Yay Tumblr Prompt fill! This one comes from the-doctor-wtf: Molly's keeping a secret from Sherlock. While he's unable to easily deduce what it is, he's too stubborn to ask her either. Disguise time.
Hm…so, what's the secret? Read on, my dears! Just a forewarning…it's angsty as all get out! Get the tissues ready.
After I admit to you all that I am merely a channel. I own nothing.
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"But I can't, Sherlock. I've got a..a lunch date." Molly argued back with the steely eyed detective standing in her way. He scoffed in frustration.
"Molly, you can cancel. I need you to run samples for me. That confounded computer does not seem to work for me." Sherlock argued back, as if he had won already. Molly had always easily given in to his requests, so this time would be no different.
"I said I can't. Why can't you just do it yourself?" Molly asked, trying to step around him. However, Sherlock's tall frame stood braced in the doorway of the lab. His brow furrowed a bit. 'Maybe a compliment will ease her apprehension.' He thought to himself.
"Did you get a new coat? It suits your frame much better." He stated, looking up and down at her woolen winter coat. It wasn't a lie, she did look better in it.
"Sherlock…"
"Molly, you've had three lunch dates in the past week and a half. Please, at least reschedule it for another time when I don't require your assistance." Sherlock sighed out, trying to reason with her.
"Please, Sherlock. I'm going to be late. I- I can't miss this lunch date, okay? Look, I'll be back in an hour. Promise." Molly said in a pleading voice, before squeezing past him through a crack in his barricade. She quickly walked down the hall, and out the double doors at the other end. Sherlock stood in the door to the lab, staring with confusion after his pathologist.
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"And…and you're sure there's nothing I can do?" Molly asked, nervously wringing her hands together. The lady across the table from her nodded her head solemnly, before holding out a box of tissues in front of Molly's face. She shook her head, and took in a deep breath.
"Miss Hooper, I have a few groups I want you to go to. Please at least go check them out. Again, I'm very sorry." The woman stood, and ushered Molly out of her office. Molly walked out of the building, and rounded the corner. She leaned against the wall and broke into tears.
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John sat across from Sherlock in the lab of St. Bart's hospital. He looked on peevishly, as the pale genius gazed off into space. His long fingers tapped away at the table, and his foot tapped on the stool he sat on. John had finally had enough of the jittery noises, and decided to ask.
"Okay, what is it?" He asked. Sherlock immediately answered by groaning in frustration. He stood, and began pacing back and forth.
"It's Molly, John. Molly Hooper. She's hiding something. These unsavory lunch dates always come at the most inopportune times, and I was successful in getting her to reschedule the first three. However, today she refused to stay and help me. Molly never says 'no'. What could she be hiding?" He ranted, not really to John, but more to the air around him. John let out a snort. Sherlock looked over to his friend.
"What? Do you know something?"
"Oh, no. I was just reminding myself that you really are a needy, impetuous child, who refuses to do things the easy way. Sherlock, you could always just ask her. Like a normal person. For once." John reasoned. He had tried getting Sherlock to do things like this in the past, with little success. Sherlock rolled his eyes, before he resumed his pace. Just then, the doors flung open, and Molly walked back in.
"Sorry, Sherlock. Now, what do you need my help with?" Molly asked as she slid her lab coat on. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, and her nose was red. John had even seen the clear signs that she'd been crying. John stood, sending her a look of concern. Molly shook her head, wordlessly pleading with him not to say anything.
"You've been crying. Obviously an unpleasant lunch date." Sherlock said after quickly scanning her over. Molly put on her best smile.
"Huh? Oh, no! It's just cold outside. Anyway, what samples do you need me to run?" She asked, quickly changing the subject. Sherlock rambled on about the things he needed her to do, and then returned to his mind palace while he waited. Molly worked hard, trying to push all the other thoughts from her mind.
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In the cab ride, Sherlock was quiet. Quieter than usual. John had noticed, and knew what his mind was on. He was just about to speak, when Sherlock let out a deep sigh.
"Yes."
"Yes what? I haven't even asked-"
"Yes, I am aware that Molly was lying about not crying. Yes, I am aware that something is wrong. Just saving you time." Sherlock said stoically as he stared out the window. John sighed, catching on to the fact that this seemed to bother his friend. He remained silent, joining the consulting detective in thinking about the quiet girl from the morgue.
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It had been another five weeks. Molly did her best to try hiding the changes. The lost weight, the horrible bouts of nausea, the dark circles under her eyes. She had to admit, going to the group sessions had helped her emotions tremendously, but due to the physical pressures, she simply felt exhausted all the time. Molly was just leaving the morgue for another meeting, when she bumped into the tall detective.
"Oh, sorry Sherlock. I can't stay. I'm sorry. I have somewhere I absolutely have to be today." She said quietly, before brushing past him. Sherlock watched after her, taking in the drastic changes to her appearance. She looked horrible. Her clothes sagged around her small frame, and her make up could not distract him from the dark crescents under her eyes. Sherlock decided enough was enough. He had to know what she was so desperately trying to keep hidden. So, abandoning the plan of studying the out of Mr. Sanlow, he waited until she was further away, before following her.
Molly walked across the street, and toward the tube entrance. She got on, sitting in the corner. Sherlock had made it into the same car as her, his own appearance much different. His hair was under a ball cap, and his large recognizable coat had been left at the hospital. He wore a dark gray hooded sweatshirt, one he borrowed from Raz along the way to the tube. He had rubbed dirt over his face, giving him the appearance of a five o'clock shadow. No doubt he would still be recognized, if she paid attention.
When she got off the tube, she brushed past him, not even noticing. He walked behind her, about a block away, until she entered the side door to a large brick building. Sherlock walked in shortly after, and tracked the sound of her footsteps in the echoing halls to the room she had gone into. Sherlock snuck in the back, to see a relatively large group of people, all sitting in a circle across the room. He decided to stand next to the door, just in case. There was a small table with refreshments on it, and one of the ladies from the circle was speaking. It was the person in charge.
"Well, that's really good, Nathaniel. It's good to get out some of those hurt feelings, even if it means yelling at somebody. Excellent progress. Now, how about we hear from Molly next, since she's just joined us." The woman said, turning her legs to point in the pathologist's direction.
"Okay, well…well, it's been five weeks since I found out, and things haven't really gotten any better. I had a check up last week, and my doctor said she didn't know if it would be another five weeks or another five months. I know I shouldn't be afraid, given my job. I've seen all sorts of deaths, but…but this. This isn't how anyone should go." Molly sniffled a bit, as she pointed to herself, her stomach and exposed ribs specifically. The woman spoke, distracting Sherlock from watching her.
"Have you told anyone else yet, Molly? You know, friends, family, colleagues at work?" The lady asked, leaning in a bit.
"No. No family to speak of, and I don't really have many friends. I- there is one man. I guess he's sort of a work friend. I like him. A lot actually. I keep wanting to tell him, but- but sometimes, I think it would be easier if he didn't know. He sort of relies on me for certain things, and I don't want him to….be upset that I won't be there to take care of him anymore." Molly had a few tears roll down her cheeks as she spoke, and Sherlock felt an almost panic build inside him. 'What is happening? What does she mean she won't be there anymore?' His mind scrolled through all the possibilities, too many to narrow it down. He waited in the wings, until everyone had finished mingling and left. This left him in the room with the woman in charge. He approached her, putting on his character.
"Excuse me. Hi. I was wondering, what does this group meet for?" He asked in a polite sounding tone, buttered up with all the sweetness he could muster. The lady turned to him, and smiled sweetly back to him.
"Oh, hello there. This group is for people living with cancer. If you're here for the group about getting out of debt, they've pushed it back half an hour, someone will be along shortly." She said, as she gathered her things up. He held out his hand, motioning for her attention once more.
"That…that girl. The one who spoke toward the end. What does she have? It's just that…well…she's friends with a friend of mine." He shuffled, acting nervous and shy.
"Oh, you must mean Molly. That poor girl. She's just found out about a month ago that she had stomach cancer. They've caught it too late, I'm afraid. She's just informed me today that the doctors don't expect her to last to the end of the year. Terribly sad. She's a lovely girl. Well, I must be off. Oh, if you could tell your friend to check on her, that would be great. He obviously means much more to her than she lets on." The woman smiled and left. Sherlock stood in the room now, alone and terribly confused about the news he'd just received.
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John was sitting in his chair at Baker Street, drinking his tea while he watched the telly. He was mid laugh, when Sherlock burst through the door. His head snapped to the direction of his apparently very upset flatmate, and John's eyes followed him warily.
"We should have a case soon, Sher…"
"She's dying. John. She's dying, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Why wouldn't she tell me? What do I have to benefit from not knowing?" Sherlock chatted away, clearly not really speaking to John. The sandy haired man stood and crossed the room, his eyes filled with sudden concern.
"You mean Molly? What is it? What's happened to her?" John asked in rapid-fire succession.
"Stomach cancer. She hasn't got long. Weeks, possibly months, if she's one of the fortunate ones. Oh, stupid, stupid me. I should have seen it." Sherlock angrily chided himself. John placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, bringing his attention back to present.
"Go to her. Sherlock, you need to go to her." John stated. Sherlock didn't even ask why, he just turned and left 221B.
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Molly stepped through the door of her small flat, and let out a worn sigh. She had just finished placing her coat on the hook, and tossed her bag onto the table, when he spoke from across her living room.
"Why didn't you tell me?" His low voice was filled with such sadness, such pain. Molly jumped at first, but then relaxed after flicking on the light. Sherlock stood staring out her window at the bleak skies above.
"Sherlock?" She asked in confusion. She didn't know why he was there, didn't know what he would care for. Molly knew he would figure it out eventually, she had just wanted to take care of him as long as she could.
"Why didn't you tell me? Perhaps I could've done-" he started, but was cut off by her small hand on his shoulder. She turned him around to face her, and he could see now the extent that the disease had worn her down.
"Sh. No. It was already too late when they found it. There's nothing to do about it." She said, pressing her hand into his shoulder more. It was as if she were comforting him. Sherlock looked down at her, his own expression now twisted with confusion.
"Why didn't you-"
"Because I didn't want things to be different. I just wanted- I just want things to be as normal as they can." Molly smiled at him sadly, a tear falling down her cheek. Sherlock found his hand reaching out to catch it, his thumb wiping it away from her pale skin. Molly's eyes closed, and she leaned in, her head resting upon his chest. Sherlock gazed down at her, looking at her tired face. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around her, before pulling her closer to him. She let out a deep sigh, and Sherlock found that he didn't want to let go of her.
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She had phoned him when it was time. He rushed to her flat at three in the morning, racing through the heavy snowfall. When he got there, he found the door was locked, so he kicked it in. It hardly mattered at that point. When he reached her bedroom, he took in the terrifying sight. She was thin as a rail, her already petite form looking simply tiny now. She smiled tiredly at him as he crossed the room.
"Thank you…for coming. I didn't…I didn't want to be alone." Molly said quietly. Sherlock sat on the edge of her bed, and collected her into his arms. He cradled her against his chest, warming her cool flesh with his body heat trapped inside his coat. She breathed out a deep sigh, before speaking again.
"Sherlock. I know…I know it's already too late, and you never felt the same. I just wanted to say I love you. I loved you. From- from the first day." She mumbled into his chest. Sherlock sucked in a breath, not knowing what to do. He swayed back and forth a bit, rocking her in his arms.
"Molly, I think. I think if we had had more time, ages perhaps. I could have." He said quietly into her hair. He was deep in thought, trying to formulate those few words. She had gone, when he looked down at her again. Sherlock's entire being was still. His mind, his thoughts, his heart. All was quiet.
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Molly Hooper had died early on a Thursday morning. It was snowing. She wasn't alone. It was quiet, peaceful. She was finally able to rest. She didn't know.
Part of Sherlock Holmes had died with her.
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Well, that's depressing. Hope you um…liked the read? Let me know what you think. Please don't be too upset…I just gravitate toward sad I guess. Please?