Maybe burning in hellfire feels like this. And this is how a dying man might feel when he gets stabbed over and over again. The blade driving through flesh and puncturing organs. Then the hurt feels like as if someone is twisting said knife. Molly Hooper feels as if she is in transition. Hanging between painful consciousness and death. Her heart is beating so loud, she half-wonders if anyone can hear it. She feels someone lifting her. She cannot be sure. She might be dying too. Or this pain will never actually go away. She is not sure but she hears someone call her name, "Dr. Hooper? Can you hear me?"
Molly can hear him. But it feels like she is dreaming. The voice sounds similar. She has heard it somewhere. She cannot remember right now. Her lungs are aching, or else she would have answered.

It was the growls that had drawn Jackson Whitmore out of his home in east London. He had rushed out. What he was actually concerned about was that he knew Dr Hooper left the hospital at this hour. The safety of the good doctor was his priority as he donned his jacket and raced out of his home.
As he was running, he reflects back on the first time he met her. He had moved in her apartment building. He was moving stuff when he had cut his hand. Dr. Hooper was his next door neighbour and she had noticed the blood gushing out of his hand. Like the doctor she was, she wanted to administer first aid. It was futile trying to wrench her off. He had tried being rude and she had just rolled her eyes. She had grabbed his hand and almost fainted when she had seen the nearly healed hand. She had asked questions and he had not answered any. But that too failed to deter her.
It all happened when a werewolf from Gus's pack had come over to recruit him in the pack. Jackson had refused. He wanted to be alone. He did not need packs. He had growled and his eyes had turned to that icy blue shade. The other werewolf had left with a disapproving nod. Just as Jackson was about to close the door, he saw Molly Hooper making up the stairs looking at him in shock. Then he realized he had not returned to human, he was still half-turned. He had been too pissed off to notice.
Even that did not deter her determination to know him. He had finally relented. So now Dr. Molly Hooper was the only person in London who knew he was a werewolf. And now she is bunched up in his arms, bleeding profusely. He walks up the stairs and unlocks his apartment. He is worried, very worried. He knew she could either die or live. And both predicaments were dangerous.
He had seen the last of the fight. He had seen one of them bite her. He could not move his muscles. Fighting with an Alpha is not his forte. He felt faint when he had seen her small figure falling to the ground after her attacker was done, the blood pooling around her. He had picked her up and ran to his home.
He lays her down gently on his couch and sits down beside her, biting his nails. He knows he needs to wait overnight. He could hear her heartbeat, loud and erratic. He could hear her breathing, heavy and it sounds like it is requiring some effort to do so. He wishes he could call someone. Someone with a lot more experience, like Derek or…hell, even Stiles would have been spectacular in this situation.
He runs both his hands in his hair. He prays she will be all right. After all, she had been nothing but kind to him. And he was grateful for all the times she made him dinner and asked him too many questions. He was grateful when she helped with his coursework (he is studying medicine at King's College). She is like family. And to a guy who had never felt at home for a long time, London felt like home. He did not want to lose her. He decides he will patiently wait. There is no use over thinking this. He lays down on the floor and waits for tomorrow.

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade makes his way through St. Barts Hospital to reach the morgue, with Sherlock Holmes following him. There was a new body which had been discovered in the wee hours in the morning. And the description of the body is what had brought the worlds' only consulting detective here. There was also the little fact that the body was found close to the hospital.
They barge in the morgue and both halt at their tracks. It is not their usual pathologist, this is someone new. Lestrade shakes off his passivity and walks up to the new pathologist. He says, "DI Lestrade. And you are?"
"Oh hello. I am Dr. Mauve Raffles. Dr. Hooper did not come in today."
"Oh. So, about the body."
She pulls off the sheet and for the first time in Lestrade's life, he feels downright nauseous. Sherlock too feels slightly uncomfortable. Dr. Raffles chews down her lips, no wonder to stop throwing up again for the second time.
Sherlock ventures close to the body and inspects. Half of the face is torn to ribbons, the intact half on the other half looks up at him with blue eyes. His neck is slashed open, a little bit more would have decapitated him. There are numerous other gashes on his chest. Some shallow, some deep. Sherlock frowns as he sees the bite marks on his hands and shoulders. The bites are extremely forceful, judging by the places where the bite is so deep, he could see bone peeking out of mangled flesh. Then the next thing he notices makes his eyebrows go up. There is a gaping hole in his chest. He looks up Dr. Raffles and asks, "His heart?"
She turns around picks up a jar. Facing them, she raises the jar, "Here, his heart."
Lestrade clears his throat, "Well not a homicide then, definitely an animal attack."
Sherlock says, "An animal attack in east London. Seriously Lestrade?"
"How do you explain this then?"
Sherlock just shrugs his shoulders. He asks, "Do you have any ID?"
"No. I have sent the fingerprints for analysis," Mauve replies.
Lestrade turns around to leave. Sherlock follows suit but suddenly stops in his tracks. He goes back to the body. He leans down and looks closely. Mauve sees him and comes over. She says, "Do you see something?"
Sherlock shakes his head and leaves. He does not tell her that he saw what he thinks are claw marks around his chest. Animals do not rip out hearts with their claws, do they? A feral animal will always use its mouth. What kind of animal rips out hearts with their claws? That too, in east London of all places. He muses that there is more than what meets the eyes here.
And also, why did not his pathologist come to the morgue today? He decides to investigate that first.

A/N. So I decided to change the timeline to after The Sign of Three. I am soooooo changeable!

(Okay will not do that again.)