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"Thanks, Sherlock, this was a huge help," Greg said sincerely as a couple officers took the suspect away. "Would have taken us longer to track him down."
"Well, I've been working at it all week," Sherlock stated in a tone of superiority. "You've got to put the effort in if you'd like results."
"Right, I'll try to remember that," Greg stated with a little sigh. He smiled at John. "Thanks again!"
"Yeah no problem!" John waved at Greg as he and the other officers finally drove off. He turned to Sherlock at that point. "I didn't realize you'd been working this case so much. You didn't text me so I figured you didn't need help."
"Oh I didn't. I had help," he stated, walking out of the warehouse and turning his collar up.
"Oh…ok." John thought about this, wondering what sort of help he'd managed to find. "Oh! By the way, Mary wanted me to ask how things worked out with Molly."
Sherlock grinned. "You may pass on to Mary that things went just wonderfully!"
"W-wow!" John did a little double take. "Well that's amazing."
He was pleasantly surprised. There was no doubt of Molly's affection for his friend, but John couldn't help being a bit concerned about Sherlock's skills at actually initiating a relationship. When Sherlock had first told them of how he'd come to grips with his true feelings for the woman who had been his friend for so many years, John had wondered how he'd handle it.
"So, I mean, what did she say?" John asked, now really fascinated to hear all the details.
"Well, she agreed to go."
"Oh, so you asked her on a date?"
Sherlock pursed his lips for a moment. "In a manner of speaking, yes."
John narrowed his eyes as Sherlock hailed a cab. "Wait, what do you mean?"
"That she assisted with the case this week," Sherlock stated, adding another small smile.
John drew a deep cleansing breath as he shut his eyes. "Sherlock…God, why do I try?"
"What?"
"So have you told her you're in love with her?"
"Not yet."
"But you told her you'd like to date her?"
"Not in those words."
John let out a laugh of exasperation. "Then what in God's name were you doing all week?!"
Sherlock climbed in the cab and John followed as he answered in a now defensive tone. "It was incredibly romantic, John! You weren't there, you don't know!"
"I've been on about two hundred cases with you, you idiot! I know what working a case is like!"
Sherlock sighed. "Bart's hospital please," he said to the cabbie, and then looked back at John. "Well you can relax because now that this case has come to a close, I believe I've nicely set the stage to confess my feelings. After this past week, I'm sure it'll come as no surprise to her that I'd like to do more than solve crimes." He chuckled slyly.
"Wait, are we actually going to do this now?" John looked confused. "You do realize I shouldn't be there for this particular moment, don't you?"
"Well you were the one that followed me into the cab, John. How did you know where I'd be headed?"
John exhaled while letting his head fall back against the seat. "Let's hope she's feeling generously forgiving," he muttered to himself.
Upon arrival at Bart's, John ended up catching his own cab home and Sherlock headed inside and down to the morgue with a bit of a spring in his step. This was definitely going to go well.
He flung open the morgue doors and was about to joyfully announce his presence when he caught sight of one of Molly's coworkers and his face fell.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock sneered.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Holmes," the young woman said. "I work here, remember? We met about a month ago when-"
He put a hand out, rudely stopping her. "Yes, fine, no need to continue. I'm specifically asking what you're doing here seeing as this is Dr. Hooper's scheduled shift."
"Oh right, well Dr. Hooper called out sick today."
Sherlock froze. "Sh-she's ill?"
The woman smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid so. But if you'd like I can leave her a message and she'll get it next time she's-"
"Not necessary, thank you." With that, Sherlock quickly took his leave.
Molly Hooper ill? Somehow it seemed impossible! He couldn't imagine her in some weakened state, unable to work. It was definitely going to bother him all day, so he figured it best to simply head to her flat and investigate the actual diagnosis.
Sherlock sent a text on his way over, but in the twenty minutes it took the cabbie to get through traffic and to her flat, she still hadn't answered. He decided it was an occasion to use that spare key she'd awarded him with a couple of years ago. It was supposed to be for emergencies, but this quite possibly might be one.
He heard Toby scampering away down the hall as he unlocked the door and let himself in. Her coat and bag were there and everything appeared in order, so she was definitely home. He had half hoped her sick day was actually more of a personal day and that she was out and about. Apparently not.
"Molly?"
"Sherlock?" came the raspy answer.
"Yes, it's me," he answered, advancing down the hall once he'd heard her voice.
"My God, I almost called the police," she said wearily as he entered the bedroom. She was crawling back into bed and setting the high heeled shoe back on the ground, apparently no longer needing it for self-defense. "Look, whatever's wrong I can't really help." She coughed into her elbow while finishing the sentence.
"You really are ill," he stated in shock.
Molly lifted her hands in a shrug. "Well it's not exactly surprising. I've been helping you with that case five out of the past seven nights this week! I've been getting about half my needed hours of sleep and not eating properly. And especially that horror last night!"
Sherlock looked as if he'd been slapped again. "Horror?"
"Well yeah," she said while sinking down into the cave of blankets on her bed. "I mean, I'm pretty sure we were crouched in that back alley for two straight hours…in the cold rain!" She shivered a little. "God, I swear my body temperature hasn't fully got back up since then."
Sherlock's brow was very deeply furrowed now. How had that not been the experience he was hoping for? They'd been huddled together, he'd been smiling affectionately at her, whispering low when speaking. Didn't those things make for a romantic scenario? Yes, perhaps in hindsight the cold rain didn't do much for the mood.
"What can I do?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he really thought them through.
"What are you talking about?" Molly winced as she sat up a bit more again. "Look, my whole body aches and my head is pounding. I think you should probably just leave me in peace."
"B-but there must be something that could help."
"It's a virus, Sherlock. What helps is mostly fluids and rest."
Sherlock's eyes darted to her mug by the bed and then pointed accusingly at it. "Your tea mug is empty! I do know how to make tea."
Molly paused for a moment, staring up at him a bit bleary eyed, clearly thinking this over as best she could. Finally she tipped her head to the side a bit, as if something had occurred to her, and then she began to smile.
"Yeah ok," she said with a little nod. "You can take care of me."
"What?" He frowned at her specific wording.
"Well you seem to want to help. And now that I think of it, it is rather fitting, isn't it? I very much doubt I would have come down with anything if I hadn't been absolutely running my body ragged all week due to you begging me to help you catch some crime lord." She crossed her arms over the mound of blankets that covered her. "So…you still want to help me today?"
Sherlock felt a little out of his depth all of a sudden. Yes, he felt badly and wanted to do something. But suddenly she was asking him to spend the day taking care of her? This very likely fell squarely in the category of "not his area." But still, he very much wanted to prove himself to Molly. And if this was the way he needed to do it, so be it.
He undid his coat and tugged his scarf off, laying them both on the chair in her bedroom, and then he smiled at her confidently. "At your service!"
"Sherlock! Sherlock!"
He looked up from his mobile and got up from the kitchen table at the sound of her scratchy and slightly whiny voice. She really did sound awful. It was for the best that he was here to do what was needed…though, it did seem there was a lot that was needed.
He stuck his head in the bedroom. "Yes, Molly?"
Molly smiled weakly at him and held up her heating pad. "This got cold again. Can you microwave it again please?"
"No problem," he said with a smile, taking it from her and heading back to the kitchen.
As he stood there waiting for it to finish heating, Molly called him back again.
"Hi," she said with a slightly apologetic smile. "Um, my laptop cord can't reach very well from where I am on the bed and it keeps pulling off my lap. Can you see if you can find an extension cord?"
"And…where might that be?"
"Um, I think it's in one of the kitchen drawers. Probably one of the jumbled messy ones," she admitted with a little laugh.
Sherlock's gaze shifted for a moment. "…Ok."
"Oh! The warming pad's done!" Molly announced helpfully as the microwave dinged.
"Thank you, yes," Sherlock said with a tight smile and went off to retrieve it. After handing it back over to her, he set out searching for the extension cord. That was quite a project seeing as there truly were a number of drawers that fell under the "jumbled messy" description.
He finally came back into the bedroom with the located extension cord and proudly presented it, though his smile fell as he noted that her laptop was now closed and she was lying back in bed.
"Oh you found it," she said sleepily. "You can set it here on the nightstand but I'm feeling awfully drowsy all of a sudden so I think I'll take a nap first. Thanks though!"
Sherlock cleared his throat, setting it where she requested. "No problem," he muttered and took his leave again.
An hour later, Molly woke again with a little groan. Sherlock looked at the time and noted that it was nearing dinner now. He went back in her room to discuss options.
"How are you feeling?"
She rubbed her head and coughed a bit. "Pretty awful."
"Well if you're hungry I could order some take away."
"Oh no, I don't think so," she said with a grimace. "I can't think of eating much right now. In fact, I feel like I have a fever, which would explain loss of appetite."
Sherlock stepped over closer, out of sheer surprising instinct, and touched the back of his hand to her forehead. He looked thoughtful, then nodded.
"Yes, I'd say you're running a bit warm."
"I'm so chilly though," she said with a shiver.
"Common with a fever. Does your heating pad need warming?"
"Yes please," she said, digging it out from under the blankets and handing it over. "And you can always order take away for yourself if you'd like."
"No no, I'm perfectly fine," he assured her and went to stick the pad in the microwave again.
About an hour later came another, slightly more difficult, request.
"Yes, what is it?" Sherlock asked, coming to the bedroom door again.
"It's just, I really do feel awfully feverish and I'd sort of like to know what my temperature actually is." She took a moment to cough and then laid her head back again. "Do you think you could get a thermometer?"
"Where do you keep it?"
"Well you see, that's the problem. The last one I had broken a while back and I hadn't replaced it yet." She connected her sad and glassy eyed gaze to his. "Would it be a terrible trouble for you to run down the street to the market and buy one?"
He raised a brow. "Buy a thermometer?"
"Yes."
"I'd say it's already conclusive that you do have a fever."
"Yeah I know, but I feel better if I can actually track it and see if it's going up or down."
"I can just touch you-" He winced. "Eh, feel you-" Nope, that wasn't good either. "no, I mean…"
Molly pressed her lips together, trying to keep from laughing as his ears got a little pink.
"Right, yes, I'll just pop down to the corner market then," he agreed, abandoning the attempt at an alternative.
"That's so nice, thank you," Molly said with a sweet smile.
"Be back in just a few minutes. Text or call if you think of anything else."
"Ok great!"
Sherlock headed out and was perusing the selection of thermometers and trying to choose the nicest one when his phone chimed.
HELLO! HOPE I CAUGHT YOU WHILE YOU'RE STILL IN THE STORE. WONDERING IF YOU CAN GET A COUPLE OF INGREDIENTS FOR ME… -MH
I SUPPOSE. WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR? –SH
A COUPLE OF LEMONS AND AN ORANGE, GINGER ROOT, TURMERIC, AND SOME RAW HONEY. –MH
He frowned for a moment but then began mentally paging through some files on those particular food items.
AH YES…AN IMMUNE BOOSTING CONCOCTION AS A SORT OF HOT TEA? I'LL SEE WHAT I CAN FIND. –SH
THANKS SHERLOCK, YOU'RE THE BEST. :) –MH
Silly though it may be, the little smiley face made him smile as well.
After much deliberation, especially about selecting the best type of honey, Sherlock finally made his way back to Molly's flat with all the requested items.
As Sherlock came in and set the bags down, he saw Molly making her way slowly out of the loo and bracing herself on the wall for support. He instantly rushed over.
"What are you doing out of bed? You look like you can barely walk!" He wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her.
"I'm sorry, I had to pee," she whined weakly. "Did you get everything? I really want to take my temperature."
"I'll bring the thermometer in," he promised after helping her back into bed and under the covers.
Molly did indeed have a significant fever.
"38.1," Sherlock said, reading the thermometer after it beeped. "You should definitely be resting. Especially because the fever may get higher. Body temperature tends to do that at night."
Molly shivered a little and shut her eyes. "Oh but can you maybe make that tea? I could really use something warm and soothing. The recipe is open on my laptop if you need to look at how to do it."
"Um, yes," he agreed nervously while grabbing her laptop. "I'll just get right to it."
Sherlock spent the next twenty minutes painstakingly slicing the lemons and oranges very thinly (while also also removing the seeds), grinding the ginger root into a paste, and then mixing it all with the turmeric and honey. He found a jar to store it in and then started the kettle of water going. At long last, he was able to add a heaping spoonful of the concoction to a mug of hot water and bring it to the patient. It wasn't his typical brand of chemistry, but he was awfully proud of himself.
"There you are," he said with a pleased smile. "Sip carefully, it's quite hot at the moment."
Molly managed to sit up a bit and then held the mug up to her nose. "Mm, even smelling this makes me feel better," she murmured into the steam.
Sherlock stood there for a moment as she sipped and enjoyed, though continued looking a bit miserable.
"You still seem chilled," he noted.
"Well, it's the fever," Molly said with a little shrug.
"Are you comfortable?"
She nodded. "Yeah, thanks."
"Good." He nodded, seeming pleased. "So you're better then?"
"Better?"
"Well I suppose I meant, you don't need anything else."
Molly hesitated. "Um, right. Yeah I suppose not." She coughed for a moment and then attempted a smile. "I'm sure I'll be fine if you really need to go."
Sherlock paused and drew a breath. "You don't want me to go, do you?"
She twisted her lips a little and then slowly shook her head. "Would you mind staying very much?"
The whole care-taking routine was taking a bit of a toll by now and despite his feelings for Molly, he was longing for a little solitude and relaxation himself. But he made sure to smile right away at her question.
"Nonsense, of course I wouldn't mind. Always happy to spend the night with you- er…stay at your flat with you."
Molly smiled back as she set her mug down. "You're a good man, Sherlock Holmes."
"Only occasionally." He said with a smirk and then left her to rest.
Sherlock jolted from his light slumber on Molly's awful little couch. He quickly realized that what had woken him was the sound of the shower. Checking his watch, he saw it was half past two in the morning.
He crept over to the door, knocking softly. "Molly? Is everything alright?"
"Oh I'm fine," she called back, still sounding raspy. "I woke up an hour ago and couldn't get back to sleep. I hadn't showered all yesterday and I think that was making me feel worse. Besides, the steam might help clear my lungs. I'm done now though."
Sherlock heard the water shut off. "Do you need anything?"
"Um…maybe some privacy."
He frowned. "I wasn't planning on coming in."
"No, I mean, I need to get back to my bedroom and I only brought a towel since you were asleep."
"Ah, I see," he quickly backed up from the door a bit, as well as worked at trying to stamp down the mental image that his brain was conjuring up at the moment. "I'll just…stay in the sitting room then."
Sherlock waited on the couch for a few minutes till he'd heard the door open, Molly's little feet pad their way back to the bedroom, and then the bedroom door close. He huffed out a breath and lay back against her couch, deciding that he was most definitely a horrible person for having the thoughts that he was having at the moment, given that the poor woman was seriously sick. He closed his eyes tight, begging for sleep to take him over again and for morning to come.
"Sherlock?"
His eyes flew open again as he sat bolt upright and stood from the couch. What could she possibly need now?
Sherlock knocked first and then entered her dimly lit room, greeted with the angelic sight of her sitting up in her bed with fresh pajamas and damp hair.
"Hi," she said with a little smile. "I'm a little cold again now."
"Ah." He glanced around on the bed. "Where's the heating pad?"
"Um, actually, I was wondering…" She paused, awkwardly twisting her hair out of the way. "Could you maybe- I mean only if you're not uncomfortable- could you…hold me?"
Sherlock blinked. "H-hold you?"
"I'm sorry!" She laughed nervously, gathering the covers tightly around her. "Never mind, that was silly. I know I've asked a lot of you today and that's hardly fair to-"
But Molly stopped the rapid babbling when she saw Sherlock rounding the bed to climb in on the other side. He settled under the covers and scooted over next to her, propping some pillows for himself to lean on before reaching his arm around to encircle her and gather her against his chest.
"Better?" His voice sounded a little unsteady, even to his own ears.
She took a moment to answer, first wrapping an arm around his middle. "The best," she whispered.
"You're still awfully warm."
"Sorry if it's too hot."
"I'm fine," he lied. It really was incredibly warm under the covers and with a feverish woman plastered against him. But it didn't matter. She shivered a little and he held her a little tighter, rubbing his hand over her upper arm.
"Go to sleep," he whispered soothingly a couple of times…and she did.
Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up with a start, making Molly jump next to him in response. Though she was already awake and sitting up.
"Sorry," he muttered, running fingers through his hair as he leaned back against the headboard.
"No, it's ok," she replied with a smile. "I didn't want to wake you. You were sleeping so peacefully."
He looked her over more carefully. Not as flushed, eyes brighter, lips less pale... "How are you?"
"I'm a bit better this morning. I took my temperature and it's almost normal, though there's always the chance it'll climb again later today. But for now it's an improvement. I'm not quite as achy at the moment either."
"Good," he said softly, his eyes gliding over her face and slightly messy but incredibly sexy hair.
Molly's cheeks flushed a little then, but it didn't seem to do with her illness. She looked into Sherlock's eyes for a moment in silence before surprising him by reaching over and running her fingers through a bit of the hair at the side of his head. He knew very well that his expression wasn't completely in check and that she might very well see what he'd not yet spoken.
She drew her hand back and looked down, smiling nervously. "Sorry, it was just, you know, sticking out a bit," she said softly. Then she looked up at him again. "I'm just so grateful. You took such good care of me…I could kiss you!" She let out a little giggle.
"I could kiss you," Sherlock echoed, though he spoke in a low timbre and his eyes were deadly serious.
Molly's expression shifted to shock. "W-what?"
Sherlock swallowed hard. "Apologies, that perhaps came out at the wrong time and in the wrong way."
She was still awestruck. "Meaning there's a…right time and a right way ?"
Well, it seemed he couldn't avoid the topic now. "I had hoped so, yes."
"Well now I really want to kiss you!" she exclaimed with another nervous little laugh. "Bad timing for a virus."
Caution and sense ceased for Sherlock then. He reached out, gently grasping her chin, causing her lips to part as he leaned forward and molded his mouth to hers. The fact that he was now massively increasing his chances of catching this illness was made up for by the sheer blood pumping euphoria. And besides, he could safely assume that spending the week with her and a day at her flat had already exposed him to the germs anyway.
Molly pulled away looking beautifully dazed. "I'm suddenly enjoying feeling lightheaded," she whispered, but then self-consciously placed a hand over her mouth. "Though I'm incredibly embarrassed that you just kissed me first thing in the morning before I've even brushed my teeth."
Sherlock shrugged, unconcerned. "No need for embarrassment. Not that I've ever kissed you before, but I'd say you taste distinctly like…Molly." He smiled, brushing some hair back from her face.
Molly drew a shaky breath. "You'd better get out of this bed now. Because I'm about to very certainly get you ill if you stay here."
Sherlock had to harness every bit of willpower he could in order to drag himself out from under those covers and out of the bed. But he did it. This was hardly the time for anything more amorous. Besides, there was another priority at the moment.
"I'm going to make some more of that ginger citrus…tea thing," he announced while exiting the bedroom.
"Oh lovely!"
"Yes well I'd say we both need it now. Got to stay well!"
"Oh really?" She smiled slyly. "You have some kind of big plans coming up?"
"I should say so, yes. Though I think I'll tell you about that when you're fully recovered." He winked. "Wouldn't want your temperature to spike again."