Pain is a poison

by thestormweaver

Story starts immediately as HLV ends, Sherlock returns to England as all is not well. Neither he or Mycroft is prepared for Moriarty's first move and someone vital to London's Consulting Detective is in the crosshairs. I don't own the characters, those are property of ACD's estate, Gatiss and Mofatt. This is posted on Ao3 where I'm known as Stormweaver.

7. Chapter 7 - Introspection

Sherlock sat back on his heels and studied his pathologist for a long moment while activity erupted behind him, not that he noticed, his focus solely on the woman in the cupboard. A year ago, he would have been certain of his next action but so much had changed since he'd returned from his fall and everything meaningful had changed since Moriarty forced his hand.

A year ago, he would have plucked the scalpel from her fingers, waking her with a shake and admonishing her for falling asleep in the cupboard. The Molly that he'd known before his fall would have stammered and squeaked, flustered and nervous. That Molly would never have bashed in the throat of her attacker. 'There', he thought, 'is the crux of my inaction.' That Molly Hooper was gone, in her place someone who thought nothing of slapping him for perceived injuries. It might well have been for a case but Molly Hooper hadn't been fooled by his quips or hard truths. He was certain she saw the deflections for what they were.

He sighed, steeling himself and forced himself into action, 'Come on, Sherlock,' he chided himself, 'if you can pluck Lestrade's identification from his pocket, you can take a scalpel from Ms. Hooper.' Though he was loath to admit it, he found himself increasingly dependent on minutae to maintain what was rapidly becoming a façade of calm. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and he was about to look to his Mind Palace to ground himself when he was thrown a proverbial life-ring. Crouched as he was, the scent of lily of the valley invaded his senses. 'Of course,'he thought, 'hand-cream.' Inhaling slightly, he identified it as Yardley – traditional, floral, and delicate. Focused, he reached out and gently slid the scalpel out from her fingers, placing it on the floor by his feet. Fingers reached out to brush a tendril of warm brown hair from her face and with that touch, her eyes snapped open.

She startled and he snatched his hand away as if burned, before reaching forward to touch her gently on the shoulder and her startled brown eyes met his. "Ms. Hooper, so good of you to join us again," he greeted with a faint smile. To his surprise, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugged him. As her tiny form shook silently, he reached out and hugged her back, placing the gentlest of kisses on her temple, "Good to see you too, Molly."