A new life –
What I wouldn't give to have a new life.
With a shriek that came very close to a gasp, Molly was pulled from her nightmare by the cheerful beeping of her mobile phone. It took Molly a few seconds to gather her bearings and take her reality into account. She was sitting at her desk in St. Bart's, which meant that she must have dozed off while doing paperwork.
Molly groaned and rubbed her eyes vigorously. This was the third time this week she had dozed off at work, and she hated herself for that. Molly had always prided herself on being nothing short of professional at work, and now she was falling asleep at her desk like the slacker student in class. "Getting bloody ridiculous," muttered Molly to herself, sorting out the paperwork she had fallen asleep on. "When is this going to just stop?" She pounded her fists on her desk before resting her head in her hands.
But before she could get too upset, Molly remembered what had woken her up. Looking at her mobile, she saw that she had a new text message. Praying to God that it wasn't from Sherlock, Molly unlocked her phone and read the message. Thankfully, it was from Mike Stamford, asking her to come up to his office before she left. She breathed a little easier at that; unlike some people, Molly knew that she had nothing to be nervous about if her boss wanted to see her.
Looking at the clock, Molly winced when she saw that there were only a few minutes left in her shift. In resignation, she put away her still unfinished paperwork, resolving to herself that it would be taken care of tomorrow. Rubbing her neck, which was stiff after sleeping in that uncomfortable position, Molly decided to make a visit to the restroom before going up to see Stamford.
Once inside, Molly splashed some cold water on her face and redid her customary ponytail. As she did, Molly examined her reflection in the mirror and sighed. One didn't need the deduction skills of a Holmes to see that Molly was not doing well: three pounds lost, pallid skin, dark circles under her eyes, and that wasn't the worst of it.
With fingers that still couldn't cease trembling completely, Molly touched the right side of her neck, where she could feel her pulse beating steadily. But Molly wasn't feeling for her pulse – she was touching the scar over her pulse point, which was three weeks old. The man who had given her that scar had held no traces of sweet Jim from IT, or the confident and insane Moriarty Sherlock and John had encountered before the fall. This man who had come upon Molly in the morgue had been even more insane and truly desperate. Thankfully, Sherlock and John had arrived soon after he did. Moriarty had used Molly's body as a shield in front of his, a large knife pressed to her neck, and somehow Sherlock and John managed to keep him talking until Mycroft's men arrived and ambushed him.
Molly had suffered no worse physical harm, and a good thing, too: the mental and emotional abuse had been worse, much worse. Three weeks later, she was no better off than she had been right after it happened.
Resolutely pushing those thoughts to the very back of her mind, remembering that she was going up to meet Stamford, Molly dried her face and took a few deep breaths before leaving the bathroom.
Stamford's office was just one floor up, close to the lab, so Molly didn't have a long distance to walk. She knocked before entering his office, finding the good man at his desk, smiling at her. "Hello, Molly. Quiet day today, eh?"
"I'd say so, yeah," replied Molly, glad that Stamford had not asked how she was doing. She hated being asked that question now, because she always had to answer in a lie.
"Have a seat," he said, and Molly sat in the chair opposite his desk. Stamford pulled out a spiral-bound folder that was quite familiar to Molly and handed it to her. "Today I received a call from the AFP. They would like to come to their conference in Cardiff next weekend, and give a presentation about the findings of this report you published a few months ago."
"Oh!" said Molly, pleasantly surprised by the news. Looking at the folder, she recognized the detailed article she had written about various poisons and drugs and how they can affect the decomposition process.
"So, what do you say?" asked Stamford, still smiling but with worry in his eyes. "I'm sure it would be nice to get out of the city for a while. But if you're not up for it, I'll tell them –"
"No, I am!" said Molly, genuinely smiling for the first time in three weeks. "I would love to go! You're right, a long weekend out of town is exactly what I need, especially since spring is finally upon us."
Stamford smiled, the worry leaving his eyes. "Excellent. I'll let them know, and they'll be in touch with you about the details very soon."
Molly got up and shook his hand. "Thanks, Mike, I'll look forward to it. See you tomorrow."
"Have a good night, Molly."
The young pathologist exited Stamford's office with a new energy in her steps. This would be the first time she had spoken, let alone gone to, one of these conferences since Sherlock's return from the dead. Her mind was already buzzing with excitement over the thought of this conference. Yes, it was for work not pleasure, and public speaking was something that terrified her, but Molly couldn't care less. This would be a welcome challenge, opportunity, and distraction from the high-functioning sociopath and the mentally insane psychopath in her life.
No matter that one was locked away forever and the other seemed to have cut her from his life: being in their lives had a price she didn't know she could pay anymore. Molly prayed that this conference would at least be the start of that debt ending for good.
One thing I have learned as I go through life:
Nothing is for free along the way.