Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock ;(

He should have seen it coming; after Moriarty had pulled out that gun, had fired that shot, he should have seen it coming. His suspicions were confirmed when he found himself taking shaky breaths, trying to stop his hyperventilation. He couldn't stop himself from weeping whilst on the phone with John on the rooftop; if he had to cry, which was extremely rare even in cases of great emotion with Sherlock, then he would do it silently. But this was a loud crying, the kind that took over your voice, made it weak and vulnerable.

When he fell, he had fallen onto mattresses. He paid everyone off that was around not to speak a word of the incident if they had seen. He paused for a moment on the mattresses, confused, all of his thoughts coming back to him at once. He had to move.

He shoved himself off of the mattresses and onto the ground. He laid his head on a conceivingly real puddle of blood, rolling his head around it slightly so it would be more believable. He tried to hold his breath as he felt them coming, all of the people, the noise…he couldn't even focus on John for very long; when he held up his arm, he wanted to wrench it away from him, tell him it was all a trick, a nasty trick, but he couldn't do that. He settled for a few shaky breaths as the paramedics loaded him onto the trolley and rolled him inside.

When they got on the elevator down to the morgue to meet Molly, the paramedics tried to explain to him that he could move around now; he could stop pretending. Sherlock had hired them after all, they knew the plan. But it wasn't working; his brain was buzzing, everything was muddled and confusing…

He opened his eyes and felt someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned slightly, trying to signal to them that he was alive, just in a bit of a situation. He heard Molly's voice, calling out to him, but he couldn't focus on her for too long, couldn't understand more than a few words. He was unable to even string them together to make a simple sentence. Why wasn't it working?

"Sherlock…" he heard Molly order loudly. "Open your eyes, it's alright, we're in the basement."

Sherlock shook his head, his breathing getting successfully more rapid. Thoughts were flying through his head, narrowly missing each other as an overload of information took over, too much, it was crashing, it was-

He heard them move around him, felt them place an oxygen mask over his mouth to help him breathe. Shock, he heard them repeat. He was in shock. Hyperventilating. Confused. It all made sense.

He felt himself being pushed into an upward position, and the mask helped control his breathing. A familiar orange blanket was put onto his shoulders, and unconsciously he wrapped it tighter around his body. It was cold. Much, much, too cold.

Slowly but surely, he felt himself regain his senses. He was in the morgue, and Molly was sitting next to him, lightly massaging his hand. He hadn't even noticed where it was. He chided himself internally, knowing he had to pull himself together, but her touch was…warm. Pleasing. Simple. Simple was what he needed.

"It's alright, Sherlock," Molly murmured as she felt his heartbeat increase. "You're just feeling a bit a shock. It's not a surprise, what with everything that's happened."

Sherlock nodded, still in a bit of a daze. Everything was getting blurry, and he felt so tired. His arms were weak, and he felt himself go limp on the trolley as he slept.

He stayed at the morgue for the night, recovering from the shock with Molly Hooper at his side. As far as he knew, she didn't even sleep.

Good old Molly. He knew he could trust her.

The next day, he found himself slipping out without warning. Molly had finally fallen asleep on the chair next to where he slept, her hand grasping his own. He carefully untangled himself from her grasp and walked silently towards the door.

"Sherlock," he heard Molly call, and he froze, unwilling to turn around.

"Sherlock, be safe." She spoke quietly, loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but not loud enough to tip off anyone else who happened to be in the building at the time. "If you ever need me, just…call me. I'll answer."

Sherlock turned towards her and saw the concern spread across her face. Worry lines were beginning to grow on her, and he had no doubt he was the cause.

Sherlock nodded. He turned to leave once more, and he opened the door, stepping through it. Suddenly, he stuck his head back in, and spoke quickly. "Molly, you've always counted. You've always seen me. I've always trusted you, even…even if it didn't seem like it."

He took in Molly's expression for a moment, and then closed the door before she could reply. As he strolled out of Saint Bart's, beginning his new life on the run, he repeated the words like a mantra. "Be safe."