And the second prompt from Musicchica10...in which Sherlock is as protective of his pathologist as he is his landlady...here it be! :D
I still don't own anything...sadly.
Everything's Alright
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He had always been protective of those he cared for. John knew for a fact that Sherlock wold go to a lot of lengths to keep those people safe. He recalled the time Mrs. Hudson had been so cruelly manhandled by an American. The man had the unfortunate displeasure of being thrown from the first floor window...repeatedly. The doctor knew how much Sherlock secretly admired the older woman, viewing her more as a maternal figure than 'just a landlady'. So, given what had just happened in the alleyway behind St. Bart's, he was only left to wonder just how much the detective admired a certain pathologist.
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Sherlock had just entered through the lab doors, quickly flinging his coat off and tossing it onto the stool by his preferred microscope. As he turned to greet Molly, he saw her standing in the far corner of the room, her shoulders slumped forward, clear tear tracks running down her cheeks. He was unsure of how to approach her, and almost considered turning around and leaving, when he heard her gasp.
"Oh, Sh...Sherlock. H-hi. I didn't hear you come in." Molly sniffled, wiping away the stray tears onto her sleeve. He shifted a bit, uncomfortable with what to do.
"Are...is everything alright?" He asked in a deep monotone. Molly chuckled slightly, amused at the clever man's clear inability to comfort someone.
"I'm...fine, Sherlock. Everything's fine." She gave him her best smile, turning to cross over to the other side of the lab. Sherlock sat at his station, and began scanning the newest slides under the magnified lens. He only vaguely heard Molly's phone buzz, but his ear perked as she spoke quietly.
"I can't talk right now, Dylan. Because, I'm at work. Besides, I don't want to talk to you right now...no, because you were an ass." As she responded to the man on the other end, Sherlock could hear her voice getting louder and more agitated.
"No, you were the one to blame. You've never...never done that before, but...I can't trust that you won't do it again. It was one little mistake, but you made things so much worse! I...I think it's safe to say it's over, Dylan...No, no don't call me later! No! Don't come down here! It's done, I'm done!" She ended the call with a harsh tapping of the button on her mobile. She let out an exasperated sigh, before standing a bit taller. As she turned, Molly caught Sherlock's watchful gaze on her.
"Look, just...can you not, right now? Please." She let out another sigh, before walking to her office, and shutting the door. Sherlock followed her with his eyes, warily looking at the puzzling woman before him.
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John had joined his flatmate at the hospital just an hour later, and was currently trying to convince him that they should leave for NSY as soon as possible, before Lestrade had a nervous break down.
"Oh, he'll be fine. He's only just discovered the string of texts between his wife and her most recent lover. Hardly means for a meltdown just yet." Sherlock had responded. However, a well placed scowl from the army man told Sherlock that his mindset was a tad, well, bad.
So, minutes later, they were strolling down the street, just in front of St. Bart's. Upon hearing shouting in the alleyway around the corner, both John and Sherlock elected to see what was happening. They peeked around the side of the building, only to see a very familiar face being cornered by a very large brute of a man.
"I said I was sorry, shouldn't that be enough? I didn't mean to. You just...you made me so jealous." The man made his plea, drawing closer to her. Molly backed up, the fear evident in her eyes.
"And I said that doesn't make up for the fact that you left me with bruises, Dylan. You hurt me. How can I be with someone who hurts me?" Molly asked with tears in her eyes. John looked to his friend, to see his fists tighten, the expression on his face setting in a firm and stony line.
"Well, what about that Holmes bloke? He's never kind to you, yet you still called out his name in bed last night. You know what I think, Molly? I think you secretly like being hurt." Dylan spat venomously. Molly gasped, before turning a shade of red the two men could see from the end of the road. Dylan had pushed her against the wall then, and was holding her there.
"I think I'll just take you here and now, just to hear how much you moan that it hurts so nicely." His voice dropped, and he began fidgeting with his belt. Before John could register what was happening or how his friend managed to move so quickly, he saw Sherlock at the same end of the alley as Molly and Dylan. Only now, Molly was sobbing quietly, curled up on the ground. In the center, Dylan lay on the ground, moaning in pain and grunting as he took blow after blow from the consulting detective's white knuckled fists. John ran to them, and was now gazing between the huddled woman, and his best friend. Instinct took over, and he crouched beside Molly.
"Hey, it's alright now. Here, you're shivering. Take my coat." He spoke to her in his best soothing voice, before removing his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. She shakily nodded her thanks to him, before her eyes turned to the scene in front of them. A hand shot out to John's forearm, and he saw her look of panic. John turned, just in time to see Sherlock's hand tighten around Dylan's throat. John stood and quickly went to his friend's side.
"Sherlock, Sherlock stop! You're going to kill him! Stop!" John shouted to the man clearly winning this battle. Dylan's face was going deep red, soon morphing to purple tints as the air was stolen from his airway.
"Sherlock, he's going to suffocate if you don't let go!"
"Good." Was the only verbal response he gave, his voice hissing the word out poisonously. His deep crystalline eyes glared down at the desperate man below him. A hand suddenly reached out and touched his shoulder. Sherlock froze, knowing the touch was too light to be John. He looked up, meeting the soft, brown eyes of Molly.
"Let him go, okay? he...he doesn't deserve to get off that easily. Sherlock, let go, okay?" She spoke softly, her eyes holding his attention. Soon enough, the grip around Dylan's neck slackened, and finally pulled away altogether. He stood and walked Molly and himself away, as John phoned for a medic, as well as Lestrade.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" His eyes moved over her, checking for scrapes and bruises. The alarm in his voice made her heart swell. Molly shook her head, before reaching out and grabbing his hand.
"I'm fine...oh my God, Sherlock! You've broken your hand!" Sherlock only now felt the pain radiating from his knuckles, and looked down to see how swollen and bloodied they were. He winced as she lightly brushed her fingers over the tops of his joints, carefully inspecting each one for damage.
"I'm sorry...sorry you had to hurt your hand on my behalf." Molly muttered. Sherlock took her hand in his good, well, better hand, and made her return his gaze.
"No, I am sorry you were hurt, at all." Molly sighed out just a bit, fully understanding his underlying message. 'I'm sorry he hurt you because of me. I'm sorry I hurt you.'
"It's okay, Sherlock. Everything's okay." She offered him up a small smile. Sherlock smiled back in the same fashion, before leaning down and kissing her forehead lightly.
"Good." He whispered.
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Welp, there goes another one. Tell me what you think yea? Oh, and I know I don't get a chance to say it very often, what with all the one-shots, and my being horrible at PM thank you's, but really THANK YOU ALL so much for your support. Between the reading, and reviews, and favorites/follows/emails, I just...I feel overwhelmingly blessed to have so many people WANT to read my stories. So, if you have ever read a story of mine, even if it's just one...THANK YOU! YOU ROCK!
k, anyway, hope you enjoyed this one too. :D