Two
Molly had never truly understood the expression "weary to the bone" until now, as she washed up after her last post-mortem. She had worked a twelve-hour shift, from midnight to noon. It was originally only meant to be an eight-hour shift, but a bus crash five blocks over at dawn had meant all hands on deck in the pathology department. Not only did Molly's body ache from her long and active shift, but her emotions felt wrecked after seeing so many innocent casualties come through her doors, four of them young children.
But more than anything, Molly felt tired. No, not tired – absolutely exhausted. Since Sherlock's fall nine days ago, she had grabbed every chance of overtime or subbing shifts as she could. Work could always help her forget her worries and troubles before, but it wasn't working properly now. Every time she came into the lab and spotted the microscope that Sherlock used, she remembered him sitting at it, working diligently; if she was doing a post-mortem in the morgue, she remembered when he would come in without asking and stand beside her as she worked on the victim of his latest mystery. These moments happened more than several times a shift, and it hurt Molly's heart every time. Still, this was better than sitting in her flat all alone with nothing substantial to distract her from the heavy burden she carried. And, to top everything off, Molly could barely sleep. She could only manage a few hours a night, each of those hours were filled with anxiety dreams.
Safe to say, Molly felt at the end of her rope.
After putting on her coat that she had retrieved from her locker, her hand absently fell into the left pocket. When she felt folded paper inside, Molly pulled it out and said, "Oh," in recognition. It was Mycroft's note that he'd given her the day of the funeral. She had forgotten about his offer to her, and the few times it had crossed her mind since the funeral, Molly had brushed it away. Part of her had not wanted to be a bother, and part of her wanted to distance herself from anything related to what had happened nine days ago.
But reading the note over again now, Molly was struck again by how kind and considerate the note was. The fact that Mycroft was willing to share something so private with her really touched her heart, and this made her remember her resolution to give this a try. Checking the note again, Molly saw that she would have a good few hours before Mycroft would come to the Diogenes Club, so she decided that there was no time like the present. If this "sanctuary" did nothing for her, then she would thank him, return his key, and carry on as best she could.
Such a thought really made Molly hope that this would work.
On the cab ride to the Diogenes Club, Molly looked over and memorized the instructions that Mycroft had given her in the note. She was relieved when the cab stopped and she saw that she had given the correct address to the cabbie. After paying him, she quickly got out and stuck her hands in her coat pockets. In the left pocket, she felt the note from Mycroft; in the right, she felt her set of keys, specifically the skeleton key that Mycroft had put on it. She'd been keeping it in her purse, as forgotten as the note had been until today.
The building itself did not stand out from the other elegant ones on the same block, and that comforted Molly somewhat. It made her feel more like she was coming here to hide, to escape, to disappear anonymously rather than stand out. This gave her the final drop of courage that she needed to walk up to the oaken front door and go through it.
Once inside, Molly could feel an atmosphere of quiet settle over her like humidity in a rainforest. The front hall was sparse but extremely elegant, with a marble floor and a dark-wood reception desk. Behind the latter sat a man in his sixties, with silver hair neatly combed and wearing a perfectly-pressed dark suit. Her footsteps alerted him to a new presence, and he immediately looked up from the book he had been reading. "May I help you, miss?" he asked, his voice deep and pleasant.
Remembering Mycroft's note, Molly pulled out her keys from her coat pocket, making sure to display the skeleton key. "Um, yes, my name is –"
"Ah, Miss Hooper, of course!" A genuine smile came to the man's face as he stood up and walked around the desk. "I am Henry, as I'm sure you've been told. Mr. Holmes told me that you may come. I am glad that you have. Please follow me, and I will show you to your room."
"Uh, thank you, Henry, but it's not mine, it's his."
"Miss Hooper, in the twenty-five years that Mr. Holmes has been a member of this club, never before has he given his second key to anybody. As long as you have that key, that room will be yours as much as his."
Not knowing how to respond to that at all, Molly stayed silent and followed Henry up the flight of marble stairs behind the reception desk. When they reached the landing, just before one of two sets of double doors, Henry stopped them and turned towards her.
"Some things I should tell you before you enter the club itself. The first and most paramount rule here is silence; except in the front hall area and private rooms, no words are allowed to be spoken or your membership will be revoked. To some it is strange, but this club was made in order to give a refuge from all of the noise and bustle of London life. Also, we only have one or two female members, all around my own age, and they always keep to private rooms. So the men in the common area will not expect to see a pretty young lady here. You should keep that key in view for them to see, just so they do not start a wondering panic. They won't openly object, do not worry; they are just very old-fashioned and set in their ways. Thankfully, all private rooms are soundproofed, so once inside you may do whatever you please."
Molly nodded in understanding, obediently lifting the skeleton key to her chest for all to see. Henry smiled approvingly, turned, and opened one of the elegant doors. Molly followed him with her lips sealed shut, determined not to give a bad impression. As they walked through the large common area, she kept her eyes on the back of Henry's silver head. From the corners of her eyes, she saw that this room seemed just as elegant as the front hall but also quite comfortable. She heard roaring fires, the clink of glasses, and smelled cigars and pipe tobacco. She could feel eyes land on her in surprise rather than hostility, and this calmed the blazing in her cheeks that she felt.
Finally, Henry stopped before an oaken door at the opposite end of the large common area, and indicated for her to open it with her key. She did so carefully, irrationally afraid that she would break the key or jam it in the lock. But she didn't: it was a perfect fit, and the heavy door opened noiselessly. She stepped over the threshold and turned to look back at Henry. He gave a gentle and reassuring smile before shutting the door between them.
Now alone, Molly turned to have a better look at her new sanctuary, and couldn't help but gasp. It was absolutely beautiful. She felt as though she had stepped back in time and into the private study of a Victorian noble. The colors were dark and rich: dark mahogany furniture, rich burgundy walls, forest green and royal blue Persian rugs, even a medieval tapestry hanging on one of the walls. A second wall was completely covered by a large bookshelf filled with old and leather-bound books. A beautifully carved desk sat in one corner, a lovely cabinet piano was in another, and before an equally beautifully carved fireplace was a lounge chair and a sofa.
Both, especially the sofa, were stuffed substantially and looked irresistibly comfortable. As if under a spell, Molly gravitated towards the sofa, with its stuffed cushions and plush pillows. After stripping off her coat and tossing it and her purse on the lounge chair, Molly lowered herself onto the sofa. It was even more comfortable than it looked, if that was at all possible. All of the fatigue and weariness came rushing back to Molly like a tidal wave.
Well, maybe I'll just rest my eyes for a few minutes, she thought as she kicked off her shoes, loosened her ponytail, and laid herself down on the sofa. She had a fleeting thought that silence had never been so comforting before falling into a deep, very long overdue, sleep.
At quarter to five on the dot, Mycroft Holmes entered the Diogenes Club as he did every day (unless he had an urgent meeting or was out of the city). Usually, he and Henry just exchanged a friendly nod, but the man looked so pleased to see him that he thought he had better exchange a greeting. "Afternoon, Henry. Good day?"
"Good day, Mr. Holmes! Before you go up, I must tell you that your room is occupied."
The smile on Henry's face confirmed Mycroft's first suspicions when he'd first saw Henry's pleased face at the sight of him. A warm feeling spread over his heart as relief spread over his mind, but none of that showed on his face to Henry. "I see. When did she arrive?"
"About a quarter after noon, sir," replied Henry. At Mycroft's raised eyebrows, Henry looked even more pleased. "She must really have taken a fancy to the place, Mr. Holmes. Had a feeling she would; she seems like a good girl."
Mycroft paused before quietly answering. "Yes, I believe she is." Snapping back to his usual cool but pleasant exterior, he said, "Well, thank you for informing me, Henry. I was going to keep to the common area today, anyway. Please continue to inform me if and when Molly has come here."
"Very good, sir," said Henry, nodding his head before returning to his book.
Mycroft walked up the familiar marble steps with a bit more spring than usual. He was pleased that his first genuine and freely given act of kindness had been accepted rather than fallen on deaf ears. Then again, Molly Hooper struck him as the kind of person who would never ignore, turn away from, or not see an act of kindness. No wonder Sherlock trusts her with his life.
The thought of his brother made Mycroft decide to go to his private room, though it was occupied. He'd learned this morning that the first step in Sherlock's long mission had been completed successfully, and his brother was (temporarily) safe. As long as they were both here, Mycroft thought it only wise to pass along the piece of information in person rather than a coded text message, as he'd done the last time to inform her Sherlock had safely gotten to his first destination.
Perhaps she would even smile, most likely for the first time since this whole mess began. Mycroft found that he would not mind seeing such a sight in the slightest, and furthermore, he didn't really care. Thankful that the door and locks were silent here, Mycroft fit his own key the door when he reached it, and slowly opened it to look inside.
Once he spotted her, he entered and softly shut the door behind him. The sight which met his eyes affected his heart in a way he couldn't describe because he never felt it before. Molly was fast asleep, curled on her side and hands under the pillow. The large sofa cushions and her baggy work clothes made her appear small and fragile; her relaxed expression only sharpened the pale cheeks and dark circles beneath her closed eyes. Seeing her like this, Mycroft knew it would be a terrible sin to wake her now.
But still he wanted to do something; for a second time, the urge to give an act of kindness took over him, and thankfully it didn't take him long to figure out what. Swiftly and silently, he walked to the small closet door behind his desk, and pulled out a folded fur blanket. Walking back to the sofa, he unfolded it and carefully draped it over her. Once he had tucked it securely around her, Molly moaned a bit and snuggled into the warmed. Her sleeping face changed from relaxed to peaceful.
Satisfied with himself, but also not comfortable with the strange emotions this little woman was bringing about, Mycroft silently left the room for the common area. He would text her the news of his brother later, when she would be awake and not so close by.
A/N: Sorry this update took so long. Busy work/rehearsal schedule, lack of response to this story, and writer's block all got in the way. I promise I'll post another chapter by Christmas (and a Christmas Sherlolly story if you're good to me.)
