Sherlock Fanfic, September 12, 2013 Chapter 1
"You're wrong you know. You do count. You've always counted, and I've always trusted you. But you were right, I'm not okay."
"What do you need?"
"You…"
Molly played the words over, and over, and over again in her mind. They haunted her. Sherlock was like that. It was the way that he talked, and the way he could tell a person exactly who they were and everything they had done mere seconds after meeting them. It haunted a person.
His cold manners made him present the information in a way that made him seem judgmental, but at the same time he was simply stating facts, and people couldn't handle that or let themselves believe it. People hated him, despised him. They hated that he knew about them before they had the chance to speak. They were envious of his intelligence and at the same time, they were in awe of it.
She remembered meeting him for the first time, the way he had strode into the morgue with his longs legs and began pulling bodies out and placing them on the tables. All the while she sat in the corner watching him, knowing that she needed to stop him, to find out who he was and why he was here, but she was frozen to her seat.
"Stop that." His deep voice had shocked her and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't expected that from him.
"S-stop what?" she stuttered. Her curious mind wanted to know. Her nervous body, however, with shivers moving in waves throughout her body had almost barricaded the words from leaving her mouth. What's wrong with me, why can't I speak correctly? She had thought.
"Thinking. It's annoying, Miss…Hooper." He had smiled but she could tell it wasn't genuine. He went about his business, which she was still unsure of. She stood slowly to approach him, her legs didn't want to work either and her knees had suddenly become weak.
"No, don't do that either." He said almost sounding annoyed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he unzipped the bag of an elderly mad.
"Do, do what? I h-have to at least see what you are doing and a-ask who you are."
"An experiment, and the name is Sherlock Holmes. I have permission." He stated.
"Th-That one there died of a heart attack, and this one," she said as she unzipped the bag to reveal the face of a middle aged woman, "died after being in a diabetic coma, quite, quite sad actually." She said unsure of herself, or rather of the man standing only a few feet from her.
Molly looked at him to gage his reaction, but he didn't have one. "Her sister is someone I knew from primary school. F-Funnily enough their dad died of the same thing way back. Guess they didn't get the warning." She tried to joke.
"Miss Hooper?" Sherlock asked while inspecting the man's neck with his small magnifying glass.
"Yes?" she squeaked.
"Don't try to make jokes, you're horrible at it," He took a quick glance at her. "as you've always been." He began examining the man's fingers, looking closely. He took out a pair of tweezers and a zip lock bag.
She huffed. She was so nervous. She couldn't seem to control her tongue, and how did he know she had always been bad at jokes?
"Oh no, I didn't… I wasn't… What I mean to say is…"
"Stop Miss Hooper. I've got what I came here for." He began to walk out of the room. "I'll be back here tomorrow." He said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket after throwing away the gloves he used.
"What for?" she asked, slightly sad to see him go, but also curious to see why he wanted to come back so soon.
"That woman's tongue, it'll do for an experiment I'm working on." He said.
"What?" she squeaked again.
"I'll be using your lab." He stepped out of the room.
"Well I never!" she whispered under her breath while she began to close the bags.
"By the way," she heard the baritone say while he stuck his head in the door, "he killed her." He nodded to each body.
She looked in between each body shocked to think of it.
"Why?" she asked.
"He didn't want her running around with his married son." He stated with an obviously bored voice.
"Well that's a bit extreme. Why did he kill her for it? How do you even know that?"
"Well, once you do the autopsy you'll find that she was pregnant. He found out about it and replaced her substitute sugar with real sugar. Unfortunately she used quite a bit of it. She hadn't realized how much she was eating until it was too late. He had only wanted to try and make her lose the baby. However he killed her instead hence the heart attack when he found out."
"How do you know this? Are you with the police?"
"Consulting detective. I can tell by the chewed up fingernails on his right hand, he either had a bad habit, doubtful because his left is untouched, or he was recently nervous, more likely. Her purse is full of sweet and low packets, but her sugar jar is full of real sugar. Obvious." He stated, while texting.
"Is that it then?" she asked, dumbfounded. She could see the finger nails and she knew of the woman's diabetes and had heard from her sister the extent to which she was careful. It had to be true.
"Yes." Sherlock stated. "Don't forget the tongue." Then he left for good.
She put the bodies back and walked over to the massive pile of paperwork she had left before he came in.
He's an odd sort of fellow. She thought. But he's brilliant. She sat down and cupped her chin in her hand. I wonder what time he'll be here tomorrow?
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She didn't recognize the number that had just texted her.
2pm –SH
Molly looked down at the man that now lay on her autopsy table. She had locked the doors to the morgue and turned the lights low. She didn't want anyone to see him like this. She removed his scarf and his coat, and began to wash the blood off the side of his head. She trailed the washcloth along his temple, and down his high cheek bone, along down his cheek and down to his neck.
Tears began to fall down her cheeks trailing the same paths as the pink water she was using to clean his wounds did on him. Things would be so different now. Nothing would ever be the same. Why had she always been so mousy around him? He had never been able to see her for who she really was? She was strong and caring and funny.
She wasn't always so shy; in fact she was only really shy with Sherlock. Of course she loved him, and had made several attempts to peek his attention towards her. She remembered thinking, This might finally get his attention, as she dressed for the Christmas party, but of course it hadn't. She remembered the touch of his lips on her cheek. She could feel the warmth there every time she thought of it as if they were still there. That was the closest they had been to intimate until now.
She trailed her fingers down his cheek and lingered there for a moment. All the blood was gone now. Some of it was still in his hair, but that could be washed later. She walked over to the table and sat down on the stool. She sighed, and let the tears fall down her face. She wiped them away with her sleeve, but as soon as she collected one another would take its place.
Why, Sherlock? Nothing is ever going to be the same now. She looked at him. His eyes were closed and she could not see the green blue that they were. She loved to see the way his eyes lit up whenever he would become excited about a case. It wasn't exactly proper to get excited about a murder, but Sherlock was different. That was evident, and since he solved the cases, no one really cared. Lestrade needed him, and he had John to keep him in line. Mrs. Hudson was basically his mom watching over him making sure her boys were okay. Mycroft, no matter how much Sherlock hated to admit it, just wanted what was best for his baby brother. What was she?
She was his pathologist. She never admitted it, but everyone knew it. He only came to the morgue when she was on duty. He would only trust her opinion because he knew she was more intelligent than anyone else in the department, perhaps even at St. Bart's. He had always trusted her. Yet, she was just his pathologist; Just his pathologist.
"Stop that." He whispered in his deep baritone. He winced at the effort it took.
"What?" she asked through her tears.
"Thinking. It's annoying, especially with the headache I've got."
"Oh shut up." She said.
He opened one eye to look at her in the low lighting. At least she had thought to keep it low. He thought. He had forgotten to mention it while they had planned what to do after he jumped from the top of St. Bartholomew's.
"What?" he asked her. He hadn't expected that from her. He had never heard a cross word from her in the entire time he had known her.
"I'm doing this for you. I'll bloody well think how much I want." She said to him. Her voice low in case anyone could hear them outside. She felt like yelling, screaming at him. She was risking her life and here he was being the same old Sherlock, self absorbed.
"Fine just don't so it so loudly." He said. She rolled her eyes.
She wanted to slap him, but she knew that wouldn't be a good idea considering what he had just been through, she didn't want to make his injury worse. He was speaking, so that was a good sign.
"Sherlock…" she started.
"Come here." He said to her. She did what he asked, but very slowly. She almost didn't want to.
"Why?" she asked, her voice still shaking from the effort it took to speak through her tears.
"You'll see." He said. She made her way over to him. She stood close by.
"What?" she whispered. He took her hand into both of his and began to trace circles with his thumb. She was surprised by this movement, but she quickly realized that she liked the feeling. It was calming.
"Thank you, Molly Hooper." He whispered. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her hand, but did not give her hand back. He brought their hands down to his chest and just let them rest there, putting his left back down by his side. He continued tracing the circles, content with her being so near.
"No need to thank me." The words barely made their way off her lips.
"Yes there is." He stated, and she did not argue. "There's always been, and I just never realized it until now." He kissed her hand again, repeated the same motion as before. He closed his eyes and sighed.
She smiled to herself, and slowly bent down to kiss his cheek. She could feel him smile, a rare genuine smile that reached his eyes.
"I always miss something." He said. He reached over with his left hand began to run his fingers through her hair. He brought their hands up to her face never letting go of her hand. He stroked her cheek wiping away the tears. He ran his thumb over her lips, and heard her small gasp. He reached behind her head and gently brought her lips to meet his.