Thank you for the lovely reviews, those who are reading. I truly appreciate it. This scene I wanted to try and get across Sherlock's feelings about Irene Adler. I literally am being so cruel to Molly, though she'd like this (if she was real). Anyway, enjoy.
Let me know what you think x
G U I L T
It took her forever to catch a cab from Baker Street, though the wait for the warmth of the car made it all the more inviting. She cuddled inside her coat, letting out a long sigh, a day's frustration and turmoil billowing through her lips. She wished you erase seeing something from your memory. The fact Sherlock didn't say thank you didn't injure her as much as she'd have expected; she hadn't expected any sort of thanks from him anyway. Her mind was far too focused on the text messages from that woman. She didn't think she'd sleep. If it was his girlfriend it would, admittedly, cut her to the quick, but then again at least she'd know. At least then she'd be a step closer to solving the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes. She rested her head against the cool pane of glass in the window. Suddenly her phone in her lap flashed and buzzed violently, causing a little shudder of shock to cripple her momentarily.
Sherlock Holmes.
There was that feeling again. Even though it was now 99.9% certain that he had another woman on the boil, she still felt that giddy need when his name flashed up on her phone. She almost kicked herself at her own desperation. Her cold fingers fumbled foolishly with the keypad, hungrily pressing every button until the message displayed itself on the screen. There. Two little words, just enough to make her feel slightly better.
Thank you – SH.
He was there the next day, on cue; alone, again, fiddling with a microscope. At least he wasn't breaking the radiographer's machine with that bloody mobile phone again. Molly stopped beside him and made herself look busy with some papers on the desk.
"Hello." She hesitated at a piece of paper with a rather beautiful woman on it biting a whip. Embarrassed, she shuffled the papers into a neat pile, wedging that particular photography right at the back so she wouldn't have to look at it.
"Not x-raying mobile phones today, then?"
"Sadly not." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably as Molly stood behind him, peeking over his shoulder.
"I got your message." She paused, "You're welcome."
"Find anything interesting?" Sherlock pulled his gaze away from the microscope and turned to face the young doctor, finding that, upon turning, she was a lot closer than he anticipated. She quickly moved back, her face flushing a little.
"I-I beg your pardon?" She stumbled over her words and her eyes flickered towards her shoes. Sherlock let a small smile tug at the corner of his lips.
"On my phone; did you find anything interesting on there?"
"I don't know-what do you mean?"
"You looked through it, obviously." He pulled the phone from his pocket, "You're a woman, and from what I've heard women love to pry."
"You like to pry; you were x-raying a phone yesterday." Molly pointed out, surprised that her brain managed quite a valid point. Sherlock immediately shot that down.
"I was investigating, for a purpose." Sherlock held the phone up to the beam from the clinical light, "Not only that, there are small fingerprints, too small to be mine, all over the buttons and screen."
"I was holding the phone-"
"Not to mention the fact when I unlocked my phone the first screen that came up was a list of messages I haven't seen in weeks."
Shit. Molly swallowed, her mouth fall ajar. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and her hands wrung together in front of her. Sherlock placed the phone on the side and cocked his head to one side, seemingly awaiting an answer.
"Sorry." Molly managed. She half expected him to storm out; that was usually his style. But instead the faint glitter of a smile was etched on his lips.
Sherlock watched her for a moment, slightly impressed at how well she had begun to manage the situation. Even though it had been blatantly obvious to him that she'd been down his phone from the moment she knocked on the door to 221B. Who would travel all that way across London in the dead of night to give a phone back unless she had a good reason not to keep it until morning? Deducing, he realised she'd already had her fill of the phone; she'd been curious, seen what she wanted to see (or what she didn't want to see, whatever the difference) and thus had no intention of keeping the phone with her all night. All that, plus Molly's beautifully timed comment of there being lots of 'important' things on there. Curiosity killed the cat, as it were.
"Don't be sorry. I'm actually quite impressed." Sherlock assured her, not a hint of sarcasm evident in his voice.
"No, it was your phone and I shouldn't have-" She tripped on her words, "Impressed?"
"Yes. I didn't think you had it in you."
Molly realised only Sherlock could blend an insult and a compliment into one. She didn't know quite how to tackle that last comment. Suddenly she was the sole proprietor of this awkward silence.
"So? Find anything interesting?" He repeated. Molly shook her head quickly.
"No pictures?" Sherlock cocked his head to the side, "Messages?"
Silence.
"You already know what I looked at." Molly said slowly, "Why do you want me to say it?"
"I want to know what you think."
"Can't you do that anyway? Isn't that your job?"
"I'm a detective, Molly, I see and deduce from physical things." Sherlock quipped, "I can't tell what goes on inside your mind."
Evidently, Molly though, choosing instead to not verbalise it.
One half of her wanted to sprint from the lab screaming with the sheer mortification of being caught out. However, the other half, and strangely the more dominant half, advised her to stay and battle this one out.
"Who is she?" She asked, waiting for a reply which would end her world. Instead she got:
"A woman." Sherlock squinted his eyes at Molly, studying her. Hair unwashed, late night sleep. Subtle tint of red wine around her bottom lip. He realised saying that didn't really answer Molly's question. He wondered why her face dropped whenever he talked about other women.
"Your texts were very…friendly."
"Her texts were very friendly." He corrected her, "My texts were virtually non-existent."
The young doctor was rendered dumb for a moment; she suddenly realised the man was right. All the text messages were from this woman. There was only one from him wishing her a Happy New Year.
"I thought you and her were-"
"She is a woman who tried to trick me; a woman who drugged and beat me all for a mobile phone which, consequently, she gave to me as a Christmas present."
Molly wondered why he was telling her all this. She never knew the ins and outs of his cases, especially this latest mystery involving this particular woman. But still Sherlock continued, "She lies, cheats, steals and blackmails. This is a woman sells her body and her modesty for a living, Molly, not because she needs the money to feed her children, but because she is hungry for power and dominance." He spun on his chair, and, in one fluid motion he was on his feet, shrugging into his coat.
"So no, Molly, she never was, and never will be my girlfriend." With that he snatched up his papers and fled the lab in one quick succession.
Molly realised her mouth was open this whole time. Snapping it shut she cursed herself for ever looking down that bloody phone. For a few minutes she sat alone in the lab on the warm seat he'd left, pondering over what he'd said. He'd been so adamant that she was nothing more to him than just another woman. Maybe she was just a deranged fan of his who kept sending him texts. He spoke with such revulsion about her, though, that Molly began to wonder whether he really truly disliked her. She mirrored herself to his woman; Molly really only ever lied to make someone else feel better. She'd never cheated or stole, or blackmailed anybody, come to think of it. She'd most certainly never sold her body and her living was made cutting up cadavers. It seemed Molly and this woman were polar opposites. So, if Sherlock truly detested this woman for these qualities, then surely he'd like her for being completely different? Scratch that, she thought, Sherlock isn't that simple.
Molly looked over the lab surface, one piece of paper left discared by Sherlock Holmes as he'd rushed out the door. That photograph she'd shoved to the back of the pile. She inspected it. The woman was insanely gorgeous; flawless skin, dark hair classily clipped back while her perfect teeth bit down on a riding crop. Even though the picture was cut just by her bust, it was evident the woman was naked. Molly read the masthead.
Know when you are beaten.
In small letters printed at the bottom were the words The Woman. So this was her. This perfectly shaped classy dominatrix. Any man on earth would probably fall to his knees for her; she hardly needed the whip. Why hadn't Sherlock? She laid the paper on the table and wondered if really, truthfully, deep down in that part of Sherlock that nobody knows, whether he already had.
Rating will go up next chapter. Talk of masturbation and stuff. Yes. We like that. How is the characterisation? I'm trying to keep it as 'in-character' as possible, but if there's anything I should change, let me know.
