Time, time was a thing often changed by perspective. It only took seconds for Sherlock to fall, but for those seconds it was like eternity for John. He ran forward reaching out as if he had some power to stop the man's descent, but he was powerless. In this world there was a distance that could keep them apart. Adrenaline running through his veins he ran and pushed past the tears clouding his vision. Suddenly time came to a halt. Sherlock's body stopped its descent and floated there, hovering a few feet above the ground.
John ran as quickly as he could, running past the people that had come to a halt. When he reached Sherlock he reached up and pulled him from the air, slowly easing him onto the ground. He cradled him in his arms and for one glorious moment he held Sherlock, still breathing. He stared down into those intelligent eyes and found himself lost in the sweet memories of him. His voice, his eccentric personality, it was all there. For the briefest moment in time he was able to forget that the man behind those eyes was dead. It was almost enough time to say the words he'd always wanted to say, but he couldn't find them. He couldn't say those three sweet words.
The sorrow crept in. The world darkened suddenly and time began to flow once more. John found himself transported back to where he had stood watching Sherlock fall. He tried to run forward, but no matter how far he ran he could get no further. He watched as Sherlock plummeted to his death.
John exploded from sleep, catapulting up to a sitting position. Panting he cradled his face, rocking back and forth. He was never sure what was worth. The dreams or waking from them. At least when he was asleep he could see him one last time, without the marker. John ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to slow his breathing. He swung his arm, burying his fist in the pillow behind him. He sat like that, waiting for the tears to come like they did every time. Slowly they crept up and spilled down his cheek. "Sherlock." He whispered to himself, his lonely cry into the night. His ritualistic prayer to a god that never listened.
John, knowing sleep wouldn't find him again, threw back the covers and walked into the kitchen and went about his daily routine. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating John as he moved about. He placed a cup for tea precariously on the edge of the counter as he maneuvered about the tiny kitchen in his cramped living quarters. He hadn't been able to return to his flat and instead had retreated to these small quarters. His phone rested on the table, charged and ready for a phone call he'd never get.
Gray eyes gazed through a pair of binoculars watching the practiced routine of a grizzled man. Lowering them to his chest he averted his gaze, finding the rocks around his feet all the more interesting. The rooftop vantage point was hard to notice in the industrialized area that read more as a ghost town than a place of interest. He turned to his companion with the feigned excitement that was expected of a man of his stature.
"You can see me right?" Sherlock questioned his rather uninterested brother.
"Yes. Yes I can." His brother responded in turn as he made a game out of toying with his cuffs to avoid actual eye contact with his brother. He'd shown far too recently some concern for the other's well being and had made quick work of any sentimental lingering.
"Then why exactly am I pretending I'm still dead? Moriarty is dead and here I am twiddling my thumbs while the world turns without ME in it to keep it interesting." He rocked back on his heels as he slammed his hand into his chest to further emphasis his point.
"I don't think it's the world you're worried about." The response was mild if not annoyed. "I find it interesting you haven't once asked about Molly or your land lady."
"Because Molly knows I'm not dead and she's my LAND LADY." Sherlock advanced on his brother nearly slamming into him. Tightly wound and with no outlet he was finding it very hard to contain his movements.
"We've been over this. I can't do anything more. You can watch them from afar, but that's it. Simple as that." Mycroft forced his hands into his pocket and awkwardly rocked back on his heels to avoid being too close to his brother.
"You still haven't exactly told me why I'm having to keep low for so long. Moriarty is dead. HE is dead. I'm very much alive and yet here I am pretending to be some sort of corpse!" By now Sherlock was practically yelling at his brother who remained the perfect specimen of calm.
"Again we've been over this. Moriarty was a threat, but he wasn't the only threat. You think he's the only one that wants to get to you? No, he isn't. Until we figure out whoever else it is that has an interest in you we're going to need that deductive little brain of yours intact. Is that understood?"
"Ah now big brother is the jailer. I'm sure that was quite the bone for you to swallow. Having to keep tabs on me, actually make sure I stay alive. Of course it's from no brotherly sentiment."
Mycroft rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. "Sherlock let it go. Focus on the task at hand. Someone wants you dead. They think you are so what's their next move? If you figure it out I'll be kind enough to schedule another little outing like this in a month or two."
"A month or two? I'm not some animal you can just cage up and parade about at your leisure!"
"Yes and thank god for that. You're a person, which means no activist group will be protesting your ill treatment. If you're so concerned with keeping punctual with your dates I suggest you make quick work of the issue at hand." Mycroft turned on his heels and headed towards the door that led back into the building. "Come along now, Sherlock." He chimed over his shoulder as he eased the door open with his foot and walked inside.
Sherlock followed after him, the binoculars bouncing against his chest as he walked. The only thing keeping them from slipping into their dirt-covered surroundings was the string that kept them around his neck.
Music blares as lights flash, cycling through colors. Bodies wraith and against each other as the music pumps on. In the center of the sweaty mess is Molly Hooper. Her hair flares out around her as she moves to the music. The man dancing with her is stark contrast to her sunshine yellow dress that's almost short enough to be called indecent. He pulls her close as the people around them dance on. She stands on her toes to lean in for a kiss, but is surprised to feel his grip on her arm tighten enough to cause her to wince. He reaches into his leather jacket and pulls out a revolver. He grins at her and winks before firing a warning shot into the air. The club goers around him scatter or drop to the ground in hopes of avoiding injury. Screams fill the club as panic ensues. Molly fights against him, trying to pull away. He just pulls her closer before putting the gun to her temple. He grins as he playfully eases the trigger closer and closer. Just a hair away from firing he pulls the gun away from her and starts to drag her out of the building.
As he pushes her through the backdoor there's no one to stop him. No bouncers to try and block his way just an empty alley and a black car. Molly's too fear stricken to utter a word and just lets herself be ushered to the car. The man opens the back door and pushes her inside before slamming it behind her.
The car interior is bathed in darkness. The only light in the alley seems to fall short of illuminating so much as the front seat. The sound of a lighter and the spark of a flame are the only introduction she gets to her captor.
"Drive." A feminine voice responds from beside her. A cigarette burns between her teeth, smoke billowing out the side of her mouth. She turns her head to take in Molly. The wide brimmed black hat she's wearing nearly blocks the girl from view. "I apologize for your rude treatment, but it is so nice to have you in our company."
"Wha-What do you want with me?" Molly stammers as she tries to scoot as far away from the woman was possible.
"Want a smoke?" The woman asks as she leans her head back, pulls the cigarette from between her lips, and blows a ring of smoke into the car's atmosphere. Molly is too afraid to respond and cowers away from her. The woman laughs, but tries her best to recover. "Oh silly me! You're probably wondering what this is all about." The woman leans forward and pats her driver on the shoulder. "Make a right." She leans back into her seat and addresses Molly again. "It's probably easier to show." She returns to her cigarette as the car speeds through the night.
Suddenly the car turns. The sound of pavement gives way to the sound of gravel. Slowly it starts to slow before coming to a halt. The driver puts the car in park before getting out. He goes to the woman's side first and opens her door. She steps out of the car and looks around for a brief moment before spotting something. She turns back to the car and crouches down just a little. "Come on. We haven't got all day."
Molly slips out of the car realizing she has no choice in the matter. As Molly gets out the driver grabs her by the arm so she can't get away. "I apologize for that. If it'll sooth any hard feelings my name is Elaine." She turns to offer Molly her hand in a handshake, but realizes she's unable to take the offered hand. "Well you're a bit tied up at the moment, but the sentiment is there."
Elaine starts to walk and the driver follows with her., dragging Molly along. A construction zone lays out before them, the hollow and skeletal shell of a building stands tall against the sky. Elaine walks in first, her sharp heels echoing off the concrete flooring. She walks to the back of it, disappearing down a flight of straight. Molly is suddenly forced down them, but kept from falling by her attachment to the driver. Pure darkness engulfs them and Molly can't help, but make a small squeak of fear.
Elaine claps her hands causing the lights to flicker before cutting through the darkness. Every corner of the room was illuminated, but there wasn't much to see. Support beams and bare walls except at the center of the room. Suspended by chains a man hung from the ceiling. Shaggy hair fell into his face hiding who he was, but there were no clothes to hide the brutality. Nasty bruises, black and purple, spread about his body like a sickness. Blood was caked to his chest, freshly dried.
Molly locked eyes with the figure and started to struggle. "Please please let me go!" She started pleading as she attempted to break free of her captor.
"It's not good form to beg." Elaine reprimanded her as softly as she could manage. "Now. Besides I have no intentions of doing that to you. No no, you're of more use than he was." Elaine sauntered towards the man. She circled him like a predator debating its next move. She reached out, dragging her vibrant red nails across his skin. "But you did sing beautifully." She coed before digging her nails into his back and tearing through his skin like ribbons. The man cried out in pain, but had no fight left in him. He could only hang there limply. Elaine's laughter echoed through the room as she stepped back from him and spun on her heels to face Molly who had been brought closer by her captor. "You spent some time with Sherlock. Can you guess what he was to sing about?"
Molly shook her head in response, openly weeping for her safety.
Elaine advanced on her. She reached out, gently pressing a nail to Molly's chin. She pressed the nail harder and harder until, but slowly, until Molly cried out in pain and looked up at her. Blood started to pool in the cut in her skin, dripping down her paling skin. "It's not good form to not speak when spoken to." The almost playful chiding brought only a sickening wave of terror over Molly.
"I-I-I don't know." Molly's weak reply brought a smile to Elaine's face.
"Good girl." She patted Molly softly on the cheek before turning away from her and taking to a slight bit of pacing. "This man is a member of a certain dead man's information network." Molly's face went paler, if it was possible, at the mention of Sherlock. Elaine stopped to smirk at Molly before returning to her pacing. "Ah so you know about it then. You're stronger than he is. More trusted by Sherlock. He could have been ranting and raving just to save his hide, but you. You'd actually know wouldn't you? The petite assistant pining over him night and day. Of course you'd know if he was dead or alive wouldn't you?"
Molly shook her head. "I saw him fall just the same as everyone else. He's-he's dead."
Elaine shook her head with a tsk. "But that's no fun. The great Sherlock actually outsmarted by Moriarty and forced into submission for the sake of friendships? That's no way to end the fairytale."
"I don't know what game you're playing at, but it's the truth!" Her voice quivered even when she attempted to shout. She was shaking from the experience.
"Ah. The truth is such a subjective thing. I prefer facts. So let's talk in facts. Sherlock fell from the rooftop correct?"
"I saw him same as you."
Elaine nodded as she turned sharply on her heels. "Now that we've established what you look like when you tell the truth. Tell me did Sherlock seek your aide in anything? I don't suggest lying. It'll merely postpone the inevitable and only buy you a bit of pain in the end. A dead man isn't worth that is he?"
"Yes he asked for my assistance."
"Which you of course provided. What did he ask you to assist him in?" Elaine ended her pacing to advance on Molly again. "And keep in mind the man you see suspended was given mercy." The threat was clear in the words and the steely gaze with which she studied Molly.
"He asked-he asked me to help him find a way to stop Moriarty."
"What else?"
Molly's fear briefly ebbed as she watched the woman before her. She didn't have Sherlock's ability for deductions, but she knew how to read someone when she had to. She hadn't seen it before, but there it was plain as day. "You already know." It wasn't fear, it was surprise.
"Now you're asking why the ruse I'm sure. Well you have to understand we people like Sherlock enjoy the dramatics."
"Like Sherlock?"
"Yes. We enjoy a good show. We flaunt our intelligence and our abilities. It's the only way to stay sane in such a boring world." Elaine removed the hat from her head and examined it. Ebony tresses tumbled out from under it. She turned the hat over in her hand before tossing it aside. "Burn that atrocious thing. I'll never understand why I considered wearing it." Removing her sunglasses, black tinted and heavy framed, she got a closer look at Molly. Hazel eyes, piercing and intimidating, gazed unabashed at Molly. "Now back to the topic at hand. I have to ask you'll forgive the theatrics again. Not just this whole charade, but the scene at the club. You must understand I needed to get a hold of you, draw attention, and possibly get rid of an idiot along the way." She brought her hand to her temple, her index and middle finger pointing out with her thumb pointing up. She made a loud rendition of a gun firing as she tossed her head to the side.
"What does all this have to do with me?" Molly questioned, interrupting the woman's almost vacant gaze at her.
"Ah. Right. Well it has a lot to do about you. Sherlock trusted you and we need to find him. I want to have a talk with the smartest man in the world." Elaine glanced the expressionless driver before shooing him off. "Go on. Let us girls talk." He offered no protest, but instead turned and headed for the stairs. "I'm not going to hurt you Molly unless you give me a reason." Molly looked at her with an expression of confusion and uncertainty.
"You see I want you to draw Sherlock out. All you have to do is sit all nice and comfy with us for a few days. Once he comes searching for you we'll let you go and that's that. We just want to talk to him, nothing more."
"Why would I help you find him? You just want to hurt him." A flare of defiance flickered in her. The fear for her own life was eclipsed by the protectiveness she felt for a man she considered a friend.
"Because you don't do pain well Molly. You're not a lion, you're not a predator. You're a terrified little lamb that's ripe for slaughter. You aren't doing him any favors by being selfless. If you don't play the role we'll find someone else to. I just thought I'd do the kindness of giving the little lamb a chance to play in the game."
"I don't want any part in this game. I want to go home!"
Elaine rolled her shoulders with a sigh. "God! He really does keep the dullest company. Don't you get it?" Elaine jabbed Molly hard in the forehead with her finger, careful not to cut her with her nails. "That's not an option. You have two options and either way I get what I want. Either you behave or you don't. Either way Sherlock happens upon you, but you'll decide if it's a corpse or not."
"You're going to hurt me either way! I know people like you."
Elaine laughed at that. "You don't know people like me at all girl. I'm doing you a kindness and all you can do is whine. Don't you get it. This is your role. You're a pawn and I'm offering you the chance to stay on the board, but if you want to be the first casualty well that can be arranged." Elaine ran her finger down from Molly's forehead down to her neck. Her caress curving towards her cheek as it descended. Her sharpened nail replacing the skin of her finger, dragging a thing red line down Molly's skin. Her nail rested against Molly's neck for the briefest of moments before she grabbed her by the throat. Molly went wide eyed as she felt her grip tightening.
Elaine finally let go of her, tossing Molly to the ground as she did so. Molly looked up at her, genuine fear in her eyes. She tried to scurry back, but Elaine was already on her. She pressed her sharpened heels down on Molly's leg. It dug into her skin, but not quite breaking it.
"So what will it be?" Elaine questioned as she stared down at Molly.
"Just tea for me." John said as he shrugged out of his coat. He sat down at the small table he shared with Mrs. Hudson.
"I'm so glad to see you." Mrs. Hudson's cheerful voice was at odds with the rather somber décor of the tea house. "But I don't see why we couldn't have just had lunch at the flat."
"Mrs. Hudson we've been over this. I can't stay there any more…not since Sherlock."
Mrs. Hudson bit at her lip as she looked for the words. She reached out and patted John lightly on hand, finally resting hers over his. "I know it hurts john, but we have to keep on living. The world doesn't stop for the dead no matter how much we wish it would."
"I just don't get how you and everyone else is going on like nothing happened."
"You think you're the only person who still hurts? We're all hurting, but we all know we have to keep moving forward. Sherlock would have wanted it."
"How do any of us know what Sherlock would have wanted? For all we know he would have wanted us to build him a memorial in the middle of parliament."
"It wouldn't be parliament. He'd prefer Buckingham Palace." Mrs. Hudson attempted to inject some humor into the situation. The only thing she managed to get from John was a switch of the lips as he fought back the urge to smile reflexively. "Now come on John. Let's just have a nice lunch and talk. Even if it's just about the weather."
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry about all that. I-I just haven't been sleeping well." John shifted in his seat to try and get comfortable. He leaned over to get a better view of their server. He felt oddly uncomfortable and wanted something to distract himself, even if it was just sipping tea so wouldn't be rude when he was quiet.
"It's fine dear. We all grieve in our own way. How is your new place suiting you?"
"Sorry?" John snapped back to their conversation. Turning his attention from attempting to assess the time he'd have to spend waiting. "Oh! My new flat. It's well enough. A little cramped, but I don't need much room. Try to get out as much as I can."
"That's good! Walking's relaxing, especially in the spring. All the flowers and the people. It's just breathtaking."
The server came from behind John and put a cup of tea in front of John, one in front of Mrs. Hudson, and a tray of tea cakes. "Thank you." John breathed a sigh of relief as he picked up his cup of tea. He went to sip it, but recoiled quickly when he felt the scalding hot liquid against his lips. He sat it down quickly and did his best not to notice the way the server looked at him as if he was a blundering idiot.
In an attempt to smooth over his embarrassment John tried his best to keep the conversation going. "How have you been? Have you found anyone to move in?"
Hudson laughed at the thought. "I have to move all the clutter out first and that's a feat in and of itself. Let alone getting someone to rent the place!" It was Mrs. Hudson's turn to withdraw. She reclined in her seat at the thought of going through Sherlock's stuff. "If I'm honest I just can't bring myself to go through it. I told you we all have our ways of grieving. Mine was shutting that room tight so not even a speck of dust can get out. Try and keep the memories in." Mrs. Hudson laughed almost bitterly as she dabbed at her watering eyes. "It's really quite foolish, but I just can't help myself."
John shifted in his seat uncomfortably, but reached out to her in an attempt to comfort. "It is hard, but maybe we can do this every week. We'll have tea and we'll talk about it. Talk about the good memories and how we're feeling."
"Our own little therapy?" She interjected. She laughed again, but this time she was smiling. "I'd like that. I really don't want to lose one of my boys. It was so nice to have you both in the house. You kept it warm, you really did."
"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson I really wish I could have stayed."
"No no I understand why you couldn't, but don't be a stranger. Drop by every once in a while. I'll walk around the corner with you if that's what I have to do to talk about the weather with you."
John couldn't help himself, he actually smiled. It was genuine and a surprise more to himself than anyone else. "I agree. We'll do it every week. I'll stop by, knock on the door, and off we go."
"I'd really like that John. It'll do us both good."
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely Nothing. This attempt at writing is purely FAN based!