Rushing through the halls, his coat flaring out behind him, Sherlock made it to the morgue. Molly popped out of her office.
"Sherlock, what are-"
Leaving her in his wake, he snatched up a syringe and strode to the freezers. "Which one has John?" he demanded, his back to her. He didn't want her to see him with a needle full of an unknown substance.
Molly joined him and pulled out a slab. A sheet-covered body lay on it. Checking the toe tag, Sherlock confirmed that it was his John. After removing the sheet, Sherlock carefully undid John's shirt.
"What are you doing, Sherlock?"
"You'll see," he murmured. "Can you hand me that scalpel? The one behind you, on that table. Yes." While Molly's back was turned, Sherlock jabbed the needle into John's chest, directly over his heart.
"Sherlock!" Molly cried out, rushing back. "What the hell are you doing? What is that?"
Stepping back, the consulting detective allowed her to pull the syringe out. "It's fine, Molly. Just wait a little bit."
"Wait-? Sherlock, what did you do?" She stared at him suspiciously.
"I'm bringing him back," Sherlock said stiffly. Molly looked at him with pity in her eyes.
"Sherlock..." she said softly, trailing off. She rested her hand on the detective's arm. "John is gone. There is no way to bring him back. I understand that you two were close-"
Sherlock shrugged her hand off and hovered over John. "It will work," he murmured, more to himself than anyone. Molly sighed.
"Alright, Sherlock. I'll let you sit with him. But this is unhealthy."
Ignoring her, Sherlock gently brushed a hand over John's cheek. It was cool to the touch. Molly left without another word. Retrieving a chair from Molly's office, he settled down next to his blogger.
All that was left to do was wait.