Sorry this chapter starts out a bit slow. I'm hoping it'll pick up a bit faster with the other chapters. No promises for how quickly I'll be able to get them out as I'm on a busy service. Story is rated M for future potential of adult themes (romantic in nature of course).
As always feedback/reviews are greatly appreciated!
Molly glanced down at her watch nervously as she walked towards St. Barts. She was a half hour late to work and she despised being late. It wasn't really her fault she told herself. Toby had knocked over her cup of tea and she had to change into a new outfit. That was definitely why she was late. It wasn't because she had been 500 times more flustered now that Sherlock had faked his death and she was literally the only person to know the truth. She had tried to convince him to tell his brother, but to no avail. She rushed in through the door to her office oblivious to her surroundings. Molly began tying her hair up and then started straightening up her paperwork and slide pile. Suddenly, a quick tap on the floor and someone clearing their throat caught her attention. She quickly turned around to see a tall stately man dressed impeccably in a pinstripe navy suit standing in her office door.
"Hello Mycroft, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this early in the morning?" she tried asking sweetly. "Well, I had come at 8 as I thought that's when you started the day, but no one was here," he said with a slight hint of displeasure in his tone. Molly could feel the blood rush to her face, "Oh… sorry about that. I had a bit of a mishap at home and I was running a bit late." "It's no problem at all, Dr. Hooper. I just had hoped to meet with you briefly about your autopsy report on Sherlock," Mycroft said as he moved his way through the doorway and into her office. He positioned himself near her desk and began leaning on his umbrella. She felt as if his piercing blue eyes were staring into her very core. How was she going to pull this off she contemplated- trying not to seem as if she was obviously lying, she averted her eyes from his gaze, "W-what questions did you have in particular?"
"Just one really, I'm not quite sure why you only performed an external exam. Surely an internal exam would have proven to be of some use. Or perhaps even a toxicology screen. Normally you always perform those parts at the very least. But in this report you only did an external exam," he stated firmly still not moving his eyes from her. Molly tried to compose herself as she fiddled with her paperwork, "W-well, I just didn't think it would add much to do all those tests. As far as the internal exam, it was a clear-cut suicide. We normally don't perform full autopsies on cases like that and I couldn't bear doing a full one on him anyway." She hoped that her half-truth justification would satisfy him. If Sherlock had died, she wouldn't have been able to do the internal exam. Of course if he had actually died, she wouldn't have done the autopsy, but she hoped Mycroft would overlook that key fact.
Molly fidgeted with her coat as she cautiously watched him. His face never changed or gave any indication of what he was contemplating. She hated that about him and Sherlock. Their faces never gave anything away. Mycroft's soft distinguished voice broke the silence, "I see. If it was in your best judgment not to conduct a full autopsy then I will leave it to your professional opinion." He leaned on his umbrella slightly studying Molly's reaction. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more help," she replied meekly. She had been diverting her gaze to her pink tennis shoes. At this point she had almost entirely memorized every detail of them. She looked up as she heard Mycroft quietly exit her office.
For the next few days she felt a bit nervous about the whole situation. She had a vague sensation of being followed. Molly had also recently noticed a sleek black car in front of her flat in the mornings, but wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. She explained it away as an over reaction, but the idea of the car stalking her still niggled at the back of her mind. Sometimes she wished she could be less observant, maybe then she would sleep better at night. It was about a week into the black car stalking incidents that she received an email from a junk account. It was unusual in that it was sent to her work email and the spam filter hadn't caught it. She opened it cautiously, "I know he's bothering you. Just tell him. He'll keep it a secret. –SH." Her stomach dropped as she saw the signature. She knew that the black car hadn't merely been a coincidence. Molly sighed as she went on with sorting through the slides that she needed to review that day- how was she going to tell him, she thought.