First of all, apologies for it taking almost a month to post this chapter.
I wrote it, and I was ready to rock and roll, when I gave it a final read through and realised I hated it.
Then something called life happened and I haven't been in a position to focus on writing.
Alas, here is Chapter 3. Chapter 4 is already partially written, so I will be updating again this week.
Sherlock's eyes cracked open as he felt a distinct warmth, which ran across his cheek and over the bridge of his nose. The offending light caused him to close his eyes tightly at the brightness which bored into eyes. The realisation hit him a moment later, when he registered the source; sunlight.
He sprang upright from his spot on the forest floor and held his hands up to the light which zigged zagged from the canopy and into scattered spotlights all around the forest floor. He revelled as the light hit his palm and he embraced the warmth on his hand. One week after the event which changed everything. One week since Sherlock had last seen or felt sunlight. The clouds of smoke and pollution had finally lifted and for the first time in seven days, Sherlock let slip the smallest of smiles.
He felt Molly stir beside him, her hands rubbed her eyes as she roused from her sleep. Her eyes blinked in offence just as his had done moments before. He waited for her reaction and he watched as her large brown eyes opened wide.
"Sunlight, it's actual sunlight Sherlock!" Her voice cracked with sleep, yet it seemed to dance as she wiggled her fingers as the light moved animatedly on her illuminated hand.
"Yes, it seems the clouds have finally lifted." He continued to watch her. Her pale face held the happiness of past memories. Suddenly, her face dropped and her smile was replaced with the familiar look of sadness he was so acquainted with.
"I suppose we should get moving, shouldn't we?" Sherlock looked at her from where she sat next to him. Her voice was almost robotic, and it stunned him slightly how alike him she sounded. For the past week the only form of conversation between the two of them had been Sherlock barking commands at her.
She stood up and brushed the remnants of the ground from her dress. Her dark brown locks glowed with tints of amber as she fixed her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. The sunlight illuminated her whole frame and at that moment Sherlock had never seen anything more mesmerising in his whole existence. Sherlock mentally noted he needed to find them both some more practical clothing, as soon as the opportunity arose.
"Let's eat first. I was thinking of using the last of the flames from the fire to warm some beans up." Molly stopped in her tracks, as he spoke. "That is unless you prefer them cold, then I'm perfectly happy to eat on the move." She glanced back to him, where he still sat on the ground smirking up at her.
"A little sunlight is all it takes to dislodge the stick from up your arse, is it?" She jestered back at him, and they both shared a friendly glance.
"Perhaps so. Now grab a tin from the satchel before I change my mind."
...
The early morning progressed pleasantly. Molly sat beside Sherlock on his coat, his Belstaff was seeing more use as a floor mat than as of an actual coat as of late. As they sat beside the dying fire, their stomachs now sated, Molly instigated the conversation. The sun had brightened both of their moods it seemed.
"You know, I still have a million questions from that day, but the one that has puzzled me most is where on Earth did you find a horse?" She laughed as she spoke, and drew patterns in the earth with a stick she had found beside her.
"I found her as I was coming to rescue you." He felt Molly stiffen beside him. A week on and they had both barely spoken about the events that happened on that day. He continued on with his story, aware of the slight awkwardness that had befallen them.
"I assumed she had came from Hyde Park Stables, the small riding school by Paddington station. She was fully tacked but had managed to get her reigns tangled in the railings. She almost landed a kick to the crown jewels, but fortunately I managed to calm her down enough." Sherlock scratched the back of his head.
"I never took you for a horse man. Let me guess, you learnt during your boarding school days?" Molly asked inquisitively. It was clear she was using the good mood Sherlock was in to her advantage.
"Yes, we were encouraged to choose some form of enrichment in addition to our studies. Horse Riding was one the extracurricular activity options, so I made the choice to learn the skill. More for the fact that it didn't really involve 'people'. Turned out to be pretty useful in the end." He sighed in memory.
"I can't say I've ever been a huge fan of horses. Dad was allergic to them so I never really got much exposure to them. Not that my parents could have afforded lessons anyways." Molly shrugged her shoulders and looked back towards the tethered mare.
"Well, you should be a huge fan of her. I doubt that I never would have made it to you in time without her." The words were out of his mouth without thinking them through. Molly looked down to the floor, the stick laid inanimate in her hands as she pressed it into the ground.
"Thank you, Sherlock. For saving me, for everything. I don't think I would have survived this week on my own. I know I've been difficult, but I haven't felt like myself since, well, you know." She smiled up at him, a small but sad smile and her hand came over to squeeze his knee in a comforting gesture. It was at that moment, the small space between them seemed infinite.
He noticed her hand lingered a little too longer than she intended and when she pulled it away he snatched it into his own without a thought. She looked to him, both with shock mirrored on their faces at his rash action. He felt like every moment they had shared was crammed into those few seconds. He remembered the first time they had indulged in each others bodies, more out of a primal need than an emotional one. Shamelessly he crawled back to her time and time again like she was nothing but a good hit from a dirty needle.
Her face was so close and he wasn't sure if it was her or him who had initiated the move. He watched as Molly seemed suspended in time. Her eyes closed softly and her lips parted ever so slightly and so invitingly that Sherlock felt the uncomfortable tightness in his pants. All he had to do was move his face forward a few inches to claim her mouth. He could imagine it now. Her body pressed into the earth, her pretty dress pushed up to her waist, his cock pressed hard inside her and his mouth covering her own to stifle her screams.
He snapped back to reality, and scrambled to his feet shaking off the remnants of the forest and his dirty memories onto the floor. He didn't even look down to acknowledge Molly's reaction. He already knew she'd feel rejection. His cock twitched in protest as he rubbed his hands through his bedraggled curly locks. He let out a small groan to try and relieve some of his lust but he knew it would do little extinguish the burning inside of him.
He moved towards the tethered mare, when he felt a distinct pressure against his back, which caused him to stumble forward lightly and grab the trunk of the tree in front of him to steady himself. When he turned round he saw Molly stood in the spot he had occupied just moments ago, her brows furrowed, fists clenched and her chest heaving heavily.
"You fucking bastard." She breathed out haggardly, her eyes were full of rage. "Every damn time, God I know I should know better by now. You just don't give a shit do you?" She raised her clenched fist towards him in anger.
"Clearly. That's why I didn't leave you dead under a pile of rubble, whilst John-" he answered nonchalantly. The sting against his cheek, which followed his response stunned him temporarily as her hand swept across his face sharply.
"Don't. Don't you dare bring him into this now. How dare you try and guilt me." Sherlock looked down upon her small frame who currently embodied the spirit of a grizzly bear.
"I'm not guilting you." Sherlock snarled through gritted teeth. "What do you want me to say?"
The look of pure anger channelled through her eyes and she launched herself at him, her fists pounded against him. Sherlock restrained her wrists after begrudging her a couple of blows to the chest. She struggled against his hold as she weakened against him, her anger gave way to sadness as she started to sob hysterically. No longer seeing her as a threat he dropped her arms as she fell forward against his torso. He held her tightly against him as her limbs had temporarily turned to jelly.
"I feel like we are the only two people on the Earth right now, and in this last week with you I have never felt so invisible." She whispered and pushed back against him, standing cross armed in front of him with her head bowed down.
"I'm sorry if I have offended you Molly. But, I have already told you my intention is to get us both to Whitehaven. I'm not here to entertain you or offer you companionship." He stepped around her and towards the remainder of the belongings, which were yet to be loaded onto the horse.
"Why would you save me at all? Go on. Tell me why you saved me over John." The way she asked him took him back to that moment at Sherringford. When she asked him to tell her he loved her first.
"You were closer. I thought I would have time to save you and then go to John." He lied, yet his voice was bold with conviction.
"I was closer?" It was then that Molly looked right into him and he felt unhinged.
"Yes. But it's irrelevant now isn't it? The who's, what's and why's. The past cannot be changed." He regretted the words the moment they left his lips and he saw a lone tear slide down Molly's cheek.
"No. You're right, it can't be changed Sherlock." She all but whispered, her head hung low in defeat.
She stood quietly against the tree trunk as he finished packing the last of their belongings. An uncomfortable silence passed between them but Sherlock didn't show it. As he brought the horse over towards where she stood she turned and started walking away towards the fire pit.
"Molly." He called out sternly, with a tone indicating for her to get on top of the horse.
"I am going to walk for a while." With that she scooped up a pile of earth from the ground, where it was softest at the root of a tree and doused it over the dying fire. The hearth released a hiss as the embers turned from bright hues of yellow and orange to deep blood reds. She clapped her hands of the excess dirt and turned to walk towards the opening to the clearing. He mounted the horse and urged the mare forwards to close the space between them.
...
They walked in silence for hours, Molly refused to take a seat up in the saddle. The sun was at it's peak in the sky, when the pair encountered an impenetrable pile up of cars. Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh, they would have to divert. There was no way a horse would be able to manoeuvre between the vehicles. He picked out the compass in his trouser pocket and begun to close his eyes. He visualised their exact location based on road signs and landmarks they had walked past. His mind scanning the vast maps he had memorised to try and figure out the best diversion.
He wasn't aware how much time had passed, since he had entered his mind palace. A common side effect. But he was roused by a noise in the distance of the sound of something hard hitting against metal. The distinct ting sound echoed through the silence. He observed Molly, who was only a couple of metres ahead looking into the windows of the abandoned cars. The sound hadn't come from her, she was much too close. She started to walk towards the next car further away, when Sherlock felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Molly. Stop." He bellowed to her. His veins ran cold as he jumped to the assumption that they were not alone. She defied his orders and proceeded to walk to the next car, either unaware or uncaring of the noise that had alarmed him moments before.
He was about to call her again as she looked inside the open window of a large people carrier, when two hooded figures ran out from the other side of the car to grab Molly. She let out a squeal of alarm as she wrestled against their hold. Sherlock was on his feet in an instant but before he could even reach her, he felt a dull throbbing ache at the back of his head.
Shit. An ambush.
He turned his head slightly to see a hooded figure behind him holding a metal bar. His vision started to blur and his head grew woozy. He clambered towards her blurred outline, only to find his knees grazing against the cold hard tarmac. He called out to her again, his vision faded but he could hear her screams of terror. He felt another brief sharp pain to his temple before the world faded to black.
As always, you're comments are always appreciated.
