Chapter 7

The following week, Molly moved into the flat Mycroft had rented for her. It was decorated with taste and a lot more spacious than her own. Her only condition had been to be able to bring her cat Toby, which had been easily granted. She had received an access pass to the hospital, and finally learnt its exact location, about 30 miles from London.

Mycroft had informed his brother that he would continue to receive daily visits from Molly. The younger Holmes didn't show any satisfaction but didn't rant either, which was an encouraging sign.

Molly was a bit anxious about this new situation, but Mycroft had insisted that it was only the continuation of what she had already been doing. He also clarified her tasks and schedule. She would rest in the morning, while a doctor and two nurses were still looking after Sherlock. Molly was relieved to learn that she wouldn't have to deal with the more intimate aspects of his care, as it would have been pretty awkward for both of them.

She would arrive at noon, with the lunch she continued to cook personally for him. The afternoons were spent between reading and talking. Molly had asked Sherlock to teach her about the "science of deduction". It turned out to be a clever way to make him open up to her. It was something that had always amused Molly. Sherlock, who claimed to indifferent to people's opinion, loved to have an audience. As other ones would put it less elegantly… he was a show off. So when Molly innocently asked him to enlighten her about his "art", he gladly executed.

He could go on for hours about the countless facts one could deduce about hands and nails, a stain of mud on a shoes, a poorly ironed shirt or a bunch of keys. Molly would listen attentively and then test her newly acquired competences on the hospital staff. Sherlock would listen with a smile and give her a praise, only to have the pleasure to tell her afterwards that most of her deductions were erroneous and make his own demonstration.

During his afternoon nap, she would go out for a walk in the hospital's garden. It was actually a nice park where they could come when Sherlock would be authorized to go out in a wheelchair. Then, she would come back for diner and watch TV with him until his sleep time.

This was on his good days. There were also the bad ones, on which he was irascible and brusque. Molly tried not to take offence as she knew how hard the whole situation was for Sherlock. He was a man of action and being stuck in a hospital bed was a true torture. He was also very proud and had a hard time accepting his dependence to others. The lack of intimacy, the humiliating situations were taking a toll on his spirits. He was still battling with bouts of depression and was medicated for it. But the worst was to know that there would be no real recovery at the end of a road. There could be some improvements, but his life would still be changed forever.

His health was improving slowly, he was now able to maintain a seated position. But there were also the countless complications of paraplegia: respiratory problems, chronic back pain, bed sores… and the delicate subject of personal care.

Molly's medical interventions were reduced to a minimum. She was a moral support, a stimulating conversation partner and, sometimes, a shoulder to cry on. It didn't require any particular competence, but it was more demanding than anything she had done before. One day he was being charming, and the following one he treated her like a slave. Many times, she waited for a thank you that never came. And then a furtive smile would cheer her up for the whole week.

This permanent emotional rollercoaster was exhausting. It was also reopening old wounds. More than once she cried herself to sleep and she wondered if Sherlock knew about it, if he knew about… everything. But it was the past and it didn't mattered. At least it was what she was trying to convince herself of.

^/^

Six weeks after the fall, Sherlock was finally freed from his casts on the arm and wrist. It meant that he would soon be able to start physiotherapy, which would be a major milestone on his way to recovery. But when Molly arrived at the hospital that day, she immediately knew it wouldn't be good one.

"Hello!", she greeted. After hanging her coat on a rack, she came to sit next to Sherlock's bedside. He didn't care to answer and gave her a reproaching look. It was 12h20 and Sherlock usually expected her at noon sharp.

"Sorry I'm late I had to take Toby to the vet, he was still sick. I didn't have time to cook, so I got pizza from that Italian place in the street. And guess what? I deduce from the pizzaiolo's thumb that he used to work on a boat, and I was right! He looked at me as if I was some kind a witch!"

"Fascinating", mumbled Sherlock.

Ignoring his comment, she opened one of two large pizza boxes she had brought and continued: "OK, and since we said I'm not helping you to eat anymore, pizza is easy to start with."

"I'm not hungry."

"Come on! This cheese smells delicious."

"I said I'm not hungry! Are you deaf or did you use your daily quota of intelligence with that pizzaiolo?"

Molly lowered her eyes and her smile faded. Sherlock laid back his head and sighed.

"What is it? Is your back hurting again?", she asked shyly.

After a moment of silence, he answered.

"I called John."

"You… what?"

"This morning, of one the nurses forgot her phone on the table. I took it and I called John."

"Did you talk to him?"

"No, I didn't say anything. I just listened. He asked who it was a couple of times, then he got angry and he hung up. He sounded… sad."

"Of course he's sad."

"But it has been six weeks."

"Sherlock… His best friend killed himself in front of him. He will move on, I hope so, but it will take time. Much more time."

"Is it true he left Baker Street?"

"Yes. He's staying with his sister for a while. He said he couldn't go back to the flat and stare at your empty chair."

Sherlock's expression became almost melancholic.

"I'll never go back either", he stated.

"Why?"

"Because of the stairs"

Oh good one Molly, she thought to herself.

"Do you think he will forget me? It might take years before I can come back."

"I doubt it. You're not really forgettable", she said giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "So are you really going to let me eat this pizza on my own? Not exactly good for my diet."

"You can indulge yourself".

"Oh… so now you're not complaining about my weight anymore!", she teased.

"I never said you were overweight. But you choose particularly unflattering clothes for your body type. Either you do it on purpose or you happen to have particularly poor taste in fashion. That dress you were wearing last Christmas was absolutely hideous."

The smirk on Molly's face disappeared, immediately replaced by an expression of profound disgust.

"You can't help it right?"

"Molly…"

"You always, always have to say something like that. And it's not funny, it's… insulting and hurtful and... and then you keep saying you're sorry but you never change and…"

She tried to continue but soon she burst into tears.

Sherlock was staring at her, puzzled. One minute ago she was joking and now she was a sobbing mess. It was always the problem with women, their behaviour was so… unpredictable. Of course he had been a bit blunt, but she was used to it. He did a quick mental calculation, wrong time of the month, her hormones were probably to blame. But there had to be something else…

He looked at her carefully, his pupils quickly moving, scanning every little detail, and suddenly a realization hit him. The though almost made him sick and he felt stupid for not understanding it sooner. For so many years he had seen, but not observed. It was too late to apologize and certainly not the time for one of his impressive deduction monologues. Molly was starting to calm herself, but he noticed the almost imperceptible tremor in her right hand.

"I should leave, I'm sorry. Forgive me I'm…I'm…", she stuttered.

"No", pleaded Sherlock. "You're right, I can't help it. My therapist calls it a defense mechanism. We all need to hide ourselves right? You hide behind your clothes, I hide behind my words… I didn't mean to insult you. You have a beautiful silhouette, it's a pity you don't show it more often. So you see, I was actually trying to make a compliment. But as you've already guessed it's not really my forte. I won't tell you it won't happen again, because you know it's not true. But I'll try."

He gently wiped the last tear rolling on her cheek.

"And please don't say you're sorry anymore."

^/^

First of all many thanks to all of you who reviewed the last chapter and sent me messages of encouragement. I really appreciate ! I didn't give up on this story but I know it took me forever to update. I was travelling so I had little time to write. But I had time to think about the upcoming chapters and I actually kept changing my mind about what I wanted to do or not... But I also came up with new ideas and I can't wait to include them.

I hope you enjoy this one, and please review ;-)