Sherlock Fevered Realisations

**A/N - This is a prompt fill for the wonderful Nocturnias. She gave me a year from now, Venice and drunk (I read it as drugged, oops!) Warning, this is sad, Very sad. With a capital V. I hope you enjoy it anyway *hint* read to the end. It is un-beta'ed so all mistakes are mine.**

**Disclaimer - Let me check...nope still don't own Sherlock.**

There was a hum in the air that he hadn't noticed before. His body was throbbing with every new sensation that coursed through him. The room was spinning pleasantly when soft hands guided him to the centre of the room where he stood on a rug made of the richest silk and jewels. He collapsed onto the bed and admired the way the ceiling swirled and distorted itself above him. The beige colour swirling and changing into vibrant purples and an opalescent blue before dulling to a forest green with splatters of shining yellow like stars on a background of earth. Sherlock was mesmerised by the ever changing canvas above him. The soft hands stroked his curls gently as he purred into their touch. Calming. Soothing. He felt his eyes grow heavy as a sheet was laid across his body that was cold and crisp against his feverish skin. He groaned as his eyes betrayed him and closed heavily, depriving him of the light show that was dancing just above his head. The gentle hands were back placing something cold across his head as his brain gave into the land of sleep and opened the pearly gates to his subconscious.

_Molly was there. That was the first thing he was aware of. He was in 221b Baker Street, the home he had long ago forgotten, and Molly was curled up in his favourite chair. She was dressed in his purple shirt with his dressing gown wrapped tightly around her petite form. She was flicking through a medical journal, one of the one's that he had 'borrowed' from her, when there was a loud knock at the door._

_He moved to open it but found that he was stuck steadfastly to the ground where he stood - his feet melted into the floor and he could not tell where he started and the floor began. Molly got up from the seat she was in and placed her glasses on the side table. It was then that he noted the small bump protruding from her stomach. She was pregnant. The evidence would suggest it was his child and something in his stomach dropped and rebelled at the idea. _

_He was not fit to be a father. He was stubborn, arrogant, and selfish. He could barely look after himself and would no doubt lack the sufficient knowledge to care for a child. Sherlock felt sick and dizzy. The room was once again spinning and he could not control his breathing which caused him to collapse in distress. A blinding light encompassed him until he was aware of nothing but the harsh yellow glare._

_The floor was cold and clinical. The smell of bleach and sweat clung to the air and Sherlock found himself just able to stand on shaky legs. He was in a hospital room where screams of agony filled the air. He turned around sharply to see Molly panting on the bed. She was surrounded by doctors and nurses who were fussing with machinery and telling Molly it would all be fine when he was positively sure that everything was not 'fine'._

_He looked around desperately for anyway that he could help. He moved to Molly's side and went to place a hand on her shoulder. His hand passed right through her until he felt the hard mattress beneath his fingertips. He tried again and again and again until he groaned in frustration at his own invisibility. He could not touch her and she could not feel him. She could not even see him. This was all new for Sherlock. This feeling of being invisible and useless. It was new and it terrified him more than anything else. He was always the centre of attention. His genius required an audience which ensured that he was never just dismissed. But this, this was unsettling so much so that he threw out his arm to grip the metal bed rail until his knuckles turned white._

_Another scream brought his attention back to Molly. She was being encouraged to push as she yelped in pain. A tightening in Sherlock's chest worsened at every strangled moan that sprang from Molly's lips. After another few minutes of encouragement and pain filled gasps a new type of scream sounded in the room. A shrill wail that was nothing like he'd ever heard before. _

_The doctor held up a tiny baby that was covered in blood and flailing wildly in his hands. The child gave a shriek of distress and was passed swiftly onto the waiting nurse to be weighed and cleaned. Sherlock stood motionless as the child was passed onto Molly who looked at the baby with so much love that Sherlock felt his own heart ache. Molly's stroked the child's face but was too weak from exertion to actually hold him._

_The monitor to Molly's left suddenly gave a loud bleep and began to beep incessantly until it stopped abruptly and displayed a worryingly straight line. The baby was swiftly taken away and the myriad of doctor's set to work on Molly whose body had gone limp. There were orders being shouted and injections being given but all he could see was Molly._

_She looked so small and fragile against the generic hospital bed. Her head lolled and she looked directly into Sherlock's pained eyes before she took her last breath. Her doe eyes were closed as a time of death was pronounced. _

_Sherlock stumbled backwards clumsily hitting his head off of a hard metal shelf. He collapsed to the floor the last sound he heard being the quiet cry of his child before the light took him again._

_He came around a lot slower this time. The hum of a lullaby easing him into his new surroundings. The carpet he was lying against felt soft beneath his fingertips. The walls of the room were a soft blue, the lighting dim and comforting. He sat up slowly and watched as his best friend and blogger, Dr John Watson, cradled a tiny child in his arms. Sherlock stood cautiously as John gently kissed the boys downy hair. _

_Sherlock was stunned into silence by the scene before him. He had always thought John a caring man but now, looking at the man rocking the small boy and humming, he could see the full extent of John's caring nature. A nature that reminded him sorely of Molly._

"_Shhhhh, there now Freddie. It's time to sleep."_

_Freddie, short for Frederick. Sherlock Frederick Vernet Holmes. The child had been named after himself. He wiped his eye with the palm of his hand and listened as John soothed the boy._

"_I know I know you want your mummy but I'm afraid Uncle John is going to have to do," the baby suckled on John's finger as he continued to talk in his gentle tone, "Mummy would have loved you very much. That's her on the wall over there."_

_Sherlock looked from John to the far wall where a pin board had been set up. A picture of Molly was on the left. She looked beautiful with her auburn hair cascading down her back and a knitted hat atop her head. She was reading a book and was evidently at a park of some kind as autumn leaves were pooled around her. He had never seen her looking so care-free. A brilliant smile graced her face and her eyes held a shine that he had never witnessed before. He gaped in awe at the picture and longed to feel Molly's hair again or to make her smile like that. He wasn't sure if he had ever made her smile like that._

"_And that other person is Daddy."_

_Sherlock gulped and looked to the right of Molly's picture. There was a picture of him in that stupid hat. His face slightly obscured but still easily recognisable. He sighed deeply as his eyes started to sting with the promise of tears._

_John placed the little blue bundle in a white crib and rocked him gently, "Your Daddy was a brilliant man. I didn't know him for very long but he was my best friend. When I met him he was a right git. I'm sorry, but he was. He would deduce someone's darkest secrets and then announce them for fun. He was especially harsh to your mother. But he was a genius, and I think you will be too, and he realised the important part that your mum had in his life. Then a madman came along and changed the game. He realised his feelings for Molly too late. Your Daddy died to save us all because as much as he was a git he was the most human human I have ever known and one day I'll tell you all about him. I'll tell you all about the lives he saved and the criminals he captured and the adventure's he had. I'll tell you everything, I promise. Night night little one." John bent over the crib and placed a soft kiss to Freddie's forehead._

_He grabbed the monitor and made his way out of the room glancing back to look at the pinboard, "Night Sherlock."_

_Sherlock gripped his chest and bent over breathing heavily. It was too much. It was all too much. He staggered over to the crib and looked at his son. He was the most beautiful human being Sherlock had ever seen. The hair was definitely from him. A dark brown colour that showed the faintest curl. Curved black eyelashes led to a cute button nose that was all Molly then down to tiny cupid bow lips that were a carbon copy of his own. He sniffed sharply and reached out to stroke his son's cheek._

_His hand met with nothing._

_He cursed himself for being so stupid. Of course, he was not really here. He would never touch his son, could never touch his son. He hadn't been able to help Molly. Hadn't been able to even answer the door. He wasn't good for anything and now he knew it. He was gone. Dead. Not able to exist enough to help anyone. He was a ghost for all intents and purposes and he hated it. He could not stand the rush of emotions that rattled and shook his body._

_It was all too much._

Sherlock was brought back from his unconscious sharply. He bolted upright in bed and all but ripped the covers off of himself. A wet flannel fell to the floor as he spun around wildly on the spot.

"Molly?" he called scrambling around the bed, "Molly?"

Molly rushed through from the bathroom to find Sherlock staring at her with wide frightened eyes,

"Sherlock! What is it? I'm here. I'm here."

Molly took his head in her hands and felt his forehead, he was running a fever again.

"You need rest Sherlock. Do you remember where you are?"

Sherlock nodded as Molly manoeuvred him onto the bed, "Hotel room."

"Yes. What country are we in?" Molly retrieved the flannel and soaked it in cold water.

After a moment of uncertainty Sherlock answered, "Venice."

"Yes," Molly applied the flannel to his forehead, "Do you remember what happened last night?"

Sherlock nodded and thought for a moment, "One of Moriarty's associate's. Drugged me. I was in an alleyway."

"Mycroft was able to apprehend him but he'd spiked your drink and then knocked you out. Some kind of hallucinogenic drug. You'll be fine after some rest." Molly got up to leave but was brought back by a hand around her wrist.

"Stay."

"You need rest Sherlock."

"Please" he croaked.

Molly sighed in defeat and kicked off her shoes. She shuffled onto the bed as Sherlock buried his nose into her chest and hugged her waist tightly, "Sleep now."

Molly was just about to succumb to sleep when she could have sworn Sherlock mumbled something.

"I'll never leave you Molly or our children. I promise."

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