Chapter 2
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
A/N- How did you guys like the last chapter? Sherlock is a very hard character to write about, especially emotionally, I hope I did a good job. This fanfic is going to span across series 3.
Why did you have to interrupt him like that? Molly reprimanded herself as she strode down the sidewalk to the tube station. She had not quite overcame the shock of Sherlock being back again yet, she had known Sherlock was alive, sure, but it's hard to remember when you force yourself to cry at his funeral and comfort John. Molly continued to walk through the wind, the slight drizzle splashing on her face, making it impossible to tell if she's crying, she felt...relieved, and somewhat guilty. She had no idea how to confront John after this, since Sherlock had no doubt told him that she had helped fake his death. She stopped in her tracks, considering going back to Sherlock so he can continue his story, but it's rather awkward to be going back now, isn't it? She had rushed out from a mixture of emotions, which primarily included shock, anger, relief, and just a tiny bit of guilt. Molly had promised herself to get over her hopeless crush on Sherlock when he "died" and she highly suspects that she is not going to accomplish her goal if she continued to stay in the deserted locker room alone with Sherlock Holmes without psyching herself. Gloomily, she boarded the train and went home to Tom, her fiance.
Sherlock stood there, motionless, still staring at the spot where Molly Hooper had previously occupied. The air still smelt faintly of the pomegranate scent of her shampoo.
He recovered from being interrupted quite quickly, after all he was quite used to it, though most people just ignored him. But he was still in quite a shock, being interrupted by Molly Hooper, the woman who obviously fancies him, yes, she still fancies him, he could tell from her pupils and how she darts her eyes around, not quite looking at him straight in the eyes, even though she's engaged. He smiled, Molly is finally standing up to herself and he liked that.
Molly woke up groggily, as her phone lit up and buzzed, she rolled over to Tom's side, it's cold, he's gone to work already. The sunlight streamed through the curtains softly and she turned again to check on her phone, which was on top of her book that she was reading last night.
1pm, 221B Baker Street.
SH
Sherlock again. It's been only three days since he had came back from the dead, Molly had no idea what his plans are, and she's even more confused to the fact that Sherlock actually sent her two texts that does not include unreasonable requests in a week. She checked the time, 7am, she is not going to obsess over what she is going to wear like Christmas again, she's not going to let that ruin her day, she's going to go back to sleep and wear what she will always wear to see Sherlock, because she's engaged and Sherlock is no one worth dressing up for.
Sherlock was sitting on his armchair when he heard the front door of the flat open, he silently stood up and turned to stare out the window, his back to the door, and that is how Molly found him when she entered the door to the sitting room.
"You wanted to see me?" Molly asked rather tentatively,
"Yes." Sherlock said, turned around, and slowly starts walking towards Molly, "Molly?"
"Yes?" Molly prompted, a little surprised to find Sherlock talking so slow and hesitantly. Sherlock looked down and started walking even closer to her,
"Would you like to..."
"Have dinner?" Molly suggested while Sherlock simultaneously said: "Solve Crimes?"
Molly could feel her face heating up slowly, and to avoid Sherlock making a fool out of her, she quickly nodded and said,
"Sure, I would love to solve crimes with you."
Molly stared as a couple entered the room, the woman is sitting in John's armchair and the man is standing beside him, she wondered briefly if all clients sat in John's chair which he had to sacrifice, Molly shifted in her chair that had been pulled next to Sherlock's armchair,
"Are you sure about this?" She asked quietly, she had no idea what she was supposed to do, she had suspected that John would be reluctant on returning to the crime-solving life, and she had wondered what Sherlock is going to do, apparently, Sherlock would call her and ask for her to stand in for John.
"Absolutely." Sherlock said in what he hoped to be a reassuring tone.
"Should I be making notes?"
"If it makes you feel better." Sherlock had no idea why anyone would feel inclined to make notes, if you can't remember it, then it's not worth remembering.
"It's just that that's what John says he does, so if I'm being John..." She trailed off, she remembered that at Sherlock's funeral, John had mentioned several of their cases together, and had described their crime solving as him scribbling down everything Sherlock was saying as fast as he can.
"You're not being John, you're being yourself."
Molly can't help but smile happily, at least Sherlock is not replacing her as John. Way too fast for her to process, Sherlock had deduced that the client was having an affair and that the "stolen" money was actually withdrawn by himself, he handed the wife a business card of a lawyer and sent them on their way.
During the next few hours, Molly watched as Sherlock deduced the living hell off clients, shocking them and more often offending them. A completely horrible father posed as his daughter's pen pal, breaks her daughter's heart so that she would swear off relationships and stay at home with the money. And after sitting at Baker Street for nearly five hours, Sherlock dragged Molly to Lestrade, who greeted Molly with a surprised expression, and they entered a room with a skeleton in Victorian clothing sitting at a desk. Molly watched him sniff around the skeleton and the suit, then taking out his pocket magnifying glass for a closer look, she poised her pen on top of her notebook, ready to start scribbling to keep up with Sherlock's fast talking pace.
"Shut up, John." Sherlock suddenly hissed, and both Molly and Lestrade's head snapped around,
"What?" Molly asked, as if she hadn't heard what he had said, even though she heard him perfectly,
"Hm? Nothing."
Lestrade leant in to Sherlock, who was examining the suit of the skeleton,
"This gonna be your new arrangement, is it?" Lestrade whispered, glancing at Molly who was holding her pen, waiting for Sherlock's monologue,
"Just giving it a go." Sherlock said dismally,
"Right. So, John?"
"Not really in the picture any more." Sherlock said, and the scene of John beating him to a pulp flashed before his eyes. He stepped back to look at the whole desk again, when the building rumbled and cement flakes drifted down from the ceiling,
"Trains?" Molly asked,
"Trains." Sherlock confirmed, and he starts thinking deeply,
"Male, forty to fifty." said Molly, who figured that she might as well be useful, had walked towards the corpse and was looking at the bones, she was glad that she was a pathologist then, and then realised that the only reason Sherlock chose her is probably for her medical background, which would've made her the number one substitute John from his narrow circle of friends.
"Oh, sorry, did you want to be?" She said hesitantly, looking around to see Sherlock joining her at the skeleton,
"Er, no. Be my guest." Sherlock said, and John's voice flashed through his mind again, "Shut up!"
Molly glanced at Lestrade nervously, who returned her nervous glance,
"Doesn't make sense." Molly said pensively after examining the skeleton,
"What doesn't?" Lestrade asked,
"The skeleton, it can't be more than..."
"Six months old." Sherlock and Molly said simultaneously.
Sherlock searched the edge of the table, and somehow manages to find a book, he blew the dust off, spared a glance at it, and showed it to Molly,
How I Did It
By
Jack the Ripper
"Wow!" Molly said, surprised and impressed. Sherlock flamboyantly dropped the book on the table with a loud bang and Lestrade leaned forward to read the cover,
"It's impossible!"
"Welcome to my world."
"Smart Arse." John's voice again echoed through Sherlock's mind. He grits his teeth, he was not used to mental distractions such as this, how can his own mind be out of his control? He packed up his tools as he rushed through his explanations, giving Molly little time to scribble down everything. Sherlock concluded that the whole thing was a fake, and rushed out the door,
"Why would someone go to all that trouble?" Molly called out after Sherlock,
"Why indeed, John?" Sherlock answered naturally then immediately cursed himself for saying John's name, but the damage's done. Molly looked awkwardly at Greg, feeling hurt, though what did she expect?
REVIEW! What did you think?
I feel like Sherlock's kind of like a child who does not know how to handle emotions and therefore locks them away but has no idea what to do whey they rush towards him.