Chapter Three:
Molly had dozed off and on, after securing the door to the morgue with a chair
so she wouldn't be disturbed. She closed her eyes for what seemed like a few minutes.
When she awoke, the lights outside the morgue window were dim, and the windows to
outside indicated that it was night. She looked at her watch.
"1:30 am." She whispered. Surely now would be the perfect time for Sherlock and her
to leave without being seen. She pulled herself off the stool and made her way over to
the storage locker where she had stowed him away. She opened the door slowly, trying
to be quiet, so as not to frighten him.
She then slowly pulled out the moving cart on its rollers and looked at the man that lie
fast asleep on the gurney. He looked peaceful, his hands folded together across his
chest. His breathing was steady, deep. She tilted her head and smiled a little as she
watched him breathing in and out. She almost hated to wake him, but it was now or never.
She placed a small hand on the side of his face, gently rubbing it across his cheekbone. His
eyes opened slowly, as if he had been blinking instead of sleeping, and they focused on
her. She smiled weakly.
"Good morning. It's time to go. Do you think you can manage?" She asked, helping him
into a sitting position.
He slowly moved his joints, wincing when it was too much pain, but nodding nevertheless.
"Yes, I think I will be able to make it out of here quite sufficiently. We are going to
your flat, correct?" He stated, more than asked. She nodded her head as she walked across
the room to fetch her bag and coat, along with his. She helped each of his arms back into
his coat, carefully moving with his contoured body shape due to the stiff gauze that held his
muscles still.
They took the neglected hallways of St. Bart's toward the back doors. Once they reached
outside, they quickly took to alleyways and side streets until reaching Molly's small flat, no
more than 20 blocks from the hospital itself. Molly felt through her bag for the keys to her flat,
occasionally shaking the bag, redistributing its contents to the other side. She finally found them,
and pulled them out of the bag. With a quick turn of the wrist, the door was opened, and they
walked inside. Sherlock's deductive nature quickly kicked into gear as he eyed the different aspects
of her small apartment. A small kitchen, not even big enough for a table and chairs. A horrid looking
floral print sofa, obviously a thrift purchase for a younger person on a budget. Old bookshelves,
accumulated over a long period of time, filled with books of all different genres. Obviously a quiet,
shy childhood, most of her time spent indoors reading. That would explain her ever pale complexion
and fair skin. The walls were a dull eggshell white, few pictures of any familiar people, mostly
canvases and posters of favorite places or scenes.
He glanced to his left, spotting the hallway the led, no doubt, to her bathroom and bedroom. Most
likely a small loo with the basic necessities, but nothing extravagant. Possibly pink accents, but too
early to say. Bedroom, definitely small, only room for a full size bed and perhaps a small wardrobe or
desk. His thoughts were interrupted by a small sound. It came from behind him, toward the kitchen.
He turned to investigate. Molly was there, filling a small kettle and placing it on the stove. She turned
toward him and smiled.
"I figured a soothing cup would do you some good." She said cheerfully. "Why don't you make yourself
comfortable, do you need anything? Anything at all?" The words from earlier the previous day echoed in
his brain. He grinned swiftly, and shook his head.
"No, just the tea will do. Thank you." He responded, as he slowly peeled his coat off his arms. He then
made his way to the hideous looking couch and promptly plopped down onto its cushions. It surprised
him, for being something so disgusting in appearance, it was actually very comfortable. Minutes later, Molly
rounded the couch with two cups in her hand. She placed one on the small coffee table in front of Sherlock,
the other in her hand, clearly for her.
"So," she started, "what is the next step? What are you going to do next? And how can I be of help? Can
I be of any help? I just- I want to make sure you have what you need." She said, thinking out loud of how
to get her point across.
"I have a few ideas. Right now though, I would like for you to go and rest. You look completely exhausted,
Molly. I can't see how much help you would be if you can't manage to keep your eyes open." He responded
indifferently. She caught herself nodding off again, and then nodding her head in agreement.
"Okay, but just...just do me a favor, alright? Don't, don't leave without letting me know what your plan is."
She asked, knowing the response would be annoyance.
"I assure you that I do not plan on leaving you in the dark." He said, his eyes wandering around the room.
He was lying, he knew it. She knew it too. Her response surprised him.
"Please. Please just, just don't leave without saying goodbye. At least do me that one small favor." She
said, her head looking down away from him.
"I promise." He said, then motioning for her to go to bed, he took place on the couch, clearly ready to
think through his options for the next step.
A few hours later, he had it. He practically jumped off the sofa, almost forgetting about his injuries, until
they made themselves known with a dull stab of pain throughout his torso and arms. He retrieved his coat
from the hanger near Molly's front door, and slid it on over his stiffened shoulder blades. He reached for the
doorknob, but stopped. Looking back toward the dark hallway, he turned and headed toward the door that
led into Molly's room.
He slowly opened the door, the light from the kitchen dimly glowing into the room, and shining light on the
small frame in the bed. He quietly walked toward her, lowering himself over her now sleeping body. She
breathed in and out softly, a look of worry written on her face. He placed a small kiss on her cheek before
leaning towards her ear and whispering,
"Goodbye Molly Hooper. Thank you, for everything."
He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Then out of the small apartment,
and into the cold, rainy streets of London.
So my errands didn't take as long as I thought, and I suddenly had a lot of REALLY good ideas as to where
I want to take this story, but I think I may end for now...just to keep people wanting more...if you want
more. Which I hope you do. Because I'm writing regardless, so deal with it. lol. Thanks for reading!
BYE FOR NOW LOVELIES