Chapter 5

Aspen learned to control her rantings about Molly lest she be treated to yet another sedative. The dreams had continued with Sherlock being holed up in Molly's apartment taking far too long to heal. He kept talking about some horrible plan to annihilate half the world with weapons of mass destruction. Of course it was not his plan, but he always had a fascinating expression on his face while he deduced how his new foe would bring it about. Aspen hated him for his lack of compassion and lack of "anything but horror" for such a plan. All the while, he kept Molly at bay and assured her that she was not in any danger. Really? How could she NOT be in danger.

A few days had passed since the accident, and she was now out of ICU. There were many visitors to her room, and they all had that uncomfortable look in their eyes as they gave Aspen condolences on her husband's death. She felt numb to it all and sometimes could not muster as much as a tear. Everyone could not believe she could have survived such a horrific crash with so few injuries and claimed God must have more for her to do in this life. She was shown the wreckage, but it was not real to her at all. She wondered if they let her see the crumpled car to illicit a break from her psychosis. No such luck. Aspen was even more sure that Sherlock and Molly had somehow entered into her world.

The second day after the accident, she managed to remove her IV and sneak into Sam's room. She had heard the nurses talking about the other person in the wreck, and she needed to see if it were true. Flashes of his truck being pushed to the middle of the road before the log truck hit them played over in her mind. This just might be divine retribution she thought. He actually looked worse than she did. Before she could get close enough to rouse him, a nurse came barreling into the room.

"How did you...you should not be out of bed, oh God, your arm," she gasped as she pointed to the steady stream of blood cascading down Aspen's arm and pooling on the floor. Apparently Aspen was not quite adept at removing an IV line.

"I needed to see..." she trailed off with the hallway looking strangely fuzzy, and then nothing. Several other attendants came rushing to the unconscious figure in Sam's doorway. Most had heard her ranting earlier that day and added this to her "crazy lady" status.

She needed to see Sam again. She had asked several times, but was always told that he was not conscious, and she was not allowed to get about just yet. She began her own plan to figure out how two worlds could have collided. She needed to go over each and every detail of the days that led up to the crash. Only then would she be assured that this was not indeed a psychotic break.

"You are being an idiot Molly Hooper!" Sherlock threw a pillow on the couch and eased himself onto the cushions. "It is very apparent that the dark circles under your eyes and your sudden lapses in concentration are all due to a lack of sleep, and you need a proper night's rest."

"You are the one who needs the rest Sher..."

"Bugger it all, I am not moving, so you will have no recourse but to sleep in your own bed. Please do change the sheets though as it is starting to smell in there."

Molly threw up her hands but knew that it was not worth arguing about. Sherlock was determined to sleep on the couch.

He had been at Molly's flat for five days. As he began to feel increasingly better, his mood became decreasingly civil. He paced for short bursts talking to Toby, Molly's cat, about how the plan might be played out. He speculated six different scenarios. He could stop three of them, but the others would require an act of God or some higher power he imagined would care about the fate of the world. He was just about ready to begin his own plan when Molly returned from work looking worse than himself.

What proceeded to unfold was a verbal shouting match about the status of sleeping arrangements. Sherlock won of course, and Molly proceeded to change the sheets. She discarded the blood stained remnants in a plastic bag and threw it into the dust bin hoping no one would see this evidence. At this point, she did not care much what anyone thought as her brain was most definitely getting muddled with the lack of sleep on her lumpy couch. Sherlock would regret his hasty decision.

Halfway through the night he did just that. His back ached and his side burned once again. He figured a hot bath could ease some of the ache. He managed to draw a bath and remove his dressings. The wounds were healing nicely due to Molly's adept stitching. There would only be a faint scarring. He plunged below the warm water giving his hair a good scrubbing before he emerged feeling a world better. He had managed to wash a bit in the past few days, but he now realized that the sheets were not the only thing reeking in Molly's bedroom. After applying a new dressing to his side, he found a clean tee shirt that Molly had snagged from his flat along with some sweat trousers. All his effort left him feeling quite clean but nonetheless exhausted. He did not want to return to the lumpy couch.

As he slid beside Molly he expected her immediate waking, but she continued her soft deep breathing with no interruption. Her face was peaceful and her hair cascaded over her arm in soft folds. He thought he would tell her how much he liked her hair tomorrow to make up for their fight earlier. Sherlock knew that one small compliment could erase any wrong doings on his part. This time the compliment would be true. He closed his eyes and breathed in her Lavender scent. He smiled and let the feelings that others so freely experience creep ever so slightly into his soul. He drifted off to sleep knowing that Molly Hooper could never disappoint him, and that she was indeed his biggest asset yet at the same time his greatest weakness.