perception of the mind (sh adaptation)

Forty Eight • Interlude

"Ce n'est plus une ardeur dans mes veines cachée;

C'est Vénus toute entière a sa proie attachée."

•It is no longer a passion hidden in my veins;

it is Venus' very self fastened on her prey•

-Jean Racine, 1639-99

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"You were right. We had another argument. And honestly, I think I hurt him more than just.. Getting my point across. But I just- I don't know what to do. You always do," she huffed, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

The constant metronome of Molly's heart rate monitor lulled Ophelia calm as she feebly held her hand. Her eyelids still, breathing paced. No sign of proper life. "I promise, when you wake up, everything will be okay again. And I know you tell me not to get involved like everyone else, but you just can't if it surrounds you, you know? You say it isn't, but it is. It is my fault. And I'm getting kinda tired of ignoring it, so the case will be solved. For you. I promise."

The door opened and Sherlock walked in with Fedora in his arms, John following suit. She smiled, gently letting go of Molly's hand and sitting up.

Sherlock lifted Fedora close to him and pointed to Ophelia with a smile. "Finally, we lay eyes upon mummy," he sighed.

She cringed. "Did we have a tantrum?"

"A small one."

"A sma-" John choked. "She screamed the house down! I'm pretty sure Mrs Hudson had an aneurysm."

Ophelia giggled. "I wonder where she gets the stubbornness from."

Sherlock gasped, leaning back to glance at Fedora's face, which was nested safely in the crook of his neck. "You don't get that from me, do you?" The baby shrieked and he smiled. "No, I didn't think so."

Ophelia rolled her eyes.

"Lestrade should be here soon for the report," John remarked.

"Okay," she nodded.

It went quiet as they watched Molly's thin, pale, still body. The small scar forming on her jawbone. Sherlock gazed at all the wires and tubes around the bed. "I had Mycroft get her a proper room."

John glanced at him, now noticing what his brother meant by 'caring for each other from afar'.

The door opened again and Diego walked in.

He hadn't spoken to anyone since the incident at the station. He slipped in with red eyes and a bunch of flowers clutched nervously in his hands. He passively walked in and gently put the flowers in the jar by her bed, replacing the old ones.

"How are you?" Ophelia broke the silence.

He glanced at her briefly. "Okay. I-I'm sure it means a lot to her for you all doing this," he replied, his voice low and rough, as if he hadn't spoken to anyone in days.

She nodded. "That looks like it hurts."

"What?"

She gestured to the gash on his eyebrow. "How'd it happen?"

He glanced at Sherlock. "I fell."

"Oh. Well I hope you're doing okay."

"I- I also want to say," his eyes wandered back to the men. "That it.. It isn't your fault. It never was."