Chapter 6

Day 5

Molly's body jerked unconsciously as the bothy door slammed open. Sherlock was being carried by the two men who always accompanied him and Oliver. He was hanging completely limp in their arms, his head barely supported by the chest of Goon 1. They carefully laid him on the mattress and stepped back. Goon 2 had left hurriedly after a look from Oliver, who was standing in the doorway. He came back in less than 30 seconds, an emergency kit over his shoulder.

"Fix him," Oliver said to her, indicating to Sherlock. She was already moving to her friend. Sherlock was soaked. His skin cold and clammy. She tapped his cheek and then rubbed his sternum with knuckles but he gave no response at all.

"I need help," she said as she opened the kit. Gave it a quick professional appraisal. It was a full kit. Everything she'd need for basic first aid.

This is at least better than soap and towels, she thought. Better than trying to fix Sherlock with nothing more than spit and a kiss on his forehead.

"What happened?" She asked as she deftly undid Sherlock's shirt. Watched as Goon 3 removed Sherlock's trousers, his movements rough and quick.

"He fell." Oliver said simply. She looked up briefly, noticing for the first time that Oliver was now seated in a camping chair, watching her.

"How high?"

"Does it matter?" the man said dismissively. "I need him functioning in four days. Fix him." He said, repeating himself.

Molly kept her thoughts to herself. She wasn't about to provoke Oliver any more than is necessary. She looked down at Sherlock. The fact that he was still unconscious was concerning. A jagged cut on his forearm was bleeding profusely. It wasn't too deep, definitely not life threatening. Just messy. She grabbed gauze and placed it over the wound. Instructed the other man to press down while she continued her assessment.

His left shoulder was out of socket. The joint swollen and bruised. His left hip and thigh muscles were black and blue. She probed there first, relieved when she didn't encounter any fractures. She broke two ice packs, placed them over the joint and muscles, using strips of adhesive bandage to hold it in place. She moved back to the shoulder. Felt around until she as assuaged as best as possible how to put it back. Instructing the man holding the gauze in place to let go, she gently pulled his arm straight down and then held it level with his body, ignoring the blood dripping down, she smoothly moved it to 90 degrees. She started to slowly twist as she moved it higher until she felt the joint move cleanly. She would have to strap it down but she couldn't just yet. The cut needed to be sorted first.

She placed a cold pack on the joint, held in place with more adhesive bandages. She took another look at the cut on his forearm. Knew that Sherlock would need stitches. Instructed the other man to put pressure on it again and to be careful not to move the arm too much. The shoulder had needed to be seen too before the muscles seized and spasmed. That would've made her job putting the ball back into the socket decidedly harder.

"Sherlock?" she queried again as she lifted an eyelid. Swung a penlight to determine his pupil response. It was slow to respond and she thinned her lips as concern ratcheted up. She felt around his head, and noticed the bump just above his ear. The skin hadn't been broken, which is no indication of the seriousness of the injury.

"He needs a hospital. MRI for his head. He could have a brain haemorrhage. Internal bleeding." She embellished a little, looking up at Oliver. Not that it wasn't that far from the truth. Sherlock needed access to a fully functioning trauma room with doctors and medicine and proper equipment to measure his heart rate, oxygen levels and blood pressure. Deal with the multiple injuries he had sustained.

"No."

She sighed. Focused back on Sherlock. "Sorry Sherlock," she said as she pinched his lower ear lobe. Sherlock moaned as he reacted for the first time. His legs moved faintly, his head turning weakly to the side. His body tensed and he swallowed convulsively. She knew what it meant and had managed to get him into a recovery position on his right side just before he vomited.

"Hey. Shhhh. You're okay. Sherlock. Can you hear me?" She crooned. Wiped his mouth as another long, drawn-out groan came from his lips. She rubbed his back, waiting to see if he settled. Turned him slowly to lie on his back again.

"Hurts," he breathed. Eyelids barely open in slits.

"I know. I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Where's John?" he whispered. Took a shuddering breath.

"Sherlock, do you know where you are?" she asked. Waited for a response but Sherlock was quiet, his eyes closed again. She rubbed his chest and he winced. Opened his eyes to slits again.

"Hey, do you know where you are?"

He frowned briefly. Closed them again. "Home?" he questioned. Tears filmed but Molly suppressed them. She gently pushed his hair away from his forehead.

"Sherlock, can you stay awake for me please." She pleaded. His eyes opened again in slits. "Molly, it hurts."

"I know. I'm sorry. Sherlock… Where are we?"

She could see the effort it took for him to really think about the question. He lifted his head slightly, taking in the room and then a look of comprehension came over his features. His whole countenance dropped. A sob escaped before he could stop it. Tears started flowing and she wiped it away.

"Shhhh. It's okay, Sherlock. It's okay." She whispered. Knew it was so far removed from that sentiment. But what else was she to say.

"Where are we?" she asked again. She needed him to say it. Needed to know how much he was aware.

"Bothy," he whispered. "I'm…sick…"

She turned him just in time as he vomited again. His body shuddered beneath her.

"Oliver…" she pleaded as she looked up at the man. "He needs a hospital."

"Ask one more time, Ms Hooper and I'll remove you." She blanched. Shrunk into herself as she went about trying to stabilise her friend. Sherlock keened. A sound that seemed to come from the depths, burbling out of his mouth and then changed into a wail. She was careful as she continued to sooth him, saying nonsensical words as she whispered into his ear.

"Hurts," he whimpered and then another bout of sickness hit him a third time. This time it was barely anything he brought up, dry heaving in silent torment.

"What hurts, Sherlock?" she asked.

He took another shuddering breath. She could see the effort he took to focus. "Everything. Please…Molly… please. I need….give me anything…please…I want…oblivion…"

Molly took another look through the kit but there was no convenient morphine vial. No pain meds at all. She wondered if Oliver had taken them away by design.

"Hey," she said brightly, rubbing his back. "Do you know what happened, Sherlock?"

"Fell," he said. Took another shuddering breath. Let out another painfilled groan that ended with another suppressed sob.

"That's right. Good, Sherlock. What's…" she paused. Had been about to ask what day it was but she wasn't even sure if she knew. Time had blurred. There was no calendar at the bothy except time waiting for Oliver's summons. "What's the weather like, Sherlock," she asked instead.

"Sucks," he said. She had to smile. Attempting humour was a good thing. Awareness seemed to be returning. The confusion receding.

"I need to stitch your arm, Sherlock. Is it okay if I do it?" she asked. Waited until he gave a small nod. He was still in the recovery position. She wasn't sure if she should just leave him as is or move him onto his back where it would be easier.

"Still nauseous?" she asked.

"A little," he said. "Headache bad."

Okay. So, she'll just have to do with where he was. She grabbed the suture kit. Goon 3 held his arm in place. She flushed the wound as best she could, washing away the blood and dirt. She started on the jagged edge and Sherlock tried to move his arm but it was held in place by the other man. "Sorry, Sherlock. I don't have anything to numb it with. Please try not to move it. Your shoulder joint is unstable at the moment. I don't want it to pop out again."

He nodded. She could see him brace himself and then she worked as quickly as she could, closing the gaping wound as best she could. At least stitching was a big part of her job and she tried her best to make it as neat as possible but she knew it would still leave scarring. When she was done, she lathered it with antibiotic cream she found in the kit. Wrapped it tight in gauze and bandages. Only then did she securely strap his arm to his chest.

"All done, okay." She said as she gently smoothed his hair away from his face.

"Thanks." He managed to say. Was still pretty listless but at least he seemed to have full awareness now of his situation.

"Thank you Ms Hooper. Please stand by the fireplace." Oliver said as he rose and made his way over to the mattress. Sherlock stilled, his breathing increased and she could see his fear pore out from him in a very visual way as Oliver crouched by his head. Oliver's hand was in Sherlock's hair, gently moving it away from his face in a parody of hers just a short time ago. It would've seemed caring in any other setup but she knew better. Hated him more for it.

"A new scenario will be given in four days' time, Mr Holmes. Will you be up for it?"

Molly almost couldn't hear, so faint was Sherlock's yes.

"Good. I'll allow you this rest time. Heal up and I'll be back. If you're successful with our side project, there will be no consequences for today's little failure."

What the hell, she thought. Did Oliver really just say that…

Oliver rose smoothly after petting Sherlock on his shoulder. Sherlock suppressed a groan. The men left then, taking the emergency kit with them. Oliver had allowed her to keep the antibiotic cream and two more clean bandages. It will have to do, she thought as she knelt by Sherlock. Pulled the blanket over his bruised body.

She never did find out what the side project was about. Sherlock stayed on the mattress in the bothy the full four days. She looked after him. Helped him eat and drink when she pushed him to. Looked after his bodily functions, the embarrassment long passed since that first initial time when he had nearly died from the infection. Sherlock was clearly focused on just recovering. And on the fourth day, Oliver was there. It had taken both of Oliver's men to hoist Sherlock between them. Sherlock had stumbled between them to the helicopter, his face white with pain. Oliver had returned Sherlock five hours later and his men had helped Sherlock to the mattress where he had promptly passed out. Had left him once again in Molly's care and it had taken another week before Sherlock was able to go on challenges again.

Oliver hadn't been pleased about the wait at all.

Molly closed her eyes as the memory continued, triggered by Sherlock's text message. That had been a very trying time for both. That time and the time just after Sherlock returned after those three days with Oliver was the hardest to remember. He had been at a very low point at that stage. It had taken great effort on her part to get him to a point where he wasn't just reacting to outside stimuli. Where he started to participate in dialogue with her. Participate in looking after his own bodily needs. She had to help him initially in those first few days to wash. To eat. To drink. To go out to use the facilities.

She wondered what had triggered that particular memory. The trauma of the fall had been particularly hard for Sherlock. She knew that he had barely suppressed panic attacks whenever Oliver had decided that Sherlock needed to do a climbing challenge. She always knew when Oliver had him do one of those. He'd be quiet when he was back. Wouldn't talk for the rest of the day, barely able to suppress tremors. She didn't say anything. Tried to just keep to their routine as much for his sake as her own.

Overall, things had become a new normal for them. They had learned to cope. To suppress. To survive. To do what was necessary. Especially Sherlock. He'd seem so strong sometimes, like nothing Oliver could do would affect him. And then there were little hints of how much he was suppressing when he'd go out alone at night. Disappear for a little bit. Sometimes she'd wake up with him missing and she'd find him outside, sitting in the cold and watching the stars when it wasn't raining. He never said much. But she knew he was hurting. Whatever Oliver had done during those three days had been immensely traumatising. She knew it was more than the physical and sexual abuse he had suffered. Oliver had done something to him. Something that affected his innermost being. And whatever the little side project was that Oliver had Sherlock do occasionally seemed to add a melancholy to him that she just couldn't seem to lift.

She looked at her phone. It was 4 am. She wondered if Sherlock had slept tonight. She wanted to text him but was loath to wake him if he was asleep. She has lectures to attend later today. Wasn't entirely sure if she could manage. In the end, she needed to hear him. Needed to know that he was okay. He answered almost immediately and she knew that he'd struggled tonight as much as she did.

"Hey," she said.

"Tough night?"

"Yeah. Not much sleep. Will see how I go. Might take the afternoon off and come take a nap."

"Tell me about the conference."

She smiled in the dark on her bed. "Well, there's about 50 of us here. I found some affinity with two of them. Sue is from Edinburgh. Her accent's quite strong. Sometimes hard to understand. She works at the university. Focus is on research. Chemistry. I think you'd like her." Molly chuckled. "She almost loves experimenting as much as you do. Then there's Alex. He's older. From Manchester. He's a bit reserved. Quiet. But very knowledgeable about human anatomy." She frowned as a thought took hold. "Uhm. I'm not sure where he works…I think he told us…" she trailed off. Thinking. But she couldn't recall him ever having given that information away. "Never mind. The hotel is nice. I like the bath. The food is not too bad."

"That sounds like you're having fun."

"Yeah. It's good. You eating?"

"With John…he's fattening me up, Molly. Not sure what his plan is after the fattening."

She laughed. "Sacrifice?" she joked.

"Not funny." She could hear him pout through the phone. It only made her laugh harder.

"Glad you're feeling better," he said softly. "It's good to hear you laugh."

"Yeah. Thanks Sherlock. How's the cold cases going?"

"Uhm…yeah. Good." He said, suddenly vague. She knew him well enough by now to know something's up.

"Sherlock…"

"Mmmmmh."

"Really. You're going to do the face?"

She heard the consternation in his voice. "What face?"

"The one where you pretend you didn't hear the question or pretend that you didn't understand."

"Oh…that face."

"Yeah. That face. So what gives?"

"Mycroft and I are working on one of the cases. A little brother bonding time…"

"Yeah? What about John?"

"He's busy at the clinic."

"Oh." She was quiet as she frowned. Sherlock was clearly hiding something and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. But if Mycroft was involved it would mean that there would be some protection and for that she was willing not to pry. "Okay. Be safe please."

"It's Mycroft," he scoffed. "Of course, I'll be safe. He'll wrap me in cotton wool if he could. He's still spying, Molly," he complained. "It's Big Brother literally…"

She giggled. "Surely he's not that bad?"

"I went for a walk the other night and I stopped for a breather. He phoned John." Molly knew why he stopped. Chose to ignore the reason.

"Oh. Okay. Maybe have a chat with him. Not that hard, Sherlock. Ask him to back off a little."

"Fine. But he won't listen. He never listens." She could hear the pout. Could well imagine the perceived look of hurt that would be on his face. Knew it was all for show. That Sherlock was in fact pleased by his brother's care. Expressing sentiment was never easy for the Holmes brothers. She decided to change tact.

"What's your plans for today?"

"Might catch up on a nap this afternoon. Play some violin this morning. Maybe go for a walk."

"You seeing Giles again this week?"

"No. Been a hard one so will leave it for a bit. End of next week probably."

"How's it going with the…you know…"

Sherlock sighed. "Some days are better than others. Getting better overall so that's good. Just frustrating."

"I hear you. I froze yesterday when I heard a helicopter. Had to reset myself a little, hoping that no one noticed."

Sherlock gave a soft sigh. "Do you ever regret that Oliver chose you?"

"No!" She held the phone close to her mouth. Closed her eyes and breathed. "Just… no."

"Okay. Well I better go. Your cat is letting me know he's hungry."

"You shouldn't be feeding Toby at this hour Sherlock."

"Cats hunt at dawn you know."

"Oh," she looked at her watch. Realised it was almost five am. Groaned. "Fine. But you're teaching him bad manners. This is on you. I'm not going to wake up at five to feed him."

She could hear Sherlock smile. "That will teach you to go away to a conference."

"Sherlock!"

He laughed. Said goodbye and hung up. She felt better. Turned on her side, closed her eyes and fell asleep. This time the nightmares stayed away.

The 11 became a 10. He had cleaned the fridge door with turpentine. It had worked surprisingly well. The canvas is now nice and white. The smell is a little overpowering but should dissipate soon. John had come down from his room, wrinkled his nose but said nothing. Had made toast, orange and tea. Sherlock had eaten without protest as he looked at a slide. He was investigating different synthetic fibres and its properties in solvents. So far it had been interesting as he played with different textile strengths. He updated his blog during the process, ignoring the full inbox. In fact, just deleted everything without bothering to read any of them.

When he looked up, it was mid-morning and John was gone. It didn't bother him as he made his way to his violin. He spends the rest of the morning working on his piece for Giles. It was coming along nicely, still very rough but the basic underlying structure seemed to be forming nicely. Mrs Hudson came up for lunch, bringing soup and buns as usual. He tuned her out while she chatted and he ate, focusing instead internally on how he could get his hands on the application Molly was talking about. He had gotten quite good at making non-committal noises while she chatted. Wondered briefly if John would be pleased that he was at least attempting to engage, even if it was with half an ear. Afternoon he went for a walk around Regent's Park, doing the loop twice, not once feeling tempted to stop by the entrance to the back alley that led to oblivion. It felt good afterwards. John had brought curry and they had watched crap telly as they ate.

He finally went to bed at 10. Messaged Molly, relaxing as Toby settled next to him.

Safe? SH

Yep. Good day? MH

Very. You? SH

Have you ever tried to stay awake in a lecture? MH

Is that a trick question? SH

Uh, no. You didn't…MH

It's me…There might've been a time when I wasn't entirely always…present. SH It was the most he's ever been honest with her about his time at university when some days were mostly spent in a daze of going from one high to the next. Wondered briefly why he'd shared it but he felt safe with Molly. Knew that she would understand.

Oh... Any case was almost embarrassing. I ended up excusing myself. Wouldn't look so good for Bart's if I was snoozing away on the desk, drooling on my laptop. ? MH

Haha. Funny. SH

About this morning, Sherlock… MH

Yeah…SH

I won't be getting up at five to feed Toby. MH

Okay. I won't do it again. Promise SH

…

Love you. Sleep well, Molly Hooper. SH

Love you. Night Sherlock. MH