A/N: For the readers who have been following this story from the start (thank you btw you guys fuel my inspiration) I'd like to point out that I changed the synopsis slightly. Honestly I just added one more line but it's going to hold most of the mystery behind this fic. I finally figured out where I was going with this and felt it safe to include it on there now.

Enjoy~

An agonizing hour passed before the doctor returned to the waiting room to report her status. Despite the relatively short time, to Sherlock it felt like eternity. His mind bombarded him with survival probabilities he felt compelled to run thorough again. Never had he wanted so badly to shut his mind off, if only for a moment.

What may have been the worst thing was that the numbers were not adding up; given every variable he could scrounge up, there was no way she would have made it. He didn't know how much time had passed before the doctor left the A&E to speak to them.

"She's going to be fine."

He blinked up at the voice to see the doctor addressing John and Mary. He was mildly surprise to realize that Mycroft was still sitting next to him but made no move to acknowledge his presence on his way to hear what the doctor had to say.

The doctor glanced nervously at the approaching Sherlock before resuming his report. "Yes, she did react to the O negative." He explained rapidly. "But we managed to control the effects with the steroids on standby and got a few bags of OH almost immediately after you two had left."

John's eyebrows furrowed."Hang on, there was no way the Mumbai blood bank request could have been processed fast enough."

"Yes, apparently we did have supply of OH blood on standby in the hospital. A recent donor has been steadily providing some to us. It certainly saved her life."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the doctor who cringed in response. Ignoring the effect he had on the man, Sherlock pressed forward with his question. "Will there be any long-term damage?"

"About that," the doctor drew out a loud breath. "Whoever cut her knew what they were doing. They went straight for the artery with near surgical precision. Barely damaged the surrounding tendons. She won't have any motor problems once she heals."

John darted a look at Sherlock to see how he was taking in the information. As to be expected, his face showed no emotion. He didn't look as distraught as he had been earlier—well, as distraught as he would ever permit anyone to see him—but his stoic face gave away nothing to what he was thinking.

"Is it okay to go see her now?" The doctor turned to look at Mary, who had been the one to ask. "Yes well, are any of you family?"

"I'm her emergency contact and she has no next of kin. I would be grateful if you allow them to visit her as they're her close friends."

They all turned around in surprise when they realized that Mycroft had been the one to speak up. While Sherlock was in fact caught off guard by the revelation, he had more matters weighing on him at the time.

The doctor nodded his approval. "Then they can go ahead."

"No need," Sherlock responded curtly before walking away and out of the waiting area.

"Wha-" John stared incredulously at his retreating form. He threw Mary a torn look and was reassured by her sympathetic smile. "Go after him. Keep his head together." He gave a slight nod before going after his best friend.

"Right, well if you would come this way." The doctor's demeanor had since relaxed after Sherlock's departure. Mary's eyebrows rose up slightly when Mycroft made a move to follow her and the doctor. "Just to pay my regards," he clarified almost immediately.

Mary gave him a side-glance as they walked quietly towards the patient rooms. "Why are you her emergency contact?" She received a tight smile for her troubles. By now Mary understood the elder Holmes to be a man of few words. It would appear that only his brother was capable of gauging a response out of him. Nevertheless she got the sense he wasn't just trying to be polite.

Sherlock never ceased to amaze John, that much he was okay with; but his current behavior was really taking the cake.

"Sherlock what the hell!" He had managed to follow him all the way to the blood bank to see him having already broken in and was now going through the records from the other end of the booth. Those documents were highly confidential but the man had ceased to question how Sherlock ever got into anything.

"Aren't you even going to see her?" Sherlock merely ruffled through another registry binder. "No record of a recent OH donor." He discarded binder with disgust. "Do they even have protocols?"

"Are you even listening to me?" Much of the adrenaline of the day's events had waned once it was clear that Molly was going to be okay. But Sherlock was riling him up enough to want to punch in the face. How could he be so indifferent?

"And what would be the point of that?" he responded without looking up. "I see no reason to visit an unconscious witness." Caught unawares by his response, John could only look on in disbelief. A witness? Was that what she was to him?

Sherlock's brows furrowed the longer he stared at the names of donor. "It doesn't add up. The situation was primarily set up so that she would die long before—"

"Are you saying you're disappointed that she's alive?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sherlock seemed to have caught on to the tone for he looked up from the papers to address John in a cool voice.

"No," he pressed, voice veiled with what John recognized was suppressed irritation. "I'm just trying to understand why Moriarty would inconvenience himself to go as far as keeping her alive until we got to her, especially in person."

John was having hard time not wringing is neck and had made up his mind to take a swing at him when Sherlock suddenly banged on the table to get his attention.

"Bombay blood group! That's four in a million people with that John, and they so conveniently dropped by Barts to donate blood?" Sherlock waved his hand erratically. "Not even one person, as her transfusion would have required more than 2 units of blood. He's playing with her life and I don't know why."

John heard the strain towards the end of his outburst. It was now clear that Sherlock wasn't as nonchalant as he had originally thought, and he immediately felt guilty for having believed otherwise. That knowledge was enough to deflate much of his frustration and he took a breath to clear his head.

"You think he came here?"

"This is personal to him and choice of attack was…evocative."

The uncharacteristic pause prompted John to look up just in time to see Sherlock lost in thought for a split moment.

"Nothing," he mumbled more to himself as he got abruptly to leave. "I prefer not to jump to conclusions anyway." The method obviously alludes to suicide, whether it be his or mine or both is unclear."

On their way out of the office, Sherlock gave a grateful smile at a nurse that fell the moment they passed her. The odd exchange prompted John to ask.

"I'm assuming they didn't let you stroll in there?"

"Lestrade's badge. Apparently Scotland Yard is already here."

"Are we sure it's Moriarty?" John asked hopefully. He was almost sure it was, wishing anything that it wasn't. "Could be a copycat."

"As tempting as that delusion is, no, it is Moriarty and he is very much alive. Though it escapes me how that is at the moment."

A/N: Thank you for reading! Send me a review if you like/don't like/want to speculate about the horrors I will put them through (okay i'm half joking about the horror...it's gonna be more thriller)