The Sound of Silence

Mycroft did things well. He came to the morgue, officially to recognize Sherlock's body and transfer it to a funeral home. Outside, a medical team was waiting to take him to a secret facility outside London. Molly had performed CPR on him but his situation remained critical. Despite the doctor's efforts, he fell into a coma during the transportation.

Molly waited all the afternoon in the corridor. She quickly understood that this wasn't an ordinary hospital. All the staff was military and the area where Sherlock was being treated was "restricted". Nobody would inform her about his condition and the wait was excruciating. She kept remembering the moment when Sherlock came to ask for her help the night before. The way he had talked to her, looked at her, it was… just like a dream. But now her life had turned into a nightmare.

Finally, Mycroft joined her. When she had first broken the news to him, she swore that she could hear a flinch in his voice. But now he looked as impassive as ever, and terribly intimidating.

"How is he?", she asked hesitantly.

"Critical but stable."

Molly buried her face in her hands. "This is my fault…. I told him it was dangerous, I tried to talk him out of it but… I should have insisted. Instead of that I helped him… it's my fault !" Her voice broke into heavy sobs.

"Miss Hooper", said Mycroft calmly. "Nobody is blaming you. I know that my brother can be persuasive and I have learnt a long time ago that it is quite impossible to talk him out of anything. Also… I have my share of responsibility in the chain of events that led to this conclusion."

She looked up at him with teary eyes as he continued: "Miss Hooper, I am sure you understand the particular aspects of the situation. Sherlock is officially dead. Even if he survives, he won't be able to come back until Moriarty's network has been completely dismantled. It is essential that you keep this information absolutely secret."

"I understand."

"Good. Which means you must act in consequence. You will take a leave from Bart's, pretending to be… depressed. Pay a visit to John and Mrs Hudson, attend the funeral. You may even be the subject of media attention, you will need to be convincing."

"I will do my best. And to be honest I don't actually need to… pretend being depressed."

"You're tired, I will send a car to bring you back home."

"Wait can I... see him before?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Alright, come with me."

Molly followed the older Holmes. They arrived to Sherlock's room whose door was locked with a code. Mycroft composed it and let Molly enter.

"You have five minutes", he warned before closing back the door behind her.

It was painful to see him like this. The Sherlock she knew was always in motion. She had though that he was invincible. But now he was fighting for his life, like any other mortal. Almost an ordinary man…

She took the medical chart hung at the foot of his bed. The name of the patient was Alexandre Vernet. She guessed it was Sherlock's new identity from now on. He was suffering from a serious concussion with a risk of intracranial hemorrhage. The drug he had taken and the first CPR had apparently caused damage to his heart. His right arm, as well as his left wrist was broken. And the list was going on. She preferred not to think about the possible long-term sequels.

She gently took his hand. "Don't give up now. You cannot give up after all this. It would be stupid and you would hate it." She wiped away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. "We're in this together. So I'll come back tomorrow and the day after tomorrow to bother you until you wake up." She waited a moment for an hypothetic answer. The silence that echoed hurt even more than his usual slapping remarks. The only noises that filled the room were those of the breathing machine and the heartbeat monitor.

Suddenly, she felt like a little mouse again.

"Ok, so I'll just leave now. Bye."

^/^

Molly didn't come back the following day. Mycroft didn't allow her for security reasons. Moriarty's men were probably watching all of them and they needed to keep a low profile at least until the funeral.

The ceremony took place three days later, in a small Church. There were more people than expected though. Not everybody seemed to believe the official version, Sherlock being fraud. There were many anonymous that he had helped along the years and who wanted to pay him a last tribute. She sat next to Mrs Hudson. The old lady was standing strong, although Molly knew what a tragedy Sherlock's death meant to her. He was the son she never had.

But the one that was worrying her the most was John. He remained absolutely still during the mass, his eyes fixed on the black coffin which, he though, contained his friend's body. It was in fact an unidentified corpse from Bart's Morgue. When some paparazzi tried to take pictures at the cemetery, John violently punched one of them. Hopefully Lestrade was there to hold him back otherwise she though he could have killed the man.

Molly didn't have to fake her tears when they lowered the coffin into the grave. Her secret was becoming heavier and heavier to carry. It was a betrayal. For a good cause, but still a betrayal. She went back directly at home when it was over. All the fatigue and stress of the past days finally caught up with her and she fell asleep with her clothes on.

She was woken up by a phone call early in the morning. It was Mycroft. She knew what this could mean.

"Hello?", she answered with apprehension.

"Good morning Miss Hooper. I apologize for the unusual time but this is about Sherlock."

"Yes? Did something happen?"

"He's awake."

"Oh my God! Thank you… How is he?"

"He knows who he is and he's starting to remember."

"Good. That's good. When can I come to see him?"

There was a silence

"Mr Holmes?"

"Molly… there is another problem."

His voice sounded weaker, and he had never called her by her first name before.

"What problem?"

"He cannot feel his legs."