So, this is only mild Sherlolly, more just a Molly fic, but angst/comfort type story anyway. enjoy!
oh, i don't own anything…no infringement intended.
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''Molly. Come here, my little pet. Don't make me chase after you now. You know what happens when I have to chase after you.'' The eerie, old voice of her caretaker chimed behind her, getting closer as she ran. Her long, brown ponytail bounced behind her as she darted in and out of the dark trees, desperate to get away. All the while, his twisted, gnarly voice approached, calling her name. She could just see a clearing in the trees. Freedom. As she reached the final stretch, her hair was yanked with a hard jerk, sending her flying backward and thudding hard onto the ground. The man now loomed over her, a sick, twisted smile creeping up his face.
''Gotcha."
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Molly shot up into a sitting position in her bed. A raspy, sleep filled scream escaped her lungs, and she immediately began to sob. Through her tears, she gazed at the clock on her nightstand. 'Thirty minutes.' She thought. Half an hour of sleep, entirely filled with the horrific dream she couldn't seem to shake.
She rose, deciding that if she couldn't go to sleep, or stay asleep, she would go to work. She showered, washing away the grubby, dirty feeling the dreams always left with her, and dressed for the day, making sure she applied the right shade of blush. She then left her quiet flat, in route to St. Bart's hospital.
She couldn't recall the last time she had actually slept without being violently awoken by the recurring nightmares. The lack of rest had caused Molly to lose other faculties as well. She rarely ate, and when she did, it wasn't much more than a bag of crisps and some coffee. Her gaunt features looked constantly tired without the assistance of makeup, and the dark rings under her eyes were truly frightening to behold. She had turned even more fair skinned, a lack of nutrients attributing to her now ghostly white skin. Yet, when she worked in the morgue, or in the lab, she would put on that same, sweet smile, hoping nobody noticed. Hoping he wouldn't notice.
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''Ah, Molly. Good morning. Might I trouble you for some coffee? Black, two sugars. Thanks.'' Sherlock's voice cut through her thoughts, and Molly flinched a little at suddenly having company. She smiled and nodded, before turning toward the door. Upon reaching it, she felt herself grow lightheaded, and grasped onto the door frame. The action did not go unnoticed by the detective across the room, and his eyes followed after her as she straightened herself up, walking out of the room.
A few moments after, she returned, three cups of coffee in a carrier. She placed one cup next to Sherlock's hand, the second in front of the stool beside him, and she took the third. Sherlock had already deduced the second cup was for John, upon his arrival, and he hummed his gratitude for the thought, before returning to his work. Molly smiled weakly, and took a large gulp of her liquid energy. Sherlock decided against confronting the meek pathologist on her obvious lack of sleep, and they worked side by side in silence.
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She was standing at her father's grave, freshly buried after his slow and painful death. Young Molly was clutching onto her plush bear's arm, tearing up into the tissue in her other hand. She felt a rough, calloused hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see her father's friend. She had always seen him as a distant uncle, who, if she were honest, gave her the creeps. However, he was all she had now, and she willingly left the cemetery with the one person she thought she could trust. How very wrong she was.
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Molly's eyes blurred open, and she took a deep breath as she regained a sense of her surroundings. She looked at the clock, which read '3:47' in large, neon green numbers.
''Wonderful. Well, nothing says 'morning' like getting up early and having some toast.'' She said aloud to nobody. Molly pushed herself out of bed, and proceeded to ready herself for the day. She went to her kitchen, and popped two pieces of bread into her toaster. While she brewed herself some tea, she seemed to just stare off into space, as if in another world. The thing tat brought her back was the metallic chinking sound of the toaster, sitting across from her on the counter. She looked it over, seeing that it was too dark. 'Oh well. Toast didn't sound that good, anyway.' She thought. So, with her travel mug in hand, Molly stepped to the streets, hoping to get an early start on the day in the lab.
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Sherlock had waltzed into the lab early that day, a resounding 6:00 am. He had expected to find an empty space, ready for hi. To use and abuse until a certain tiny pathologist interrupted him with her cheery disposition. Instead, what he found upon entering the room, was a dim light on from the corner of the white lab. Under the light, he saw Molly. She was slouched over in her chair, her hair cascading down her shoulder as it swept to the side. Her head was nestled in her crossed arms that rested on her desk, and he could tell by her breathing that she was asleep, but barely so. Sherlock carefully went to his station in the back corner, not wanting to disturb her. However, he only got about half way there, when he heard her mumbling in her sleep.
''No...no please. I...I'm sorry. No...no...'' His brow creased with confusion as he approached her. Her own brow was knit together in obvious distress, a fear sign that whatever she was dreaming about was obviously not good. He no sooner reached the corner of the lab, directly next to her desk, when she jolted awake. Sherlock stood still as she regained her composure, and she looked up at him.
''Oh, hi Sherlock. I...I didn't hear you come in. Sorry...did you need coffee?" Molly stood up, a smile quickly crossing her face. Sherlock shook his head, looking at her with an unnamed look.
''Molly...you were dreaming.'' He said after a moment. She looked at him with a quirked expression, before grinning a bit.
''Yes, I suppose that's what happens when you doze off for a bit.'' She smiled. His face fell a bit more. 'She's avoiding this, attempting to make jokes to hide that something is off.' Sherlock gazed over her briefly, and decided she had just missed out on a good night's sleep. She smiled, and walked across the room toward the door.
''I'll just go get you a cup, in case you change your mind.'' Molly said in her usually chipper tone. Sherlock simply followed her with his eyes as she stepped through the doors. He then returned to his work, pushing the thoughts of his most valuable pathologist to the back of his mind.
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She was trapped underneath him, his weight nearly crushing her as he pressed down. She sobbed and pleaded with him not to do this. The man above her didn't listen, and instead advanced further, covering her mouth with a large, grime covered hand. She screamed out for help, which went unheard.
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She was startled out of her daze by a feather light touch on her shoulder. She jolted sharply, dropping the cups of coffee she had in her hands. When she looked up, she saw the very concerned face of John Watson. Immediately she bent down to fuss over the spilled cups. John, being a doctor, could see the sign almost right away. He had pieced together the physical facts faster than the consulting detective in this instance. He looked over her as she shakily mopped up the spill with a paper towel from a nearby restroom. 'She's terribly thin, hasn't eaten in a few days. Her eyes are blood shot and sunken in, hasn't let in...God know how long. She didn't even pay attention to the fact that I was talking to her, so out of it.' John stooped over to help, and when he bumped her hand, Molly jumped violently. Her wide brown eyes looked frantically up at him, before calming down a bit.
''Molly? Are you okay?" John asked, looking very concerned for the small woman. Instantly, she pulled a nervous smile on, and nodded her head.
''Yes, sorry John. I was just bringing these back for you and Sherlock. I...I'll go get some more.'' She turned to leave, a meek smile tucked into place. John held his hand out, stopping her.
''No no, it's fine. I got it. Do you want any? You take cream, right?" He tilted his head, smiling back at her. She merely nodded, and John could see her shoulders relax just a bit. He nodded, before turning and heading toward the cafeteria. Once he rounded the corner out of sight, the doctor peeked his head around to watch her. She was now frowning, her brow knit together in deep worry. She shook her head, before turning to walk back toward the lab. John pulled out his phone.
'I need you to keep an eye on her until I can figure out what to do. Be back soon.'
-JW-
He turned and walked down the hallway.
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Sherlock watched her as she came back into the cool lab. John's text had caught him by surprise, and there was a sense of urgent concern in the phrasing from his friend. He knew who John meant right away, and so for once, Sherlock Holmes did as he was told. He watched.
Molly seemed to be in a haze, which was so unlike her. She simply meandered about the lab, not really focusing on any one job for long. She could feel him staring at her, and it bugged her.
''What do you want, Sherlock?" She heard herself snap out the question, unable to stop before her frayed emotions showed. Sherlock looked genuinely shocked at the harsh tone. Molly immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, her face blushing furiously.
''I...I'm so, so sor...sorry.'' she stumbled over her words, her doe eyes widened with shock at herself. No sooner did she say it, when John walked through the door. He smiled at her, and handed her the small cup of warm took a sip of it, and sighed with a small amount of delight. Sherlock had seen how intent John was upon watch her drink it, and he quickly caught on. He pulled out his phone, and sent a quick text across the room.
'Mild sedative, I presume?'
-S-
John flipped out his mobile, and read it quickly. He shot a sober glance to his flatmate, and simply nodded his head. Sherlock gave a nod of approval at the idea, and went back to working, while still watching her.
Soon, Molly felt herself growing overwhelmingly tired. More tired than she normally was. The pathologist swiftly realized what had happened, and turned to John, her eyes set deep with panic.
''Please, no. Don't let me fall asleep. Please. I don't want to go to sleep.'' Tears began streaming down her face, and she gripped the edge of the nearest work station upon feeling lightheaded. John was by her side in an instant, looking over her with concern.
''Molly, you're sick. You need rest. I only- why don't you want to sleep?" He asked, searching her terrified face for a clue. She clutched a desperate hand onto his arm, looking up into his eyes as hers fluttered shut.
''Please, no. Don't...don't let me...Sher...Sherlock? He...help me...plea...'' Her scrambling eyes sought out the detective, who was now on his feet, a mere few feet away. His eyes washed over her features, his own filled with confusion. Molly's grip loosened on John's arm, and she soon swayed to one side. The doctor caught her, and gently cradled her light frame in his arms.
''Sherlock, go hail a cab. We're taking her back to Baker Street.'' John ordered, as he tried shifting her weight to an easier position. Quicker than he knew, John saw the tall detective pull her up into his arms, his own wrapped under her protectively and securely.
''John, go hail a cab. I've got Molly. You're hardly tall enough to carry her, as she is about the same height as you. Now go, she needs to be in a comfortable setting.'' Sherlock's voice was clipped as ever, but John could tell by experience that there was something else. He looked over Molly's face, her brow still furrowed in distress.
''Why wouldn't she want to sleep, if she so clearly needs it?" John asked to the genius man holding her. Sherlock's eyes gazed over her as well, as if trying to pry into her mind's deepest secrets.
''I don't know.''
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Well, that's a super long chapter, and this was the best stopping point in my books, so yea. Next chapter will be up soon. In the meantime, what do you think?