Author's Note: I've been hearing about Sherlock for the longest time. Two of my best friends kept talking about the show. I decided to watch the episodes through Netflix this year. When I finished, I couldn't deal with the fact that the 3rd series won't be coming out until late this year or early next year. So I started to read a lot of Sherlolly fanfiction. Then after I re-watched the first episode yesterday, I decided today to write my own continuation. I know this exactly won't be what happens, but it had a mixture of what I hope to happen with what I thought would be interesting to add to the story. I hope to add a few more chapters to this story.
Exclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes was created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The BBC show Sherlock was created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. Nothing I could write could ever compare to their work. This story was not beta read, but I hope it still good. Remember this is a fanfic, and I'm American. This is my first Sherlock fanfic.
My mother is pathologist, and my father is the only consulting detective in the world. My younger brother, four years younger, is referred to be the duplicate of my father. While many say I look most like my mother, and act like my father. Though honestly I'm sure we have some qualities of both of our parents, they just aren't as noticeable. As you can tell, this kind of family dynamic would make life a bit more interesting than the average. Yes, this is Sherlock Holmes' daughter. This story isn't about me, but my parents. Just don't tell my father. He would say that writing down a story, no matter how true it is, a waste of time. Though my father never seems to mind when Uncle John writes about their adventures in his blog.
Sorry, going a bit off topic. So my parents' story is unlike any other. Which death brought them closer together, and it wasn't even real. My mother used to love telling me their story almost every night before I went to bed. If my father were reading this, he would say I was exaggerating. Fine, he's would be right. I only remember my mother telling the story once, but I'm sure she has told the story more than once. Since that day it has stuck in my mind for so long. It helps that my father taught me to have a mind palace, where I could organize my thoughts, memories, and important information. I found recently a paperback journal that my mother wrote of her experiences. So I'll be adding her account as well.
As you might have seen in the papers several years ago, nineteen years to be exact, my father was believed to be a fraud. Then he had apparently committed suicide from the rooftop of St. Bart's Hospital. It was very difficult for all those who really knew Sherlock, especially Uncle John and my mother for completely different reasons. Even though Dr. John Watson isn't really my uncle. He's more my uncle than Mycroft, the brother of my father. Though that might be because Mycroft never really had a good relationship with my father. Anyways, Uncle John was suffering after my father's apparent suicide, not because he realized my father had lied to him, but that he wouldn't get a chance to see my father again. He believed in my father while so many in the world did not. My mother, on the other hand, had the privilege of holding the burden that my father was still alive, and she was the one who helped him. She was the woman who counted.
How did my mother help my father pull off the stunt? My father, who is far better at explaining in great detail, would best explain this but I'll give you a hint. There were many puzzle pieces that needed to be put in place, and my mother was the final piece necessary. She made sure everything went according to plan. The homeless network would help John not completely see what exactly happened. My mother called Mycroft, who had a crew that helped bring Sherlock's body back to the morgue as quickly as possible. My father didn't want his brother to be involved, or to help him, but it was only way that the plan would work. My father really did fall from the rooftop, but the truck that went by the building gave him a chance to land on a softer surface. Then he jumped from the truck, and as his feet landed on the ground. He fell backwards, as if he slipped on wet concrete. It was the only way to make the moment look real to Uncle John, with actual blood coming out from his head, and by the time that he checked my father's pulse, was right before the unconsciousness wore off. My father was lucky that he didn't go into a prolonged state of unconsciousness. Though my father never has believed in luck.
This stunt caused my mother to worry that something could go wrong, and she truly would lose the love of her life. She knew that my father needed her, so she kept the worry at bay as she made sure everything about my father's fake death was finalized. Mycroft's crew brought my father to the morgue that my mother worked at. It didn't take long for the news to reach the detective inspector, Lestrade. He came with Mycroft to identify the body. They were both quiet as they entered, and my mother could see the cracks that Lestrade was trying so hard to hide. She never told him though. She didn't have to look distraught when she was seeing her worse fear almost come to life.
A day later, Mycroft organized the funeral for my father. It was a very simple affair. Only two people went, Uncle John and Mrs. Hudson. My mother called Uncle John in a crying fit saying that she couldn't handle going to the funeral. So her absence was understandable, since she was dealing with the loss of an unrequited love. Without telling my mother, my father went to his own funeral and observed from a distance. He slipped away when they both left his grave, and went back to my mother's apartment. When he arrived, he didn't realize my mother had gone into panic mode. To make this story a bit easier for everyone to follow, I'll place my parents names now.
"Sherlock, you're all right?" said Molly.
"Obviously," he said as he removed his scarf and threw it on the nearest sofa.
"How dare you?" said Molly trying to control her emotions.
"No one saw me. I just needed to make sure that John believed that I was dead," said Sherlock. He was very calm, and didn't understand why Molly was so concerned.
"That is no excuse! What if John saw you?" said Molly worried.
"If he did, he would have concluded that he was imagining the whole thing," said Sherlock. He walked around the sofa to the front, and then rested on top of it. Sherlock was moving his hands to the prayer-like position, and beginning to close his eyes.
"No, you don't get to just dive into your mind palace without finishing this conversation," said Molly. She was very stern, for possibly the first time in her life in front of Sherlock, with her hands on her hips. He opened his eyes, and gave her annoyed look. "The conversation is over, Molly. No need to drag it out," said Sherlock.
She quietly said, "What about me?" He sighed.
"I'll be out of your place in a few days, and you'll be fine," said Sherlock.
"No, I won't be," said Molly.
"Yes, you will. I have the homeless network ready to notify me if you're ever in danger," said Sherlock, "If necessary, you can call John and at last resort Mycroft."
"That's not what I was referring to, Sherlock," she said.
"You know that sentiment isn't something that I can help you with," he said. He tried to close his eyes again, but he knew that Molly wasn't going to move any time soon. "So after you don't need my help, you're just going to go on your way and continue to treat me like I don't count again," said Molly.
"Molly," he sighed, "My life is filled with danger. Even if I could feel sentiment romantically, it wouldn't be safe. It would also cloud my judgment."
"Though you don't believe it, you need love, Sherlock," said Molly.
"Sentiment is the reason that I had to fake my death in the first place," he said. Molly looked resigned. "I guess it wouldn't even matter if I was okay with the danger, as long as I was able to be with you," she said. Molly began to walk towards her room, when his voice caused her to turn around.
"I wouldn't be here, if it weren't for you, Molly," said Sherlock, "I'll always be thankful for that. I'm truly sorry that I can't give you what you want." She could see in his face that he really meant it. Molly couldn't think of anything else to say. So she left him there at the sofa, and she went to her bed. It didn't take more than a few minutes and her body was resigning to sleep even if the day wasn't over yet. In the middle of the night, she felt his presence near by, but she knew he was only lonely. She didn't even notice when she went back to sleep. Then she began to dream about Sherlock actually dead on the slab in her morgue. That was when she was being shaken to awake. "I heard you scream from the other room. You're having a nightmare," said Sherlock.
"No, he can't be dead! I love him!" she shouted. He shook her again, and she began to wake up. Her heart was racing until it slowed down at the presence of Sherlock in front of her. "I'm fine, Molly. I'm alive," he told her.
Her fear made her snap, and she did what she couldn't do for years; kiss Sherlock Holmes on the lips with intense passion. He was shocked of course, but suddenly his body was reacting without his brain's authorization. He needed her more than he could have ever imagine. Suddenly all his concerns flew out the window, and did what his body desired. He could observe that her body desired it even more. Well, you can tell where this was headed.
In the morning, Molly woke up feeling like she imagined everything, even faking Sherlock's death. It was like an average day, but something was different. She felt far colder than she normally did when she woke up. That's when she noticed her nightgown was missing. The only thing covering her body was her sheet. Then she heard a sound coming from the kitchen. She quickly put on her lavender robe and went towards the sounds. The first thing she noticed as she walked into the kitchen was a blue robe that Sherlock was wearing. She didn't even know where it came from. Molly hadn't seen Sherlock bring anything with him, not like he could, with his fake death. Then she noticed that he was making something on the stovetop, which was odd. "You didn't have the ingredients to make pancakes, so I decided to make eggs. I hope you don't mind," said Sherlock like it was just another day.
"It's all right. Eggs are fine," said Molly still puzzled.
"It might be best if you sit down, Molly," said Sherlock. She nodded. She began to walk away from him while yawning, and then she pulled out a chair from her small table that was in the room connected to the kitchen. She just watched him as he finished with the eggs then placed them on plates, poured out orange juice into two glasses, and began the process of moving everything to the table. They quietly had breakfast. She had imagined this moment for ages, but she honestly thought he would have left before she woke up. Though with recent circumstances, it would be much more difficult for him to leave but not impossible.
"No, you weren't dreaming. It actually happened," said Sherlock.
It broke out of her thoughts, and she said, "What?"
"You know sexual intercourse," said Sherlock with a mischievous smile.
"That was real?" said Molly shocked.
His smile still didn't fade. "Yes, it was. We can do it again, if you would like."
Molly almost choked on the eggs she was eating. He wouldn't be joking with her, but it seemed very unlikely that it really happened.
"Maybe this will help," said Sherlock. Before Molly could respond, he kissed her on the lips. Was she still dreaming, she thought, but it felt so real? He stopped, and added, "I know this will make it even harder after I leave, but…"
"No, well, yes it will. Though I rather have this than nothing at all," said Molly.
"It will be difficult for me to keep in contact after I'm away, but I will try my best for you," he said.
"That's all I can hope for," she said. "I understand."
"Do you, really?" he asked.
"Yes, always," she responded. He nodded.
"Well, I know you have work soon," said Sherlock. His smiled had disappeared, and he looked like a child who had his toy taken away. Then he quickly changed, and he began to act like the cold Sherlock she knew so well. He left her to finish the dishes, and begin to get ready to leave for work, as he went to her long sofa to delve into his mind palace. That's where Molly saw him when she left, and again when she came back from work. It was almost as if he hadn't moved from that exact spot, but he couldn't have, she thought, then she remembered that this was Sherlock.
"Oh, good. You're back!" he exclaimed. It made Molly jump a bit.
"Have you brought food with you?" said Sherlock.
"Yes, I was about to head over here when I noticed your text," she said.
"Good, good," he said as he grabbed the Chinese boxes from her hands to take to her table.
"Wait, how were you able to text me anyways?" she asked.
He pointed towards her laptop computer on the coffee table by the sofa. Maybe he had moved, at least enough to get what he needed. When she turned back to see him, he had already started to eat from one of the boxes. So she decided to grab a box as well. Silence arrived again, like before, but this time they were observing each other, Sherlock more than Molly, since he was the expert at deduction. He had two boxes, and she had one, when Molly made a realization.
"We weren't safe!" she said beginning to freak out.
"What signs make you conclude that? Did you see someone who might be suspicious?" said Sherlock.
"What are you talking about?" said Molly puzzled.
"It seems like we are not on the same page," said Sherlock while trying to observe Molly even more to see what he missed.
"I'm talking about last night," said Molly.
"I don't think anyone could have heard us last night," said Sherlock, "Even if they did. It wouldn't have been suspicious to your neighbors."
Molly began to blush. "I meant protection."
"Why didn't you say that before?" said Sherlock.
"Uh… I forgot," said Molly clearly getting nervous.
"That's understandable," said Sherlock.
"So…" said Molly.
"Oh, you're concern that you might get pregnant, and that I might not be happy about that," said Sherlock. She nodded.
"It's up to you what you decide, if the situation occurs. I do have to remind you that I won't be able to support you as you would like, but you will receive money to provide for the baby," he said.
"That's fine," she said. Then she began to put away the leftovers, all in silence, but this time her body was telling him something different.
After awhile, Sherlock asked, "Did I say something wrong?"
"Don't worry about it," said Molly.
"You're upset," he said. Sherlock walked out of the kitchen, and she sighed.
Later music started to play in the living room. It sounded like the stereo. When she walked into the room, she began to notice the lyrics to the song.
"I don't like you, but I love you/Seems that I'm always thinkin' of you/You treat me badly, I love you madly/You've really got a hold on me…"
Molly left her ipod in the stereo, and it was playing the song "You Really Got a Hold on Me" covered by She & Him. The lyrics of the song seemed to describe their relationship now more than ever. Sherlock grabbed her hand to pull her into dancing the waltz with him. Molly was surprised when he showed her that he could dance. He held her closer towards the middle of the song. It brought a smile to her face, and that brought one to his. This was a memory she didn't want to forget of Sherlock. She turned off the stereo after the song ended, and she placed her hand into his. He brought her hand to his lips and began to kiss her skin. Then he looked into her eyes, and he knew that she only wanted tonight to be a moment where they embraced. He was willing to give her that. It was the least he could do, since he was going to be leaving early morning before the dawn.
Sherlock held Molly in bed as she fell asleep; she realized before she began to dream that he didn't have to learn about sentiment because he figured it out from the ones who loved him. When she woke, he was gone, and all that he left was a sealed envelope next to her…
Dear Molly,
I know you will be hurt that you didn't get a chance to say Goodbye. Though this was the best option. I needed to leave, and it would have been harder for both of us if we said Goodbye in person. I'll try my best to keep you updated, and provided for.
I want to remind you that you do count. You count more than you will ever realize. You made me comprehend that I could love. You have to understand that going away is the only way to protect you.
Keep in touch with John; he will need someone to talk to. Also see Mrs. Hudson every once and awhile, and make sure she is all right. Make sure Lestrade observes every thing in his future cases. Don't let Mycroft bother you. If you see Irene, yes she's alive, quickly leave as soon as possible. She's trouble. Lastly, don't worry about me.
Continue your work. It's the only way that will help you, my lovely pathologist.
Your Consulting Detective,
Sherlock
Tears began to roll down her face. He was gone. This letter was the last thing he did before he left. Molly wanted to call in to say that she wasn't coming into work, and stay in bed all day, but she knew she couldn't. Sherlock wouldn't want her to do that. She went and focused on her work. Molly knew he was right. She just wished that it didn't hurt so much. Though she rather have this pain because it reminded her that he was still alive.
During the time he was away, he texted her but it was short. It wasn't until three years after, that he came back, when everyone he cared about really needed him. Moriarty's second hand man was out for revenge. That's when my father, Sherlock Holmes, finally met me, Samantha Holmes. Though that is story is for another day.
Any positive feedback is greatly appreciated!
Thank you for reading my story.