Written for my friend InkFable (Sara) because she's awesome (:
Beta'ed by mirabilelectu and comeflythefriendlyskies on Tumblr. Thanks~
If Sherlock had another brother, Molly thought, this man would be him.
He looked like Sherlock, a little, but had ginger hair and an expressive face and voice. He was also shorter, and thinner, and walked like a man who didn't expect anything from life, because he had nothing to offer. Sure, he put on a persona of confidence, but Sherlock was a much better actor and Molly had seen through his many disguises. She had never let on because Sherlock had a way of making her not know which way to turn until he said so, but this man was an open book to her.
"Er, hello," he said, shaking her hand. Molly also noticed that he had gentler hands. Sherlock always had a firm handshake, but this man was almost hesitant. Not awkward, just shy. "My name is Martin Crieff. I'm, um, here for... my cousin. Sherlock," he clarified, sounding bewildered and more than a little upset.
Molly swallowed; she hadn't been aware that Sherlock had a cousin. Especially one who looked so much like him.
"They don't like acknowledging me," he muttered when she pointed this out, ducking his head. Molly frowned.
"I'm not terribly surprised," she replied. "Sherlock only talked to people he needed. If he didn't need you, you aren't much more than an annoyance."
Martin had smiled slightly at that. "You seem to know him well."
Uncomfortable, Molly had turned to shuffle the papers on the desk nearest to her. "He called in favors, from time to time."
"And you couldn't say no." Her silence was answer enough, and Martin gave a small chuckle. "I know the powers of the Holmes charm, Ms. Hooper. I won't judge you for it."
She peeked at him. "Just Molly. My mum goes by Ms. Hooper."
"Molly, then." he smiled tentatively, his cheeks flushing faintly. Molly reddened as well and looked at her papers. The Holmes aren't the only ones with charm, she thought, and immediately chastised herself. She's supposed to be in love with Sherlock, while pretending to mourn him, even though he wasn't dead, not really. She wasn't supposed to suddenly be getting butterflies around his cousin.
"Anyway, Mr. Crieff, I'm the pathologist. You would need to speak to one of the lab technicians." She needed him gone, away, so that she could breathe again. He looked too much like the man she had to cover for, the man she had to lie for. If he stayed any longer she was scared she would blurt out the entire story.
He rubbed his neck. "I"m sorry, I just assumed... well... I thought you were... I'm sorry," he stammered.
"It's alright," She replied, trying to hide the waver in her voice. It was too much, too soon. "Do you, ah, need me to show you the way?"
He nodded. "That... that would be great. Sorry."
She fiddled with her grandmother's antique bracelet, the one she had received for Christmas three years ago, as she led him down the hallway. He walked steadily beside her, eyes downcast, and seemed to still be coming to terms with the news. Molly wondered just how close the two of them were. Sherlock rarely talked about his private life, and tended to just surprise her with people, leaving them to do the introductions. She wasn't sure why, exactly, Martin was here. John she could understand, maybe even Mycroft, but a cousin Sherlock had never spoken about?
Then again, family was family. And just because he was cousin to Sherlock didn't mean that Martin Crieff was like a Holmes.
"Right through there, Mr. Crieff," she said as they approached the door. "I'm sure someone will have the appropriate paperwork you need."
"Martin," he muttered.
"What?" she asked, confused.
"My... name. If- well, if I am to call you Molly, then you can call me Martin," he clarified.
She blinked. It had taken Sherlock ages to bother correcting her about his name, and only after she had snapped at him once because she hadn't had any coffee and he had startled her. "Right." She said. "Martin."
They stared at each other. He has beautiful eyes, she thought idly.
"Right." she repeated. "I'll... just leave you to it. Bye," she said hastily, and hurried back to her office.
Behind her, Martin stammered out a goodbye and stared after her for a long moment, a dazed look on his face. He shook himself, then squared his shoulders before entering the room.
Sherlock had promised to get her out of London after his 'death'; it wouldn't make it safer, since Moriarty's men would be able to track her anywhere, but for a while maybe she could go unnoticed. Molly had refused to move far since she had connections and friends in London, but transferred to a hospital outside Devonshire a day after Sherlock's funeral. John and Greg both had helped, and Molly noticed that John's limp had come back. She wasn't certain if he was aware of it, but the sight was almost too much to handle. When Greg and John left Molly had cried for a good hour from the stress of keeping her secret and seeing how it was destroying the two men.
Needing a distraction, Molly had focused on unpacking and was up till the small hours of the morning. She slept soundly, and didn't wake until three. Almost immediately Molly got back to work and after breaking down the boxes and carrying them to the dumpster, she realized that she needed food. Though it was tempting to simply order in so she wouldn't have to face the world, Molly dragged herself into decent clothes, put her hair up in a messy bun, and found a small grocer not fifteen minutes from her new flat.
It was there that Molly ran into Martin.
The man was staring intently at a jar of jam, a crease between his eyebrows. He was also chewing on a hangnail, and Molly was torn between telling him off for the habit and running in the other direction because the butterflies were back. Somehow both responses took precedence and made her freeze in place.
At least until an irate, hassled mum of three ran into her. "Sorry!" Molly squeaked at the woman's glare, and hustled out of the way. Martin, looking up at the noise, had blinked in astonishment.
"Molly!" he exclaimed. "I didn't expect to see you here."
She cleared her throat and tentatively joined him. "Me neither. I'm, um, new to the area."
"Oh?" He seemed to perk up slightly.
"Just moved in yesterday," she said. "I transferred to the hospital nearby."
He shuffled his feet slightly. "That's good, er, great. What made you change?"
Molly swallowed, her burden bubbling up in her throat as she forced other words out. "I... I needed to get out of London."
"I... see." He clearly didn't, but Molly didn't- couldn't- clarify.
They stood awkwardly in the middle of the aisle, looking everywhere but at each other. The mother who had run into Molly earlier was trying to wrestle her toddler back into the cart, while the other two boys were sneaking grapes from the bag. They argued when she scolded them, and their voices could still be heard when she shepherded them to the next aisle over.
"Poor woman," she said before she could stop herself.
Martin started slightly. "Pardon?"
"That woman," Molly explained. "Having to deal with three kids at once."
"Oh. Well, maybe her husband works?" he offered.
"Maybe," she replied, fiddling with her purse strap. "Anyway, I'll, um, see you around maybe?"
He nodded. "I'd like that."
Molly started walking off, relieved and reluctant in equal measure. Martin seemed like a very kind man, and she wouldn't say no to seeing him on occasion. She was nearly past the jam when he called out her name. "Yes?" she asked.
"Would you like to have a coffee with me sometime?" he questioned, though with his rushed delivery it sounded more like one word.
"I..." she paused. Would she? Any other person and she would suspect a date, but Martin seemed different. Molly really wasn't interested in the dating scene, not seriously at least. She was still hurting over her lie, and was still holding out for Martin's cousin. Still, Sherlock certainly hadn't contacted her since she helped him plant that body. Then again, he hadn't contacted John, either. She wasn't entirely sure about Mycroft, although she had had few dealings with him.
But Martin was here, now, and hadn't Greg always told her that she could do so much better?
Even better question, just what did he expect to gain from this? Closure? More insight on Sherlock's life? Friendship?
Molly found herself nodding before her thoughts were even coherent enough to make a decision. "Sure. Yeah. I, um, get off at five tomorrow?" She winced at the question, making her seem more awkward then she was.
He looked relieved. "Yeah. Five sounds good. Um, should I pick you up?"
"No, I can get a cab." A friend Martin might become, but her life was still her own. "Where do you want to meet?"
He named a coffee shop that Molly hadn't found yet on her quick excursion around town, and after getting the address they parted ways, both blushing.
That night, as she thought over the encounter with a glass of wine and a warm bath, Molly wondered just what life was trying to tell her. She had all but given up on finding someone after all the disasters she'd had.
After all, Molly didn't have the greatest track record when it came to boyfriends. Her first had cheated on her, her second had required her to get a restraining order, her third turned out to be a psychopathic criminal, and Sherlock wasn't even her boyfriend despite all her hopes otherwise. When Moriarty had revealed his true colors and Sherlock insulted her during the christmas party, Molly had decided that love and companionship would never come her way.
Either Martin was another doomed relationship, or quite possibly the hope she never dared to have.
"You knew my cousin?" Martin asked after various small talk. The meeting had gone pleasantly well so far, Martin talking a little about his job, Molly asking questions and listening to the various places he had visited. He seemed to come alive when talking about piloting and Molly found it endearing. He was passionate about his work, and had she more time she would have enjoyed learning all about his travels.
Molly nodded at his question. "He wasn't a friend, not exactly, but we worked together frequently." Her smile was slightly forced and she hoped he couldn't hear the sad undertone. "He was a good man, in his own way."
"Even if he was a liar," Martin muttered, and Molly took a sip of her tea to hide any expression she might have. "I... don't really know what to think about him," he continued. "I still remember playing with him as a child, before my mother... renounced all ties." He hesitated, staring at his tea, looking up at her through his lashes. Molly kept her face neutral, and gave him a tiny nod. His voice stronger, he continued. "We... would play this game, where I was a plane, and he was an air pirate." He chuckled. "Seems like I was the only one who held onto those dreams."
He looked slightly lost, despite acting like they were discussing the weather. No matter how many years had passed since he and Sherlock had played together, Martin still remembered the little boy wearing a ragged felt pirate hat and stealing Mycroft's books and candy stashes as 'booty'. He was still grieving, privately, and she tried to think of the best way to comfort him. She couldn't say the thing that would bring the most joy and relief and inside she was slowly crumbling with the guilt from that, but whenever she was little her mother had always given her a hug and everything was suddenly right with the world. Molly couldn't- or wouldn't- hug him, but she could do something almost as comforting. She rested her hand over his. He twitched, but seemed grateful for the contact. "No matter what Sherlock did or did not do, Martin, I..." She paused, wondering if she was overstepping her boundaries, then continued for his benefit as well as her own, "I think he valued those days, too."
He nodded, slightly. "He... left me all his books. Somehow, he knew I liked murder mysteries. I.. haven't collected them. Couldn't, really. A week before he died, he called me. Told me that he was sorry for all that had happened, and that he still considered me family."
Martin's face suddenly crumbled, and she squeezed his hand in reassurance. She allowed him a moment to compose himself before she spoke. "You miss him."
"He was the first true friend I had," Martin sighed.
They didn't speak for the rest of the time, each lost in their own thoughts. Martin occasionally glanced at her while she studied him in her peripheral vision. He seemed to be wavering between talking and staying quiet. Sometimes he leaned forward, as if he were about to say something, then sit back again with a kaleidoscope of emotions. Molly didn't let go of his hand until the waitress came by with the bill, and had she known just how much strength he had gained from the contact she wouldn't have let go so easily.
"I'm sorry," he said as they headed toward the door. "I didn't mean for this to be so depressing. That wasn't very professional of me."
Molly smiled slightly. "No, it's alright. This isn't the best of circumstances, and you needed to talk about it. Anything is better than keeping it in and letting the wound bleed," she said, remembering how lost Martin had looked while trying to claim ownership of the belongings of a cousin he rarely spoke to because the elder brother had too much guilt to own up to his mistakes. Molly had dearly wanted to tell him what happened, but with so many lives at stake she didn't dare breathe a word. Until Sherlock came back or people forgot about him she had just avoided her usual circles and ignored all calls from Lestrade and John. Emails were alright; they were impersonal, and if they expressed concern for her not answering her mobile, she claimed that she was too busy with work. Lestrade, she knew, didn't believe that, but John was heavy in his own grief and believed that avoidance was her coping mechanism because it was his as well.
Martin merely nodded at her words. "I...don't suppose we could start over?"
For once Molly didn't think, simply stuck out her hand. "Hello, my name is Molly. I'm a Pathologist at Devonshire Hospital. I've noticed we've been running into each other lately, and I wanted to introduce myself."
"Hello, Molly," he replied, looking relieved as he shook her hand. "My name's Martin Crieff. I'm a pilot for MJN airline."
They grinned at each other, and for the first time since Sherlock came to ask for her help, she felt happy.
"You sure about this guy?" Lestrade asked, eyeing Martin who was waiting awkwardly in the hallway.
Molly hesitated. Lestrade was ostensibly there to examine a murder victim that was supposedly linked to a serial killer originating in London, but she suspected he just wanted to check up on her. Molly couldn't fob the duty off to anyone else since Louise was at a family reunion and Herman had called in sick. Thankfully Greg hadn't said much about Sherlock, although the man's ghost was a palpable presence in the room. He seemed more curious over the Holmes's cousin than anything.
She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously. "He's alright, I guess. I haven't known him for long. We met when he came to collect Sherlock's things." Nervously, she twisted her grandmother's bracelet. "He's related to Sherlock, Greg, but he isn't like him. More... prissy then pompous." She had first-hand experience in the department; three days ago they had run into each other getting breakfast at a small, cheap cafe, and he had spent thirty minutes ranting about how his first officer always seemed to get the best of him and not showing any respect (he repeatedly gestured at his stripes, as if it were a habit). She had also researched MJN out of curiosity, and after finding that there was only one plane in the business, Martin hardly had reason to call the company an airline. Despite all that, Martin had a good heart though, and she enjoyed being with him. "But he's a good friend, Greg. Kind. He's just trying to find his place in life."
Greg gave her a long look. "Well, if you say so. Need me to run a background check?"
Molly laughed a little. It really was amazing how the death of a single man drew them so close together; she briefly wondered if everything would fall apart once Sherlock came back, but she shooed the thought away before she got visibly upset. "I appreciate it, but no, it's fine. Mycroft vouched for him."
He nodded, and that was that. Molly did notice he gave Martin a measuring look when they approached, however. It was endearing, how the man felt he needed to protect her. Molly had long ago accepted that she might be gullible, but she wasn't stupid. After all, she had a doctorate. She just didn't have people skills.
"Hello again, Officer Lestrade," Martin said, holding out his hand.
Lestrade shook the proffered hand. "Detective Inspector, actually," he replied, neutrally, still sticking Martin with his unwavering look. Martin began to look flustered.
"Thank you for stopping by, Greg," Molly said, knowing that if they stayed any longer Lestrade would start interrogating the poor man. "I hope it helped."
He looked away from Martin, much to the captain's relief. "It did, Molly. Thanks. I think I'll be making an arrest later today." He dropped Martin's hand. "You, look after her." He gave a brief farewell to Molly before sweeping off down the hallway.
Molly had the idle thought that Sherlock had trained Lestrade well in the art of dramatic coat flaring before smiling at Martin. "Shall we?"
"We shall." He offered her his arm with a warm smile. "Ready for a night at the movies, Miss Hooper?"
"Of course, Mr. Crieff," Molly replied, her traitorous heart giving a happy skip.
There were Holmes characteristics in Martin . It would be impossible for there not to be, after all, since his mother was one of them.
For one, Martin took things seriously, and was extremely dedicated. Even though he didn't inherit the brain power Mycroft and Sherlock had, or didn't know how to use it if he did, he stuck with the things he loved. He also tended to be a bit clueless with social interactions, and when confronted with feelings he grew distinctly uncomfortable.
But Martin was open, honest, and more affectionate. He cracked jokes, and seemed delighted when Molly actually laughed. Like her, he was a lonely creature, and seemed to crave companionship and acceptance just as much as Molly did. Martin helped her come out of her shell more while she taught him to be confident in himself.
It startled her, how fast they fell into an equal partnership, and how quickly they trusted one another (almost too fast, a small part of her whispered, and she always shoved the thought away nervously). Every Wednesday without fail he met her for lunch, talking about his adventures at MJN, and after she spied him with his delivery van, making fun of some of his delivery customers. In return Molly shared stories about working with the Met and Sherlock, and he was immensely curious in the stranger murders she had come across.
One weekend, she accepted an invitation to his place on a night they both had off. Molly had been wanting to watch a movie he claimed to have in his DVD collection. In the kitchen, however, she had spied the plastic wrapper in the bin. She couldn't bring herself to ask why he had bought it for her, touched by his gesture.
"Would you like popcorn?" he asked as she lingered at the table. Molly replied in the affirmative, and when the popcorn was done they went upstairs. He fiddled with the DVD player, giving an angry mutter and sharp rap to its side as the machine refused to work. He had taken off his shoes and was dressed in worn jeans and a short-sleeved shirt; Molly was struck by how adorable he looked like that. She hid her blush by tucking herself more firmly into the tiny sofa corner.
When Martin sat down, Molly seemed hyper-aware of his presence beside him. He was a warm, reassuring, solid mass beside her, casually reclining and laughing as the protagonist was found being hit on by a girl as his love interest walked in at the wrong time. Molly forced herself to watch the ensuing fallout, the love interest perpetually finding the man at the worst possible moment, thinking him a complete and utter fool when he was in reality very kind and generous, just having a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Molly knew how the story would end- the love interest would observe the protagonist in his natural element and realize she was wrong, and they would end up with their happily-ever-after- but for once she wasn't interested in how the characters got there. Rather, Molly could only focus on how long it had been since she had the illusion of a proper boyfriend, the fact that she wasn't getting any younger, and there wasn't a point in waiting for a detective who could never allow himself to love.
She looked at Martin, shy, passionate, caring Martin, and realized that if given half a chance, she could fall in love with him.
The thought thrilled her as much as it terrified her.
He burst out laughing, and Molly made herself to look back at the screen. She forced out a giggle, hoping that he hadn't noticed her staring at him.
When he hesitantly asked if they could do the same thing next week, she replied honestly, "I'd love to."
It was a sunny spring day, and Molly had invited Martin to lunch in the park. He had just returned from a trip to St. Petersburg, and was in the middle of re-enacting what she had fondly dubbed 'Arthur-isms' when they passed by an ice cream stall. Martin caught the look in her eyes and, smiling, ordered two vanilla cones. "You do like vanilla, don't you?" he worried afterwards.
"Who doesn't?" He relaxed, and on an impulse she grabbed his hand. Martin looked startled, then extremely pleased, swinging their hands and warming her heart.
It had been a bit of a last-minute thing, when Martin had texted her and said he had returned from New York. Since he had been forced to miss their Wednesday date this was the next best alternative. He had been enthusiastic about meeting her there, and had spoken very little about the trip- which only spoke of how much he needed the distraction. When Molly questioned him, he spoke a little about their client almost cheating them out of a payment, and how MJN needed the money- when he changed the subject, she let him, worried about just what had happened.
"So," she said, as they settled down on a park bench to eat their ice cream, hands still entwined, "How's Douglas?"
He sighed. "Smug, still. At least he doesn't flaunt it... much."
"I'd like to meet him."
Martin gave a snort. "You really, really wouldn't."
Molly regarded him for a moment, and he shifted uncomfortably. "I haven't, ah, exactly told them about you."
And just like that, her heart sank. Molly stared at her cone, her hand going slack in his. If Martin noticed he didn't give any indication. "Right," She said, trying to hide her hurt.
His words had taken her back to primary, when Bobby Foreman had dated her for three months, but never told his family or friends. At first Molly thought because he went to a different school his friends just didn't recognize her, but she quickly found out he hadn't told anyone at all. Bobby was also dating a girl named Alisha. Never before had Molly been so humiliated, and ever since then she had questioned just what about her Bobby had found so repulsive he couldn't even commit to her, let alone introduce her to his friends.
Now all the insecurities Molly had managed to ignore bubbled up to the surface. Did he think they were strictly friends? Did he also have another woman on the side (or, even worse, was she the woman on the side)? Was he simply using her for something? Molly knew she wasn't the prettiest, funniest, most outgoing girl, but for once she thought that maybe she had found someone who liked her for who she was.
Abruptly, she felt like crying.
When Sherlock had come to her asking for help in faking his death, Molly hadn't even hesitated. He had just looked... vulnerable. Scared. In an instant her compassion had taken over and before long she was helping him doctor a body- a 'just in case', he had claimed- but afterwards when she had time to think Molly felt awful. He had expected her to simply keep this secret as she watched his friends' world crash down around them and she hadn't dissuaded him. She had realized, not for the first time and with an abrupt clarity, just how much she had let him walk all over her in the past- so much so that when Jim had shown her affection, she had accepted it without reading between the lines. Afterwards Molly had agonized over every aspect of their relationship and recognized what she had refused to see before- that Jim only started talking to her when he found out her relationship with Sherlock, and only seemed to ask her out or show physical affection when there was a possibility of Sherlock seeing or knowing. Molly still wasn't sure if it was a test to gauge Sherlock's reaction or hers; maybe both. But being used by Sherlock had driven her to be used by Jim, which only led her to be used by Sherlock again in her grief.
They had come to a sort of truce that night, however. He had apologized for his past behavior and though she had accepted it, Molly told him that after this, they were even. This secret was the greatest burden she ever had to carry, and in exchange he wouldn't seek any more favors. Sherlock had agreed, and all too soon he was gone.
Molly wouldn't break her promise, but seeing John cry over Sherlock's body... Molly had to lock herself in her office for a long time afterwards.
After that Molly had sworn to herself that she would become a woman who could stand on her own two feet without being knocked over by a man who happened to pay her some attention, good or bad. Old habits would die hard, but she had been confident that the determination to become her own person would override it. Clearly, that was not so. Because here she was, friend to a man who was yet again connected to Sherlock, who hadn't even told his co-workers about her. She didn't know what he wanted her for, not yet, but she wouldn't stick around to find out.
Martin was still prattling on about Douglas, ranting more like, and Molly abruptly stood. "I... I'm sorry. I have to get back to work. I..." she took a shuddering breath and tried to speak as casually as she could, hoping he couldn't hear the tremble that still existed. "I just realized that there's some paperwork I have to fill out, and I don't fancy staying at the office until three in the morning."
Martin looked startled and confused as she wheeled around to drop her half-eaten ice cream into the nearby bin. She might throw up if she ate any more. "Oh." He frowned, then looked at her questioningly. "Well, uh, I'm sorry. See you on Saturday?" He continued, hopefully.
"Maybe," she said. He stared. It was the first time she had turned him down. "Sorry, but I... I really have to go."
She left him sitting there, utterly confused. For a moment he stood, as if to follow her, but the last glimpse she saw of him before she turned a corner was Martin staring after her and looking more than a little hurt and uncertain, his ice cream forgotten in his hand.
Molly managed not to cry until she reached the office.
Molly avoided all calls, texts, and social visits for a week. The first two were easy- she simply ignored her phone, even went so far as to leave it at her flat. The latter took a bit of maneuvering, but Louise had always coveted Molly's shifts, and persuading her to switch took little effort. At that point, Molly just had to remember to leave the back way, because of all the Holmes' mannerisms to pick up, Martin was very good at memorizing things and knew her schedule intimately.
She was grateful she had never given in to the temptation to invite him to her flat. That, at least, was a safe haven.
His attempts to contact her increased as the days went by, with one close call three days in when Louise had told Martin where Molly was. That had forced her to explain to Louise just why she had wanted to change shifts, and after that Louise was much more sympathetic and adept at re-directing Martin's attempts to locate Molly.
Eventually, she got a voicemail saying that he would be leaving for a week-long flight to various places in Africa for a honeymooning couple. Molly quietly informed Louise that she would take her shift back; Louise was reluctant, but acquiesced.
"You don't look so well, Molly," Louise said as she collected her coat. "I know the guy was a jerk, but are you sure you're doing the right thing?"
Not bothering to turn around, Molly gave her goodbye and focused intently on her paperwork until Louise gave in. From then on Molly drowned herself in work. It was like she had returned to the days when Sherlock was all bite and cold, sarcastic remarks, when she was trying to forget about Jim using her and the conflicting emotions that arose when Sherlock genuinely seemed to seek her out for conversation rather than favors. It hurt so much worse, though. Martin had seemed like a new start, and when it turned out he was nothing but a dead end, her heart had broken.
"Oh, Toby," She said as her cat climbed into her lap. "You'll never leave me, right?"
Toby purred, and Molly gave a tiny laugh when she realized that now, her cat was to all intents and purposes her best friend.
Wednesday night found Molly working later than usual, in charge of conducting an autopsy on the latest body the local constabulary had pulled from the river. It didn't help that the body was partially decayed, but she was able to determine that it was male, somewhere in its thirties, of Middle East or Indian descent, and was bloated from water and decomposition. All other features were indistinct. There was also a large wound on the back, but it was difficult to say if the wound was created pre- or post-mortem.
Molly was running DNA samples when she heard voices echoing down the hallway. At first, she simply owed it to there being an emergency in A but when the voices got louder, she stepped out into the main room in curiosity.
The door burst open, revealing Martin and an irate security officer. "Molly!" Martin cried, as the security officer shouted about visitation hours and restricted areas. Stunned, she gaped at them both for a second, joy sparking through her, before all the pain she had managed to forget came crashing back.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"Sorry, Miss Hooper," the guard said. "This man just barged in here demanding to speak to you. I told him you had important work to do, but he just ran in here likes he owns the place."
Martin ignored him. "I'm sorry for bursting in on you. I know it's not allowed-" he sent an apologetic glance at the security officer as he said this- "But I needed to talk to you. You've been ignoring my calls," he stated, walking over to her. He was remarkably calm, which unnerved her; he was normally so expressive, and seeing him resembling his cousin was wrong.
"I've had a lot of work lately," she responded shortly, gesturing at the window where the corpse could clearly be seen. "The police needs the results tonight, so if you'll excuse me..."
He grabbed her arm, much to the guard's anger and Molly's surprise. "Molly," he said intently, "I've heard enough stories from you to know that those samples are going to take a while, and won't be finished tonight. You're avoiding me." Uncertainty crawled over his features. "Was it something I did?"
"Sir-" The guard began, angrily.
"It's fine, Adam," she told him. He looked suspicious, but he withdrew. Molly turned back to Martin, shaking off his grip. "You don't know, do you? God, you don't even know what you did. I don't know what hurts more; the fact that you did that, or that you don't remember." Bitterness was evident in her voice, and she wanted to scream and rage and sob in his arms, demanding to know what was wrong with her and why he was ashamed of her. Fear, anger, uncertainty, loneliness, and above all confusion welled up and consumed her.
"What did I do?" he asked, genuinely worried. "We're friends, Molly, or I thought we were friends. You know you can trust me, right?"
His words made her blood run even colder. "I do...did... trust you," she said. "It's you who doesn't trust me, or at least … doesn't trust the idea of me." She laughed, harshly, curling her arms over her chest and gripping her elbows. "Couldn't even bother telling your friends about me, after all. My mother... Did you know mum wanted to invite you over for tea last month? I told her no because we aren't like that."
Rather than be upset or abashed, Martin just looked incredulous. "You're mad because I didn't tell my co-workers about you? Molly, you do realize that if I said I had a friend who's a girl, no matter that we aren't dating, I'd never hear the end of it! I can already hear the teasing that Douglas would give!"
"Just... Just shut up and listen!" She cried, eyes closed as she struggled to prevent the onslaught of tears. Her hands clenched into fists. "It's not about your coworkers, it's not about you, it's about me! About us!"
His confusion only grew. "I don't under..."
Molly broke. "Just go away Martin," she sobbed. "You were using me, just like everyone else."
Painful realization crossed his features as Martin remembered her experiences with Sherlock, even if she had never had the bravery to open up the pandora's box that was her relationship with Jim. "Molly-"
"Goodbye, Martin," she interrupted, and hurried into the examination room.
She closed the door, locked it, and returned to her job.
The thumbs-up the guard shot her didn't make her feel any better.
"You're gonna have to speak with him at some point, you know," Lestrade commented as he examined the flowers that had been delivered. He had been seconded to a murder investigation since most of Devonshire's constabulary were tied up in an intense drug trafficking case, or at least that was the excuse he gave her. How it pertained to the drowned victim she never knew, and wondered just how Lestrade managed to run circles around job restrictions and regulations.
Molly dug out the files he had come to retrieve. She typically sent them via mail or fax, but this time she was thankful that he still felt the need to check up on her. "He hasn't apologized to my face, Greg," she replied. "And until he figures out his priorities, I don't want to get my hopes up again."
She handed him the file. "Here's everything I could get. Seems that the primary cause of death was strangulation, and the stab wound was most likely caused by something impaling the body after he was dumped in the river. It's fairly shallow, definitely not enough to severely injure. Have you got an identity match?"
"Donovan is dealing with the family," he said absently. More seriously, he added, "Molly, you really need to talk to him."
She sighed. "I will, Greg. But I'm tired of being used."
He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leaving the office.
Molly sank into her chair and stared at the flowers for a long time.
Her mobile rang precisely at two, exactly an hour after the last call. Molly stared at it. For three days it had been silent, but a day after the flowers arrived he had called every hour starting at noon and ending at nine. The first day she still hadn't wanted to contact him. Now, after thinking on what Greg had said, Molly had made a decision.
She just wasn't sure how to go about it.
Though the first step, she assumed, was picking up the phone. After that was answering it.
Her hand slowly moved to pick up her mobile, Martin's cheerful ringtone still echoing. It would roll over to voicemail soon, where he would leave yet another message pleading with her to pick up. Molly had spent an hour last night listening and replaying all of them until she had fallen asleep, exhausted from the emotions surging through her.
She answered on the last possible ring.
For a moment there was silence, as if Martin was just as surprised that she had picked up. "Molly?" he asked, quietly.
At first she couldn't respond, and strongly considered hanging up. She focused on Toby instead. "Hi," she replied, equally as quiet.
Now that she had actually answered, Martin didn't seem to know what to say. "I... Molly, I..." he stammered, then sighed. "I didn't know."
"Know what?"
When he replied, his voice was hoarse and full of regret. "I didn't know that's what you thought of me. If I knew, I would never have said that. And you were right, I was selfish, and you have no idea how sorry I am for making you think that I would ever use you. Because I wouldn't. The thought never crossed my mind. You have to believe me, Molly."
"How can I?" she whispered.
He sucked in a breath, then exhaled slowly. "You... you just have to believe in me." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Which is rich, because I don't believe in myself sometimes."
Molly was glad he couldn't see her, because she gave the tiniest of smiles. It faded just as quickly as it came however.
At her continued silence, Martin added, "I know my cousin treated you wrong, Molly, but I swear that his side of the family was the only side to get the trait of being an insufferable git."
She sniffed, the smile threatening to come back. "He was a git, wasn't he?"
"Yeah. All those years of playing, and not once did he allow me to ride on his back."
Molly let loose a small giggle at the mental image. "Even as a five-year-old he was persuasive, then?"
Martin's voice grew more animated. "He was. At four he told me that only he was allowed access to the cookies because was taller, and therefore better able to reach the jar. I had to be his step-stool so he could reach the counter. When I tried to claim some because without me he couldn't have gotten up, he said that a chair would have done the same thing and wouldn't have asked for a share, so if I wanted to continue my job it'd be best if I didn't ask questions. Of course, when his mother found out, he was quite happy to divide the punishment."
"Sounds like an eventful childhood," she murmured.
"It was." He paused again, then continued. "Molly if there is any way I can make up for this, please, let me know. I truly am sorry."
She hesitated. The gullible part of her wanted to say yes, that she was sorry too, to ask him to please be her friend again so she wouldn't be alone. The other part of her, the one hardened by years of lessons learned, wasn't so sure. Martin had hurt her without even realizing he had done so, which could be dangerous. But in his days of silence he seemed to have reached some sort of decision, and that decision clearly included her. She didn't know to what extent, but she had to decide if she wanted him in hers, too.
"Let me think about it?" she finally asked.
"I'll call you tomorrow, as soon as I finish my flight," he promised.
They hung up after saying a short, awkward goodbye. Though Molly was still troubled, she felt slightly more confident. Perhaps he really hadn't meant to hurt her, but he was determined to right his wrong, which was more than any of the others had done.
Maybe, just maybe, she could allow the hope to come back.
When Martin had landed, he called just like he had promised. They spent the next three hours on the phone, mostly making small talk, but slowly rebuilding what they had before. Molly told him about her father; he, in turn, spoke about his. They shared a few more stories about their childhood- Martin mostly listening this time- and a few of their favorite books. Martin had started reading a book about an Amazonian curse being brought down on a New York museum, and after discussing that for a while she talked about a recent phone call with her mom.
She had forgiven him by the end of their talk, but she wasn't sure she could fully trust him. He seemed determined to put the episode behind them, to learn and move on, but Molly didn't want to put her heart out in the open like that again.
They were saying goodbye when a male voice was picked up on the speaker, and though it was muffled she could hear the person asking Martin who he was talking to. Unconsciously, she curled up a little tighter on the couch, disturbing the cat on her stomach.
"I'm talking to a friend, Douglas," was Martin's muffled answer, and Molly froze.
The man- Douglas, apparently- dryly answered, "You mean you have friends?"
"Her name's Molly," he continued, undaunted.
"A girl is actually speaking to you? I'm surprised you haven't sent her running already."
There was brief pause; Douglas, unknowingly, had hit a bit too close to the mark. "Yes, well," Martin finally replied, "regardless, I'm in the middle of a conversation. What do you need?"
"Carolyn said the client called, we're leaving two hours earlier than scheduled. But really, Martin, a girl. Should I warn her now or wait until you make a fool of yourself?"
"I think I would have known if I packed a teddy in my luggage," Martin said, testily. "Goodnight, Douglas."
"As you say, Martin. Don't let the bed bugs bite."
There was a thud as the door closed, and Martin let out a sigh. "Sorry about that. Douglas is rather annoying sometimes."
"It's ok," she said.
There was a long pause. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?" He asked, hopefully.
She shook her head, then winced, then threw her pillow over her face. What was getting in to her? "I have work from seven to five tomorrow, and you'll already be in the air."
"Right. Do you, er... want to meet at the park again?" he asked hopefully.
She didn't, not really, because the memories assorted with that place would be too much. "What about the coffee shop down the street?"
"Yeah. See you then, Molly." He sounded relieved.
"Night."
She hung up, stared at the screen for a long time, then rolled off the couch and stared blankly at the wall. The talk had rekindled the hope she desperately didn't want to feel, but years of experience and knowing herself told Molly that she was fighting a losing battle.
Molly desperately wanted to go back to where they left off. She craved the evenings spent at his flat watching movies and simply existing, drawing comfort from the other and knowing they were in the presence of kindred spirits. She enjoyed laughing at his jokes and complaining about their jobs and how they sometimes finished each other's sentences. Martin was everything Sherlock wasn't or couldn't be, and everything that Molly needed.
"I'm mad," she whispered. "Mad Molly Hooper, that's me, falling for impossible men since she hit puberty."
She needed to talk to someone, she realized. Not Greg, because he and his wife were once again split, and he would have a negative outlook. Not John, because asking him about a relationship would be like rubbing her happiness in his face. Definitely not Louise, because her co worker didn't believe in lasting relationships and was interested in woman, anyways.
She needed her mother.
Martin was waiting when she arrived, a cup of her favorite blend of tea already sitting on the table for her. He had both hands wrapped around his cup, and was staring intently at the drink as if it could reveal all the secrets of the universe. Or at least the secret of getting through the next hour.
"Hello," Molly said softly as she slid into the seat across from him. He jumped, his tea splashing a little, and sucked in a breath as some of the drops landed on his finger.
"Hello," he replied, then promptly stuck the finger in his mouth. Molly quirked a smile and diverted her eyes to her drink, waiting until he was ready.
"How was the flight?" she asked when he took a sip from his tea.
"Uneventful on the way over," he said. "And nerve-wracking on the way back. Douglas didn't ask a single question about you- I think he's plotting something."
"What? Scared he's going to come visit me at my work?"
He grimaced. "Not quite. I suspect he's just biding his time to ask. Probably waiting for the opportune moment."
"Well, he'll meet me eventually," she said, quietly. His attention snapped back over to her when she spoke. "What?"
He seemed to be fighting a smile. "You mean that?"
"Yeah."
Martin grinned, and her heart flipped.
The following hour passed much more amicably, and they were laughing by the time they left the coffee shop. Though Martin didn't invite her over for a movie, she did agree to meet him at the coffee shop again at the same time next week. As he walked off, head held high and hands tucked into pockets, Molly decided that no matter what happened between them, whatever they had was worth fighting for.
"Sorry about the mess," Molly apologized as she flicked the lights on. She was somewhat tipsy, having spent the better part of the night down at the pub with Martin, Louise, and Louise's girlfriend. By the time they left it was nearly midnight, and Molly had invited Martin over. Perhaps it was the alcohol still running through her, perhaps it was the fact that they had known each other for six months now; whatever the reason, she felt comfortable having him over this late at night.
Toby wound himself between Martin's legs as he hung up his coat in the closet. She smiled as Martin picked him up and petted him. "Toby seems to like you," she commented, hanging her coat alongside his. The image was enough to make her head spin.
"He's sweet," Martin replied, then wandered further into the flat, looking around with curiosity. Molly was painfully aware of the dirty dishes in the sink, the wine bottle and empty glass left out from two nights ago, the film of dust on every surface, and the blanket crumpled into a sad blue and yellow puddle at the foot of the sofa. She quickly walked over and grabbed it, shaking it out, and made a mental note to wash it since there seemed to be more cat fur on the blanket than on Toby himself. She also grabbed the wine bottle and glass while she was over there, and headed towards the kitchen.
"Make yourself comfortable," she said, nudging the kitchen door open with her shoulder. "The remote is on the side table."
Molly made sure the door was closed behind her and leaned against it for a moment, heart threatening to beat out of her chest. The last man to visit her flat had been Jim, and well...
She shoved the thought from her head as she pushed off of the door. Nothing, she told herself firmly, was going to happen tonight. They were friends, that's all. He didn't even like her like that. At least she thought he didn't. Maybe there was a reason he was still single at 31 and hadn't had a girlfriend in years. Maybe he did like her that way but didn't know how to let her know. Maybe she was just reading too much into things between them and really needed to lay off.
The wine bottle was returned to the fridge and the glass placed in the sink. She braced herself on the counter and took a few deep breaths, fighting against the blush that seemed determined to surface, willing her heart to beat more quietly. When the sudden blare of the telly startled her from her thoughts, Molly realized how silly she was acting. It wasn't like an adonis of a movie star had found his way into her flat. It was just Martin.
(Which somehow made it worse, really.)
Toby was pawing at the window when she exited the kitchen, and she was thankful for the slight delay. She cracked open the window to allow him out, and left it open in case he returned before she turned in for the night. She probably should have him neutered, but she never could find the time to make an appointment.
When she turned around, she was surprised to see he was watching her, rather than whatever show was on. His eyes were unusually wide, but they darted away once he realized she was returning his stare. "Your flat is nice," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck again. Molly had long since figured out that it was a nervous tick, but she had no idea why. It wasn't the first time they had been alone in a flat together, even if it had been his every time before.
She sat down beside him, her hands clenching in her lap. "I'm sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting," she said timidly.
"What? Oh, no, it's... it's my fault, really," he stammered. "I... well..."
She peeked at him. "What?"
He hesitated, one hand fluttering about his waist nervously, before he slowly laid it on her arm. Molly stared at it for a second, then stared at him. She wasn't entirely certain she was even breathing, since he was once again giving her that wide-eyed gaze. He look astonished about something, as if he just discovered the missing piece of a puzzle.
And then he was suddenly kissing her.
It was a delicate thing, that kiss; like the butterfly kisses her father used to give her when she was a child, except the butterflies were in her stomach. The touch of his lips on hers were barely there, as if even now he was still too nervous or scared to put himself more on the line. It wasn't the greatest kiss, and it certainly wouldn't win any awards. But for Molly the final tumbler in the lock around her heart gave way. And then he pulled back, and all she could do was think about how she could get him to do that again.
"Was that alright?" he whispered.
"Yeah," she breathed back, and this time she kissed him.
An hour later, they'd somehow curled up on the sofa. They were giggling over infomercials, putting the television on mute and making up words for the people speaking, and the ridiculous accents they tried out had her crying with laughter. His arms were wrapped around her waist and her head was comfortable on his shoulder. She felt completely safe.
When Molly had spoken with her mother a few months ago, the woman had been quiet. Mother and daughter were a lot alike, and Christine Hooper could tell that Molly was serious about Martin, no matter how much her daughter pretended otherwise. "When your father died I thought of all the times we didn't spend together," she had replied. "And I regret all of it. This man is someone special in your life, Molly, and even if you only remain friends, do not waste your time together."
"I don't know if I can trust him, Mummy," Molly had replied.
Her mother stood and pulled her into a hug. "He's a man, Molly. They don't know their hearts half as well as we women do. Eventually there will come a day when he realizes what he wants in life, and you will be a part of it. If you're not, then he isn't worth your tears."
She hadn't cried over him, except for the confrontation at the lab, but she understood her mother's words. Her parents had been in love, desperately so even if not everyone could tell. If her mother said it was worth it, then Molly would give Martin the benefit of the doubt.
Only when dawn's light finally broke through her window and Toby slunk in, loudly announcing his need for breakfast, did they realize what time it was. There were more laughs as they stumbled around on sleepy legs. Punch-drunk on exhaustion, they simply hugged each other goodbye before Martin stumbled down the stairs. Molly fed Toby and crashed happily onto her bed, a half-written text thanking Martin for coming over still on her phone when she fell asleep.
She was late to work the next morning but for once didn't care- she was on cloud nine. Martin called her during her lunch break to ask her out to dinner, and she hoped he knew that when she said yes, it was for that date and every date after.
When she introduced Martin to John, the doctor looked like he'd seen a ghost.
"I miss him, too," Martin said and John crumbled slightly.
Molly let them talk, and when she returned, it finally looked like John was beginning to heal.
"Are you sure they're going to like me?" Molly asked nervously as he pulled his van into the parking lot behind Fitton Airfield's hangar. Martin had told his co-workers about her a week after the night at her flat, and according to them she was something of a legend. In Carolyn's words, "Anyone who can put up with Martin for more than a few days at a time is a hero".
Molly hadn't felt this nervous since the first day she stepped into Martin's flat. The air was heavy with anticipation, and from the stories she had heard about his co-workers she didn't doubt they were talking about her already, painting ridiculous ideas about what she looked like, what she acted like, and just what attracted her to Martin (his words, not hers).
"It'll be fine," Martin smiled, practically bouncing. "Trust me, they have no idea how amazing you are." His words were accompanied by a hand squeeze, and before they reached the doorway he pulled her into a tight hug. She hugged him back fiercely, needing the reassurance.
When she was introduced, it went about as she expected.
Arthur had bounded up grinning from ear to ear, shaking her hand repeatedly until his mother had told him to 'leave the poor girl alone'. Douglas had eyed her and announced that she was prettier than expected, which caused Molly to blush and Martin to give an indignant reply.
As they squabbled Carolyn handed Molly a cup of tea, sitting down in a nearby chair. Molly sat across from her, hesitantly. "So," she said, "How did you meet Martin?"
Though Molly knew his co-workers and boss had known him for longer than she had, she didn't know how much they knew about Martin, and Molly was reluctant to share information. "We sorta... kept running into each other." From where he was still sparring with Douglas, Martin shot her a glance; at her look he gave a slight smile, and nodded. Molly relaxed. "We initially met at the hospital, though. He was looking for the lab technicians to claim his cousin's belongings, and found me instead."
Carolyn looked incredulous. "You're... a mortician?"
"Forensic Pathologist," Molly confessed.
Carolyn's eyebrows shot up. "Oh-ho, a doctor. Didn't know you had it in you, Martin."
Martin sat down beside Molly, apparently done with his argument with Douglas. From their expressions it seems that Douglas had once again won. She took his hand between both of her own and gave him a small smile.
Martin didn't know what they were discussing, but he smiled warmly at her nonetheless. She leaned against him as he draped an arm over her shoulders. Carolyn's eyebrows rose another notch, but she was distracted when she noticed Arthur at the kettle. "You idiot child! Why are you putting raspberry mints in the kettle?" she demanded, jumping up and racing over to the stove.
"Ignore them," Martin muttered. "Ignore him, too," he added with a nod to Douglas as the First Officer claimed Carolyn's seat.
She laughed.
Molly paced in a tight circle, fingers tangled together, her bags on the bench. She kept glancing at the gateway. Martin had landed fifteen minutes ago, and she was beginning to worry that she was at the wrong place. Berlin was a large city, made even more confusing by the road signs in a different language, but her cabbie spoke English and she had arrived at the airport with little mishap. She was hoping to surprise him. Martin was always complaining that Carolyn never gave him a holiday, so she had decided to bring the holiday to him.
MJN had been hired to bring a honeymooning couple on a tour across Europe, and Berlin was their first stop. Three days later they would fly to Venice, but Martin had nothing to do until then. At least, that's what he claimed. He didn't know the city enough to go exploring, and Carolyn always found an excuse to keep him busy. Hopefully, Molly's presence would deter the formidable woman for being too hard on him, and he could take the chance to relax before continuing on.
She heard them before she saw them- Arthur's bright, happy voice sounding out, Carolyn trying to get him to shush. From her vantage point between two large potted ferns, she spotted Martin trailing behind the trio, looking weary. There had been a storm over the channel; the boat she had taken had almost been caught in it, the clouds angry and tinged with green. Molly had checked the weather compulsively during her train ride noting that the storm had continued well into the night and next day. He was safe, though, and she felt excited.
Molly waited until they were almost level with her before she popped out. "Martin!" She called, ignoring his coworker's expressions, focusing on his wide-eyed surprise.
"Molly!" He gasped, sweeping her up in a tight hug. "You- how- you said you would be in Scotland! For a family reunion!"
She laughed. "I wanted to surprise you. Got here early this morning. I'm sorry about the storm- it was forming when I got off the boat. It looked awful."
He nodded, absently, but his wide eyes were still glued to her and his eyebrows threatened to achieve liftoff. "I... I'm happy you're here, Molly, but..."
"Don't worry. I'm sure Carolyn wouldn't deny you a weekend with your girlfriend when you have nothing better to do." She shot a glance at the woman, who seemed at a loss for words.
"But G-ERTI..." he started.
She placed a finger on his lips. "Mycroft has connections. If you have any docking issues he'll take care of it, and you'll find all the paperwork mysteriously filled out and all dues taken care of."
Douglas clapped him on his back as Molly collected her things- she had gone straight to the airport upon arrival in Germany. "See you on Monday," the first officer said. "Do visit some memorials for me."
"Yeah. Bye," was Martin's reply. He still seemed slightly stunned.
When they had finally gotten in the taxi, he turned to face her. "Why?"
She shrugged. "For all that you travel, you don't get to see much," she explained. "And, well... it's your birthday next week. This is my gift."
He smiled, a bright, beautiful thing. "I love you," He announced, his voice so full of wonder and amazement and gratitude. She blushed violently.
"Yeah," she whispered, leaning into him. "I love you, too."
Molly had never dared to hope that she would have someone like this- a man who not only cared for her, but seemed to need her as much as she needed him. What she and Martin had was everything she ever dreamed of, and more. No matter what, she knew, they would always have each other.
And that was a beautiful thing.