The Secret of Molly Hooper
by TimeAndLife21
It was a dirty little secret. Not that it bothered her that much. She enjoyed the simple life of cutting open bodies and trying to figure out how they died. Scotland Yard always appreciated her efforts as well as the handsome Detective (though he would never say it) that would come in and examine the corpses that came into the morgue. He was handsome. Intelligent. And of course acted like a child many times, but it was one of those quirks that she liked about him.
Of course, she could't just break free of the meek and innocent facade that she had made over the years. Doing so would bring out the dark side of her that she had kept locked up inside elf her for many, many years. She was content with her job, it having a decent pay, helping out Sherlock Holmes (her little crush) and John Watson when she has the time. It was all just doing her job and having peace and quiet.
Too bad that peace and quiet life of a Pathologist had been shattered once again.
She took the knife and cut into the body at a Y- incision. The corpse was killed just a few days ago. Head smashed into the concrete. Suicide. She took her time. Seeing the organs in bad shape (drinker and smoker, most likely a gambler), and noticing the track marks on his arms (druggie too. How disappointing.). She wrote down that the cause of death was high impact force onto concrete.
What a messy way to go.
She rather preferred a method that was nice, clean, and not messy. The feel of the knife in her hands and slowly running it down the victims throat draining them of their blood. Monsters that needed to be put down. Devils that harms the innocents. Something that the police should be out doing and getting rid of them. Either putting them in jail…or execution.
She remembered her first kill. A kidnapper that tried to rape her in a back alley when she was sixteen. She remembered having her father's military knife on her and everything went red. Turned out she killed him. Knife across the neck and bleeding out. She never mentioned the incident. She cleaned her father's knife thoroughly when she got home and burned her clothes without her mother or brothers knowing. She made damn well sure that no one could pinpoint the murder on her. And not one found out.
She looked up in the mirror that was over her cleaning station. Her mess of hair tied back into a ponytail, her eyes hidden behind the glasses that she would always were. After meticulously cleaning her hands for 2 minutes, she took off the glasses with wet hands and looked into the mirror. Her blue eyes sharp and holding a rather murderous tone to it. She had taken other lives too. Criminals (not the high class ones, those always get found out she learned), and killed off those who raped, murdered, and kidnapped innocents.
No one would think that a mousey little woman like her would have it in her to kill a man. That was the thing. They always underestimated her.
Of course, she hasn't killed any criminals since she was hired at St. Barts. Which was at least 12 years ago. She didn't know why she had such a taste for it. It was something that she had always done since she was 16 years old. And she kept her old self dormant in the innocent facade that was sweet Molly Hooper. But ever since Jim from IT or rather James Moriarty, something snapped inside of her. When she was complemented by him, called beautiful, and would hang out with her watching Glee, she thought that she had left that grimy past behind. She had started to like him. But when she found out that he played her like a puppet….she became angry.
She placed her glasses back on and got ready to leave for the night. Everything was cleaned up and there were no bodies out for her to examine. She looked down into her purse and saw that one weapon that she hadn't use din more than a decade.
Her father's Military knife.
She kept her lab coat on and she looked at herself in the mirror. Wearing a purple long sleeved t-shirt that reached her knees, a black belt, leggings, and flats. She needed one more thing though. SHe looked through her purse and noticed that little tube of gold that was looking back at her. She recognized that. From Last Christmas when she went to Sherlock and John's apartment for the party. Such an innocent little thing. She took it out and taking off the top, she twisted the bottom.
Red Passion lipstick.
Her lips twisted into a cruel smile and she turned to the mirror. She slowly and painstakingly placed the red onto her lips, making them fuller than what they were, and she capped it; placing it back into her little purse. Perfect. She left the morgue and decided to take a different route than she would usually take. Her body languidly relaxed as she smirked into the night.
Three days.
It had been three days since she had taken a rather pathetic drug dealer off the streets and place shim in a shipping container. Her was a rather pathetic looking druggie. Mostly skin and bones and shivering and crying about wanting a hit. She took her time. His confessions she wrote down and filed away to send to scotland yard after she was through. She was careful about killing him too. Starvation took hold first. Then she made him drink a bit of poisoned water. It was a slow acting poison. Making him numb to the world as she did her work.
After doing so, she hid pieces of him underground. It would be years and years before they can find pieces of him. Not even Sherlock Holmes would be able to deduce that she was a killer. Not that she would say anything. Poor meek Molly Hooper would never kill anyone.
They were wrong.
She wasn't expecting this. Someone decided to break into the morgue and it wasn't Sherlock and Watson. She was currently hiding underneath her desk keeping her breathing even and slow even though her mind was panicking. But she had one thing. Her father's Military knife. She had it in her hand. She had to be quiet about this. The man in the room was raging and tossing things onto the floor. Glass was breaking everywhere. The tables which held the bodies fell to the floor. How unsanitary. She took off her glasses and made sure she was quiet as she swiftly padded across the floor to hide elsewhere. She found a hiding spot behind one of her colleagues desk.
"Where are you, you bitch!?" The male shouted.
Ah, she recognized that voice. The voice of her so called stalker that had been following her for the past few weeks. She had filed a report to Scotland Yard to have a restraining order on him. Of course, Sherlock was there and wondered why she would need one. His subtle insult at her appearance nearly made her cry, but she steeled herself and not even bothered to reply to his jab.
That was Sherlock Holmes for you.
More throwing stuff. She had to take care of the situation before it gets too dangerous. Earlier the man locked the door. There goes her escape plan.
She heard something outside the door.
"MOLLY! MOLLY ARE YOU THERE!?"
Shit. It was Sherlock and John. Great timing. She had to end this. And end this NOW.
She got up and ran at the man whose back was to her. She managed to tackle him to the ground and rolled him over as he was still stunned. She took her knife and stabbed him right in the chest in the heart. Instant death. Blood started to pool and she heard the two men outside banging into the door. She quickly turned him over to get him on top of her and screamed.
The blood began to pool onto her and she panicked. She hadn't done this before. She was always so clean in her kills, this was something completely different. There were door slammed opened and she struggled to get the body off of her. She crab walked back and her back hit the wall as she saw the body on the floor bleeding out. He was dead as a doornail. She rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand and forgot that there was blood on that one. She felt burning behind her eyes. Was she crying? She was.
A shudder ripped though her as voices were trying to catch her attention. It was all muffled as she couldn't stop staring at the body in front of her. A sob ripped through her. Was she found out? Will she be sent to jail? She felt a bit of pressure on both sides of her face and her head was lifted up to meet two ice cold eyes filled with worry and relief. Sherlock worried? The end of the world was coming.
"Molly, Everything will be okay." He said trying his hardest to keep her from making her cry.
He really wasn't that good with crying woman.
She couldn't help it, she wrapped her bloody self around his trunk and cried. She feared for her life. She could only hope that she wasn't sent away. She felt arms engulf her and hold her. If even for a moment that the meek innocent Molly Hooper would have jumped in joy for a hug from Sherlock, the real Molly Hooper didn't regret killing the stalker.
Sherlock and John were outside of a hospital room where Molly was in. The body of McMillian Jones was being processed downstairs. It was by sheer luck that Sherlock and John went to the mortuary to look as a corpse from a small bit case. They heard the breaking glasses and overturning tables. The door was locked and there was someone screaming. Sherlock never thought that the Stalker that she supposedly had (now wasn't the time to regret anything), would just give up on her and leave her alone, not barge into her workplace and demand her.
He didn't like that at all. When he and John heard the scream, he swore he felt his heart stop. Molly Hooper was a woman who helped him out on her time and worked with him quite well in some cases. He considered her a friend. Just like John. He and John busted in the door and saw Molly with blood on herself and across her left cheek. Her eyes wide like a wild animal's and cornered. He noticed that tears were flowing from her eyes.
He thought, for one moment after he hugged her and John calling the police to get over here, he saw a flicker of triumph in her eyes. Maybe he was overcome by worry and sentiment and mistook it for a different emotion. At least she was safe.
Molly was back to work three days after her attack. She feigned still being shook up by the attack. The police took her statement that she kept her father's military knife on her since the attack. It was the only thing that she kept on her at all times. It'll be a while before she would go out and take out any low-life criminal for the time being. She was back to figuring out how people died. Either by accident, poison, murder, and the like. She remembered why she left the underground a long time ago. The thrill had lost it's charm and she preferred dead bodies over alive ones. At least with dead bodies, they don't fight back.
Yes. That was Molly Hooper's dark little secret. Something that not even the British Government can pin on her. She was just innocent, meek, mousey, little Molly. She smirked under the bright light as she cut into the corpse. Her red lips smirking all the while.
TAL21: I saw a one-hour writing challenge about Molly Hooper on Deviant Art and I was like, 'Okay. I can try and pull this off.'. So here is Dark!Molly and her little past. I slightly based it off of Dexter but the rest of the plot was mine. I honestly don't know if this is good enough or what, I just wanted to give this a shot. Tell me what you think about it! Please leave detailed reviews and opinions! I love hearing from my readers! :D See you in the next One-Shot!
KEEP ON READING AND WRITING! :D