It was peculiar how dusty old buildings, and old hospitals in particular, always looked the same no matter what day or what weather it was. The windows still seemed dusty, the painting on the walls seemed just as worn out and the roof…. no, she wouldn't even think about the roof.
One of the many brilliant things about St Bartholomew's Hospital was that there was a sort of magic in its walls. You could exit one day, feeling incredibly embarrassed or sad about a mistake or something else you did or said, and when you entered the next day it seemed like the whole thing never happened. Like the building itself was forgetful.
Sometimes that could be a wonderful thing. But today St Bart's didn't seem forgetful or pleasant to Molly. It had been two months. Two months since that fateful day when the world's only consulting detective killed himself. At least so it seemed.
As far as Molly knew, and she actually knew quite a lot, she was the only one who actually was fully aware that Sherlock was alive. There was a possibility that Mycroft knew. But then Mycroft always knew everything. Molly still remembered the look on Sherlock's face when he came to her only hours before his fall.
She'd been exhausted; tried to keep her eyes open she closed the door and started to turn the lights off. It was usually Molly who turned off the lights, since she often worked late. She grabbed her bag and began thinking about the soft bed that awaited her at home. Molly was so deeply in her own thoughts that she didn't see the figure that stood by one of the tables.
"You're wrong, you know." She jumped at the sound of his voice. Sherlock? What was he doing here? She knew he'd been in some trouble lately with the media. Of course, she didn't believe a word of it. But then again she'd known Sherlock a lot longer than both John and Lestrade. And she'd seen the look in his eyes earlier. Exactly the same look that her father had when he was dying. No, she didn't want to think about her father. She turned and looked at him. There was a little awkward silence before he continued.
"You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you"
He turned his head and looked at her. "But you were right. I'm not okay"
"Tell me what's wrong" Now she was getting seriously worried. Obviously he needed her help, but she didn't have a clue about what to do to help him.
"Molly, I think I'm going to die" She froze, couldn't say a word. What was he talking about? The look on his face clearly stated that this wasn't any trick or some sort of joke. He was totally serious and a bit…. afraid? This was bad, really bad. In fact worse than it had ever been before.
Sherlock walked closer to her, but Molly could see where this was going. Of course, why didn't she see the signs earlier? Always when Sherlock needed something that wasn't quite allowed, he would come to her. Because he knew that if he flirted or gave her a compliment, she would eventually give in. But he seemed unusually afraid this time, so it had to be important.
"What do you need?" she asked.
He didn't answer her question. "If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am. Would you still want to help me?"
"What do you need?" she repeated. Of course she was going to help him. This time it seemed serious. Like his life depended on it. She truly believed that he wasn't lying. Believed that his life was in danger and he needed her help.
He looked in her eyes and took a few more steps towards her. "You"
He'd told her about his plan, how Jim remained a threat to both him and their friends. How he'd arranged and planned to meet the consulting criminal at the hospital roof. He'd told her about the garbage truck, his homeless network and if it came to it, his fall.
She was going to hide inside the hospital, ready to do her part. It was very dangerous. Molly told Sherlock that too, but then he'd just looked away. At last she went home to get her things ready for the next day. As she left the hospital for the night, she felt excited.
The game was on.
Molly smiled as that memory fled by in her thoughts while she put on her white coat to get ready for work. But it was now two months since she'd heard anything from Sherlock. Or Jim. Although he never really was her boyfriend, they only went out a couple of times, she still felt confused about whom to trust.
Deep in her heart, she believed in Sherlock. But on the other side Jim had been nice to her. Which was more than could be said about Sherlock. He always used her to get the things that he wanted or needed in the morgue. But this last time he'd really needed her help. But could all the things he'd told her about Jim be true? She still felt a little unsure of it.
Molly sighed and found her phone. She still had Jim's number. Of course, she'd examined his body herself. But…his face was a bit bashed up, like that woman Sherlock had confirmed as Irene Adler last Christmas. It was the fact that she'd seen it before, which made her unsure. Still…it was impossible. No, there was no point in texting a dead man.
The rest of the day went by as normal as it could. But Molly felt both confused and…well, upset. Her mind kept thinking of the possibility that Jim Moriarty may be alive. She could always text Sherlock and ask him if he'd heard or seen any signs of the consulting criminal. But no, he was probably busy. And it was dangerous to contact him while he was on his missions, as he called them. Molly sighed again; the doubt still grew in her mind.
She stared out of the window in deep thought. London looked peaceful in rain. Like it always did, it was hardly sunny in this city. All that ever came was the rain. But today the weather fitted perfectly to how Molly felt. She was confused and even though she hated admitting it… she actually missed him. In fact, she missed them both. Jim had been so nice to her, but she believed Sherlock when he'd told her how he really was. But whom did she believe the most?
She'd been in shock after seeing Sherlock jump. Though she knew it was going to happen, it was quite painful to see him fall from the roof. Maybe she wasn't thinking straight when she examined Jim's body? Maybe she'd been mistaken? Was it possible that Jim was alive?
Molly pulled her phone out of her pocket for the third time that day. This was going to end, right here, right now. She quickly typed a message and sent it before she had time to regret it.
Jim, I know you would never let Sherlock win. Why then, is he alive and you… aren't? Come back… -MH
Oh god. Did she just text a body? What on earth was going on with her? Now she was angry with herself. But if he were dead, he would never get the text anyway. Whatever.
The phone beeped and she jumped. Could it be him? Oh god. She felt her heartbeat rise as she grabbed her phone and looked at the display.
Hey Molly, we're having a small get-together in 221B, just to talk about Sherlock. It's 6 p.m. if you'd like to come. Hope I'll see you there. –GL
Oh, it was from Lestrade. Molly let out a sigh in relief as she realized it wasn't from Jim. Greg had been so nice to her, since Sherlock's "death". He probably felt sorry for her; he didn't know that she knew a lot more than any of the others. The worst part about Sherlock being alive was that she couldn't tell anyone. And even worse than that, she couldn't say anything to John. Every time she saw him he seemed even more tired, grieving and full of sorrow and loss over the man he'd called his best friend. Molly couldn't say anything to make him feel better. It was a nightmare. She felt helpless and stupid every time she talked to him. It was as if nothing could help or soothe his pain. And Molly hated it.
The phone beeped again and broke into Molly's line of thought. It was probably just Lestrade adding something to his earlier message that he'd forgotten. She looked at the text, and froze. Her blood turned to ice and she felt her knees buckle so she fell on the floor. With big, confused and terrified eyes she got up and looked at the text more closely. She'd seen the signature and it was meaningless. He was dead. Gone. But no, this message clearly stated something else. She read the text slowly. Wanted to understand every single word.
I'm on the side of the devils you know. We never die. –JM
So it was true.
He was alive.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OF THE CHARACTERS OR BBC SHERLOCK, EVERYTHING BELONGS TO BBC AND HARTSWOOD FILMS.
A/N So, this is my first fanfic and I would very much like to know if this is worth continuing. Reviews are very much appreciated. Thanks. -AD