Yay Zombie! Prompt! My first, so Hopefully I don't let you down...here goes!
Oh, I don't own any of the characters. Just the words really.
No Kiss Farewell
It was a wonder how she even got up to the roof. Naturally the outbreak began in the morgue, the corpse she was performing an autopsy on suddenly springing to life. It had spread from that one to the others, as the undead thing opened body closet after body closet. Molly was lucky she had gotten out of the morgue at all. And, despite her precautions of locking down the cold room, the creatures broke through the glass as if it were nothing. From there, the infection spread quickly, and by the time she'd reached the fourth floor, many of the staff and patients were being picked off by the ever growing hoard. She naturally called Sherlock, who was in the lab, just the floor below her.
''Molly, what is it? You know I prefer to text.'' His voice was clipped as usual, and John rolled his eyes. That is, until he saw the detective sit up in his chair, straight as a board.
''You're panting. You're running. Molly, what's wrong?" His voice was piqued with sudden interest, and just a bit of concern. Molly tried regaining her breath as she ran down the hall, effectively trying to lock down as many of the wings as she could.
''Sher...run...you've got...get out of there!" Her voice was ragged, and Sherlock could hear her bursting through large sets of doors at a breaking speed. Soon, John could hear the muffled sounds of screams and something more...animal. He grabbed his coat quickly, flinging it on.
''Sherlock...we've got to go...'' He said, just as a pack of the creatures kicked through the door to the lab. Sherlock's eyes widened, and he, too, flung his coat on around him. There were five of them, and John immediately drew out his gun, shooting at one who was just a bit close for comfort. The once-was person fell back, dropping to the floor. While it wailed in agony, it refused to die. John's eyes widened as it started crawling toward his legs, grappling for him in desperation. He shot again, this time aiming for its head. It went down, and stayed that way, leaving John with the knowledge of how to kill them. Meanwhile, Sherlock was securing two others in the corner with one of the large roll away carts of chemicals. His hand still held onto the phone, listening to Molly on the other end,
''Molly, get to the roof. It will be alright, just get to the roof.'' His deep voice seemed to carry louder than usual, and he soon pocketed the mobile as John hollered for him to run. They took off in a dead sprint for the flight of stairs that led to the roof. Along the way, they had encountered several more creatures, all of which seemed that they were still partly human. The younger ones decayed fastest, the lights leaving their eyes at a much quicker rate than the adults.
Molly had done what she could, and was now anxiously waiting at the top of the hospital. She grimaced and cringed as she heard the sounds of screams filling the air below her, obvious that they had taken to the streets. She had barricaded the entrance she took, and now nervously shifted on either foot, a cold, lead pipe in her hands as a means of some sort of protection. She jumped in fear at the sound of the metal door opening, and breathed out in relief to see both of the men unharmed, and more importantly, unchanged. John blocked off the entrance, while Sherlock strode quickly to her side. Molly dropped the pipe to the floor, her eyes immediately flooding with tears.
''Molly, it's alright now. We will phone Mycroft, he'll be able to sort all this chaos out.'' His words fell to her ear, but she didn't rightly care what he was saying. She crumpled to the floor, and tried to regain her composure, as Sherlock carried out the action. She was vaguely aware of his words to his brother, and barely paid attention as John tried to calm her down.
''So...so many...people. I tried...I tried...'' she muttered quietly, rocking herself back and forth as she tried to keep herself warm. Soon, she felt a warm thing drape around her. Molly looked up, to see that Sherlock had given her his large Bel Staff coat. Molly smiled weakly at him, and he wordlessly nodded. After several minutes, they could hear the sounds below them grow quiet, obvious that most of the people in the immediate neighborhood had been changed. The silence was eerie, not calming as one would think. It was while Sherlock and John were discussing their plan, when it happened. They hadn't seen how it got there, or where it had been hiding. But suddenly, there it was. A creature, digging its nails into Molly's arm, and fiercely, savagely biting down on her wrist. She screamed out in pain, and John and Sherlock's eyes flew to her. John quickly shot the monster between the eyes, and it fell dead. Molly could do nothing, apart from stare in shock at her bleeding wrist. Sherlock outwardly cursed, and slammed his fist into the nearest surface. John walked to her side, and he drew his hand across her back.
''Oh no. No, please...John...help.'' Molly's voice was quiet, her eyes stinging with held back tears. John looked up as he felt her hand reach to his, drawing the gun up to point at her forehead. John immediately dropped his hand, stepping back from her quickly.
''Molly, no! I can't! You're my friend... I can't shoot you!'' His voice was sincere. John was, and had been, many things. He was a soldier, he was a doctor. But most of all, he was loyal, and a very true friend. He could kill anyone, move mountains of bodies to save someone, but actually kill one of his own friends, no. Molly's tears slid down her cheeks, and John soon felt a strong grip on his hand. He looked up, to see Sherlock grabbing hold of the gun, taking it from him.
''Please, I don't want to...become one of them. Please.'' She whispered her plea, and John found he couldn't agree to it. He could not be that man.
''John, go wait around the corner.'' His voice was cold, and his eyes hadn't left Molly's face since the bite happened. John opened his mouth to protest, when the tall, pale man looked at him, his gaze fierce with some hidden emotion.
''John, go. Now.'' Sherlock said, his voice low with the command. John nodded, before he stood next to Molly. He kissed her cheek, and walked a few feet away, to stand behind the bricks that encased the stairwell.
Sherlock stood in front of her now, simply staring at her. Molly didn't know what he was waiting for, but she didn't care.
''How...how much time do we have?'' She heard him ask. Molly looked up to see his face, it was etched in absolute misery. She smiled weakly, and walked closer to him.
''A few minutes. Listen to me, Sherlock...I'm...I'm so glad I met you. You're...well, you're fantastic. And I lo...love you.'' She said quietly, tears slipping freely from her eyes now. The next thing she knew, Sherlock's lips were inches from hers.
''I can't even kiss you, as a farewell, can I?'' he asked in a whisper, to which she shook her head. He chuckled bitterly, before pulling the small woman into his arms.
''Why is it, that the one person who can make me feel so...human...is the same person who is about to lose all sense of humanity?" He asked in her ear, and Molly breathed his scent. He was becoming progressively sweeter smelling, and she knew it wasn't long.
''Sherlock...it's almost time...please...be safe. Solve this...for me.'' He nodded his head, and kissed her on the cheek, his lips lingering for just a bit.
''Goodbye, Molly Hooper.'' He said lowly in her ear. Molly finally pushed him away, and waited for the change to happen. She shut her eyes, calming her slipping resolve, and when she opened them again, she took one last look at him. Sherlock Holmes: the man she loved from day one. The man who was so brilliantly clever and bright. The man who was willing to do what other men couldn't. The man who would save her. She looked into his eyes, and saw the glimmer of something so incredibly human, it made her forget about the change.
Sherlock waited until he saw the last bit of her slip away, watched as the bright gleam in her eyes faded out, leaving only a shell of his lovely pathologist. He raised his arm, the gun in his hand.
Well, that was just...uber depressing. Ah, it's good to be back! Morbid is my name, writing tragedy is my calling in life. Apparently. Well, hope that was okay for you! Let me know?