When you worked at a hospital, you get to see a lot of disturbing things. When you worked in a morgue, it gets even more disturbing. Molly thought she knew this, she thought she could handle it. But today, she had been proven wrong.
A woman's body had been brought in. Her skin was charred in some places, as if burnt by a flame, while in others, her skin had turned blue, suffering from frostbite. Patches of her skin had been cut off in one place and sewn back on in another. Her left ring finger had been sawed off. It truly was gruesome. An autopsy revealed that, not only had all of this been done while she was alive, the young woman had been suffering through the torture for months.
Molly had rushed out of the room. It had been too much for her. She hadn't felt like this about a body since she first began her work. She had never been this shaken up before. And now, she was having a nightmare.
She lay on the cold autopsy table, a large figure looming over her. He held a sharp instrument in his hand and wore a surgical mask. Dark red blood dripped from the knife and onto his hands. He leaned down over her, placing one of his cold hands on her bare stomach, as if to hold her down. She tried to move away, but she was held down by restraints. He lowered the knife to her flesh and began to carve.
Molly woke up screaming. Someone was shaking her awake. "Molly? Molly?" A cool, familiar voice called. She stopped screaming for a nanosecond before starting again. It was him. He was here. He was going to hurt her!
"Molly!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up to look at him. It wasn't him. It was him. It was Mycroft. She stopped screaming and began to cry, sobbing loudly into her hands.
Mycroft sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do. After a moment, he pulled her close, letting her rest her head on his shoulder while she cried. He stroked her soft hair, trying to comfort her.
She took a shuddering breath and pulled away, wiping at her face. He wondered if he had done something wrong. Wasn't that how you were suppose to comfort somebody? By holding them close? "Molly…"
She shook her head. "I'm fine, I was…over reacting." She smiled a sad smile. "Thank you."
Mycroft shook his head. "Silly woman." And with a huff, wrapped his arms around her slim waist and pulled her back to him. "You're a terrible liar." Molly let out a laugh that was wasn't really a laugh. It was more like 'Oh my God. Just leave it alone.' But he wasn't going to leave it alone.
"Tell me what happened." He demanded, voice stern. He was new to this comforting thing, but he knew talking about it helped. "A nightmare?" Though it was apparent, he asked anyway.
Like a child, she shook her head, paused, and then nodded slowly. "A really bad nightmare." She whispered. Molly shifted so that she was sitting in his lap and curled her legs up to her chest. "I was…" She gulped, tears beginning to form again.
She explained what happened at work, and then the nightmare. Mycroft's face was grim. He knew had torture the poor woman, but he wasn't going to say anything. "Don't worry, love." He said, burying his face in her hair. It smelled like warm sugar. "I would never let anyone touch you. No one would even dare."
Molly smiled. Of course he would keep her safe. Of course. She took his face in her hands and gave him a kiss. "You're the sweetest." She laughed when he shook his head. "Gentleman." He said under his breath.
Molly yawned and pushed Mycroft back so that he was laying down and she was snuggled at his side. "I love you, Mycroft Holmes." She said, voice quiet as she began to fall asleep.
"I love you, Molly Hooper." He planted a kiss on her forehead and closed his eyes to sleep.