AN: Not sure how long I can keep going with these 'un' chapter titles. We'll see. Got a nice long chapter for you now, enjoy ;)
Days passed without incident, but Sherlock was still uneasy. Whenever Molly was at work he was running tests in the labs at Barts, or solving cases that came into the morgue and wouldn't require him leaving it. Whenever a case did come up that he couldn't refuse, it was only logical that Molly and Mary should wait in each other's company for their men to return, and Sherlock felt better knowing there was an ex-assassin watching her back.
Today there was no case though. Molly was doing the dishes, Sherlock in his armchair reading one of Molly's medical journals, when Mrs Hudson came up the stairs.
"Woo hoo." She called, peeking her head in the door to the kitchen and seeing Molly by the sink. "There you are Dear, someone just dropped this off for you. Another congratulations for the new Mrs Holmes." She beamed, excited as she was at the wedding, after the initial disappointment of not having been there herself.
"Thanks Mrs Hudson." Molly said, giving her hands a quick wipe on a towel before taking the card from her. Mrs Hudson left again as Molly waved the card at Sherlock, "Look Sherlock, another card! Probably someone at work, word certainly has got around." She blushed slightly, embarrassed by the attention but guiltily enjoying it.
"How wonderful." Sherlock replied insincerely, not even looking up from his paper. Molly might be enjoying the attention, but he certainly wasn't. Just earlier that day he'd spotted a picture of them leaving the flat together on the front of a gossip magazine. By now everyone who ever hated him knew his soft spot, and it didn't help ease his tension at all.
Suddenly his brooding was interrupted by a frightened gasp from Molly, the opened card dropping out of her hands. "What, what is it?" He asked, quickly getting to his feet to examine the card himself.
"It's … it's from him. It's Jim." She stuttered, badly shaken. Sherlock hesitated on his way to the card, trying to figure out if and how he should be comforting his terrified wife, and then he froze completely, observing her properly.
"Molly, what's on your hands?" he asked sharply.
Molly looked down at her shaking hands, the thin layer of pale powder clinging to her fingertips, some dusting her clothing.
"I.. I don't know. That wasn't there before. I.. it must have come from the card."
"Wash it off, Molly, wash it off now!" He instructed urgently, looking down at the card and indeed seeing a white powder coating the inside of it, and some particles floating in the air above it, illuminated by a beam of light from the window. He quickly put his sleeve over his mouth to prevent himself breathing it in as he rushed to the kitchen, throwing open cupboards until her found a bucket, which he placed upside down over the card to contain it, before rushing to open the windows. He looked back to Molly standing in front of the sink, and his worst fears were confirmed. The tap was still running, but she was no longer washing her hands. Rather, she was gripping the edges of the sink in a white knuckled grip, swaying slightly, her breathing quick and uneven.
"Molly!" He rushed back to her, giving his own hands a quick rinse under the water before pressing his fingers lightly to the side of her throat. Her pulse was far too rapid. "Tell me what's happening."
"I feel dizzy and… weak. My head hurts." Molly listed. Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them and lifted them to Sherlock's face. "It's poison, isn't it?"
"Looks that way. Keep washing." Sherlock told her, keeping calm for her sake as her wrapped a supporting arm around her, his other hand pulling out his phone.
"Cyanide." Molly told him on a ragged breath, moving slowly to take her weight off her hands and continue washing them.
Sherlock swallowed and nodded, having arrived at the same conclusion. He selected his brothers number and pressed call.
"Mycroft, I need a hazmat team to Baker Street, now!"
"What have you done this time, little brother?" Mycroft sighed, imagining another of Sherlock's experiments gone wrong. It seemed he would never be done cleaning up after him.
"Not me. Moriarty. He sent Molly a card with a poisonous powder inside, probably sodium cyanide. Some of it has gotten airborne." Sherlock explained.
"Are either of you suffering from the exposure?" Mycroft asked, more seriously, one hand flying over the keyboard in front of him to order a dispatch.
"Molly is, I'd say she's suffering from moderate exposure, she had enough contact to absorb some, and probably some inhalation too."
"Then I'll have an ambulance sent along with the hazmat team. I suggest you be ready when they arrive. You know the procedure, you've done it more than enough times. I hope you're not wearing anything you're overly attached to. If that's all-"
"Wait, there's one more thing." Sherlock stopped him. He glanced back at Molly, who was once again leaning on the sink rather than washing her hands, then lowered his voice "I didn't get to see what the card said. I would appreciate it if some pictures were taken before it gets incinerated."
"Very well, I'll make sure the message is passed on. Love to the wife and all that, hope she feels better soon etc." Mycroft drawled to hide his concern, before hanging up the phone.
Sherlock tossed his phone on the side, turning his full attention back to Molly just in time as she started vomiting in the sink. Sherlock pulled her hair back out of the way and continued to hold her, turning his face away so she couldn't see the dark look on his face.
"That's good Molly, get it out your system." He soothed "Help is on its way."
Molly nodded weakly, panting as the nausea passed, and scooping some water in her hand from the tap to wash out the taste. Sherlock caught her wrist before she could get it to her mouth though, grabbing a glass off the draining board and filling it for her instead.
"Sorry didn't think...thanks" Molly muttered weakly, accepting the glass.
"Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?" Sherlock asked softly when she set the glass down, noting the unsteadiness of her hand. "I think a shower would be best, before the ambulance arrives."
"Maybe." Molly agreed, turning to face Sherlock, gripping his arms for stability. Their eyes met and she saw the worry in his eyes. The answering sympathy in her own was too much for him to bear, so he rapidly dropped her gaze, busying himself with removing both their clothing, throwing it in a sloppy heap on the bucket for the hazmat team to dispose of, before scooping her up and carrying her to the bathroom. He settled her on the toilet seat as he turned the shower on, and waited for the water to warm up.
"I love you, you know." Molly smiled watching him, despite how ill she felt, there was a warm glow in her heart from seeing how much Sherlock cared for her.
"I… I need to concentrate on getting you better right now, Molly. We can do the difficult emotional stuff later." Sherlock replied, his voice thick despite his attempt to lock out the emotions. He still hadn't said those words to her yet, but he couldn't afford to get side-tracked by sentiment now. Maybe later, when he knew she'd be okay, then he might be able to say it.
Molly understood anyway, with a secret smile to herself that even if he didn't say it out loud, his actions shouted it loud and clear.
"Shower is ready, come on." Sherlock held out his hand to Molly, helping her up and into the shower. He stepped in with her, indulging in holding her tight under the spray for a few seconds, under the pretext of steadying her, before grabbing the soap and giving them both a thorough wash down. Molly let him take care of her, her eyes closing again against the dizziness and head pain, not wanting to get sick again now they were cleaning up. She wasn't sure she'd have a choice though, as she was feeling her body slipping out of her control. When the first convulsion struck they both froze, hoping it was just a false alarm, until it happened again, and again. Molly cried out in pain and misery, slumping into Sherlock's arms, relying on him entirely to hold her up.
"Molly, Molly stay with me. Hold on, just hold on." Sherlock gripped her as tight as he could trying to hold her up with one arm, while the other switched the shower off and yanked the curtain back. He hefted her into his arms again, lifting her out of the tub and carrying her straight through to their bedroom, laying her down carefully and going back for a towel.
"Sherlock.." Molly moaned as he left her. The nausea was back in full intensity, and she rolled to the edge of the bed, grabbing the bin just in time before she threw up again. Sherlock was by her side again in a second, giving her hand a squeeze in comfort, before drying her off with the towel. His actions were clinically detached, but all the while he muttered under his breath "Don't worry, help will be here soon. Any minute now, they'll be here, we'll get you help." And Molly knew it was as much for his comfort as hers.
He had just thrown on some clothes and helped Molly into a dressing gown. When the doorbell went. Sherlock almost cried out in relief, squeezing Molly's hand tightly as he listened to the faint sounds of Mrs Hudson answering the door. Seconds later there were feet coming up the stairs, followed by Mrs Hudson's approaching voice.
"Sherlock? Hazmat is here, whatever have you been doing now?"
"Mrs Hudson, do not enter the flat!" Sherlock shouted back, getting to his feet.
"Don't leave me." Molly whimpered, as another violent convulsion shook her.
"I won't, I promise, I'm right here." Sherlock reassured her, backing away only as far as the door, standing in the doorframe where he could keep an eye on Molly and see what was going on. The leader of the hazmat team approached him, and he filled them in on what had happened. When he heard more feet on the stairs he trailed off, his gaze going past the man he was talking to, to the door, where the paramedics had finally arrived with the stretcher.
"You need pictures of what, sir?" The Hazmat man asked again.
"The uh.. the card. That's all" Sherlock waved the man off. "In here, she's in here." He called to the paramedics, waiting as they manoeuvred the stretcher around the small flat. He rushed back to Molly's side, indulging in a quick kiss on her cheek before stepping back and allowing the paramedics to go to work, loading her onto the stretcher, and answering their questions in detail. He took his eyes off her for only a few seconds, to send one quick text.
John, it has begun. Meet me at Barts. - SH