Their eyes locked repeatedly, which was odd. She often gazed in his direction in the past, to be sure, but he hardly ever looked back. As her hands flew across his body, he remained frightfully still, almost as lifeless as the corpses she so often handled just like this.
"For heaven's sake, Sherlock," she muttered as he stared unblinkingly at his pathologist. Her fingers trembled slightly, adjusting the brace she was strapping round his chest. He took a deep breath in, restricting the limits of space they had set out for him. Body armor was something he could happily live without, but in a situation such as this, ones safety was of more concern than their comfort. He grimaced as she attached the neck portion that would soon be hiding under his scarf, the cold metal biting into his thoughts, shouting at him the distinct possibility of failure. He blinked back the fear and slowly responded.
"Yes, Molly, what is it?"
She flushed slightly at her name said, her eyelashes fluttering as she formulated a sentence.
"I wish you wouldn't.... you're analyzing me, and I can't.... focus," she bumbled, feeling foolish as she always did in his presence. He refocused his eyes on her, seeing the blush creep from her neck to her cheeks, and quietly uttered a surprising reassurance. "Not at all, Molly, just thinking." His voice was almost gentle, and she paused, meeting his gaze. "Tell me," she said quietly. He held his breath for a moment, her small hands shifting across his chest to ensure his safety as well as she could.
"Thinking of how Moriarty could well see through this act, see that I know more than I am letting on. Thinking there must be another way, a way to keep everyone out of danger, without...."
His lips pursed together as he felt the pain which he was to inflict on his loved ones. Molly's eyes stayed fixed on her task, and Sherlock sighed deeply, his eyes slowly closing as the voices in his head echoed in whispers and screams. They began to consume his consciousness with their angry cries. 'IOU, Sherlock! IOU! Can't run now, its all over. You're through, Sherlock Holmes, no one will love you now!' The shrieks grew louder and fiercer, pounding on his brain till suddenly he jerked awake.
"Hey," she whispered softly, her warm hand gently touching his face. He stared up at her, the cold sweat beading on his forehead. He tried to mask the fear but Molly, she caught on. Ever perceptive in regards to him, seeing the boy beneath the machine, as no one else could, or cared to. "It's alright, Sherlock," she murmured kindly. "It will be alright."
His eyes closed again as he visibly relaxed, letting his head lean into her open palm. His response surprised them both and as his eyes opened again, Molly blushed deeply. She pulled her hand away, becoming self conscious, and walked to the other side of the lab, fiddling with instruments on a table. As his feet touched the floor, her shoulders tensed slightly.
"I'd best get the other preparations initiated," he began in a low voice. She nodded at the scalpel in her hands, shivering as she thought of what lay in store. He paused, she could hear him trying to decide what best to say. "Sherlock, go," she laughed breathlessly, willing her voice to sound genuine, not fooling anyone. He stared at the back of her head, feeling like he really should say so much more, but where to begin?
Listening to the doors close behind him, Molly crumpled into a heap on the morgue floor, unsuccessfully stifling her sobs. Her body wracked, her breath labored, she ached through and through for the pain that was to be soon inflicted.
----
Sherlock's footfalls echoed through the hallway; cold, calculated, methodical, like the man who inspired them. He was not unaware of the heartrending sobs emanating from the morgue he was distancing himself from; he flipped his collar up grimly, as if to shield himself from the vulnerability swirling around him. He could not lose focus now.
