Disclaimer: I own nothing! I claim nothing! I'm just borrowing the characters for my own pleasure and the pleasure of whoever reads this!
Chapter Three
Home Again, Home Again
Molly led the way to her flat, and Sherlock followed at her heels. He kept glancing around and behind them, setting her on edge even more so than she already was. She kept hearing things that weren't there, and seeing things out of the corner of her eye that turned out to be shadows.
At the door, Sherlock bent down and plucked the set of spare keys from her single decoration, a potted plant, and unlocked her door while she still rummaged through her bag for her keys. When she saw the door open, her jaw dropped. "How did you know those were there?" She asked as Sherlock replaced them.
He simple shrugged in response. "It's a classic place to hide keys, and since there's only one here, when you seem to have an affinity for symmetry, it seemed logical that the plant's only use was to conceal something important, that also needed to be outside for when it was needed. Therefore, spare keys." He explain his reasoning as they stepped inside.
"Wow. . .I'll have to move them then. I didn't realize it was so obvious." Molly mumbled, shutting the door and locking it behind them.
"Underneath the welcome mat isn't a good idea either."
Molly stiffened. "How. . ." She sighed, and shook her head. "Never mind."
Once again, she led the way through her apartment, pointing out the living room, dining room, kitchen, and bathroom. As Sherlock had said, each room seemed to match, with everything having a special place in the room it resided in. The only thing out of place was a stack of books on the living room table, nestled between the chair and couch. It was tilted heavily to one side, almost to the point of tipping. The books themselves were the kind cheesy romance novels that single women read like addicts took drugs.
Molly noticed Sherlock's interest in them, and blushed. Of course he'd find and lock onto her secret addiction.
Sherlock noticed much more than that, though. He noticed the single wine glass in the sink, telling him that Molly indulged everyday after work. He noted the lack of family pictures, estranged from her family then. He saw the scented candles decorating each room, some unlit but others having been used several times. She was into aromatherapy then, and often used the scents linked to calming the mind, while she avoided scents for empowerment. She had a fold-away keyboard tucked between the couch and the wall, indicating she played but was embarrassed about it, possibly because her mother didn't approve of frivolities. In short, a quaint dwelling that seemed much too repressive.
Molly stood there dumbly as he looked around. She wondered what he saw. Probably some pathetic spinster woman whose only comfort was her cat and romance novels.
When Sherlock was done, he glanced down at Molly. "You haven't shown me where I'll be staying." he said, giving no indication of his view of her house, or what he may or may not have learned of her.
"Oh yes. . .There's a guest bedroom down the hall. . .it hasn't been used for a while, but hopefully it'll do." Molly said, leading him to the room. She opened the door to reveal more of the same, light colors and openness. The bed was centered in the room, with a burrow on the wall across. It had a small bedside table with a lamp on it, but otherwise the room was bare.
"This'll do just fine." Sherlock said, once again not commenting on the room.
"All right. . . well, umm. . . my bedroom's at the other end of the hall, soo. . . yeah. Do you need anything?" She pursed her lips together to stop the stream of nervous babbling.
"Yes, coffee, black with two sugars, if you don't mind." he replied, giving her his trademark grin when he asked for the same at Bart's.
Molly nodded, and went to the kitchen, glad for something recognizable to do. Nothing unusual about making Sherlock coffee. . . Everything unusual about making him coffee in her house. God, Everything just seemed so wrong.
As she pored the coffee into a cup, she realized her hands were shaking. She balled them into fists angrily. Why did she have to be so weak? As soon as anything got compromising, she got scared. She was tired of it. She couldn't just run away from life forever, certainly not now.
She unclasped her hands and very deliberately spooned the sugar into the cup and stirred it. Simple, slow movements, no jerking, no stumbling through it or letting herself to insane with concern or worry or anything else.
She heard a noise from the living room, and, with the coffee in hand, she went there to find Sherlock sitting on her couch, Toby curled in his lap. He seemed confused by the feline's presence there, and Molly couldn't help but giggle at the sight. "That's usually my seat, and whenever I sit down, he does the same thing."
Molly sat down at the other end of the couch, and passed him the coffee. He didn't thank her this time. Of course, what had she been expecting? He never thanked her for coffee. Just for saving his life, and that sort of thing. Molly sighed. Just an ordinary day with Sherlock Holmes.
Watching him drink the coffee, Molly found herself wishing for her nightly glass of wine before bed. Something to calm her nerves, at the very least.
"Go drink, if you must. You're fidgeting again. It's distracting." Sherlock said, waving her look of confusion off. "I noticed the wine glass." he explained.
Molly nodded, then shook her head no. "I don't want it tonight. . ." She sighed, standing. "I'm going to bed. . .put the cup in the sink when you're done." She said somewhat bossily. She didn't see Sherlock's look of amazement at this as she slipped away to her room, with the feline - Toby - fast at her heels.
"Amazing." Sherlock muttered. "No asking, just telling. I wonder how she'd react if I just left the cup here. . ." he said quietly, talking to himself as he looked at the half-empty cup. He shook his head, dismissing the thought quickly. No need to purposely goad the pathologist into anger.
"Sherlock!" Molly shrieked from the bedroom. Sherlock was up in an instant, and in the room in another. He wasn't immediately sure what he saw. Molly was holding a coat in her hands, looking at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. When he looked closer, he realized the problem. It wasn't just any coat, it was his coat, the very one she had thrown away earlier. It still had his blood dried on the collar.
Sherlock took the scene in without showing emotion, though his mind raced. "This is part of the game- no, a new game. It seems we tied, then. . . Unless. . . Molly, I need you to call John." He said, stirring her from her shocked daze.
"What? Why?"
"Because I need to know if he's alive. No time to explain. Just call." Sherlock said impatiently.
Molly pulled out her cell phone and made the call. After a few rings, she was met with the sound of a sniffling man. "John?"
"Yes, yes. Hello Molly, what do you want?" John's voice was rough and broken. He'd obviously been crying a lot. He also didn't have his usual politeness for her, something that hurt her deeply.
"It's just. . .I wanted to make sure you were all right, after. . ." Molly pursed her lips as she heard her own voice get tight with sadness.
"I'm alive, and honestly, that's all I can promise right now. You're the third person to call me today, asking the same damn thing. Sorry, but I'm done Molly. Goodbye." John hung up then, leaving Molly nearly in tears for the third time that day.
Sherlock, who had been listening to the whole thing, nodded happily. "Yes, very good, he's alive, meaning in some sick way, Moriarty and I have tied. Now he's bored again, so he's started a new game, only this time, it's a secret. One of us will die this time, while the other gets to come back. Genius, simply genius." he raved, pacing as Molly watched, flabbergasted.
"Genius? This isn't some game Sherlock!" Molly scolded, tossing the coat the the ground in anger. "There are lives here, real lives, and this life is sick of being treated like a pawn!" The stress of the day finally came forth, and for once, she didn't want to just bow down and do what was asked of her. She was angry and sick and tired of this.
Sherlock, for what it was worth, seemed to snap out of his train of thought, and even flinched as she raised her voice at him. He straightened quickly though, and took a deep breath, seeming to right himself internally. "You are most right Molly, lives aren't pawns on some chess board. You'll have to excuse me if I seem to treat you as such. To beat an evil maniac, I have to think like one, you see, and he views everything as a game."
Molly nodded slowly, her temper gone as quickly as it had come. She blushed, and looked away. "Y-yeah. . .sorry for yelling. . .that was uncalled for."
Sherlock sighed. "Never mind that now. There's been another change of plans. We can't stay here. Grab your essentials, and get ready to go."
"What?!"
And there's Chapter three :3
A little wondering for you.
Thank you for the lovely reviews for the first couple chapters!
Magicstrikes: I hope this answered your first question :3 Also, yes, Moriarty is alive hehe.
I figure, if Sherlock can jump off a building and live, Moriarty can shoot himself and live :3
That's all you get right now, hope you enjoyed this chapter, sorry if it was a bit slow! :*
