Chapter Two : Molly Interrupted
It had not even been a week after Molly had helped Sherlock Holmes fake his death that the paparazzi began to hound her. She found herself having to hide within the confines of her apartment when she was not at work and it was starting to drive her a bit mad. Indeed, Molly was finding more comfort in her television shows and Ben & Jerry's than she was the outside world. John had contacted her when the ordeal had first occurred, he was in denial until the funeral. Poor John. Molly felt terrible having to lie to John and pretend that Sherlock really was dead. On the other hand, it was not a lie to tell him that Sherlock was gone. Even she, the woman who helped him fake his death, did not know if she would see him again and the thought was a bit unnerving.
It was not until the second week that Molly would get any peace. The media had milked the event for all that it was worth for the time being. Molly had been proud of Lestrade and his team (aside from the fact that Sally Donovan had gone out of her way to point out that she knew Sherlock Holmes was a freud the whole time) for the way they handled the evidence and the media. He released very little details other than the ones that were obvious. Molly supposed it was because he didn't quite believe what had happened himself. The inspector may not have been the most intelligent man in the land, but he did have faith in Sherlock Holmes, or rather, he had faith in Sherlock Holmes.
"I'm sure he didn't mean any of it," she had told the older man over the phone.
"Yeah, that doesn't make this any less stressful though." And to his credit, he was right. Molly just wanted things to go back to normal. She wanted to pretend she didn't have the world's biggest burden on her back.
Two months later Molly made it home to her flat after a particularly long day from the morgue and noticed that something was amiss when she entered the living room. She had a similar feeling to being robbed except for the fact that everything was still in its place.
The pathologist crept further into her apartment, this time reaching her kitchen before letting out a small scream. There was a man in her kitchen and he was currently poking through her fridge.
At her startled scream, the man in her fridge stood up and a familiar face greeted her with a look of disdain.
"Honestly, Molly, must you feel so inclined to yell at this hour?" Sherlock's bright blue eyes were narrowed at her.
Molly stuttered for a moment before should find her voice.
"What are you doing here, Sherlock? Everyone thinks that you're dead!" Honestly he told her that he was going to be gone for several months at the very least. He had gone as far to suggest that he may never return to London after faking his death. So what was he doing back so soon? Without so much as a ring over the phone?
"Thank you for pointing out the obvious," Sherlock replied as he closed the door to the refrigerator. Molly was pretty sure that he rolled his eyes at her then.
"You aren't supposed to be back so soon," Molly ignored his rude comments at the moment. "Did something happen?" She suddenly became quite worried for Sherlock. Surely something had not gone wrong already?
"No, I simply could not put up with Mycroft for one moment longer," the admission came quietly from Sherlock's lips.
"Couldn't put up with Mycroft? What's that supposed to mean Sherlock?"
The tall man rolled his eyes. "Can we not talk about it? Honestly, it does not matter much now. He already put me out, Molly," his voice was deadly serious but Molly was trying to process what he was saying.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head so that she could get a better look at Sherlock. The pathologist may not have known that much about his older brother, but she knew Sherlock and he was hardly ever so dismissive without explaining himself.
Was his brother perhaps some untouchable subject? Or was Sherlock just cross at this hour?
"So why are you at my flat Sherlock? I wouldn't say that's a brilliant idea considering the fact I'm already the reason why you're dead," Molly told him seriously. Sherlock just let out a sigh and shook his head, curls gently shaking as he did so, something that for some reason, Molly's tired brain still felt the need to notice at this hour.
"I understand that Miss Hooper, I was hoping that you could service me a little longer and allow me to reside in your flat until I am ready to formulate the rest of my plan." Sherlock's voice was as condescending as always, almost as if he was trying to get a child to understand a complex math problem. It wasn't Molly's fault that she was caught off guard. She had just sort of assumed that Sherlock knew what he was doing when he came to her with that god awful plan of his.
After a moment's consideration and realizing that she could not really say no to the man, Molly shook her head and turned on her heels. "Fine, Sherlock. I hope that the couch is comfortable for tonight. I'm too tired to argue with you." And with that, Molly Hooper went to bed.