This is my first Sherlock fanfiction, so please be nice. This is set after the Empty Hearse, which I absolutely loved. I can't wait till Sunday!
Slowly Molly opened her eyes, clutching her throbbing head tight. Bright white sunlight streamed into the room as she groggily sat up. What was the time, she thought; she was meant to be at Bart's by 8:30. She swivelled her head to look at her little blue alarm clock. But it wasn't there. She let out a little gasp as she looked round her room. Except it wasn't her room. There was no ginger cat curled up on her bed. No books strewn on her bedside table. None of her clothes hung over her armchair. Where the hell was she?
The room Molly was currently in was impeccably tidy. In fact, the only things in the room were the bed and Molly. She subconsciously itched her right forearm but then winced as it sent tiny shocks of pain up her arm. She rolled back her sleeve to discover etched into her skin two words. DON'T TELL. The words sent a shiver down her spine. The cuts were fairly deep she observed, but had healed ever so slightly, meaning they had been there for at least 5 hours. Molly had absolutely no recollection of the cuts being made. Straight to the point, Molly had no idea what she was doing here - wherever her was. Sliding her legs off the bed, she stepped onto the hard floor of the room and noted she was still wearing her clothes and shoes.
Her head felt sore as she cautiously pushed on the cold handle of the door. It opened to reveal a small corridor with five other doors. Three of them had numbers on them. I'm in a hotel then, she realised. One of the doors had TOILETS written on them. She sighed with relief. Although she was eager to leave, she was bursting.
Molly looked at herself in the toilet mirror. Two minutes previously she had vomited violently. She splashed the cold water onto her face, then pulled her chestnut hair into a ponytail, smoothing it down against her scalp. Her mind felt scrambled - she couldn't recall anything from the previous night. Last thing she could remember was leaving 221b Baker Street with To - oh God. Where was Tom? Her mind raced at how worried he must be about her. She slipped her hand into her pocket to remove her phone, but it wasn't there. Taking one last look at herself, she left the toilets. She followed the stairs behind the sixth door that led to the small reception. The receptionist had enquired whether she'd slept well, to which she had replied yes, out of politeness. As she left the hotel, she glanced at the watch on her wrist. 8:17. From outside she looked at where she had presumably spent the night, making a mental note of the address.
Finally, she arrived at Bart's at 9:01. Molly had been in a part of London she hadn't visited before, so it had taken her a while to find out how to reach her desired location. On the way to the morgue she bumped into Mike, who handed her phone. It turned out she had accidentally left it in the toilets. When she first reached the lab, she messaged Tom (her fiancé), declaring she was all right and at work. Slightly disappointed, she found she had no messages or missed calls.
After a large coffee, Molly settled into her normal morning routine of sorting through papers and looking at corpses. Or tried to at least. Her mind didn't want to focus on her usual tasks. She kept knocking things over or missing vital details on her cases. At 9:45 Tom replied - "Good to know. Just got home. See you later xxx.
They had just left Sherlock's, when he'd got an urgent call from his boss. An unexpected development. He was a journalist. Tom had quickly kissed Molly before leaving in his car, and letting her find her own way home. She'd let out a long cold breath in the dark night, before make her way down the street.
She gasped as somebody strode through the doors of her lab, jolting her back to reality.
"Morning. Like old times already." Sherlock stated, as he placed a metal box on the desk with a clang.
"Hello Sherlock," she tried to smile calmly in return. Molly slowly looked down at the papers in front of her. On the otherside of the lab, Sherlock was frantically pulling items from the cupboards and slamming them on the desk. He stopped. Molly could feel his intense eyes burning into the back of her neck. She snapped her head round, but he'd smoothly averted his gaze back to his work.
"Can you pass me a pencil, please?" he asked her quietly. She walked over to him and placed it beside him silently. As she turned away he caught her arm.
"Are you ok?" he enquired, knowing in fact she wasn't. Although she normally wore very little make-up, she had nothing on her face at all. Her clothes were creased, her was sticking up and he could smell her sweat in the air. And that was just his very first deductions.
"I'm fine" she replied brightly, brushing him off. She turned to go but he grabbed her forearm, making her let out a practically silent gasp. But Sherlock doesn't miss a thing - he frowned at her.
"Don't just say your fine when you're not. We both know what that means,". He rolled her sleeve up tenderly, noting her raised temperature. "DON'T TELL. Who did this to you?" he scowled, letting go off her arm, raising his eyes to her pink face.
"I-I don't know," she said softly.
"What? How can you-" he stopped as she stared at him.
"Oh," he nodded. "Don't worry, I'll find out," he smiled comfortingly. "Back in one moment," he said, as he strode out the lab with the box in his hands.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! I'll try to update soon. Any comments would be very much appreciated x.