MOLLY'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM
After speaking to Greg, Molly spent the rest of that day going over every detail of the phone call. But she wasn't analysing it on how it affected her, but Sherlock.
Looking back now she realised that on some level she had instinctively known something was off. But due to the way she had been feeling before he'd called, and her growing irritation, then hurt and anger as the phone conversation progressed had meant that she hadn't paid the attention she perhaps should have. After all, one could never accuse Sherlock of being backwards about coming forward whenever he wanted something.
And yet as she replayed their conversation in her head, it was now clear he had been anything but his usual confident self.
THE PHONE CALL
"Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me and not ask why."
The request had been of the Sherlock-type she was used to receiving, yet something was off. His words were carefully measured, and cautious.
And she'd dismissed them as nothing more than a silly game.
"No, it's not a game. I need you to help me."
He was hesitant, each word was chosen with care. This was not the usually self-assured Consulting Detective speaking.
"It's not about that."
Impatience had crept into his tone, but there was more to it than that. He wanted the conversation over as quickly as possible, but not like he would normally, even with her he could be very brusque, when he needed something quickly. Something, or more likely someone else was driving this need to move quickly, like he was under some sort of time restriction.
"Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words."
There had been a long pause, or hesitation. Long enough that she had to remind him that she was still waiting to learn what it was he needed from her. When finally he had spoken, the words were again spoken with care.
"I love you."
The request when it came was delivered in an almost Sherlock-like way. Each word said clearly and precisely.
"Molly, no please, no! Don't hang up! Do not hang up!"
His response is immediate. Every word is driven by one overriding emotion – panic.
"Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me."
He speaks softly, trying to appear calm and reassuring.
"Molly, this is for a case. It's...it's a sort of experiment."
Again his tone is cautious, and he tries to choose his words with care, but he miscalculates.
"No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend, we're friends. But, please, just say those words for me."
There is a clear realisation of his poor choice of words. But though he speaks softly, there is an undertone of desperation in his voice.
"It's very important. I can't say why. But I promise you it is."
The tone is now one of cajoling, though the undertone of desperation remains.
"Of course you can. Why can't you?" / "No, I don't know why."
The emotions here are clear, confusion, and a growing sense of desperation.
"Please, just say it." / "Why?"
His desperation makes him impatient. He has no comprehension of how much saying those words will cost her.
"Well, if it's true, just say it anyway." / "Say it anyway."
Or maybe he does. He needs to hear her say those words aloud so it forces him to appear cruel. If making her angry will get her to say the words, then so be it.
"What?"
He is taken aback, and confused by her unexpected condition.
"I... I love you."
He's hesitant, trying to ensure that he sounds genuine. But once the words are out of his mouth, there is a moment of realisation.
"I love you."
He says the words again, this time for real.
"Molly? Molly, please!"
He becomes truly panicked, his emotions driven by genuine fear, and in his desperation he comes as close as he ever has to begging.
And no sooner were the words out of her mouth, then abruptly the line went dead.
MOLLY'S FLAT – LIVING ROOM
A growing realisation in the pit of her stomach had her legs almost giving way, as she stumbled towards her sofa, and collapsed down on it.
Sherlock was being forced, under some considerable duress to make her say those words.
The question was why.
And then a chill ran down her spine as Molly recalled Greg's words.
"But no one has seen or heard anything of Sherlock, John or Mycroft since. They are unofficially listed as missing."
Were their lives under threat if she hadn't said the words?
And had her condition, that he spoke the words first, like he meant them, also put them in further danger?
Tears of anguish and regret began streaming down her face as multiple unpleasant scenarios began forming in her mind.
And her overriding thought was.
'What have I done?'