Genre: Drama, angst, friendship
Spoilers: End of series 2, "The Reichenbach Fall"
Warnings: Spoilers, angst, some violence, mentions of drugs, swearing

As always a heartfelt thank you to everyone who alerted, favd, read and followed my story so far. Love to talk to all of you and your input inspires me and helps me write!

Special thanks to Koneko Zero, Feej, Zacha, Erindors, Ysad, SusanneHolmes, Prothoe, Amelia Greene, October25, Eldar-Melda and Impractical Beekeeping!

Reviews could get you a microscope :-)


Tear Gas


After a long ride on the underground which thankfully is deserted this time of night, I arrive at my doctor´s apartment. Hiding in the shadows, I wait for help.

It shouldn´t take Dr. Molly Hooper long to arrive home from Bart´s. She usually takes the next available tube after her shift, and it is only a half-hour drive and a ten minute´s walk to the small house she lives in.

She arrives later than I calculated, and I start to shiver in the cold December night. My jacket barly protects me from the cold, and the wound in my side burns like hell.

She must have noticed my breathing, for when I approach her to speak to her, she turns, quickly. A hiss sounds, and my eyes sting and water. She tugs at my beanie, and delivers a hard blow to my abdomen. I slump to my knees with a sharp cry. The beanie slips from my head and reveals my cheekbones, which are more prominent than ever for I have lost several stones in the recent weeks.

"Oh my god, it´s you!" Molly exclaims, her hand flying to her mouth. "I´m so sorry, really, I am." She bends over me and tries to pry my hands from my stomach. "What are you doing here? I thought I was getting mugged!"

"Please, Molly, can we talk inside?" I ask huskily. "It is cold and I shouldn´t be seen on the street."

She takes one of my arms and helps me up, with a nod. "Of course you shouldn´t. Sorry, I thought…" She falters and regards me. In the light of the streetlamp I must look like a ghost, pale, shaven, bloodied. Her horrified expression tells me she noticed my soiled jumper. "What happened?" she asks.

"Later. Let´s get in, please."

Molly nods and fumbles with the key, sending me an odd, questioning look, as if to ask whether I am able to walk at all of if she needs to carry me over her doorstep. At least, the tear gas has not hit my eyes with full force, so I can follow her easily.

Once inside, she helps me reach her sofa, and instantly pries my clothes from the gash in my side. She inahles sharply when she spots the wound, and looks me in the face, flinching only a little.

"This is… this is nasty. You´ll need stitches and… medication. I need to go back to Bart´s. Sorry."

Interesting, Dr. Molly Hooper doesn´t seem to keep medical stuff in her house. Interesting again that John did. Probably he only took up provisions when we met. He must have realised that I was prone to get into trouble, at a very early step of our acquaintance, I muse, dizzy with pain.

Molly takes my silence as fatigue, which it partly is, and retrieves a towel to still the blood. "Press this down," she orders me. "I´ll take the car and be back in twenty minutes."

She needs only fifteen, the big flowery clock on the wall of her living room announces. As I am too tired and weak to move, she finds me slumped in exactly the same position she left me. Gently, she helps me to retrieve my T-Shirt, and starts to clean the blood away.

"What happened, Sherlock?" she asks, biting her lip. "No, don´t speak, I can see it. Someone lunged at you with a knife and managed to stab you. One of your enemies? I shouldn´t ask, shouldn´t I? You weren´t going to tell me anyway, right?"

Her familiar voice is nearly lulling me into sleep, but I make an effort to respond."Correct deduction, Dr. Hooper. I was attacked. That´s all there is to know."

Molly retrieves a syringe from one of the packages she brought and fills it. "All right… Don´t tell me. Not now, anyway. This might sting a bit, but I don´t want to stitch you up without using anaesthetics."

As we are both waiting for the medicine to work, Molly looks me over with a professional glance. "You were hurt before," she observes. "A cut on the left forearm, a bullet graze on your shoulder, a stab wound on your chest and news bruises on your left side. And…" she falters "track marks on your arms…"

"It´s a good thing you read corpses, Molly," I answer lightly. She doesn´t detect any malice or impatience in my statement and frowns at me.

"You are… you have… changed. You´ve been away for so long, John will surely…."

"John will not be seeing me. This is why I have come to you," I state firmly, a trace of desperation in my voice.

Comprehension dawns in her eyes. "It is not over, then," she questions.

"No, it´s not. I just need your help and will be away again soon, chasing Moriarty´s heir."

She gets up, grabs her equipment, comes back and tries to concentrate on the first stitch. "You can´t go out into a winter night like this. I´ll fix this and then you stay."

"I´m awfully sorry to not be able to comply to your dearest wish, Molly Hooper," I manage to joke through clenched teeth. She doesn´t stop, but chuckles ever so lightly. "Seriously, Sherlock. You need rest, and your wound needs to be treated properly." The last stitches finished, she bandages my chest, and offers me a blanket.

I allow myself to indulge in the feeling of warmth and friendliness for several minutes, before I rise and grab my jumper and jacket.

Molly, who has left for the kitchen, comes back just in time to catch me fingering the knob to the front door.

"Don´t," she says, fidgeting, fixing me with her brown eyes. "You really need to stay."

I don´t look her in the face. "I can´t, Molly. It would be too dangerous for you."

"Not if only for one night. Sherlock, you´re hurt. If you go out there you will be in no shape to defend yourself."

She has a point. It seems I have not only lost my good judgment but my strength as well, and the warmth of her flat is pulling at me with a promise of peace and quiet I am suddenly only too eager to take advantage of.

Molly notices my reluctance and touches my elbow. "Sherlock. Whatever you´re up to, you will not achieve it tonight. Please stay."

Looking down on her I realise that this is the real Molly Hooper, a very practical, bright individual who dared to offer me her unconditional help once and does offer it again, now. Three times in a row, to be precise. As if to conjure my spirit. In spite of my feeling of urgency, my lips curl into a wary, tired smile and I nod.

"Since the last time you helped me I survived, I guess it would not be wise to decline your offer," I acknowledge and follow her back into the living room.