Anderson looked at Sherlock. "What now? Could you say that again?"
        Lestrade cast him an annoyed look as Sherlock rolled his eyes.
        "Trust me," Sherlock began, "I only need you because you have the right equipment."
        Anderson gave a smug smile. "I can't believe it. The freak needs my help."
        "Don't call him that," Lestrade warned.
        Anderson shrugged. "It's the truth. He's different."
        "Everyone is different. And thank heavens, too. I couldn't imagine a world full of you."
        Anderson looked taken aback. "You can't talk to me like that!"
        Lestrade looked at him. "I'm your senior officer. Of course I can."
        Sherlock had been standing in the background while the small fight went on. "Officers, the case."
        Both men turned to him. "Right," said Lestrade.
        "So, what do you need me for, anyway?" asked Anderson.
        "Footprints."
        Anderson raised an eyebrow. "That's not very specific."
        Sherlock handed his magnifying glass to Anderson and pointed to the place on the floor where he had found the footprint. Sighing, Anderson knelt down on the floor and peered through the glass. "Not sure how having me look at it helps."
        "Now you know where it is." Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "We need equipment to study these footprints. Go get it."
        Lestrade knew better than to argue with Sherlock when he was on a case. "Alright, but you've got to come with me. I don't know what tools we need."
        "Then we're all going. I don't want to leave him alone in my flat." Sherlock cast a look of scorn at Anderson.
~~~~~Time Skip Brought to you by Oscillation Upon the Pavement~~~~~
        Thirty minutes later, the trio were reassembled in Sherlock's living room. Anderson got on his knees and collected the footprint for analysis. "Alright," he began, standing up, "I'll have an analysis ready for you tomorrow."
        Sherlock looked up. "What? No. You'll have it tonight. Text me when it's ready."
        Anderson looked to the ceiling. "Fine. Tonight." Grumbling, he left, leaving Lestrade and Sherlock to watch the door close behind him.
        "He's somethin', isn't 'e." Lestrade shook his head at the retreating forsenics officer.
        "If you mean something idiotic, then, yes, I agree." Sherlock sat down on the armchair, pulling his feet up. He already seemed lost in thought.
        Lestrade looked at him for a few moments. "Well, I should take my leave." He looked at his watch. "I'll meet you at the lab when Anderson has results. See you later." Then he, too, left.
        The apartment was plunged into silence as Lestrade's footsteps faded. Then there was the sound of the door opening, and then of it closing. Sherlock placed his hands in front of his face, closing his eyes. Sighing, he stretched out and stood up. Moving towards his pizatto/violin, he picked it up and began to play a low, mournful tune.
        Not really into it, he put the instrument down and sighed. He, Sherlock Holmes, was confused. He was usually so excited when he got a case. So why not now?
        John. That was why. He couldn't be energized if John was lying on a hospital bed.
        Gazing out the window, he noticed that night was falling and he hasn't eaten since the omelette that morning. He turned to look at the fridge half-heartedly. He was hungry, but didn't want to eat. John would be angry.
        But John wasn't there. Sherlock sighed, realizing he was going to eat something. It seemed paradoxical; when John was there, he nagged Sherlock to eat, and Sherlock generally refused. Now that John wasn't there, he was going to eat without any complaining.
        Sherlock moved over towards the fridge and opened it. He moved the milk aside to see the rest of the contents, then frowned. He didn't remember picking up the milk from where he had dropped it. He took it out of the fridge, examining it closely. He turned it over, and his heart stopped.
        A post-it note was stuck on the side. It read:

        You forgot this. -JM

        Sherlock's breath caught and he placed the milk back in the fridge. He closed the door and leaned on the fridge for support. Moriarty. Wait. No. He couldn't jump to conclusions. It could just be someone posing as Moriarty to get him to place the blame away from them. But who else would stab John? Why would anyone else stab John? Moriarty would see it as some kind of game. He liked seeing Sherlock figure things out. Perhaps he wanted to see how Sherlock lived without John. But John would only be in the hospital for a few days or so...
        Sherlock jumped up to a standing position. Moriarty might try to hurt John again! He ran to put on his coat, then remembered that no visitors were allowed until the next day. He clenched his fists in frustration.
        Taking out his phone, he texted Molly.

I need your help. -SH

What do you need? -MH

I have to get into the hospital. I have to see John. -SH

Why now? He'll be ready to see visitors tomorrow. -MH

I need to protect him. -SH

There was a brief moment's pause.

Come in through the back door. I'll meet you there. -MH

        Sherlock again realized that he had no money for a cab. He ran to John's room, and, guiltily, took some money out of John's wallet. He hoped John would forgive him.
        Sherlock dashed down the stairs and left the flat. He waited for a cab, and hailed one when it came. He climbed in for the fourth time that day.
        Upon arrival at the hospital, he scrambled around to the back door, where Molly let him in.
        "Alright, how can I help?" she asked.
        "What's John's room number?"
        Molly checked her computer. "156. He's out of surgery now."
        "Good. How do I get there?"
        Molly showed him a map of the hospital. "We're here." She pointed at their location. "He's there." She pointed at Room 156. "I'll have to get you in. They won't let you in without a doctor's accompaniment." She began walking, and Sherlock followed. They traveled up a staircase and down a long hallway, until they eventually reached the door with the numbers 156 stamped on it. Molly stood on tiptoe to see through the window near the top of the door. "He's alone and asleep."
        "Hmm." This posed problems. If he was alone, then it meant no one had been ensuring his safety. Someone could have gone in and poisoned him.
        Molly opened the door with her hospital key card and went in with Sherlock. John continued to sleep.
        "I'll stay with you in case a nurse or doctor comes in to check on him," she whispered. "They'll let me stay since I work here." She pointed at the closet. "If you hear a key card beep, hide in there, and stay in there until I say you can come out."
        Sherlock nodded. He moved closer to the closet to make sure he could get in it quickly.
        He gazed at John's sleeping face. He looked very peaceful, and his chest rose and fell rhythmically with each breath. Sherlock let out a small sigh of relief that it didn't seem that John had been poisoned.
        He heard a small giggle. He whipped his head around to face Molly. "What's so funny?" he demanded.
        "The way you look at him. It's so...sweet." She giggled again.
        "We are not boyfriends," he insisted. "Why does everyone think we are?"
        She shrugged. "It's how you act. You're sad when you think he can't see you."
        "Oh, so it's just me?" There was a hint of something in his voice. Sorrow, perhaps?
        "Mostly, yeah." Molly nodded.
        "Well, we're just friends. It probably only seems that I like him because he's my closest friend. I'd be lost without him." ((GaH THe JoHNLoCK iS CReePiNG iN))
        Molly nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps." She smiled.
        They stood for a few minutes in silence.
        "Do you still like me?" Sherlock suddenly asked.
        Molly looked at him in surprise. "What?"
        "Do you still like me?" he repeated.
        "Um, yeah, I guess. Why would I have stopped?"
        "Because I'm an ignorant, rude, obnoxious a*******?"
        Molly laughed. "Oh, Sherlock. You're horrible, but you can be very sweet. Also, you've saved the world before, I'm certain. Who doesn't love a hero?"
        "I'm no hero. I'm a thrill addict."
        "That's one way to put it, I suppose. But you are still a hero." ((Gotta put in some Sherlolly to balance the Johnlock))
        John stirred suddenly, and silence fell as Sherlock and Molly froze. John stopped stirring, and continued sleeping. Molly let out a breath of relief.
        Sherlock broke the silence. "What if someone needs you in the morgue?"
        "My shift ended a half hour ago. I was just cleaning up when you texted me."
        "Ah," Sherlock said, nodding. Silence fell once more. Suddenly, Sherlock's mobile phone beeped. He looked at it. A text message from Lestrade.

Anderson's done with the analysis. -GL

Oops. Sherlock had forgotten about the footprint.

Sorry. Can't come. Watching John. -SH

What? I thought no visitors until tomorrow. -GL

Molly let me in. -SH

Why are you watching him? -GL

To protect him. I found a note in my flat signed JM. -SH.

Moriarty? -GL

Perhaps. It might not be, though. It could be someone pretending to be him. -SH

Well, I'll see you tomorrow at the lab. Text me at a good time. -GL

        Sherlock put his phone back into his pocket.
        "Who was that?" asked Molly.
        "Lestrade."
        "What did he want?"
        "He has some information for me. I'll be meeting him tomorrow."
        "Ah." The room plunged into silence one again.
~~~~~~~~~~Author's Note~~~~~~~~~~
Sorry for ending at a bad spot! The next chapter will be better, I promise.
I'm a bit ticked at Wattpad. In my Star Trek fanfiction, it took away all of my indentations at the start of my paragraphs. It looks horrible, but I'm too lazy to go back and put them all back in. *sigh*