So, just want to say thank you very much for te wonderful and lovely reviews, as well as other support. you are all just fantastic. I'm dedicating this chapter to miss daisherz365...since i told her i would, because she's feeling a bit down and sickyish...so i hope this helps with that tear inducing challenge.
oh, and i own nothing...that is all.
Deprived- Chapter Two:
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The first two hours are blank. Nothing but simple, dreamless sleep. John set up a small tray of supplies by Sherlock's bedside, fully prepared to handle any side effects that she may have suffered. Sherlock insisted on using his bed, considering he never slept. Molly hadn't moved for two hours. The third hour was filled with the beginning of the series of nightmares.
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''It'll be alright, little Molly. You let Uncle Bill take care of everything.'' The soothing voice of her new guardian washed over her as she sat up from the floor. She didn't remember what happened to cause her to fall, but she could feel the lump on the back of her head. She looked up to see her 'uncle' looming over her, a bottle of something brown in his other hand.
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Molly stirred a bit, feeling the warmth of sheets surrounding her. She rolled over, and jumped a bit as she saw Sherlock leaning up against the headboard. She looked about the room, realizing it wasn't hers. As she tried to sit up, her body felt heavy, and she fell back on the bed. Sherlock turned to see her eyes.
''You were mumbling in your sleep. I thought I'd check on you.'' He said, his voice regular with its clipped tone. Molly looked away, slightly embarrassed that she was in his bed, and apparently talked in her sleep.
''Wh...John. He drugged my coffee. Why would he...why would he do that?" Molly's nervous and tired voice came out. The detective looked her over, seeing the signs of her still lack of rest all over her. He stood from his spot, before walking to the door.
''John!" Sherlock hollered down the hall. Soon, they were joined by the sandy blond man, who gave Sherlock a rather confused look upon his entry. Sherlock turned around, to see Molly was once again asleep.
''She was just awake. Just for a bit. She asked why you would drug her coffee. A question that I have as well. I thought that would possibly go against your moral code.'' Sherlock raised a brow expectantly, as he waited for the answer.
''It's also against my moral code to see a friend slowly killing herself for some unknown reason.'' John said, not looking away from the small woman. He walked past his tall counterpart, and began to check on her. He placed a hand on her forehead, and then immediately pulled a thermometer from the tray. When he had taken her temperature, his findings confirmed his earlier suspicions, fever. John busied himself with preparing a small dose of medicine to fight off the climbing fever, while Sherlock stood by, watching his friend work. He flinched slightly, as John injected the needle into Molly's arm, suddenly feeling some sort of awful...ping...deep in his stomach. John stood, and turned to look at him.
''She'll be alright. She just needs a long rest.'' John said as he patted Sherlock on the shoulder. He didn't expect Sherlock to leave any time soon, so he merely walked out, not saying a word of the detective's odd behavior. Sherlock's eyes washed over Molly's face. He could see her eyes moving rapidly under her lids, and he wondered what sort of thing she was dreaming about that would make her want to so desperately stay awake.
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''Uncle Bill, please no! I'm sorry, I won't do it again!" Young Molly was in the corner of the small kitchen of her new home. A spill of juice in front of her, as she held a rag in one hand, her other held up to block the approaching man. He raised his arm high, a fist for a hand at the end. Little Molly was in tears as she closed her eyes, the assault wracking her body.
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''Molly!" She heard the deep baritone voice cutting through her dream, waking her up with a jolt. She looked up, fully expecting the large fist to be swinging down again. Instead, what she found was the crystal blue eyes of a very intense looking consulting detective. She could feel his hands on her shoulders, obviously a strong grip, trying to shake her into alertness. Molly couldn't help it, the lack of sleep, mixed with the terrible nightmare, caused her to break down. She rolled to her side, and sobbed into his pillow. Sherlock yelled for John again, this time making sure she stayed awake for them. John arrived in his room, to find Sherlock straddling the tiny pathologist with his long legs. One and was still holding her shoulder, the other stroking her hair in a soothing motion. He looked up, meeting John's gaze, before immediately pushing himself up and off the bed. He strode out of the room, while John tended to her. A few moments later, John walked to the hall, in his route to fetch Molly something to eat.
''Well, she is completely terrified, and a bit pissed off at me, apparently. So...what happened in there?'' John looked up at his friend, hands running through his blond hair. Sherlock looked back to the door, his face still sober with concern.
''She...she started to talk in her sleep again. She mentioned a name this time, a 'Bill'. 'Uncle Bill, please no.' Then, it was as if she were blocking some sort of brutal attack on herself. She just kept...moving. I was simply preventing her from injuring herself. I had to pin her down, John. She just kept...she wouldn't stop.'' Sherlock looked like a small boy who was lost in a department store. If John were being honest, he would say his usually stoic friend looked worried, scared.
''John, I think we've just found our latest case.'' Sherlock said after a moment. John had seen that look in his eyes before, the same look Sherlock always had when he was in his element.
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Sherlock had sent John to Scotland Yard to speak with Lestrade. He had instructed Mrs. Hudson to keep an ever watchful eye on the recovering woman in his bed, and to call if anything happened. Meanwhile, he went to Molly's flat, looking for any sort of clue as to what haunted her dreams.
When he arrived, he slid the key easily into her lock, and pushed open the door. At first glance, there seemed to be nothing out of place, nothing that would stir up any odd sense of emotional turmoil. Everything seemed like it had a place, the stacks of unread and read mail sitting side by side. Her fruit bowl, with a week's supply of variety for her to choose from. Sherlock even noticed how her dainty throw pillows seemed to congregate in a uniform fashion on her sofa. 'What could possibly keep her up in this flat?'
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''Why am I cross checking some random bloke's name with Molly Hooper's?" Greg sat across from John in his office, pulling up records on the computer atop his desk. John sighed, looking like he were contemplating the great mysteries of life.
''Sherlock said she kept muttering that name in her sleep. Sleep, which she would not be getting otherwise if I hadn't intervened and sedated her. Greg, something feels off about this. Can you just...just check for me? For Molly? Please?" John's voice was sincere as ever, clearly worried over the well being of his sweet friend. Lestrade nodded in determination, before typing away again.
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Mrs. Hudson was busying herself in her boys' kitchen, when she heard a small, weeping sort of sound, coming from the hallway. She stopped washing the glass beakers in the sink, and wrung her hands dry on the small tea towel sitting on the counter. As she quietly approached the bedroom, she heard a horrific scream, followed by a crashing noise, and finally the shrill sound of scattering glass.
''Oh, dear.'' Mrs. Hudson raced down and flung open the door of Sherlock's room to find Molly curled up on the floor. Her plate from dinner sat in a thousand pieces around her, a few sticking in the now bleeding spots on her arms and legs. The sweet older woman winced as she saw the cuts, and immediately stepped over the broken glass to look at Molly's injuries. She was shaken up pretty badly, not saying a word. Instead, her lower lip quivered violently as she looked about the room frantically.
''Oh, oh Deary...let me get you into the other room. I'll go call Sherlock. Come on, now.'' She smiled, and Molly nodded her head lightly. She stood up, gingerly stepping around the shards of ceramic plate. Soon, the very groggy pathologist was sitting on the sofa, while Mrs. Hudson phoned the consulting detective.
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''Yes, I'm on my way. Is she still awake?" Sherlock asked, grabbing the small bag of clean clothes he had picked for her, and he plucked up the stack of mail by her door. As he hailed a cab, he listened to his and lady describe the incident, and the injuries. As he hung up, he immediately received a call from John.
''Sherlock...''
''John, you know I prefer to text.'' Sherlock spoke in an annoyed tone. Soon, before he could continue, John cut him off again.
''Sherlock! It's...it's bad. It's, oh Jesus, it's terrible.'' His voice was sad, so terribly sad. Sherlock's face fell into a deep from, before he asked for more information.
''Only one match popped up when we cross-checked any 'Bill' and Molly. A William, aka 'Bill' Kuffler, was made sole guardian of Molly at age seven. No reports again, until she was 13. Molly was put into the care of a children's home, after Bill was arrested. Sherlock, he abused her. Verbally, physically, and...and...'' John couldn't bring himself to say the third. Sherlock immediately felt his blood boiling, not sure if it was pure rage for the heinous acts, or the fact that they had been committed against someone so innocent. John hadn't heard him say anything, and continued.
''That's not all. Apparently, Kuffler, after being in prison for the past twenty years, got out on good behavior.'' John said, an understanding tone in his voice. Sherlock sighed out in realization. 'The nightmares, the mumbling in her sleep, the terrified looks.' It all made sense now. Sherlock was filtering through Molly's mail, when his eyes scrolled over one envelope in particular. The return address simply said:
Uncle Bill
It made even more sense then. The thing that had been haunting her. The monster in her nightmares. He had the nerve, the cruel audacity to attempt contacting her after the hell on earth he had put her through. Sherlock was seething, fully ready to kill this mystery man.
He felt the cab pull to a stop in front of 221. He suddenly had the overwhelming urge to walk through fire to protect her from this terrible part of her past. He walked through the door, and chose to leave her stack of mail on the main floor, dropping it on the last step, before he bounded up them. As soon as he opened the doors, he was greeted with the sight of Mrs. Hudson wrapping a final bandage around Molly's arm, securing it with tape. Molly looked up, meeting his tense stare.
''Oh God. You know.'' Molly's lip began to shake again, and before he could compute his actions, he was striding over her. His long arms pulled her up and into his chest, effectively holding her in a fiercely crushing hug. Molly felt all the energy surging beneath his skin. He felt like lava, raging and flowing with a deep heated need to take action. Molly felt safe, there in his arms, and she finally broke. Her tears fell, her cries of anguish and tired fear muffled by his chest. Sherlock simply held her there, not wanting to release her from his grasp and strong sanctuary.
He would find this man. He would make him pay. He would give her peace.
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Well, that's that part. I had a really rough day, and so I wanted some comfort..as detached as it was. Hope you liked this chapter. Third and final chapter should be up soon. ...um...tell me what you think?