Reminiscent Regret and Conjunctive Kismet

Loving Him Was Red

Molly runs across the street, barely allowing the cars to pass before shoving through a small crowd that was beginning to form near her dearest friend.

It just so happened that she had been on her lunch break and was walking back to Bart's since the sun was shining. As she rounded a corner, she heard a familiar voice yell and peered over to see the beginning of a heavy struggle.

There was Sherlock Holmes in a tussle with a much heavier, more muscular man who was being relentless in his attack. Sherlock couldn't even reach for his gun, as the unnamed perp had his arms occupied trying to avoid blows to his perfectly chiseled face or a stab wound from the large dagger the criminal had slipped out of his waistband and clutched.

Then everything happened in a blur. Molly began to run towards them, not even knowing how she would help when she got there. Before her feet even hit the darker pavement of the street, cars began to pass by, and she heard a distressed yell from the man she had loved for so long. As the last of the vehicles that had blocked the assault from view for a few seconds passed by, her eyes landed on the horrific sight in front of her. Sherlock had been stabbed in his femoral artery and was on the ground, hands tight over the wound, blood gushing through his fingers like a fire hose.

The would-be killer flees as Molly sprints full speed the rest of the way across the street, noticing people beginning to form in the opening of the small alley. She pushes through them a bit too harshly and clamors to Sherlock's side, to his confusion. Molly screams at them to call 999. One of the bystanders does as she asks, shakily dialing and holding it to his ear.

Sherlock sweats and sags against the brick, breathing hard, blood staining his trousers and covering his pale hands, flowing like a tap. Tearing up but not skipping a beat, Molly takes off her sweater and rips it into three pieces. Grabbing a larger shred, she turns it into a makeshift tourniquet and looks at him empathetically.

"Sherlock, hey...this is really gonna hurt, but I have to do it to help you ok?"

Sherlock's dark curls stick to his sweaty forehead, his body losing blood fast and making him weak. He gives a small nod and clenches his jaw. Molly ties it tightly around the wound and he yells out in pain. He pants hard and leans his head back against the brick again, groaning in pain. His vision begins to blur, and he grabs her arm in an attempt to ground himself, leaving a bloody handprint on her skin.

"Mhh...shock...", he mumbles to her before his body erupts into a tremor. She holds him close and strokes his curls away from his face as the bystander hangs up the phone, reporting that the EMTs are on their way and that he had stated how bad the injury was, that Sherlock Holmes was bleeding out. Molly wraps the other two shreds of her sweater around the wound as blood begins to drench it and seep through.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, I know it must hurt...you'll be okay. I promise. I'll make sure you're okay.

Sherlock looks up at her, his kaleidoscope eyes filled with fear, and she immediately understands that he believes he won't be so lucky this time.

"I can hear the sirens. They're coming Sherlock, just hold on for me, ok? You're the strongest person I know. But I've got you too. You can lean on me, just...just try to stay awake, okay?", her eyes tear up again. "You're going to be fine."

"K..ke..keep..", he murmurs, blinking rapidly, trying not to lose consciousness.

"Keep talking...right. Okay. They're almost here, and they'll fix you up. I'll ride in the ambulance with you to Bart's. I'm here, I'll be here, it's okay. I promise. You're such a fool for going on a case this dangerous alone, you knew John was working today and you never should've taken one this risky. How dare you put yourself in grave danger like this, you idiot."