Sherlock gently shook Molly awake.
"Hey, come on. Wake up Molly."
She groaned and stretched, giving Sherlock a small smile.
"Hello handsome."
The tips of his ears colored and he coughed self-consciously.
"Hi."
She laughed and rolled over, getting out of bed.
He cleared his throat, shifting on the bed to face her as she pulled on her dressing gown.
"Um, I texted Stamford and told him you wouldn't be in today."
She stopped dead and looked at him.
"Oh."
"Yes, I thought you might need some time to yourself today. After we go."
She nodded. "Yes, I probably will. Thank you Sherlock."
Sherlock couldn't help but think her mind was far away as she exited the room. He soon heard the coffee maker come to life and decided he might as well get dressed.
It was going to be a long day and not just for Molly.
Sherlock opened the door to the black car that was parked on the curb outside of the flat. Molly climbed in, narrowly missing bumping her head and he smiled.
"I thought it would be prudent to obtain a car for this endeavor. Not too sure I'd like to take a cab after this."
Molly nodded gratefully and looked out the window, effectively ignoring Sherlock.
The distance between them had been almost tangible all morning. Molly's actions were mechanical. She dressed, washed her face and brushed her teeth, drank her coffee, and tidied up the bedroom with a distant look in her eyes. She was unfocused and detached, not even touching Sherlock the entire morning. The lack of contact shouldn't bother him as much as it did.
Sherlock watched Molly out of the corner of his eye. Her hands were twisted together in her lap and she chewed her lower lip, at one point ripping it and causing it to bleed a bit. She never took her gaze from the passing streets and never said a word to Sherlock. It was driving him crazy but he had no idea how to proceed. He hated to admit it, but he was well out of his area of expertise. He had no clue whether he should leave her to brood or attempt to comfort her. He scanned her body for clues, deciding it was best to leave her alone as her body language was practically screaming for him to stay away.
They finally arrived at their destination, finding, to their surprise, the street was blocked off and completely empty.
Thank you Mycroft.
His brother had been concerned when Sherlock had told him the reason for needing a car to pick them up, though to the normal person, his demeanor gave nothing away. He hadn't mentioned closing off the street to Sherlock though. The detective was grateful. Not only would it make their job easier, but Molly would have privacy.
He climbed out of the car, circling to open the door for Molly, who beat him to it and was already halfway out before he could get there. He put his hand at the small of back to guide her but she shrugged him off. She began to walk to the center of the street and he followed silently.
Why is she pushing me away?
Molly strode down the street with determined steps but stopped abruptly, causing Sherlock to crash into her back. She took another step at the force of him knocking into her and shrieked. Sherlock looked over her shoulder to the ground and saw a large cipher written in red.
Blood.
He choked back a gasp and stared down at the cipher and Molly's shoe, which had a fair amount of the red substance on the sides of it from where she had been forced to step into it. He gently pulled her back away from it and squatted down to examine it. He took out his phone and snapped a photo before dipping his finger into the sticky red liquid.
Definitely blood. Lots of it too. This cipher has to be a meter and a half wide at least. Maybe, what? Two pints? Whose is it though? Have a sample taken to Barts for Molly to run… No, not Molly. What is that sound?
He rubbed the blood between his fingers absently. Ignoring the odd sound coming from behind him.
Need to call Mycroft. Need to analyze blood. Need to go to the tree. Need to figure out which book.
The noise continued behind him and he stood, irritated, and turned on his heel just in time to see Molly collapse to the ground while having a full blown panic attack. She was panting, shallow, quick breaths, her chest heaving, her face pale and she was shivering violently. Sherlock stood, frozen in place, with no idea what to do until Molly suddenly passed out from the lack of oxygen. With a shout, Sherlock scooped her up, fumbling in his pocket for his phone and pressing a speed dial number.
"Yes, brother mine?"
"MYCROFT! MOLLY HAD A PANIC ATTACK AND PASSED OUT! WHAT DO I DO?!"
There was a pause before the older Holmes brother answered.
"How should I know? I'm not a doctor. I'll send someone."
Sherlock clicked his phone off and dialed John. He picked up on the third ring.
"Sherlock?"
"John, John! Molly had a panic attack and passed out! What do I do?"
"Slow down, what? No nevermind, ok is she still out?"
"Yes, she's cold and blue."
"Wrap her in your coat. Did she hit the ground or did you catch her?"
Sherlock cringed. "Umm, she hit the ground," he said, feeling guilty.
He heard a heavy sigh. "Ok, check her head for any injuries and take her pulse."
Sherlock sat down in the middle of the street with Molly draped across his legs and felt gently around on her skull. There were no obvious injuries and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Her pulse was significantly slower than it had been.
"Doesn't look like there's any damage," he reported to the army doctor.
"Good, good, is someone on the way?"
Sherlock hummed the affirmative, his eyes fixed on Molly's face. "Yes, Mycroft is sending someone."
"Good. Just keep her warm until she wakes up. Then keep her calm. Yes, it's Molly, no, no, she's ok, just a panic attack." The last part was directed to his wife, who Sherlock could barely hear frantically asking questions in the background.
"How do I do that?" Sherlock was exasperated by now, and (if he was honest, which he wouldn't be,) a bit frightened at his lack of control over the situation.
"I don't know, use your imagination," came the response. It was almost as if John thought Sherlock should know how to react when his girlfriend had a major freak out.
Sherlock hung up and let go of Molly to wiggle out of his coat and lay it over her. Brushing his thumb across her lips, he was pleased to see that her breathing had slowed to normal.
He was still sitting with her when Mycroft climbed out of his signature black car, accompanied by two medical personnel and the ever-present, Anthea.
"She's not awake yet! Why isn't she awake?" he screamed at the staff as they jogged over to him.
"Calm down Mr. Holmes. She's suffered a shock. Her system just shut down when she couldn't handle it the stress. She'll be alright."
One of the staffers was busy applying a cool cloth to Molly's forehead and the other was taking her pulse and blood pressure. Mycroft strolled over and looked down at the scene.
"Walk with me brother."
Sherlock shook his head petulantly. "No, not until she wakes up."
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Holding onto her is not going to help her Sherlock. Just put her down."
At the exact moment that Sherlock huffed and moved to let go of Molly, he heard a familiar voice shout at him.
"What the hell have you done to Molly?!"
Sherlock raised a brow as he took in the sight of the detective inspector approaching at a fast pace. "Hello Lestrade, nice to see you too."
"You've been dating her three bloody days and she's already injured!"
Sherlock gently lowered Molly and stood, his body tense as he confronted the irate Greg.
"She is not injured," he insisted. "She merely panicked."
"She wouldn't be in this situation if you just left her alone!" Lestrade shouted, dangerously close to Sherlock's face.
Holmes exploded. "Well she wouldn't be with you!"
"She'd be better off if she was!" was the retort.
Sherlock heard Molly groan the second before his fist made contact with Lestrade's jaw. Greg fell back and Sherlock immediately turned towards his pathologist, turning a blind eye to the detective inspector.
It felt rather good to expend some of the pent up stress he was experiencing.
Of course, that proved to be a mistake.
Molly sat up rather quickly, her eyes wide and Sherlock grinned at her just as Greg tackled him to the ground. The shorter man landed a solid blow to Sherlock's face as they grappled; tumbling over in the street. They rolled straight over the mark on the ground, covering them both in blood but they barely noticed.
Sherlock reared back to punch Greg again but felt a crack to the top of his head. Seconds later, another landed on Lestrade's shoulder and both men looked up to see Mycroft wielding his umbrella like a club.
His calm, almost bored tone, cut through their heavy breathing. "Children, this is neither the time nor the place for this."
They both shot annoyed glares up at him but Sherlock grudgingly nodded, ignoring Lestrade and crawling over to where Molly sat silently observing them. He reached for her hand and was puzzled when she backed away from him, scooting across the pavement. He looked down and realized what a sight he must make.
He was covered in the blood from the mark on the ground and there was a rip in his shirt. He sheepishly smiled at her and was rewarded with a softening of her eyes as the fear left them. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt, uncaring that he was in the middle of the street, and tossed it aside, groaning at what would undoubtedly be bruised ribs.
He shot her a brilliant grin, choosing to disregard the angry huff behind him. Molly shook her head at him and smiled apologetically at Greg.
What is she doing that for? She didn't hear what he said! He deserved it.
Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted.
Mycroft tapped the ground with his umbrella.
"Feeling better Doctor Hooper?"
Molly gave a weak nod.
"Alright, Sherlock, I'm taking you and Molly home."
All three men jumped when Molly suddenly shouted, "No!"
Sherlock gazed down at her puzzled as she bit her lip, uncomfortable with the attention.
Her voice was significantly softer as she gave her reason. "Umm, the blood, we need to check it out?"
Sherlock stared at her, dumbfounded, a slow smile gracing his features.
"Yes, we do indeed."
Lestrade threw his hands up in the air. "Sherlock! She just passed out for fuck's sake. Give the poor woman a break!"
The consulting detective narrowed his eyes at the detective inspector and for a moment it seemed another brawl would break out but Molly's quiet voice piped up to diffuse the situation.
"It's ok, Greg. I want to get this over with. It's easier if I go ahead and run a sample."
He reluctantly nodded at her and Sherlock clapped his hands with glee.
That's my girl.
"Mycroft, if you would be so kind as to drop us at Bart's? After I change clothes, of course."
His brother frowned but gave a curt nod. Sherlock helped a shaky Molly to her feet and gave a malicious grin to Lestrade as they passed him.
"Yeah, well, I'll just clean up here then…"