A/N: next chapter will be longer. If you like the story, please review. Feedback inspires me to write faster!
He went to Molly's room. She was awake and watching the television. Her face looked pale and drawn but she seemed not to be in bad pain. She hadn't slept much, she liked milk in her tea, didn't care for peach yogurt but liked cherry and hated her hospital gown. He couldn't blame her there. The bruises on her face were changing color. Four more days and they should be gone.
He absorbed all this before even entering the room. Devil in the details, indeed. If Molly Hooper was involved this much in Moriarty's plan, she was the new lucky recipient of all of Sherlock's deductive powers. He'd noticed things about her before, the same way he did with other people: indifferently and categorically. But he was about to step that up a notch.
He cleared his throat, and she turned her head as he walked in. "Oh! Sherlock. I was wondering when you'd get here," she said, managing a small smile of faked cheerfulness.
"Actually, I was here earlier but you were asleep," he said, closing the door. He replayed what she'd said in his head. "You've been expecting me?"
The smile faded. "Of course. You've got a new case." She looked down. "Me."
"I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer earlier," he told her, and was rewarded by a surprised stare. "I needed to go to the station."
She nodded. The apology was unexpected, but she had just been traumatized and maybe even he was capable of being nice in a case like this. "I told Inspector Lestrade it was all right to… consult with you."
He knew exactly what she meant by that. He weighed his next words carefully before he spoke.
"Molly… despite my frequently boorish behavior I really don't want to embarrass or upset you. But it would help me a great deal if I could actually see your back." His eyes met hers and the look in them caught her breath. "May I?"
She hesitated, not sure if she could bear being that exposed to him. Oh, she was always exposed to him to a degree: everyone was. But this would be different.
He stepped closer. "Please, Molly? I promise to be gentle with you."
She blinked. He was being nicer than she'd have thought him capable. But then, he was capable of all sorts of things. Being nice to her just wasn't usually one of them.
Against her inner voice screaming otherwise, she nodded. "OK, then."
"Thank you." He moved to stand behind her on the bed, waiting while she leaned forward and covered her front half tightly with her bedclothes before he acted.
He carefully untied the string of her gown, then peeled it to the sides. Her backside was exposed to him and he saw the top of her lavender panties and the smooth curves of her hips.
Not the panties she wore during the attack. Someone went and fetched clothes for her at her flat.
Then his breath nearly caught in his throat.
Not deep cuts. Wouldn't scar or they'd be very faint, treatable with laser surgery if she wanted. Shallow cuts. The kind that bleed and look worse than they really are. He wasn't trying to hurt her with it, exactly. Just get his point across.
That wasn't what interested him, though.
What made him almost gasp was something else, something on the left side of the small of her back. Something he hadn't been able to see in the photograph: something he wasn't even sure if anyone else noticed. It was faint, it was small, but it was unmistakable. Brown dots that looked like moles but were not. Other people probably wouldn't even see the pattern of them. But he did.
An S and an M.
He hesitated, then pressed his fingertips firmly again them. He heard Molly's sharp gasp, but his focus was on the dots. When he removed his hand a few seconds later, they were gone.
"Sherlock?"
Oh, you are good, Moriarty.
"Sherlock what are you doing?" Molly squeaked.
He withdrew his hand and smiled at her nervous expression. "Sorry. Needed to make sure nothing had been missed."
"By touching my back, near my bottom?" Molly asked, completely confused.
"You know my methods aren't always orthodox, Molly," he said as he deftly re-tied her gown.
"That's one bloody way to put it," she muttered.
He raised his eyebrows, amused and yes, a bit impressed by how well she was comporting herself. He moved to the chair on the other side of her bed and sat down, looking at her intently.
"Now. Tell me exactly what happened."