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He had been in serious pain before, but this…this knocked the wind out of him. He doubled over in agony as Lestrade and John continued to run after the suspect. Only Sally was behind him at this point. “Bloody hell, Holmes, you’re white as a sheet,” she said, her voice actually sounding concerned.
“I’m…in pain…” he said, gritting his teeth.
She looked ahead of them towards the others. “Greg can handle this. You aren’t going to be a big baby, are you?”
He gave her a mild glare. “I fell off a roof.”
“Onto an air mattress, according to Phillip,” she said, offering him support.
“I still sprained my wrist,” he said as they turned around.
“If what’s wrong with you is what I think is wrong with you, you’re in a hell of a lot more pain at the moment,” she said. “Didn’t hurt as bad when mine burst, but then again, I thought it was just a really bad case of the monthlies.”
“A menstrual cycle can’t possibly be this bad,” he said, staring at Sally in shock.
“Don’t ever say that to your wife if you know what’s good for you, Holmes,” Sally said. “When we first met she used to have to spend an entire day in bed because the cramping was so bad when her cycle would start each month. She finally got some good birth control to control it, and then by some miracle when you two got married and she went off of it she stayed pain free, but…”
He thought back. He vaguely remembered times when he would expect Molly to be at St. Bart’s, only to be told she was ill, and then she’d be there the next day as though everything was fine. He had always thought she just used it as an excuse for a personal day, but now that he knew the truth he felt bad for assuming that. “And all this time I had judged her for wanting time away from the job.”
“Considering the things we’ve all seen, though, could you really blame her?” Sally asked.
“I suppose not,” he said.
“Well, just treat her like a queen next time it happens,” Sally said with a small smile. “That can be your way of making it up to her. Bring her all the crisps or chocolate she asks for, cuddle if she wants, let her be emotional without comment and if she feels like watching a sappy romantic film watch it without complaint. Be the perfect husband. Just tell her why or she might get suspicious.”
“I will,” he said before wincing in pain again. “This hurts.”
“We’ll get you to the hospital as quickly as we can, Holmes, no worries,” she said. “And I’ll stay with Molly until you’re out of surgery.”
“Thank you, Donovan,” he said, and with that the two of them concentrated on getting back to the squad of patrol cars. Donovan took him to one car and had the uniformed officer drive them to St. Thomas' Hospital, which was the closest hospital with emergency services. She was on the phone with Molly and passed her mobile back to Sherlock so he could assure his wife he wasn’t shot or otherwise gravely injured when his groans were becoming too loud. Once they got to the hospital he was wheeled right into a room to be prepped for surgery. As it was an emergency appendectomy there was not much time for planning or any of that, and his last conscious thought was that if he died he was going to regret having not lived a more fulfilling life.
Slowly his world stopped being a black void. He could hear noises, pages flipping of a magazine and machines humming and beeping. He could feel cold on various parts of his body and warmth on others. And his body felt incredibly heavy. It took him a moment to open his eyes but he saw people there, two women. He recognized them, one vaguely as someone he swore he didn’t like, but the other…the other was Molly. His precious, sweet Molly. He gave her a wide smile. “You really do like me,” he said, his voice slightly slurred. He wondered why that was.
Molly appeared to relax. “Oh, Sherlock, you’re awake,” she said with a warm smile.
“’Course I’m awake. I was asleep, now I’m awake,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Why were you watching me sleep, anyway?”
“You had surgery,” Molly said, reaching over for his hand. “An emergency appendectomy. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He looked down at their hands and frowned. She had on wedding bands. A rather nice engagement ring and a wedding band, and then he felt sad. No, worse than sad. Depressed. He’d missed his chance. He’d dawdled too long, put off telling her and she was taken by someone else. “I’m sure your husband doesn’t want you at the bedside of another man,” he said gruffly, trying to inject some false bravado into the situation.
“My…husband?” Molly asked, turning to the other woman, who gave a rather indelicate laugh. “But Sherlock—”
He held up a hand. “I mean, far be it for me to judge your taste in men, but if it’s anything based on past experience, your husband is bound not to want you to have too close an association with me. He knows you care, and that I perhaps care about you too much. It should be plainer on my face, I suppose, but I care about you greatly. And the men you have chosen have either been using you as a pawn or ill equipped to deal with the fact that you are an important part of my life and I don’t want to let you go.”
“But—” she said, but he shook his head.
“I know you’ve chosen someone else, and it’s because of my own stupidity for not telling you that I love you. I love you and have been in love with you for a long time, and I know it may be too late but please, know that I do, and that if there is ever a chance, I will try and love you as best I can, for as long as I can.”
Molly gave him a strange look, and then reached for a bag next to his bed and rifled through it. She pulled something out and then pulled his left hand closer to her and slipped a ring onto his ring finger. It was a perfect fit. Then she placed her hand next to it, ring finger next to ring finger, before bringing them closer to his face. He lifted his head up slightly and squinted. Yes, he could see he, too, now had on a wedding band, and both of their bands were engraved…with the same engravings… His eyes widened and then she smiled. “Sherlock, you’re my husband,” she said, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles after a moment.
“I see,” he said slowly as the other woman tried to keep from howling with laughter. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“We have a three-year-old daughter named Lydia who is currently being watched by Mrs. Hudson,” she said. “And she’s very worried about Daddy and is probably making Daddy a get well card as we speak.” She moved her hand away and brushed his hair back. “Oh, Sherlock. Please don’t ever change.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I love you exactly how you are,” she said before leaning in and kissing him softly. When she pulled away she smiled. “And because you’re really quite amusing when under the effects of anesthesia.”
“If it’s all right, I think I’d like to go back to sleep now,” he said, his eyes fluttering closed again.
“All right,” she said. “Sleep until it wears off completely.” She reached over for his hand and squeezed. “I’ll be right here waiting.” He gave her a slight nod and sank back into the nice dark abyss, grateful that Molly was by his side. His mind may have been a little foggy, but knowing she was there and had pledged to be there through better or worse made him feel as though it was all right to let go and rest some more and wait for the anesthesia to get out of his system so his mind was clear again. When it was, then he’d be all right.