Disclaimer: I own nothing. Like nothing. Nada.
Author's Note: So, this is my very very very angsty fic. Like WHOA, angst, that I was talking about on tumblr. There will be a total, of, I believe six chapters. Maybe seven, but I'm aiming for six because, it's a good number, yeah? LOL. Seriously though, happy holidays everyone and I apologize profusely if this story makes you sad! It's just…the angst…it calls to me. Anyways, I sincerely hope you all enjoy it! Please, heed the warnings. The triggers are listed below and they are for all chapters. I have tried to encompass them all but I'm sure I've missed some, but please, heed the warnings.
Warnings: angst, smut (all sorts of smut, oral, fingering, hand-jobs, vagnial, rough sex), coarse language, bullying, murder, talk of murder, talk of suicide, talk of autopsies, allusions to infidelity, violence, threatening one's life, drug use, mentions of rehab, Sherlock being kind of a douche. There are more, I know there are, and I will add them as I remember them.
So yeah, I sincerely hope you all enjoy, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated and any mistakes are mine and mine alone. Title is taken from Bon Iver's Holocene.
And at once I knew (I was not magnificent)
Part one
It starts, with a fall.
The gravel is hard underneath her hands, the rocks scraping her palms. She jolts, teeth clanging together, and all she can taste in her mouth is the burst of hot blood, as pain radiates through her body. Tears come, unbidden to her eyes and she sniffles, clenching her jaw and counting to ten. She doesn't want to cry. ("There's my strong girl," she can hear her father's voice in her ear, "who's my strong girl?" Not me, she wants to answer. Not me.)
They are throwing names and taunts at her, ("Mousy Molly," "Little Miss Perfect") and others that etch their way onto the walls of her mind, laughing at her. They don't let her move, every time she sucks up a bit of courage to get up, she's pushed down again. More gravel biting into her palms and anger (shame, humiliation) flooding her.
She turns her head and looks at Tom. Tom, with his lanky body, black hair, dark eyes and charming grin. Tom, who smiles at her and asks for her help in Math. Tom, who likes reading, Tom, who likes football (even if he does support Chelsea), Tom, who talks to her and walks with her. Tom, whose friends don't like her, don't like talking to her, don't like walking with her, don't want her help in Math. Tom, who is doing nothing, but standing there, eyes sad and mouth quivering with restrained…something (anger? Shame? Humiliation? Molly thinks any emotion would be better than no emotion. Any action, whether against or with her, would be better than standing there like a statue, so afraid of what his friends will think of him.)
"Are you gonna cry to your mum, now?" A girl to her right asks her.
Molly's blood runs cold and she drops her head. She doesn't remember much of her mum. Just from photos that her dad shows her. She looks like her. She has her nose, eyes, and hair, but her chin is from her dad. Her dad always tells her that her mum was strong and kind and so full of love. He tells her that she used to sweep her in her arms and kiss her forehead whenever Molly would cry or fuss. He tells her that her mum used to be so full of life, so energetic, so lovely…until the life that she loved so much, took her away from everything she loved and held dear. ("Mr. Hooper? I'm Officer Callahan, would you mind if I come in?)
All Molly remembers of her mum, is her dad's reaction to her death. Stoic and calm as he helped her pull on her jacket and hat, his eyes watering but never shedding any tears. It isn't until she sneaks away from the Officer, charged with keeping an eye on her and wanders down the hall, following the same steps her father took and standing up on her toes, small fingers clasping the windowsill, eyes peering through the glass, does she see her father, body draped over another, arms wrapped around her waist and Molly frowns when she hears her father's sobs through the window and walls. She narrows her eyes, trying to get a better look and she staggers back, gasping, heart pounding when she sees familiar brown hair, nose (her eyes would be familiar if she would open them, mummy, open your eyes, please mummy, open your eyes) and it isn't until her father's head whips up and meets her eyes that she realizes she's saying this aloud.
Her father comes out and scoops her up, "dad, why isn't mummy, moving? Why isn't mummy opening her eyes? Just tell her to open her eyes."
"I've tried." He whispers, "I've tried, darling."
(And even though, she's young, even though, she doesn't quite understand why this is happening, she cries anyways, because there is a piece of her, a large piece, that is missing.)
She is taken out of her memory by yells and shouts of "detention!" "The lot of you! Detention!" and then by soft hands, clasping her shoulders and helping her stand, "let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
She nods and allows the teacher to lead her away. She is put in the Nurse's room, while the Nurse cleans her wounds and gives her too many smiles. She hears her dad, before she sees him and smells the faint scent of his sandalwood cologne before she feels his arms wrap around her. "Let's go home, Molly."
When her father asks her what happened, Molly tells him the truth. ("There was this boy and he's my friend…or at least, I thought he was and…") by the end, she's sobbing, partially from the pain in her palms, but mostly from the pain in her chest.
"Oh, Molly." Her dad sighs, giving her a lopsided smile, "boys…boys are dumb." He gives her a more genuine smile when she lets out a snort of laughter, "no, really, they are." His thumb comes up and wipes away her loose tears, "and that's why, when you do decide to give your heart away, which let me tell, better not be until a bloody long time, he should be special. Almost, but not quite, as special as you are. You listening Molly? Because there will be no one as special as you are."
(Molly never listens very well.)
"Molly?" There is a voice, deep, baritone and sad, calling her name. "Molly? Are you listening to me?" There is a sense of annoyance and a little bit of urgency, with resignation in his voice.
Molly blinks and nods, her mind clearing from long forgotten memories. She rubs her eyes and stares at Sherlock, his eyes (blue-green and haunting, they haunt her every move, her every breath) boring into her, "Yes." She says, her voice raspy from lack of talking, or from nerves, she thinks it's nerves, "I'm listening. I know…I know what to do."
He nods, a small swift nod and walks back and forth in a line, solid and straight.
She can see his mind firing off at a rapid pace, his body trying to keep up with what is going to happen. With what will happen. She can tell that he's determining the odds of succeeding and of failing.
She walks towards him, her legs full of pins and needles from lack of use. She places her hand on his forearm and she can feel his lean muscles underneath his shirt. She takes in a shaky breath, her own mind buzzing with possibilities as she gives him an encouraging smile. "This will work. Trust me." (You're wrong you know. You do count. You've always counted. And I've always trusted you.) And then realizing that her hand is still on his forearm and that she can feel his blood pumping underneath her palm and that she is in his personal space, she backs away, feeling the emptiness almost immediately. "Sorry…" she stammers, "I just…it was…" she takes a deep breath, "this will work." She repeats. "It will."
(Anything else will kill him and life without Sherlock Holmes…it's just not an option.)
The water is loud, drowning out the words that are flying from their mouths, shadowing laughter and all Molly can hear is the rhythmic beating of the water as it rushes down. She shuffles closer to the edge, mist spraying her and dampening her clothes. It looks intimidating and Molly can feel her heart speed up. She bites her lip and looks over at Mary, who is practically bouncing in her spot. As if feeling eyes on her, Mary turns her head and gives Molly a big grin. Molly can't help but smile back.
It was a spur of the moment trip to New Zealand that Mary thought up, after finishing their first year of Uni. ("To celebrate surviving first year and for not gaining the freshmen fifteen.") And of course, on their last full day, Mary dragged her to the cliff-diving.
Realistically, Molly knows it's safe. Well…as safe as it can be. They had their requisite training that morning. Their tour guides well versed in the water and how to jump properly without breaking any bones or injuring herself. (Molly was already aware of it all, the human body is something that Molly knows like the back of her hand.)
She watches in a trance as person after person jumps, most of their screams either caught in their throat or drowned out by the thundering water.
Mary goes before her, turning around and giving her hand a squeeze. "I'm so glad we did this." She yells over the water and even then, it's barely a whisper. She gives her a wicked smile, "see you at the bottom." And then she jumps. Molly feels a start in her stomach as she looks over and sees Mary's body falling and falling and making a small splash in the water below. Molly holds her breath, until she sees a familiar blonde head breaking the surface and barely hears her familiar voice let out squeals and shrieks from adrenaline.
Molly takes hesitant steps towards her guide and he gives her an encouraging and sympathetic smile. "It's always scary the first time." He says, his voice accented and kind. "Want to know the secret?"
"Is it don't look down?" Molly tries joking, despite her increasing heart rate and the sense of anxiety.
He lets out a small laugh. "Nah. It's simpler than that. Embrace it. The fall, I mean and trust us."
Molly nods and takes a deep breath, feet leading her the edge. She takes a look back at the guide and then at the other people behind her, who are cheering her on, excitement overcoming her and she turns around, facing the edge and jumps off.
She doesn't scream, finds she can't and closes her eyes. She feels her heart drop down to her stomach, she feels time suspend as she's in the air, making her way down and her mind goes blissfully blank. It feels like the shortest, yet longest time in her life, until she finally hits the water and allows it to envelope her, before kicking herself back to the surface. She sputters out some water and steadies herself as she looks above her and lets out a smile. She turns her head and sees Mary, jumping up and down, hands waving and yelling with elation.
Molly swims towards her and hefts herself out of water, lying on the grass, struggling to catch her breath. She looks at Mary and laughs, until the both of them are holding their sides and talking at the same time.
"Again?" Mary asks, excitedly.
Molly shakes her head. "No. No. One potentially suicidal jump is enough for me."
She watches as Mary goes over to try and talk another guide to let her jump again and Molly lies back against the grass and stares at the bright blue sky, the brilliantly shining sun, the water drowning out all the other noise and she closes her eyes.
They're standing in her office, the sun has been up for a few hours and London is bustling. Molly can hear people in the hospital and to everyone else; this is just another ordinary day. To everyone else, the significance of this day is not and most likely will not, be clear to them.
Molly looks at Sherlock and bites her lip. Everyone else, she thinks, will not fake their death today.
He looks at his watch once more and Molly shakes her head. "Once," she starts, clearing her throat as her voice catches, "I went cliff-diving with my best friend, Mary." She clasps her hands together and wrings them tightly, hoping that she can convey what she wants (needs) to say to him. "It was in New Zealand and it was a spur of the moment thing, you know? It was to celebrate, yeah? Have you ever been to New Zealand? It's beautiful. You should, if you haven't-"
"Molly." He rumbles.
She blinks and mentally slaps herself. "Right. I know. I just…we went cliff-diving and Mary. Mary…she's fierce. She did it no problem. Me…I was hesitant. I mean…I knew the odds and I knew I was safe and it didn't matter how many times I told myself that…there was always this…this feeling that I could…die. And then my guide…he told me…he said to embrace it and trust them and truthfully, I had no idea what he meant by that but when I was…when I jumped and just felt the air and felt my heart drop down to my stomach and felt like my blood was boiling and felt everything at once…I just…I let go. My mind…it went blank, just…empty and I…I…" She trails off, unable to finish what she was saying.
(Sometimes, sometimes, Molly hates herself around Sherlock Holmes. Because all she wanted to do was give him some comfort. Give him some hope, that when he wakes up, even though the world will be different, he'll still have her.)
She takes a deep breath and tries again, "I just mean…it's okay to be afraid. Because sometimes, the biggest motivator is fear. The fall is…it's just a fall. It's what…it's what comes after the fall that matters, yeah?"
There is silence between them and then he opens his mouth and a foot leaves the ground, stepping forward (stepping towards her) when his phone rings with a message and he's back to his original position, as if the less of an inch he moved, didn't happen (but Molly knows it did. She knows it.) "It's time." He says.
Molly nods and watches as he puts on his Belstaff coat with confident yet stiff movements. He moves towards the door and turns his head before he leaves, giving her one last and swift nod and then he's gone, in a swirl of black. Almost as if he wasn't there (but Molly knows he was.)
Molly turns to the window and breathes deeply, bracing herself for the fall about to occur.
"There's…there's this man." Molly says, her cheeks burning up as she walks around her father's bedside, taking her regular seat.
Her father looks at her and smiles a bright smile that is so full of love that it lightens Molly's heavy and rapidly beating heart. "Is he special?"
Molly pauses and nods slowly, mind memorizing everything he said in their first meeting, memorizing the way his eyes are a brilliant shade of blue-green. "Yeah. Yeah, dad. I really think he is."
Molly is standing at her window, staring at the John Watson's form as he talks on the phone and hardly a minute passes when a blur of black whizzes past her window.
She can hear the screams from below. She can hear the sirens. She can hear everything and nothing; not even the reimagining of the thundering water in New Zealand is able to clear her mind.
She swallows deeply and pushes herself away from the window and as calmly as she can, as if nothing has happened (but it has, Molly knows it has), walks back down to the morgue.
She will not fail. She cannot fail. Not when Sherlock is counting on her. Trusting her.
(You're wrong you know. You do count. You've always counted. And I've always trusted you.)
It starts, with a fall.
See what I did there? I brought Tom into this from the beginning. Can you feel the angst? SQUEEEE! I'm so nervous posting this because it is a multi-chapter fic and I haven't written one of those in what seems to be forever and it's kind of like learning how to swim again and I'm just...I really really hope that you all like it!
Seriously though, you guys continue to astound me and I just...I love you guys. Very very much.
MAD LOVE AND RESPECT,
BB