A scream echoed through the morgue from the lab as Molly fell onto her back, terror filling her. Her head collided with the ground and her eyes closed while her face twisted into a grimace. The pain was a sharp throbbing sensation in her head, shoulders and back.

No-one in the hospital heard the scream and no-one went to see if everything was ok. The only people that would be able to hear her were dead. That was a reason Molly enjoyed her job, but also a reason why she didn't. No-one knew her because she didn't work with anyone. She was separate from the rest of the hospital and only those who had to go there went there. No matter what happened in the lab or the morgue, no-one would know until they walked in.

She lay there with a throbbing head that seemed to ooze warmth across the ground. She opened her eyes but squeezed them shut because the lights were very bright. She was slinking in and out of consciousness; growing worried that no-one would come and find her.

Mike Stanford usually came at the end of her lunch break, as to not disturb her, and check that everything was going ok. Sherlock was bored and John was taking him out for deduction and ice-cream. Toby was a cat, so he wasn't any help. Other than that, she didn't know who would walk in. Greg could. However, he'd bring Sherlock or think she was out at lunch.

Molly opened her mouth to call out for help again but she felt her vocal cords wouldn't allow that. She didn't seem to mind, though, when she closed her mouth and began to accept the darkness that was clouding her mind and her thoughts.

~oOo~

"The criminals of London need to get their act together," Sherlock grumbled before resuming his consumption on his chocolate ice-cream.

John rolled his eyes and looked out the window. "We could always help out with petty cases. I'm sure Lestrade would be happy to have them solved as soon as possible."

There was an audible sigh from Sherlock who gave John that look of "you'd better be joking, you fool" or as Sherlock called it "Anderson, please". With a shake of his head, he replied with: "nothing under a seven, John."

"There are no bloody sevens or higher. Just don't be a dick for three minutes and help Lestrade. It'll give you something to do," John cried before looking over at the people surrounding.

Sherlock frowned at his ice-cream and pondered while the chocolate melted over his fingers. "We could visit Molly and help her out."

"Molly doesn't need help, Lestrade does. Did you not listen to anything I say?" John frowned at his friend.

Sherlock grimaced at his fingers and slowly lifted his gaze up John and stared into his eyes. "Yes, let's visit Molly."

"You're such a prat. Do you really think Molly's going to let you in so you can stop feeling bored?"

"It's not a party until Molly Hooper is there," Sherlock told his blogger while standing up and shrugging on his coat. "Come along, John."

~oOo~

Molly. Molly. Molly!

The woman on the ground began to stir as she heard her name being called. Her eyes flickered open after a few seconds and she was met with a silhouette of a man. The silhouette was beautiful and his hair looked so perfect against the white roof and the light spilled through his curls. She had to restrain herself from reaching up and running her fingers through those curls.

"Molly," the silhouette said and began to inspect her head. "Shit. John, there's blood."

The figure moved away. She closed her eyes again to avoid the bright lights and the burning in her eyes. There were a pair of hands on the back of her head.

"Fuck. This is terrible, Sherlock. She can't be in here and yet, we can't move her. Keep her conscious and I'll be right back."

The hands left her head but were replaced by a pillow of some kind.

"Molly," someone said and the silhouette was back in her vision. "Talk to me. You need to stay conscious."

"Are you an angel?" she slurred out before lifting her left hand to the silhouette. Molly placed it on the cheek and slid her hand into the silhouette's hair.

"It's Sherlock Holmes. I can assure you I am not an angel." Molly dropped her hand and felt her lips turn down as she looked up at the darkened figure.

"Are you sure you're not an angel? No-one should be here and Sherlock doesn't need to be here today," she reasoned to her saviour before gasping. "Am I going to die now?"

The silhouette sighed and his hand slid through his hair. "I'm not an angel and you're not going to die on my watch. John Watson is getting resources so as to help you. You're bleeding from the back of your head. It's really bad and it looks like it's been bleeding for a while."

Molly sighed and bit her lip. "Don't leave me, angel. I don't want to be alone."

The angel nodded and leaned towards her. She felt lips on her cheek. "I won't leave you, Molly Hooper."

"I'm dying?" she asked while sliding her hand down his shoulder, trying to find his hand.

"Without medical attention, yes. However, there is a doctor coming to help you now." Molly found his hand and squeezed it.

"I don't want to die," she told him, feeling her eye well up. "I don't want to go."

"Molly Hooper," the silhouette told her, irritation sneaking into his tone. "You are not going to die because I've got the best man on the job of saving your life. You are going to be fine and you are going to live a full, long life. Do you understand?"

Molly felt her face screw up and she was cautious with rocking her head side to side. "I'm not going to be fine, angel. Even after this, I'm going to go home and be alone with Toby. Once again, like today, if I die, no-one's going to know. No-one will find me. No-one will care." She let go of the hand while tears began to fall and slide down the side of her face.

"That's not true. You have people who care and love you."

Molly closed her eyes and shut out the sound of her angel, even though he told her to open her eyes again and to keep talking. She was feeling lousy and didn't want to talk to him. She began to drift off to the melodic sound of his voice.

~oOo~

Her eyes shot open to see a bright white celling. But it was different to before. She was comfortable now; she was lying on a bed. She slowly sat up to see a visitor in a chair.

"Er, John, hello."

John looked up at her and smiled. "Molly, how are you feeling?"

She frowned and touched the back of her head. "Absolutely idiotic and there's mild pain. Where's Sherlock?"

"Lestrade got a case for him," John told Molly with disapproval in his voice. "I told him to stay here for you but he said he 'got a better offer' and ran off to Scotland Yard. Bloody bastard."

Molly smiled sadly and nodded.

"It's probably for the best that he isn't here. I may or may not have said some things that I wish I hadn't to him."

John smiled and nodded. "Yes, Sherlock mentioned he was your angel. But it's alright; I've had patient spill secrets while they were drugged up or just in a bad state of mind."

Molly blushed as she tried to piece together the full conversation between herself and Sherlock. She wanted to hide her face in embarrassment as she thought about how she had incurred these injuries.

She was walking when she tripped over an item on the ground, spilling the contents in her hands (brain and brain fluid). As she tried to get her footing, Molly slipped on the brain fluid and fell backwards, hitting her head on the metal bench and falling to the ground where she stayed.

How on earth was Molly ever going to live today down?