There Is Nothing Wrong With Me

You're Officially Rapunzel

When Sherlock woke up he couldn't see anything but light. It wasn't a harsh light of course, but then again it was just enough to convince him momentarily that he was on his way to heaven. However it took him a moment to realize that surely heaven wouldn't have so many voices, feminine voices at that, jabbering away around him. Sherlock was quite sure that if he had died and gone to Heaven he wouldn't wake up in white light, he would wake up in a small dorm room, curled up against his headboard with a chemistry textbook propped up on his lap. And John would be there, only John at that, and they never had to fear for their freedom again. This wasn't Heaven.
"Sherlock, oh Sherlock are you awake?" asked Molly's careful voice. Sherlock felt a horrible cold feeling on his forehead, and he opened his eyes to see that he had become blinded by a white washcloth drenched in water, pressing down over his forehead and dripping all over his pillow. Sherlock wasn't having much trouble breathing, however he could feel that there were bandages tapped all around his nose, trying to contain the blood that he could only hope had stopped by now.
"What...Molly?" Sherlock muttered in confusion, wondering just where he was lying right now. However the ceiling looked familiar, and the bed felt rather cozy, his blankets were the familiar color black and there was that mingled scent of rubbing alcohol and coffee being brewed downstairs. This was his house, he was sure of it, and yet Molly's voice was most certainly lingering above him.
"Sherlock honey are you awake?" asked a more familiar, more motherly voice. Sherlock blinked a couple of times, focusing in on the two faces that hovered over top of him. They wore the same expression of pity and worry, which only annoyed Sherlock more. He already had one pestering mother; certainly he couldn't handle it if Molly made the final transformation.
"Yes I'm awake, my eyes are open." Sherlock snapped irritably, pulling at the gauze that they had tied haphazardly around his face.
"He's fine." Molly assured with a tone of annoyance, walking away for a moment and returning with a fresh roll of gauze to replace the stuff he was tearing in shreds from his head.
"The doctor says your nose isn't broken, however it's pretty messed up." Mrs. Holmes declared, as if that was somehow supposed to be good news. Sherlock forced a smile, trying to sit up in bed and in turn getting pushed down by four mothering hands.
"Just rest, that's what you need." Molly insisted, and Sherlock simply swatted their hands away, sitting up against the headboard and scowling at his reflection in the low mirror. His face was paler than ever, as if all the blood from his veins had gushed straight out of his nose. His hair was sticking up in all directions and there were still scraps of gauze and tape stuck to his face and neck. His nose was blood free, except for some crusty blood that had dried on to the nooks and crannies of his sculpted face, however for the most part his nose looked intact.
"I don't need rest, I need to warn him." Sherlock snapped, starting to rip the covers off from himself but getting pushed away by Molly, who was forcing a laugh.
"Ah, you're delirious then?" She wondered nervously, as if trying to remind Sherlock that their secret was not to be confided in his mother. Then again it would be leaked all over the country if Sherlock didn't get to John first, to remind him about their confidentiality, to insist that he deny all rumors that might fly their way. Moran knew now that there was a boy named John from Wisteria that Sherlock was in contact with, it was all in the letter, and of course he and all his horrible friends had the great pleasure of reading that letter. Sherlock needed to get to John before those stories did; they needed to get a game plan together, either one to deny the accusations or an escape plan all together, to leave their friends, family, and futures behind them on the road. Preferably not the latter, however Sherlock wanted to know that it was still in the picture should the need arise. And he couldn't do all of that sitting here, with gauze covering his face, trapped in his bedroom by both of his mothers.
"Who do you have to warn honey?" Mrs. Holmes wondered curiously, looking between Sherlock's careless face and Molly's anxious one. She was trying to smile and yet in turn proving to be a dreadful actress, because as she forced the corners of her mouth to upturn she was making herself look like something of a depressed clown, bearing her teeth and trying to look amused.
"No one that concerns you." Sherlock grumbled, pushing Molly out of the way and stumbling out of bed with shaking legs. At some point his shirt had been changed, presumably because of the blood he had managed to drip all down his front and yet he still blushed in humiliation. He really hoped it wasn't Molly who had that honor.
"Sherlock get back in bed, you're going to hurt yourself!" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, rushing over to where Sherlock was leaning rather weakly against the bedroom wall. His head was spinning but only for a moment, he wasn't used to being up and active with this little blood stored away in his veins.
"I'll do what I want mother. I'm going out." Sherlock insisted flatly, lumbering over to the mirror and patting down his curls anxiously, pulling off any stray gauze and trying to wash his face of all blood with what little spit he could collect on his finger. Maybe not the most sanitary method of self-hygiene, and yet at the moment it was the only effective option.
"You're not going out, no, no you're not." Molly said flatly, trying to grab Sherlock's arm to pull him back to bed. However Sherlock shook her easily off, walking towards the door and knowing that no one would be daring to use any force to keep him here. If he had a job to do they knew that he certainly had to do it, and no method of manhandling or harsh wording would convince him to get back into that hateful sick bed.
"I need to tell him." Sherlock insisted carelessly, swinging open the door and starting his way down the hallway.
"It doesn't concern him, Sherlock stop! If you go there you'll get...well you'll get in trouble. You're not overly discrete!" Molly called, racing down the hallway after him and leaving his very confused mother in the empty room. Sherlock jumped down the stairs and pulled on his trench coat, spinning once more and throwing out a hand to keep himself steady.
"I'll be fine." Sherlock demanded.
"You'll get caught. You'll be exposed, you'll get in trouble, you'll get him in trouble." Molly insisted in a hushed voice, following Sherlock to the front door as he laced up the shoes they had managed to get off him in his unconsciousness.
"Moran knows, Molly, what else am I supposed to do? Wait for him to hear the rumors himself?" Sherlock wondered snappily. Molly groaned, as if she simply had no idea what she was supposed to do with such a rebellious yet idiotic friend.
"And what are you going to do? Pop in at Wisteria, oh hello headmaster, hello Victor I just wanted to come in here and..." Molly's sentence was cut off when Sherlock gave a warning growl, straightening to his tallest height and towering dominantly over Molly. She gave a little squeak of surrender, taking a quick step back as if worried that he would take his pent up anger out on her.
"Don't say his name." Sherlock warned, and with that he grabbed at the door handle and ran down the sidewalk into the street. He was heading back now, back the road he had traveled so much when he was a boy. He was following his footsteps, following his memories; he was leaving one home only to arrive at another.