When she was sure that he was warm, sure that he was just sleeping, that his chest was moving up and down the way it ought to under the blankets she'd snuck down to heap over him (and under him because the slabs were so very cold), Molly made herself a cup of tea and then sat down to have a proper nervous breakdown.
It could have gone so wrong. So utterly and completely wrong.
Jim might have shot him, up there on the roof. (And thank heaven for powder burns, because it was clear Jim had shot himself and she could prove it and at least no one was accusing Sherlock of murder.)
The assassin could have been positioned to see the trick. (Not easily, no, but there were windows that did look down on that alley and Sherlock was guessing,
Sherlock was only guessing that he'd use the stairwell across the way.)
Sherlock could have hit the sidewalk. (He wasn't a professional stuntman. Hell, he'd never even tried falling off a building before and how do you aim when you're doing something like that?)
They might not have got the landing cart right. (She wasn’t a professional stuntman either, and yes, they'd put four big airmattress under the laundry to absorb the shock but that wasn't the same as a real airbag and even if it was he could have landed on it wrong and broken his neck.
She might have got the dose wrong. (Rhododendrum ponticum was a poison. It could really kill people and not just make you think they were dead and hell, she only knew about the stuff because she'd autopsied someone who got it wrong before, but Sherlock had been so sure that he'd be dead if it didn't work anyway that the risk had seemed almost reasonable.)
The doctors might have noticed that he wasn't actually bleeding. (Not that she'd given them any time to notice anything, claiming the sheet-covered gurney while the press was just beginning to clamor at the doors.)
John might have asked to see the wound. (He hadn't though, he hadn't even asked to see Sherlock, had begged Molly not to let anyone see, or take photographs, because she could do the identification without him or Mycroft or anyone and Sherlock deserved… deserved…)
Deserved a good kicking, and Molly would give it to him, once he was properly awake, she promised herself. And then she wiped her eyes, and finished her tea, and got up to go back to work.