Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters.
A/N This is just an idea that I got about what might have happened after Sherlock, John, and Mycroft right after they got back from Sherrinford. This is my first time writing a Sherlock fan fiction. So, I'll apologize in advance for any characters that are OC. If you have any constructive criticism, please share it.
Wanting it to be Alright
Sherlock and John were sitting in John's living both exhausted but were either unable or unwilling to sleep. John was holding a peacefully sleeping Rosie in his arms. After the events of the day he felt the need to be as close to his daughter as possible. He looked up from his daughter's face to his friend.
Sherlock was sitting in a chair across from the couch where John sat with Rosie. He was staring at the darkened screen of his phone as though it contained all the answers to all the questions that were running through his mind. Seeing the phone gave John pause as he suddenly thought of someone else who was dealing with what Euros had done that day.
"What are you going to do?" John asked in a low voice.
Sherlock looked up. "What do you mean 'what am I going to do'? I'm going to have Baker Street real built, continue living there, and start consulting again. With you helping as always."
John frowned slightly, "that is not what I meant, Sherlock. You know exactly what I was asking about. But if you want me to spell it out for you. What are you going to do about that conversation that Euros made you have with Molly? You saw what it did to her, what she must be feeling right now." He finished in a whisper.
Sherlock seemed to draw into himself at John's words. He looked away. "I know, John. But what can I do? She won't listen to me right now. I can guarantee you that. I'm sure that she will forgive me, she always does. But what will the cost be this time? I don't believe a few slaps will be enough for her." Sherlock looked up at John with a lost look in his eyes. "I don't want to lose her, John. Even if I only have her friendship, it would be better than nothing. But what can I do to keep her from giving up on me for good? How do I make everything alright?"
"The truth is usually the best option, Sherlock. I can tell that-"
He was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Sherlock frowned and stood. "It's Mycroft." He said in response to John's questioning look. He walked over to the door and opened it, to reveal that is was indeed Mycroft who had knocked. "Mycroft, haven't we all been through enough tonight? If the nation needs my help again it can go-"
"Doctor Hooper is in need of your assistance, brother mine." Mycroft spoke as though he hadn't heard of word of what Sherlock was saying.
Sherlock was instantly silenced as he stared at his brother with rapt attention.
"When we were done at Sherrinford I called Anthea and asked her to keep an eye on Doctor Hooper, I knew that you wouldn't be able to bring yourself to see her yet. Though you would want news on her. Dr. Hooper hadn't left her flat after that phone call until now. Normally this would not concern Anthea, but given the circumstances-"
"Get to the point, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was tinged with slight exasperation but mostly with worry. 'She hasn't... She wouldn't...'
"She hasn't gone to a bridge, Sherlock." Mycroft said having correctly deduced where Sherlock's thoughts were going. "However, that doesn't mean that we can breathe easy, yet. She was heading towards the cemetery. I believe you can deduce what that means."
Sherlock could and the little color that was in his face drained away.
John came up to the brothers. "What? What does it mean?" He was worried too. Molly was his friend and he didn't want anything else to happen to her.
Sherlock answered in a quiet voice. "It means that she has gone to the sight of my fake grave." Sherlock looked at his brother and a silent understanding seemed to pass between them.
"The car is waiting for us, Sherlock."
As Mycroft and Sherlock made to leave John spoke up again. "Let me know how she is when you find her."
Sherlock nodded, and he and Mycroft left John with Rosie.
John silently prayed that everything would be alright.
Sherlock looked at Mycroft as the car made its way to the cemetery and narrowed his eyes. "You haven't told me everything yet. What are you keeping from me?"
"You are right, Anthea did have more reason to worry than simply Dr. Hooper's destination. Remember during the call how she looked? Her hair pulled back wearing a very colorful jumper and blouse."
Sherlock nodded, he could picture her perfectly in his Mind Palace.
"From what Anthea told me that is the exact opposite of how she looks now. Apparently, her hair is down, and her clothing is what you would expect to see at a funeral. Black with no other color in sight. Anthea also saw the doctor put something in her pocket that wasn't her phone or keys, though she couldn't see what."
"What does your PA think it is?"
"She is unsure but worried, as I said. Which is why she called and requested to I bring you to the cemetery."
Sherlock didn't say anymore and tried to think what Molly would have taken with her to his fake grave.
Sherlock and Mycroft left the car when it came to a stop and made their way towards the pseudo grave. As they got closer they saw two women. One was sitting in front of the gravestone, the other was standing next to the tree that Sherlock had hid behind years before.
Mycroft went to stand next to the second woman while Sherlock continued to walk slowly towards the one sitting on the ground, towards Molly.
Sherlock took cautious steps as though he was afraid of startling Molly. He kept his eyes on her moving around a little so that he was to her right. She hadn't moved at all causing Sherlock to worry even more. 'Molly, please turn and see me. Please let me make this alright. I know that I can make everything alright again. Just give me one more chance.' He took a few more steps forward and then froze, the blood in his veins turning to ice, and the small hope that he had been feeling died.
Molly had finally moved but she hadn't turned around to look at Sherlock, as he had been hoping. Instead she moved her hand from her lap, extended her left arm in front of her a little, and raised her right. The glint of moonlight off a sharp blade is what made Sherlock freeze. He could only watch as though in slow motion Molly moved her right hand. Causing the scalpel to pierce to flesh of her left wrist.
Sherlock gave a small pained gasp. It felt as though the scalpel had cut his wrist instead of Molly's. But he still couldn't command his body move and was forced to watch Molly look at the small cut on her wrist. Blood was slowly coming out of the wound and started to form little rivulets the just as slowly dripped blood to the ground. After a moment or two Molly raised the scalpel again ready to deepen the wound.
Just as the blade of the scalpel was about to touch Molly's skin a hand closed around her right wrist. Its hold was firm, not enough to hurt her, just enough to keep her from hurting herself again.
Sherlock was panting slightly, 'Were you really going to cut yourself again? Have I hurt you so much that you want to end your life? Is there anything I can do for you to make everything alright?' These questions whirled around Sherlock's mind as he gently took the scalpel from Molly's hand and tossed it away.
He looked at Molly trying to catch her eye. But she didn't move and kept her head down looking at her cut wrist. Sherlock put one of his hands under Molly's chin and, being careful not to hurt her, made her raise her head and meet his eyes. What he saw caused his heart to shatter even as his mind rushed to make deductions.
'Eyes red and puffy from crying, cheeks blotchy from wiping the tears away, but there are still tear tracks meaning that she gave up trying to wipe them off. Hair down, yanked from ponytail most likely in anger from what she was forced to do. Shoulders slumped in defeat, closed off.' Sherlock's eyes made their back to Molly's and looked at them again. 'Her eyes look dead. As though she doesn't have any will left to live, feels that there isn't any reason left to live. Her soul has been stripped bare and for what reason? Her eyes are open, but they can't see. She's broken. I broke her.' Sherlock felt a tear leave his eye and slide down his cheek at this thought.
He looked down unable to look at the eyes that were once full of so much love and life now looking so empty and dead. He saw some red and another wave of guilt hit him. 'Her wrist!' He grabbed Molly's left hand with his right and brought it closer to his face to look at her injury. 'Shallow, less blood than first thought but still requires attention.' He felt his hope rise slightly at those small deductions. 'Perhaps there is still a part of her that wants to live. A part that will let me help her.' With his left hand he reached into a pocket of his suite coat and pulled out a handkerchief. As he carefully wrapped it around Molly's wrist a distant part of his mind was amazed that it was still crisp and clean.
When he was done he put his arms around Molly. One under her legs, the other around her back and stood holding her securely to his chest. He kissed the top of her head before looking at her in the eye and whispering, "Molly Hooper, I give you my word, such as it is, that I will do everything in my power to make this alright. To make everything alright for us, again. Please trust me one more time."
With that he started walking away from the grave, past Mycroft and Anthea, finally stopping at the car that he and Mycroft rode in earlier. The driver opened the back door for them and Sherlock put Molly in, treating her as though she was the most precious thing in the world, before he too got in. When the door was shut he put his arm around Molly's shoulders and pulled her close. He held her like that all the way to St. Bart's Hospital.
A/N Wow, that was longer than I was expecting it to be and with a lot more monologue than I was planning. But I hope that you all enjoyed it. I don't know if I'll continue it or not. But for now, it's going to stay marked as complete