This is my first Sherlolly story. I'll be trying to bring detective around pathologist under very unusual circumstances. Readers be patient. A million thanks to lovely writingwife83 and MrsMCrieff for beta reading this fic. Ladies, you're amazing and you know it. Enjoy xxx
Running as fast as he could, grasping an unconscious child to his chest, he heard another bang behind him. The force of the explosion knocked him to the ground. He was bleeding, shielding the child with his hands as he found his feet again. Bleeding and struggling to breathe, he finally made it out of the house. Reflected flames flared his teary eyes as they caught sight of the scene before them; an inferno sweeping through the house.
"The authorities will be here any moment," he thought as he looked down at the child, before he heard a nearby commotion. Everything was hazy and filled with pain with blood dripping down his body; his mind was refusing to cooperate.
There was no time to waste – with a last look he turned his back on the house now burning in a sky kissing flames; pulling the child closer to him he disappeared as if into thin air.
18 September 1983
Devastating fire kills three
" Tragic loss of life occurred here at Edinburgh today when a sudden fire rampaged through the house. Renowned mathematicians Adam and Emilie Manson, awarded with the academic award only last month, were found burned to death in the family home yesterday night. Initial investigations reveal a gas leak in the area to be the potential cause of the fire. The authorities are, however, tight- lipped about the accident. The tragic accident left –
A knock at the door interrupted his reading.
"Yes?" said Mycroft Holmes putting the newspaper cutting back into the green file bearing an inscription "Classified".
"Sir, they are here," responded his P. A. Anthea from the doorway. He gave her a formal smile and nodded. It had only been a matter of days since the file lying in front of him had been so delightfully returned; the case having been declined by the consulting detective. The circumstances were now, however, hugely different. Putting the file back onto his desk, he strode out of his office.
"In any event, there is no prison in which we could incarcerate Sherlock without causing a riot on a daily basis."He found himself saying about half an hour later, turning his back on the parliamentary commission.
"The alternative, however, would require your approval." He said, turning to Lady Smallwood.
"Hardly merciful, Mr. Holmes."
"Regrettably, Lady Smallwood, my brother… is a murderer."
"To the very best of times, John."
He could see his younger brother stretching a hand to his best friend, not far from where he stood. Mycroft Holmes had always considered love to be a serious disadvantage. He, with all his might and authority, had always tried to prevent his brother from emotional indulgence in people. At the end of the day, he couldn't blame the consulting detective. He himself had failed to set an example. And now he was standing here; obliged to complete what he never wanted to start in the first place — sending Sherlock to a task which held little chance of life expectancy.
Sherlock marched away from John. He nodded to Mycroft as he boarded the plane now ready to take him away. Once inside, he removed his coat and scarf and sat by the small window. With a roar, the engines of the jet came to life. Within a few minutes he saw London fading away, far beneath him, through the small window. He felt his eyes burning with the intensity of the pressure that he was feeling behind those bluish green pupils. He would fool no one but himself if he said he was at ease with leaving all that he had behind him; his work, his home, his life – all those things which made him Sherlock Holmes - and above all his friends.
Not once had his hands trembled when he shot Magnussen straight in head; but he remembered how he had found himself shaking in his boots when he had to witness the same man hurting John. He remembered how he had made a vow to protect the Watsons—all three of them, just some months ago. He was at least content — content because he had fulfilled his vow, by removing the danger lying in the path of their happiness.
But all this doesn't alter the fact that he was now leaving never to come back to this place again - ever. He, for all he knew, would be dead in no less than six months by Mycroft's estimate. Sherlock stared back at his lap and was surprised to see the slight tremble of his hands. Immediately looking away from them, he placed his head back on the seat; fisting his hands just to control the trembling fingers as he felt his vision slightly blurred by the wetness of his eyes. He was conscious as he sat all alone in this luxury jet, that no one was there to see him; the detective that people thought of as so emotionless, breaking. If this was his state now; he appreciated his decision of bidding no personal farewells to Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and….. Molly.
"Molly…"
Sherlock opened his eyes quickly as this name stuck in his mind. Where had she been all these months? The gravity of the events that took place in recent months hadn't allowed Sherlock to pay any attention to other cases, let alone solving them; followed by little to no visits to Barts. Now he came to think about it she hadn't even visited him in the hospital when he had been shot. Where was she?
It was pointless to regret his carelessness regarding losing contact with Molly. Especially, he reminded himself, seeing as from now on he would be losing track of each person he called his friend. The last thing he wanted was the sight of that woman struggling with pain. He was perfectly sure; she wouldn't be able to handle it.
Sherlock exhaled in frustration. He needed to start working – a distraction – from all these feelings that were surfacing without his consent. He closed his now slightly reddened eyes again and tried to enter his mind palace, when a man holding a phone interrupted him.
"Sir, it's your brother."
Sherlock took the phone and speedily composing himself he set it to his ear.
"Mycroft?" he said questioningly.
"Hello little brother! How's the exile going?" said the elder Holmes on the other side.
"I've only been gone four minutes," said Sherlock grudgingly.
"Well I certainly hope you are not getting bored already?" Mycroft inquired in casual voice. "It seems like there's a bit of a change of plans."
"What's that?"
"You'll be apprised soon enough Sherlock. I'm sure right now what you need is a diversion."
Sherlock was getting a bit annoyed by Mycroft's implication of him being in emotional distress. But he knew who was smarter.
"I'm fine Mycroft," he responded in a rather haughty tone. "Get to the point."'
"You are to be handed a briefcase now. You'll find all the information you'll be requiring for your work in there. Try being less… distracted."
"And Sherlock…"said Mycroft as he was about to hang up.
Sherlock was surprised to hear Mycroft's voice soften. "Do try to stay alive."
There was Absolute silence; he did struggle to utter something but nothing came out so he hung up and handed the phone back to the man who was now placing a black briefcase on the table in front of Sherlock. Looking back out of the window he leaned his cheek on his fist. He glanced at the briefcase again and slowly reached out for it. Sitting it on his lap, it opened with a click under the movement of his slender fingers.
3 months earlier
The slight bounce awoke her as the plane landed on the runway. She had been tired for a long time and must have fallen asleep some time ago. The sharp pain in her neck suggesting that she had been napping in an uncomfortable position, perfectly contributed to her already throbbing head. Dragging herself up into a sitting position she applied a little massage with her hand to her neck. To her delight, it lessened some of the pain. The plane was slowing down and she got up to leave as it finally stopped. Over half an hour later she stepped out of the airport, shivering as the icy wind hit her features. She raised her hand to hail the nearest cabbie.
'Where to ma'am?' the cabbie asked as he looked through the mirror. He nodded as Molly gave him the address of her destination.
The engine of the cab accelerated under the deafening noise of thunder that rattled the windows of the carriage. Soon it started raining; by the time the cab reached its destination it was pouring heavily. Molly stared at a small house standing amidst the larger ones looking old in contrast with those around it. She stepped out of the cab, holding an umbrella in one hand and her trunk dragging behind her in the other. She strode through the water as it splashed against her boots and it took her less than a minute to approach the threshold of house. She fished a hand inside her coat pocket and taking out a key she unlocked the door.
The door opened smoothly as if it had been used often in recent years. Closing the door behind her, she slowly moved across the hallway – discarding her trunk and umbrella on the floor as she entered the sitting room. This was it then; she was back. Back to where it all started.
Molly looked around the house like a stranger, taking small steps around hall. Without delaying a moment, she headed towards the room directly in front of her. Inserting the key in its hole she rotated the knob under her small hands. The door creaked under this sudden displacement; allowing her to enter. Her swollen red eyes gleamed as her hand reached out to switch on the lights and were eventually overcome by tears as they surveyed the room. This was his room, the man who meant the world to her.
Dead tired as she was, she moved towards the bed so neatly made – so untouched, and removed her boots and coat as tears coursed down her face at the sight of a picture sitting on the shelve. Molly curled up in the bed; burying her face into the soft pillow as she allowed silent tears to be absorbed by it; trying to feel presence of the person who once owned that bed. She was feeling as if she were hugging him as she once used to whenever she had been upset in the past.
Soon the comfort she had craved for weeks started to envelop her. She pulled a blanket over her and before she could even acknowledge it, sleep took her over.
SHERLOLLY INTERACTIONS START IN LATER CHAPTERS! Please be patient till than :)
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