Molly didn't even have the chance to scream.
She hit the ground a split second after the first bullet was fired. Dully, she heard several more ring out through her shock cloud. There was a strange weight compressing her chest, and the woman took strangled breaths, fighting her way out of the stupor she'd landed in. No more gunfire. Distant footsteps, then silence. Molly blinked rapidly, the clouds slowly starting to dissipate. Other than that painful heaviness in her diaphragm, she felt fine. Until she heard the anguished moan arising from the man laying on top of her.
"Sherlock?", she whispered, afraid to speak or move the shooter was still in the flat. He or she probably wouldn't leave without surveying their damage, right? Come to think of it, why hadn't he come in yet? Her mind was racing as she strained to see Sherlock's slumped figure.
"Stay still, Molly," he said in a barely audible groan. She froze and they stayed motionless and noiseless for what felt like hours. Molly felt a lump in her throat as she struggled to fight down her panic. Sherlock had been shot, she knew. She could feel his warm blood seeping into her t-shirt, making it stick to her ribs. She was trying to figure out where he had been shot when he finally broke the silence.
"Molly."
She flinched at her name. His voice was laced with pain. "Y-yes, Sherlock," she stuttered in response, praying he was going to be alright. Hot tears she hadn't realized she'd been shedding streaked her face. He grimaced as he rolled himself off the pathologist and onto the floor beside her. Looking at her full on, his lip twitched and his eyes turned stormy. She thought for a split second his anger was directed at her, till he reached out and caught a piece of her hair between his fingers. His voice was soft as he watched her carefully.
"Have you been hurt, Molly?"
Here he was, bleeding on her floor, and he was asking if she was alright.
She burst out in frantic sobs as she shook her head and called him an idiot. He managed a smirk through the pain.
"Clearly you don't handle morning shocks too well. I must remember not to surprise you till at least lunchtime in the future," he stated far too calmly. "It's nothing serious Molly, just a scar in the making. They were a terrible shot."
Actually, based on his calculations, the shot was aimed almost directly at the level of Molly's heart. He had just managed to be turned sideways as he'd leapt out in front and pushed her down. Based on the timing of the trigger being pulled, the attacker had planned on shooting Molly as she had opened the door. Sherlock's shout had evidently startled the shooter, and he or she had shot several more times through the door in a panic before bolting. The first bullet had hit his arm, causing sufficient anguish but missing any vital organs or arteries. It seemed the rest of the shots had missed the living targets. The whole thing was rather amateur, but next time they may not be as lucky. Someone was out for blood.
He decided he wouldn't tell Molly any of deductions just yet. Sherlock knew very little about tact or empathy, but telling a girl she was targeted to send a message, that she definitely would have been dead as a doornail had Sherlock been delayed by a fraction of a second, and that she was almost assuredly still in danger, well, that struck him as a little more information than she could handle at the moment.
As it was, he felt a little overwhelmed. God, his arm hurt. Alright, focus. What did he know so far. Think. One, someone dangerous knew that he was alive, and that Molly was somehow in on it. Two, they had tried to kill her to get to him, probably unaware that Sherlock had been with her. He smirked. I doubt anyone would have guessed that. The pain was numbing his mind, he had to struggle to analyze the situation. Molly is now in grave danger, because of me. Because I didn't cover my tracks well enough. His eyes shut tight, blocking the desire to wallow. Through the pain and frustration one thing rang clear. We need to find a new safehouse.
He sighed, and Molly looked to him, still shaking. "What is it?"
He grimaced, irritated by his lack of options and the obviousness of his plan, but knowing above all that he needed to keep Molly safe.
"Pack your bags, Molly," he heard himself say. "We are going to pay a visit to brother dear."
