Hello there! Hope you're doing well.
This challenge's requirements are to write a tragic event with some sort of twist. Might be a bit AU, then again, there's not a lot about Molly out there.
Thanks to MissScorp for all the writing support. Nothing would be posted if it wasn't for her. She's got a great Sherlock drabble piece going. Check her out!
"Something wrong?"
With scarf in hand, Molly freezes. The question catches her off guard, and she's puzzled as to why she hasn't answered no yet. By all means, she should use her default response. She always does. Because who really needs the weight of her secrets? No one needs to darken their skies with her rain. Besides, anyone who would listen deals with much worse.
"No," she finally replies, wrapping her scarf around her neck. Her fingers lock. For a moment, her lip quivers. Clearing her throat, she frees the scarf from her fingers. "I'm fine. Thank you."
But the body chilling in the mortuary can't seem to leave her alone. That face. The rich brown hair. The porcelain skin… It sends ice through her bones, and she begins to contemplate if she isn't being embalmed.
"I can tell you're not fine."
No, she is anything but fine. Nothing in all her years has ever unsettled her—not even the woman as was the nicknamed. Then again, none of them ever looked like her.
"Molly?"
"I'm fine," she repeats and grabs her bag. If she can just get home, Molly Hooper will never have to speak of the real monster she wrestles with.
"Lolly?" comes another voice, a little voice.
A laugh she hasn't heard in years echoes in her mind, causing her to pause. Despite the length of time, however, it still shines bright as day in her mind. Soft as fresh grass. As unforgettable as the stars.
The laughter combats that cadaver which currently burns brighter than the sun in her memories. Days so full of joy and fun she never once dreamed it'd come to an end.
"Lolly Pop? What's wrong?"
Taking a deep breath, Molly curses herself as that voice echoes round and round in her mind. Shaking her head, she tries to swallow but finds her throat's closed making it impossible to breathe. She wonders if she's dying. Closing her eyes, her fingers ball into fists.
"Lolly Pop, breathe. It's okay."
She can't respond, because she's not sure how to. All she knows is that the room around her is oddly dark and still. She never remembers it ever being that way. Despite a lingering sense of fear, there's always been sunshine and fresh fruit. There's always been the smell of clean linens.
The further she pokes and prods around the dim flat, the further she moves towards the edge. The discovery of nothing has her more frightened than the silence.
When she comes across the washroom, her heart stops beating. It's there time freezes…It always does, because that's when Molly realised she'd never hear her utter the words Lolly Pop again.
Tears fill her eyes. She doesn't want to see it, relive it, but it's far too late for such wishes. Hanging from the top of the washroom is rich brown hair the shade of hers. Chills never run down her spine, but ice claws at her soul showing she belongs to it.
"Lolly, you're going to be fine." The voice rings in her ears, and she doesn't know how it has come back from the dead.
"Molly?"
She looks through a mess of tears to see the man every seems to think looks like a hedgehog. He looks at her with soft, caring eyes.
"What's wrong?"
She can't speak but finds herself pulled into an embrace that makes her feel safe. Two tiny arms wrap around her legs as she hears the toddler. "Lolly?"
None of their actions stop her from seeing the void left in the wake of the hanging, but they do help to ease her growing hysterics.
"Sorry," she mutters, but doesn't pull out of either embrace. At this point, she isn't sure she can even move.
"It's okay, Molly," John says, voice gentle. She admires his bedside manner since he treats her so gently. Something she isn't sure if she's worthy of, but something she so desperately needs at the moment.
"Toe-tay, Lolly!" mimics Rosie as she pats Molly's leg gently.
Molly looks down at her, choking back a sob, and smiles.
"What's this about?" John questions.
Taking a breath, she keeps her eyes on the little girl who's now holding onto her skirt. "She looked like Char."
"Char?"
She swallows roughly. "My sister."
Realisation flickers through John's eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss." He pulls her in tight. "Death isn't as easy as people want to make it."
And that's the best advice she's heard in quite some time. It doesn't take away the ache deep in her chest which she knows will never go away, but she doesn't feel weighed down under the world anymore.
"Lolly Pop, you can breathe, again."
Taking a deep breath, Molly rests her head against his chest and closes her eyes. One hand drops, and she runs her fingers through the toddlers hair. Relieved that it's John who knows, her shoulders slump softly. He can understand her pain more than anyone else. He knows what it's like to lose a loved one. He can relate.
And that makes all the difference.
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