Chapter Two: Scolding
"Wait, how does she know…?" John blurted out.
"Oh, great!" Molly commented sarcastically, "you got John killed this time too?!"
She sat down on her office chair with a small sigh, her face the picture of annoyance. "Gosh, Sherlock, it's bad enough with you, and now John! Show yourself right now, Sherlock!" she commanded, crossing her arms to wait.
"Okay," Sherlock replied sulkily, his ghostly form becoming visible.
"Sherlock," Molly sighed with resignation, "Where are the bodies?"
"Morgue drawers 32 and 35," Sherlock replied, gesturing to the drawers where he had shoved his and John's bodies after dragging them through the wormhole. Molly got up and walked towards the drawers.
"Um, excuse me, I have a few questions," John piped up.
"I know, John, and I promise to explain everything once you're alive," Molly answered.
"Alive?" John questioned, "How on earth ar–"
"Shut up, John, and let Molly do her work," Sherlock interrupted.
From the POV of John Watson
Molly walked over to the bodies and did the most amazing thing I've ever seen. She put her hands on the gunshot wounds, and her hands started to glow with a soft, golden light. Mine and Sherlock's corpses started to glow, as well. I became woozy and dizzy, and then everything, suddenly, went black.
The next thing I knew, I was awoken by the sound of Molly Hooper scolding Sherlock Holmes.
"Sherlock, your intelligence is like a pair of underpants," she told him, "It's important that you have it, but not necessary that you show it off! You knew that this was going to happen, didn't you?!"
"No," the tall detective replied indignantly, " I had no–"
Molly silenced him with a stern look.
"Alright, fine," he admitted, "but I didn't plan for it to happen until later!" Sherlock looked at Molly rather apprehensively. I have the strangest suspicion that, despite all his bravado, Sherlock Holmes is in some capacity terrified by angry Molly Hooper.
"Oh, you ass!" she exclaimed, looking like she was about to launch into a thorough tongue-lashing.
"Oh look! John's up!" Sherlock nervously laughed, glancing at me as I sat up. "John, how are you feeling?"
"I guess I'm okay," I replied, though my head felt like it was filled with a heavy fog. "What happened?"
"Do you not remember anything?" Sherlock questioned me.
"No, not really," I answered him, "I remember us chasing the thief, and then everything went black." I groaned slightly as I slid to my feet. My muscles all felt stiff and sore.
"We don't have to tell him," Sherlock said quietly as he looked at Molly.
Molly rolled her eyes in reply. "No, he deserves to know," she insisted, looking at me with an unreadable expression.
"Deserves to know what?" I asked, becoming more confused by the minute as I realized I had been lying on a morgue drawer.
Molly ran her fingers through her hair as she began to explain.
"Well, John, you see," she said, pausing as if to find the right way of phrasing something. Before she found her words, however, Sherlock butted in.
"Molly is half angel."
~MJS
