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A Heartbreaking Loss

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It had been a long time since his world had been jarred. After Sherrinford, he had settled into happiness. The sour voice in his head would swear it was complacency, but he was happy. He and Molly had finally wised up, realized that even though the actual words were torn from them through Eurus’s manipulation that didn’t make them any less true. And there was the fact that not only did he love her but he was in love with her, and had been for quite some time.

It hadn’t been the easiest of journeys. There were setbacks and false starts but eventually here they were, happy and healthy and whole, expecting a daughter any day now.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

The shattering of glass and the excruciating pain shooting through him when the taxi they were in was hit was momentary because, fortunately, his body was knocked unconscious by the impact. There was blissful darkness until the aching began, slowly dulled in its intensity by, he assumed, narcotics. He knew it would take him time to pull himself up from the depths but he could feel a warm, small hand in his, just barely on the edge of his consciousness. Molly. Molly was there.

And then she was gone.

When he came too, there was almost a full room. His parents, Mycroft, his assistant, Lestrade…

But no Molly.

An urge to panic washed over him at the somber faces of all around, and then he turned, not wanting them to see him panic, and his eyes settled on the occupant of the other bed. Molly, sleeping soundly with a little bundled baby on her chest.

He’d missed Patricia’s birth.

He reached towards his wife and daughter but found his muscles didn’t want to cooperate. “Molly,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Sherlock,” she said, turning her attention from the nursing infant to him, her voice full of relief. “I thought...” She blinked back tears.

“What happened?” he asked, giving up trying to reach his family.

“You and John were in an accident,” Lestrade said quietly. “Your taxi driver...he wasn’t sober. Ran a red and you were hit.”

“Where’s John?” Sherlock asked.

“He...didn’t make it,” came the quiet reply from Molly. He looked at her, saw that she was red-eyed, as though she’d been crying for some time. Over him? Over John?

“Rosie?” he asked, his voice quieter but still no more than a mere croak. How long had he been under sedation?

“Mrs. Hudson has her all tucked into her room at Baker Street,” his mother said soothingly. “We’ve all been around but she wants her Sherly. We’ve brought her when we can.” He realized she was reaching for his hand to grasp it. “Sherlock...your back was badly injured. No paralysis, but it’s going to be a long road ahead.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, not looking away from his wife. She turned her head and glared at his mother, he assumed.

“Nothing, dear,” she said softly. “We just...want to help.”

“Can I talk to him alone?” Molly asked. There were small murmurs of acknowledgment and soon everyone filed out of the room. When they were alone, Molly let out a deep breath. “I swear...”

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“You may have noticed you can barely move. Your back...it was a mess. You have rods and pins and it was only just a miracle you aren’t paralyzed,” she said. “I got the call and the shock of it made my water break, I suppose. I had them here because I refused to leave your side.”

“Them?” he asked.

She gave him a small smile. “We have two girls, Sherlock. Viola was hiding behind her sister, and she’s got a few problems so she’s in the NICU. But she’ll be able to go home eventually, probably when you do.” She brushed the hair away from Patricia’s face. "But Harry wanted to take Rosie. Said it was her right as the last family John had left. I said over my dead body. We’re Rosie’s godparents, we’re to take her.”

“So what was my mother suggesting?” he asked, starting to slip into unconsciousness again.

“That they stay with us, but I wanted to tell you that. I wanted to tell you everything.” She looked over at him, and reached for him, even though they both knew they weren’t close enough to touch. “I’m just thankful you’re alive.”

“I am...too...” he said. Then he let darkness wash over him again and the pain go away. He would mend, he knew he would, but there was a hole in his heart to rival the one Mary had left now, and he just wanted to forget about it for a time. Not forever, just...for now.

For now he wanted to be whole for a little while longer.