This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction, but I've been completely swept away with this pairing and felt like I had to contribute to the wonderful Sherlolly movement. I think they complement each other very well, and Molly has an ability to ground him and bring out his humanity.

I know there are a lot of speculations about how Sherlock survived. In this story he jumps and hits the ground. No rubbish truck or doubles. I did some research and it is actually very possible to survive such a fall. My guess is that Sherlock used something to soften the impact with the ground, but he did not divulge into such detail with Molly. There's something about him knowing that he might not survive the fall and still jumping that intrigues me very much. That is the moment Sherlock Holmes becomes a good man.

I've always thought nursing someone to health can be very intimate. The lines between everyday propriety blur and people get to know each other on a completely different level.

I do hope you enjoy, and will be kind enough to leave your impressions.


It was a little past noon on a regular cloudy Thursday. Molly Hooper sat on the lab stool, clutching a Styrofoam cup of room temperature coffee in her shaking hands and replaying the events of the previous night in her head. Sherlock confiding in her, telling her she mattered, asking for her help. She had been hopelessly in love with the man ever since she first laid eyes on him and had frequently fantasized about him showing any kind of regard for her. But as he stood before her in the dimly lit lab, his expression determined and eyes almost pleading, she felt sick.

Sherlock Holmes never asked anyone for help, let alone her. It could only mean that things were really bad and she had felt her insides grow cold with fear. She had agreed to do whatever he needed her to do and they had settled at the very same lab table she occupied right now to talk it over.

She had been terrified when he relayed his plan to her, he intended to jump from the roof of the hospital and he needed her to arrange for him to be transported to the mortuary after his fall. There she was supposed to give him first aid and falsify the documentation, sending a different body to be cremated in his place. She had shaken her head forcefully, nerves getting the best of her, as she attempted to object. True, she had been to medical school, and knew all of the procedures in theory, but she had had a very limited experience and had not had any practice for years. What if he had an internal bleeding, severe bone fractures or anything at all that required surgery? If he somehow miraculously survived the fall, she could not have him die because of her incompetence.

He had silenced her nervous tirade with a stern "Molly." And a reminder that she had agreed to do whatever he asked of her. She had fallen silent after that, avoiding his eyes and worrying the buttons of her cardigan. And he must have sensed she was near her breaking point, because he had reached across the table for her and squeezed her forearm in reassurance. Surprised, she had looked up at him, her eyes wide and lips parted in astonishment. Sherlock Holmes didn't do comforting.

"I trust you, Molly" He said quietly, making sure to catch her eyes and gave a slight nod with his head as if in confirmation.

The following few hours were spent organizing the medical equipment and supplies in the back corner of one of the lesser used examination rooms in the morgue. A few trips to the upper levels of the hospital and a couple favors later, Molly had everything ready. She had covered it all behind a screen for a good measure, to ensure that no curious attendant stumbled across it in her absence, even though that part of the mortuary usually remained deserted.

At two fifteen, Molly had finally locked up.

"I'll see you tomorrow then" She had turned to him, her voice weak.

"Yes" he had nodded, not looking at her and she had taken it as her cue to be dismissed. It seemed like he had reached his limit of pleasantries for the day.

She had gone home, taken a scolding shower and spent the rest of the night curled on her sofa, going through the medical encyclopedias that lined the wall in her living room to freshen up her knowledge.

The dark liquid sloshed about the edges of the cup lazily as she twirled it between her fingers. With a frustrated sigh she got up, drained the now cold coffee into the sink and threw the cup into a rubbish bin nearby, making her way to the other side of the room, where Sherlock and John were engaged in an argument. Or rather, Sherlock sat leaning back in his chair, looking bored while John yelled at him for lord knew what. She stopped midway and looked at the scene before her, listening. Mrs. Hudson was attacked? She glanced at Sherlock. His expression did not convey the slightest bit of worry as he snapped replies at the doctor in an almost rehearsed manner. But John didn't seem to pick up on it, and with a final yell of "Friends protect people" darted out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

She had watched Sherlock on many occasions, cataloging his features, expressions and looks in her head. And as she watched his face, while his eyes followed John out of the room, she committed another one to her memory. It was farewell, and suddenly Molly knew that John would find Mrs. Hudson in perfect health when he reached Baker Street. It also meant that it was time. Her breath hitched in her throat when she heard his text alert go off and he glanced down at the screen for a fleeting moment, before pocketing the device and reaching for his coat.

She wanted to run to him, wrap her arms around him and beg him not to go. But as it was, she stood there with her fists clenched tightly in the pockets of her white coat and followed his motions with a glassy stare as he tied his trademark blue scarf around his neck and fixed the collar of his coat.

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes and giving her a slight nod before leaving the room. For a moment, she stood there, overwhelmed as the weight of what was about to happen suddenly dawned on her. He was walking to his death. And even if, by some miracle, she was able to piece him back together after his fall, he was still going to be dead to the world come morning. But she wouldn't let him die. He had put his trust in her and she would not betray it even if it was the last thing she did.

Snapping out of her stupor, Molly dashed into the back room to make sure everything was in place. She could not afford to lose any time at all after she would get him there. Satisfied with the state of things, she gave the room one last sweeping glance before hastily making her way out of the mortuary.

She stood by the main entrance, waiting. And a few minutes later noticed people start to glance upwards as something caught their eye. But she could not look. Instead, she eyed the two surgical interns she had talked into this with promises of access to certain bodies for practice. They stood a short distance away from her, inside the hospital doors trying to act nonchalant and waiting for their cue to act.

She heard gasps and a woman scream, and looked away from them just in time to see a black blur collide with the pavement a few feet away from her with a sickening thump. She had been terrified of this moment most of all, afraid that she might just freeze and fail to remember any of what they had planned. But as a small group of people started to gather around his body, hers reeled into action. She signaled for the interns to get moving and with a few long strides was at his side, kneeling beside him and turning him over. She checked for pulse and almost let out a sob as she felt the faint beeps of pressure against her fingertips.

His eyes were open; crystal blue against the crimson of blood that continued to ooze from his head injury. She noted with relief that the size of the red puddle around them was getting larger due to the rain and not the amount of blood he was losing. Moving a hand over his eyelids, she slid them shut.

"Sherlock" She heard a familiar voice cry, and moved away from his side hastily so John could not see her. Sherlock had given her specific instructions about John. He needed to think Sherlock was dead. She had protested at first, but he had insisted it was the only option. He was doing this for his safety, as well as detective inspector Lestrade's and Mrs. Hudson's.

She felt a pang for John as he fought his way through the crowd and grabbed Sherlock's wrist to feel for the pulse. She saw him falter and his face become ever more ashen as people tried to steer him away from Sherlock's body so the latter could be transported onto the carrier.

Her heart plummeted to her stomach. He hadn't found a pulse. She felt fear grip her insides. No, she had definitely felt it. It was weak, but it had been there. He must have missed it in his state of shock.

However all thoughts of John Watson and the rest of the world fled her mind as she ran after the interns into the hospital, her coat and knees stained with mud and blood.

Once in the mortuary, she had them move him onto the table she had prepared.

"You can go now" she told them, her hands already moving to remove his scarf, coat, and jacket, checking for his vitals.

They hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure you don't need help?" one of them asked.

"Leave!" She yelled over her shoulder as she pulled an oxygen mask over Sherlock's face. And looking uneasy, the two men left the room, closing the door behind them.

She checked his head wound first. It would need quite a few stitches, and he would probably have a bad concussion, but it was not deep enough to cause any permanent brain damage. She stopped the bleeding for the time being and proceeded to open his shirt and check his chest and abdomen for any signs of an internal bleeding. She found none, but the bruising on the right side of his ribcage, which was becoming darker by the minute, told her he probably had a few fractured ribs.

She checked his pulse again. It had grown stronger and steadier. She sighed, relieved that there was no immediate danger to his life and proceeded to scan his body for broken bones with a portable x-ray unit she had nicked from radiology the night before.

He had a dislocated shoulder and a fracture in his right ulna. But those were minor injuries considering his fall. Somewhat more relaxed, she moved to his feet, taking his shoes and socks off. His left ankle was beginning to swell, but it was not broken. She put a cold compress on it, securing it with a bandage, before returning to his shoulder. It would be better to fix it while he was still unconscious to save him the pain, but she would have to take care of his arm first to avoid making more damage.

She rolled his sleeve as far as it would go and bandaged his arm, securing it tightly and then, being careful to hold his arm above his elbow, put his shoulder back in its socket with a loud crack.

Next, she filled a jar with lukewarm water and with gentle strokes washed the blood and rain water from his face and hair, lifting the edges of his oxygen mask.

She did 15 stitches on his head, taking care to make each one neat and even, and wrapped a bandage over it once she was done.

Gently, she eased a pillow under his head, and another one under his swollen ankle, before covering him with a blanket. She needed to keep him warm and the mortuary was chilly as ever.

Four hours later, she sank onto the stool beside his bed. Her entire body strung like a wire, her spine and shoulders aching from the tension and her heartbeat ringing in her temples.

She did all she could for now and as she trained her eyes on his chest, rising and falling steadily, she felt the adrenaline seep out of her system, leaving her shaking with relief. She let out a sob and unable to hold back the tears, buried her face in her hands.

He was alive. Bruised and battered, but alive nonetheless. She shrugged her blood-stained coat off and wiped her face dry with the backs of her hands, before taking his left arm in hers gingerly and placing a delicate kiss on his knuckles.

He was alive, but they still had to convince the rest of the world otherwise. Taking a deep breath, she got up and looking him over him one last time, left the room to get the paperwork done before he woke up.