You remember that medical suspension of disbelief, yep carry on with that please. I would like though to say a big thank you to WayTooEasilyObssessed for your review. I wish I were bright enough to understand what you suggested and incorporate it...instead I'm rather skirting over the actual cause of death.
To everyone else that reviewed, thank you, you give me the confidence to continue.
And last but not least I completely forget every time I'm here to mention that I am on tumblr. If you want to get in touch you can find me under the same pen name, look me up, drop me a line, send me a Sherlock pic...whatever ;).
Chapter 2
Molly left shortly after and Sherlock spent some time going back through the file and formulating the tests they'd agreed to run the following day. They were going to try to replicate the blood tests to see whether any of Mr Hooper's other medications could have interacted with the antibiotics to nullify them in a tox screen.
Sherlock was fairly sure they wouldn't but Molly was determined to rule out every possibility.
He had been surprised to receive her text earlier that day but it hadn't occurred to him to do anything other than offer her his help. She had done so much for both him and John over the last few years. He owed her his life, the least he could do would be to be there for her now.
What had surprised him had been his reaction to her distress. Molly had been cheerful, cheeky, flirty, scared and angry around him but he had never really seen her so upset and he hadn't liked it. He had found himself not just wanting to help her but wanting to comfort her, to take away her pain.
He couldn't remember ever holding somebody the way he had held Molly whilst she had cried in his arms. He left the comforting to John or just plain didn't bother but this was different, this was Molly. She had seemed so small and vulnerable. He shook his head trying to dispel the memory, it wouldn't do for him to get sentimental. She was his friend and she needed him to be strong, to solve the case and that's exactly what he would do.
It didn't stop the feel of her haunting him in his sleep though and he awoke the next day feeling out of sorts and unrefreshed.
It was a reasonably warm spring morning and he decided to walk to Barts to try to clear his head. Molly met him in the lab bringing with her a coffee made just how he liked it. She always seemed to anticipate his needs; he suddenly felt a stab of guilt that he had never really returned the compliment. Maybe that was something he should work on. He remembered back to when John had first moved into Baker St. and the endless berating about being selfish and not thinking of others. He had started to make a bit of an effort with John and with Mrs Hudson, but what about Molly. What had he ever done for her?
He set up his microscope and they got to work. Molly had obtained various blood samples for them to work on, from both live and dead patients. Sherlock quickly realised that the live blood was her own when he saw the edge of the plaster under the arm of her lab coat.
He queried it with her but couldn't fault her logic that as she was related her blood would be the closest match to her fathers.
She had also obtained the various drugs that he had been on and they spent quite a bit of time calculating how much of each medication should be mixed with the blood to produce realistic results.
It was when Molly was sat opposite him reading the tox screen results that they had just produced that he realised he was staring at her. Not in his normal deductive or critical way. No, strangely he found himself just enjoying the sight of her. Seeing the way her eyes ran over the paper, her finger tracing over some of the details. Her hair was up in its normal ponytail and he had a sudden inexplicable urge to remove the hair band and run his hand through it. He wanted to see if it was a smooth and soft as it looked.
He already knew how it would smell, she had leant over him earlier and he had smelt strawberries and vanilla. The sudden closeness had made him tense and she'd moved back apologising. He'd almost put his hand out to stop her, wanting her to stay close but he'd clenched his hands into fists instead. He couldn't quite understand what was happening to him, why he was suddenly reacting so strangely around her.
She looked up at him and smiled before pointing out some of the results and Sherlock felt his mouth run dry. He struggled to concentrate on what she were saying at first. But then the details of the case took over and he spent the next twenty minutes pouring over the figures with her.
Their conclusion at the end was as Sherlock had anticipated. Molly's father had not received the antibiotics that should have prolonged his life. So now it was on to the harder question, was this an isolated occurrence or the work of a potential serial killer.
Molly looked worn out by the time they had finished. She sat back in her chair and rubbed a hand wearily across her face. Sherlock had long known how close she had been to her father and this new knowledge was hitting her hard. He had a sudden desire to see a smile back on her face. Maybe it was selfish of him but he was starting to realise what a positive, uplifting influence Molly was on his life. She always greeted him so cheerfully. The smile, which he found so hard, coming easily to her features. He missed it.
'Would you...' He hesitated wondering if this was something he should really act on but then he remembered his promise to himself to give something back to Molly. 'Would you like to go out and get some food, I know a good Italian restaurant not far from Baker St.?'
Molly gave him a small smile which he found himself returning.
'That's really nice of you Sherlock but I'm exhausted. I think I'm just going to grab a take away and go home.' She pushed back her chair and stood up starting to pack away her things.
Sherlock felt an unreasonable disgruntlement at her response. He knew he was frowning and he found himself trying to come up with an alternative. He wasn't ready to let her go yet, he needed to stay with her, though he wasn't quite sure why.
He stood mirroring her movements, 'fine, well we can pick up something from that chippy I told you about. The one that always gives me extra chips.'
He turned to collect his coat and missed seeing the surprised expression on Molly's face, 'oh, OK. I...erm..I don't think I'll be such good company but if you want.'
Sherlock seemed very solicitous, guiding Molly to the lift, calling the cab, going to get the food and paying for it all. He refused to take any of Molly's offers of money or help. He even tried to find plates in Molly's kitchen until she pushed him out of the way laughing.
'I'm not an invalid Sherlock. Your concern for me is very sweet, unexpected but sweet, but I'll be fine. You don't have to stay if you don't want.'
Sherlock had never ever been called sweet before and he had to swallow down the scathing comment that came to mind to refute the suggestion.
'I bought these chips for a reason and I intend to have some of them. I suspect you just want them all for yourself...well you're not getting rid of me that easily.' He put on his fiercest scowl and was pleased to see that it elicited the hoped for smile from Molly. She punched him lightly on his arm before picking up her plate and taking it through to the front room with Sherlock following close behind.
He had never been in Molly's flat before and he suddenly wondered why not. He had known her for years but had never once bothered to think about where or how she lived. He was surprised by how small it was and how shabby some of the furniture was. He knew how much she was paid at Barts so why was she living so frugally.
He spotted the picture of Molly and her mum and dad on the mantelpiece. It was easy to work out that her father had been a self-employed plumber, no company life insurance or pension scheme then. Her mother looked frail even in a picture that was well over five years old. So possibly disabled now, at the very least unable to work. So it looked like Molly was helping out her mother financially to her own detriment.
His food suddenly seemed to stick in his throat. How long had she been struggling like this? He should have noticed sooner, the second hand clothes were charity shop not vintage, the willingness to work overtime, eating in the subsidised hospital canteen. Molly had been scrimping for years and had never once complained, never once mentioned it.
He looked across at her, wondering at the hardships she must have endured to get to where she was now. He'd never questioned his own good fortune, he came from an affluent background, he had enough family money to indulge his career choice. It allowed him to choose his cases based on interest not financial reward. He had never questioned this, never really felt any gratitude. At times he had even thrown it away, choosing drugs and homelessness over comfort and stability.
He found himself wondering how he could help Molly, how he could make her burden lighter. He knew enough to know he couldn't just offer her money, she would refuse it, see it as charity, be embarrassed that he had seen her circumstances. But still he wanted to help her, he wanted her life to be...better.
As they ate Molly asked Sherlock about his recent cases and he found himself regaling her with one case that had had him and John chasing a violent ex-con across a marshy bog in Norfolk. Molly laughed as he told her how John had lost his footing and ended up waist deep in mud cursing at Sherlock to pull him free.
'And did you?' Molly asked as she giggled.
'Eventually. I had to wait until the police finally arrived to remove the thug, he would have absconded otherwise, I had no means of tying him up. John was most put out that I had left him stuck for almost an hour. He was lucky, some of those bogs are made up of a kind of sinking sand, at least he wasn't going anywhere.'
'Why does something tell me you said that to him...' Molly was almost crying laughing now and Sherlock found himself loving the way her eyes lit up, the colour returning to her cheeks.
'Well, I thought it would give him comfort, calm him down but apparently I was wrong. It just made him angrier. He even took a swing at me when we finally dragged him to solid ground. No gratitude, no thank you just an attempted busted nose. It backfired on him though. He was still suffering from parasthesia in his legs causing him to be unstable. When I moved out of the way of his fist he overbalanced and fell in again.'
Molly's laughter became infectious and Sherlock found himself laughing at his memories of John's indignant expression at finding himself in the bog a second time.
Molly put her hand on Sherlock's arm, 'thank you, I really appreciate you helping me and for cheering me up. I needed it.'
Sherlock smiled back genuinely, 'you're welcome Molly. Whatever you need I hope I can give it to you.'
For those wondering what parasthesia is its pins and needles. I just thought Sherlock would be the type to use the medical term. (I had to look it up though).
Next update Sunday, see you all then xx
