Chapter 3:

The bright lights and sound of people talking stirred Sherlock from his slumber. It took him a few moments to realize where his was. Memories of the crash came flooding back into his mind, and immediately his thoughts turned to his pathologist. Where was Molly? Was she okay? He needed to find her and make sure she was safe.

Pushing up on his elbows, Sherlock sat up in his hospital bed and groaned a little. His body was sore from the trauma it had faced, and it surprised him how much he hurt. However, he knew that nothing was sprained or broken, because he was simply laying in a hospital bed – no tubes, no wires, no anything.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes, you're awake."

Sherlock looked toward the voice and saw a doctor walk into the room. He was short, stout man who looked like he had been treating patients for the majority of his life. Despite the look of experience, Sherlock immediately began to deduce the man's entire life. Happily married for quite some time, judging by the tight looking ring on his left hand. Enjoyed helping others, therefore choosing to become a physician. Like the fast paced aspect of life, which landed him a job as an E.R. Physician. Two grown children, who no longer lived at home, and a dog, who did. Typical elderly man. Boring. Dull.

"We let you sleep here, but you're perfectly fine. Honestly, it's a miracle you weren't injured further. Just a few bruised ribs and some cuts and scrapes. You are going to be sore for awhile, but, like I said, you should be fine."

I could have told you that. Sherlock said to himself.

"You're free to leave whenever you like. Just go up to the desk and ask for your discharge papers."

Sherlock nodded once, and sat up quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Pain surged through his torso, but he ignored it. "Where is Molly?"

The elderly man's face fell slightly, and Sherlock felt a surge of pain in his chest. He was startled by how much that simple look of despair frightened and pained him. Molly and himself were colleagues. They were...friends, he thought. John would tell him that it was appropriate to feel worry for a friend, but Sherlock wasn't certain he liked what the emotion did to him.

"The young lady who was in the car with you is in surgery now. They are repairing her broken ribs and both of her legs. In addition, there was a massive internal bleed in her abdomen, but they were able to stop that. She had quite an extensive amount of damage done. It's a miracle that she's even still breathing."

Anger surged in Sherlock's heart. "When will she be out of surgery?"

The doctor looked down at his wristwatch. "The surgery started an hour ago, so she will probably have another hour or so before she's finished. I must tell you though, her condition is not positive. There is quite the chance that she will not make it out of surgery."

Sherlock ignored that last statement. "You will let me know when she is finished."

The sentence came out more like a demand than a question. The doctor must have seen the urgency in his eyes, because he simply nodded and left the room. Once he was gone, Sherlock quickly grabbed his coat off the chair and made his way to the lobby. He was slightly dizzy from the pain, but that didn't stop him from moving forwarded. He didn't like the idea of being a patient here, so he needed to be discharged immediately.

As he reached the waiting room, he almost missed John and Mary, as he walked over to the front desk. However, he caught them out of the corner of his eye as he gave the receptionist his name. The look on both John and Mary's face was that of deep concern.

"I'm perfectly well." Sherlock said in a harsher tone than he intended. "Just bruised and scarred."

John sighed with relief. "Thank God you're okay. We were worried sick."

Mary nodded in agreement. "We're glad you're okay, Sherlock. How is Molly?"

At the sound of her name, he tensed up slightly. How was Molly, indeed. While the doctor he spoke with moments before had given an adequate description of her condition, Sherlock could not be certain how she truly was until he could see her. He needed to see for his own eyes what the accident had done to his pathologist. The thought of seeing her made him nervous and anxious, and had taken his thoughts away from John, Mary, and the receptionist. He hardly noticed when John had begun to shake his arm.

"Sherlock, Mary asked how Molly is doing?"

Sherlock blinked back to reality, and looked John square in the eye. "She is in surgery right now, being...repaired. I intend to find out the true extent of her injuries from the surgeon. She should be out within an hour or so."

"So you didn't speak to anyone about her then, other than to find out that she is in surgery?" Mary asked, her voice shaking slightly.

He sighed in aggravation at having to repeat what the doctor said to him. However, he answered all their questions, as a good friend should. Yet, the longer they stood in the waiting room, talking about the fragile women in surgery, the more anxious and frustrated he became. The anxiety was with Molly's condition, but the frustration was with himself. He should have never suggested that they take a cab. If he had just allowed Molly to walk, then none of this would have happened. Sherlock only wanted to keep her safe, and look where that got her. She was far away from safety, and Sherlock had brought her there.

The thoughts in his mind began to consume him, and as John began to address Sherlock again, he turned on his heels and walked out of the hospital. If he didn't leave, he feared his thoughts would spill out and reveal the truth about the consulting detective.

He was scared to death.

"Oh, that man..." Mary whispered once Sherlock was gone. "That man...he..."

John looked over at Mary in confusion. "What? What about him?"

She sighed softly. "Day after day, we witness just who Sherlock Holmes is. He can be cruel, harsh, and downright mean when he wants to be. He flatters and manipulates to get what he wants, and everyone thinks that they know Sherlock Holmes. He is brilliant, but he is unfeeling. Oh, how wrong they are..."

"What do you mean?"

Mary laughed and sat down in the chair behind her. "Can't you see it, John? We, his closest friends, know he cares about people, even though he doesn't always show it. He says he detests sentiment, and granted, he does most of the time. But did you see the way he looked as we talked about Molly?"

"Yeah, I guess," John said, intently looking at Mary, trying to catch a clue as to what she was getting at. "He looked upset."

"Oh John, he's more than upset. He's furious. You could see the anger behind his eyes. It burned brighter than anything I have ever seen. No man gets that angry about something happening to a woman, unless..."

"Oh spit it out, Mary." He said harshly. Harsher than he intended. "Sorry, but please, unless what?"

"Unless he loves her. John, Sherlock Holmes is in love with Molly Hooper."