cheated death. Molly concentrated her efforts and forced the blackness back. Warmth flowed from her hands into his body. She felt his wounds grow closed. She smiled once she knew she had succeeded. She opened her eyes long enough to see the astonished look on Richard's face and then passed out, softly collapsing over the Marquis' scarred torso.
De Carabas sighed and shoved Molly's limp body off his own. He sat up and casually looked over her work. He was a little disappointed that the cuts weren't completely healed, there were still scabs. The scars from the throwing knives would not be as small and neat as the ones she had healed previously. Still, considering that the wounds were going to kill him, he couldn't find too much fault with her work. Richard was staring at him open-mouthed. The Marquis reached over, closed Richard's mouth and then readjusted his clothing. He stood up in a fluid motion. Richard scrambled around on his hands and knees, before finally standing up in a most undignified fashion. Richard sheathed his knife and brushed gravel off of his hands. De Carabas looked down at the pair of dreamers. Well, Sherlock had carried him all the way to the hospital; he might as well return the favor. De Carabas knelt down and gestured to Richard to pick Sherlock up. Working together, they somehow managed to balance Sherlock across the Marquis's shoulders. Richard picked up Molly and the two men carefully walked to the stairs.
Richard prayed that he didn't trip down the stairs. Some Warrior he would be then. Molly was snoring quietly in his arms as they walked down the hallway. They stopped and waited for the elevator. The top floor of the hospital was deserted. A faulty florescent light flickered off and on. De Carabas was tapping his foot and trying to readjust his grip on Sherlock. The lights of the elevator lit up and the door opened. A group of policemen rushed out of the arriving elevator. They ran shouting toward the roof access. Richard and the Marquis watched them race past. The Marquis shrugged and entered the elevator. Now they had to wait till someone on a lower floor summoned the elevator. A particularly insipid instrumental version of a current pop song was playing in the elevator. Richard was mildly surprised that the Marquis was singing along. They stared at the row of numbers, still no floors lit up. Richard suddenly felt the urge to make pointless conversation.
"So, um, will we be doing this sort of thing every week in London Below? Or just on alternating Thursdays?" he joked.
"Please Richard, this whole day has been painful enough, you don't need to make it worse with terrible jokes" drawled the Marquis. "And no, selfless rescue missions are only scheduled on an as-needed basis."
A light for the fourth floor suddenly flashed on and the elevator began to move. Richard and the Marquis briefly argued about whether or not to find a hiding place or to continue towards Door's home. The Marquis was hoping that they could hole up somewhere till Molly or Sherlock woke up. He was already tired of carrying Sherlock. He wondered what sort of favor he could cajole in exchange for this extra service. He was certain he hadn't agreed to carry anyone. Richard argued in favor of leaving the hospital. He still was worried that he someone might see them, a ridiculous concern. After squabbling the whole time the elevator was descending, they decided to leave the hospital and head back to the abandoned restaurant. Snow was falling once again and Richard started to worry about all of them developing hypothermia. None of them were dressed for snow. They trudged back to the alleyway. Both men were pleasantly surprised to see Door sitting on the back step of the restaurant. She was wrapped with so many blankets; both men missed the fact that she was holding Ingress at first. The sisters ran toward their friends once they saw them.
"Hey! We couldn't wait, Ingress was really worried, I mean she actually told me we should come and wait for you to come back. You have no idea how happy I am to see all four of you!" Words spilled out of Door in a rush. She ran to Richard and kissed his cheek. This made him blush slightly and the Marquis groan.
"Yes, Door, lovely to see you as well, can we save the gushing for when we're back somewhere safe and warm? And more importantly, someplace I can dump this oaf" complained De Carabas.
Door smiled and smacked his arm lightly. She dragged him closer to the doorway and waved Richard closer. He readjusted his grip on Molly and stood next to Door. Once everyone was assembled, she linked arms with the men and checked to make sure that Ingress was holding on. She concentrated on her home and opened the passageway to take them all back.
Everyone nearly collapsed as they passed through the door into the entry hall. Exhaustion had a lot to do with it, but also that the doorway was not meant for two men, each carrying an unconscious person, an opener and her six year old sister. Ingress also helped to complicate matters because she had a death grip on Door's legs and would not let go. Somehow they all made it inside without any broken bones. Richard set Molly down on the closest available chair. De Carabas thought about dropping Sherlock but decided that was too dastardly, even for him. He laid Sherlock down on a nearby sofa. Door was chewing her lip, pondering what to do next.
"Should we take them back to their rooms? Someone should probably stay with them both. What do you think?" she asked Richard.
"Um, well who should stay awake? I can try to" said Richard.
"I have a better idea, as usual. Shove some sofas together in here. They can sleep on those and the rest of us can camp out on the remaining sofas and chairs. We're all knackered, no one is going to be able to stay awake. We'll just stay together and have a happy little sleep over" decided the Marquis. He started dragging a sofa across the room. Door left to go grab some blankets. Richard helped shove the sofas together. Then he and the Marquis positioned Molly and Sherlock in their makeshift bed. Ingress disappeared for a while and returned with some fruit, which Richard ate hungrily. Door set about making everyone comfortable with blankets. Then she felt weirdly awake, wired from all the excitement, and offered to make tea. After everyone had a cup of tea and some scones, she wrapped herself up in a blanket. Ingress snuggled up next to her. Richard fell asleep first and started to snore. One by one, everyone finally slept.
Sherlock's mind was locked in a battle with his exhausted body. There was a thought that wouldn't stop nagging him. His body was determined to get some proper rest, but for a brief moment, he struggled to wake up. He was slightly alarmed by the fact that his arms still didn't want to obey him. Even in the blackness he was able to deduce that he was lying on a sofa in the House without Doors. He turned his head and was pleased to see Molly lying near him. He tried to pull himself closer to her, but briefly blacked out again from the pain. Once more he forced himself to wake up. This time he tried wiggling his body to get closer to her. He needed to ask her a question. He was able to maneuver his body a bit closer to hers.
"Molly!" he whispered. She didn't stir. He frowned and tried a little louder. 'Molly! Wake up!"
She grimaced and drew a hand up to push hair out of her face. She opened her eyes slowly and flinched in surprise when she saw Sherlock's face so close to her own. She yawned and asked, "What is it?"
"Molly, what you said to me on the roof, before I passed out, did you mean it?" he asked urgently.
She tried to remember what the hell she had said to him. At that moment, she was having difficulty remembering anything; she wasn't even sure where she was. She opened her eyes a little more and studied his face. He looked so serious, his eyes glowing with a strange fire. It scared her a little, how serious he looked. Then she remembered. She had done the stupidest thing of all. She told him that she loved him. Molly cringed in fear. She thought back to how he had shouted at her in the Market. She hid her face in her palms as tears began to threaten.
"I don't know, um, I'm sorry it was just, I was so scared and I thought" she trailed off.
"Molly" he interrupted. His voice was low, but there was a note of fear there now. He gulped a deep breath of air. "I need to know, did you mean what you said?"
She lifted her head and looked at his eyes. His lip was trembling and his eyes were solemn. Beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead. She felt her own lip quivering as she found the courage to answer. "I did. I meant it. I love you" she whispered. Tears finally fell as she blinked her eyes.
Sherlock smiled at her, the beatific smile of an angel just landed from heaven. "Good. That's really good Molly" he managed to whisper before his body finally took over control and he passed out once again. Molly was completely confused. She had no idea what had just happened. Actually, she was a little afraid it might be a dream. Although she couldn't remember ever feeling this much pain when dreaming. Well, if this was real, she hoped Sherlock would remember what happened in the morning. She certainly wasn't about to bring it up. Molly reached out her aching arms and smoothed the hair down on his head. She leaned over and kissed his forehead before falling back asleep herself.
The Marquis was still awake, leaning against the back of the sofa that Moly was sleeping on. He had been practicing a new magic trick that he had recently learned when he heard Sherlock stir. He was annoyed at first, thinking that he would be called upon once more to do something kind and helpful. He was relieved that no calls for help were made and he could eavesdrop in silence. He smirked as he listened to Molly's confession. De Carabas felt that truly, it was he and he alone who had brought the two of them together. Molly probably owed him a favor honestly. Although saving his life was probably enough of a repayment for his help, well almost, he supposed. He wrapped his blanket around himself and leaned his head back, trying to sleep.
Sherlock only slept for about five hours. His mind hadn't stopped fretting over the question of why his arms were not working. When he finally was fully awake, he studied the poorly made slings on his arms. He winced at the pain that shot through him when he tried to pull his arms free. He looked over at Molly. She had something to do with this. "Molly. Molly" he hissed. She grimaced and blinked her eyes.
"Sherlock?" she asked.
"Obviously. Why am I trussed up with these wretched rags?" he demanded.
She yawned and stretched an arm, which was a mistake as it reopened the wound on her shoulder. She turned to try and see it. Sherlock forgot his own complaint as soon as he saw her blood. He tried to pull himself closer to her, huffing as he contorted his body. Molly laid a hand on his back.
"You dislocated both your shoulders last night. I had to put them back in on the rooftop. Remember?" she asked.
"Yes, now I do," he said impatiently. "Not important, you're bleeding Molly" he said with concern.
She smiled at him and in her best Sherlock voice sighed, "Obviously." He just sniffed at her attempt at humor and resumed his struggle to sit up.
Molly helped prop him up against the back of the sofa. He kept trying to pull his arms free, till Molly rested her hands on his. "Stop wiggling. You need to rest your arms" she ordered.
Sherlock pouted again. "You need stitches, Molly, my arms are fine."
"Your arms are not fine and you are not going to be doing any stitching." She glared at him, which just made him chuckle. His face turned serious as he thought about their last encounter, the disaster at the Market.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Molly, I'm sorry about the argument at the Market. Once again, I behaved atrociously."
"We can talk more about it later. Right now I just want to go and get cleaned up before I figure out who wants to sew me back together" said Molly.
Like some sort of Rococo Jack-in-the-Box, the Marquis sprang up from behind the sofa. Molly shrieked in surprise and Sherlock groaned at the reappearance of his least favorite Underside acquaintance. De Carabas grinned at them all, showing off his fine white teeth.
"You know, much as I was enjoying listening to you two, I agree with Molly. Neither of you is especially fragrant. I'll be happy to see to sewing your shoulder when you aren't so foul," he said. He then began to move the sofas apart and helped Molly to stand up. She wobbled a little once she was on her feet again. Sherlock refused any assistance and managed to stand on his own. Molly clutched his elbow and they hobbled back toward the guest suite.
Sherlock is sitting at the desk in the guest suite. Before him is an assortment of cell phones that he has painstakingly taken apart. He studies the pieces and frowns in dismay. He hasn't noticed that Molly is sitting in the armchairs watching him. Her eyes are soft and she bites her lip nervously. She finishes preparing him a cup of tea and carries it to him. She sets it next to him, but he doesn't notice. Disappointment is clearly etched on her face as she returns to her chair.
Molly blinked as she stepped into the sitting room. She looked at Sherlock who also looked uncomfortable. "Um, I've never seen us before any time I came back to the rooms. I guess it makes sense, we've been living here for a while, it was still sort of weird though" she stammered.
Sherlock studied her again and sighed. "Molly, will you please stop babbling and kiss me?" he asked. Molly tried to look at him sternly, but couldn't pull it off. She reached up and kissed his lips lightly.
"I'm going to let you get away with that one. I need to bathe." She turned to walk away but was closely followed by Sherlock.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Sherlock actually blushed slightly. He tried his best to look arrogant, but it was impossible when his arms were bound with shredded blankets. He cleared his throat. "Actually, I was very much hoping that you would assist me with some of my own hygiene, given that I have been forbidden from using my own arms." For a second she didn't answer and he felt panic rising in his chest. Molly always helped; maybe he had finally driven her away.
But the she smiled her usual sweet smile and reached up to touch his face. He closed his eyes and kissed her palm. "Of course Sherlock. Anything you need, come on I'll start the bath" she whispered.
He smiled back at her, genuinely grateful. "Thank you" he whispered.