Dear Readers, just a friendly reminder that Molly will end up with Sherlock in the end. Alive and well! I promise this has happy endings all around...
Though this part is very emotional.
Yet, if it helps to know that this story has a total of 6 chapters to it…I know I told one delightful reader it would be a 7chapters story, but I found myself moving some things around so part 5 wouldn't be such a WTF moment! Though I was seriously tempted to leave it that way but decided to be nice. Plus, I liked it better how I now have it ended… You will understand better once I have it ready for you to read it and part six…OOOOhhh….Best not to say anymore!
So, the heartache won't be going on strong forever. There is a very much alive Molly being happily kissed by Sherlock at the end of all this…I swear!
So while reading this very emotional part please do keep in mind that a lovely happy ending will abound!
A lovely thank you to WayTooEasilyObsessed, your review made me smile and please believe me this story will have a happy ending for both Sherlock and Molly though yes Sherlock first needed to have some sense knocked into him first. He has a bit of a hard head but this story will indeed end happily. Possibly have a bit of a fairy tale feel to it…And Lilsherlockian1975, oh seriously your words keep me typing! And Applejacks0808, your encouragement and your wonderfulness means the world to me…
Shazzykins, SammyKatz, Bucky5, Panocha, dhh, guest…Thank you as well! You all know how to keep me encouraged, and make me faithful in writing this story, I simply hope this story doesn't disappoint…
Now on to the story!
~*~Given Time~*~
~*~Part 4~*~
…surrender himself to complete rest if his wished to avert an absolute breakdown. The state of his heath was not a matter in which he himself took the faintest interest, for his mental detachment was absolute, but he was induced at last, on the treat of being permanently disqualified from work…
-The Devil's Foot by Arthur Conan Doyle
~*~SHERLOCK~*~
Sherlock knew his best friend actually thought and believed with all his pure, brave heart that he was a man of great miracles but miracles were actually well timed and well placed illusions. Little tricks that seemed hard to explain to the overwhelmingly simple minded.
Yet, the one true miracle…Truly, impossible miracle that Sherlock wanted was for Molly Hooper to still be alive…
Was it really possible that he actually could delete close to three years of his life? Seriously? Sherlock honestly didn't think so…He had an odd feeling that something else was at play. It was something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. A true mastermind of a puzzle…
Really, why would he forget just three years, especially when it involved solving a murder…or murders…Surly, he wouldn't forget when it came to an extremely important case…Never when it came to his Molly. In all honesty this was much more than a case. So much more…
Because of Molly…
Perhaps he was in a coma after being hit with that blasted pipe! Or…or maybe he was simply unconscious and at any moment he'd wake up from this bloody nightmare.
He could dimly remember Lestrade coming to him about a case that to him at the time didn't seem at all that interesting…Really, a killer who only killed once a year? How silly, certainly not worth his time. The killer didn't even have the decency to kill on the exact day; it was always during that one week period. Most interesting non-boring serial killers never waited a whole year to hunt and kill their next victim. Making Sherlock believe this killer was simply lazy.
Though the victims all had a certain delicate quality to them, all petite women and they had all been grabbed at night…to be found the next day among some rubbish bins in a dirty alley somewhere. Never once were they dumped in the same place. The police knew it was the same killer, for the worthless piece of excrement would always cut off two fingers with the same cutting tool. It seemed he froze the fingers and leave one finger from the last victim with the most recent…All the while keeping the other finger as some sort of sick blasted trophy!
And the thought that Molly, his Molly, was found naked among filthy rubbish in an alley, with her lovely fingers missing, tore savagely at him.
Now the killer had his attention… His full attention at that!
Before Molly became his victim, Sherlock would have left the once a year killer pretty much alone unless he had entered into his 'I'm bored, so bored, must find something to do!' stage.
Perhaps if he had accepted the case earlier, before the killer laid hands upon his Molly…Maybe she would still be alive…Maybe…
Still the killer would pay…Sherlock would make sure of that.
Surely, no sane criminal would want the famous, legendary Sherlock Holmes after them. With his fantastic art of deduction that sometimes almost seems super human and his endless crazy energy with his dogged determination that can lead so very easily into obsession…Sure, he had his outstanding resources, be those resources his friends, his homeless network or his archenemies aka his dear highly annoying brother who just so happened to be the British Government.
Yet, no matter how powerful his brother was, Mycroft couldn't bring Molly Hooper back from the dead. Sure, he could start and end wars. Be the British Government and the smartest man in the world. He could even fly a silly helicopter and perhaps even fly his own private jet. He could easily make terrorists pee themselves but he couldn't give Sherlock back his Molly. Making him, in Sherlock's opinion, pretty damn worthless to be perfectly honest…
In fact, Sherlock felt the need to inform him of this the moment he showed up at Baker Street.
Mycroft cocked his head to study him with a cold emotionless gaze. A normal look for him actually. There was a long moment before something that just might have been concern flashed within those intelligent, secretive eyes.
"So, is it true what John has told me? That you have brain damage?" He asked his brother quietly…almost well, carefully…
"Seriously, you called my brother?!" Sherlock said as he glared at John, who was sitting calmly in his chair having himself a lovely cuppa. He totally ignored the glare to say gravely, "Of course, I called your brother because even if he's a prick and quite possibly the biggest ass hat in the universe, he cares deeply for you."
"I do, you know, brother mine, care very deeply." Mycroft stated with absolutely no emotion in his voice. Eyes watching him carefully as if Sherlock was an escaped jungle cat out of his cage…
"You actually told my brother that I am brain damaged?" Sherlock asked feeling more than a bit betrayed. He was in no way brain damaged! Sure, perhaps he a damaged, hurting heart but his brain was still amazing!
"No." John said simply.
"Actually, he said that you badly hit your head and was having a hard time remembering…certain…things." Mycroft informed him, his expression had softened as well as his eyes. Intense sadness was there. Sherlock knew exactly what those 'certain things' were. Yet, sadness wasn't the only thing within his brother's eyes…It had taken him a second to recognize it…
Pity. Sherlock's hands curled into tight fists. No, that had better not be pity he was witnessing from his brother. Never that! He didn't want or need pity! Especially from his brother! What the hell did Mycroft know about sorrow? What did he honestly know of another's suffering? How dare he pity him!
"The words, 'bat shit crazy' may have been uttered…" John muttered, "But I said it with all the love that I have in my heart for you."
"I am not bat shit crazy simply because everything is wrong! EVERYTHING, John! There is a very strong chance that I'm in a horrible nightmare and all I have to do is wake the hell up!"
For an older man, seven years older to be precise, Mycroft Holmes could move quite swiftly when circumstances called for it. His closed brolly struck him quite hard on the back of Sherlock's leg.
"OW! That hurt, you bastard!"
"Both of our parents are married, as you well know, Sherlock. Now…Would you like me to give you another little love tap? Hmm? Just to make certain you are wide awake, of course…" Mycroft offered carelessly and with a slight smile upon his face as if he was a pleasant host offering up some tea and biscuits.
"Piss off! You are a worthless piece of excrement!" Sherlock snarled, darkly glaring at his very calm and oh so elegant brother. Who actually looked as if he had absolutely no care in the world. Seriously, how dare he look that way when his Molly was dead.
Mycroft simply stared at him for what seemed to be an eternity before saying softly, "I'll take that as a 'no' then."
He then moved gracefully to Sherlock's chair beside the fireplace. Placing his brolly off to the side he sat down, crossing his legs and placing his hands together to rest them upon his dark vest covered stomach. Clearly stating that he was going to remain here for a while, no matter how much Sherlock glared at him or how he was treated. He was s statue standing firm while a violent storm promised to break all kinds of hell around him.
"So…" Mycroft continued as he looked at John as if he needed confirmation, "my dear sweet brother has no memory of the last three years? Really?"
John nodded taking a long sip of his tea to give a sigh of happiness at its tasty goodness.
This all went on as Sherlock simply watched, seriously wanting to punch someone and seeing that his annoying older brother was here and his hands were already tightened into fists…Really, why waste such an opportunity?
Before he could do such an action, Mycroft's sharp gaze went back to Sherlock as he demanded, "What exactly do you remember?"
"John and I were at an abandoned factory looking for a criminal who just so happened to be stalking a young lady who asked for my help. Her father, a policeman, had put him in a jail cell years earlier, long before her father's death this spring. Anyway, we found him and he just so happened to find my head with a metal pipe."
"Something like that did happen years ago. I think he's the chap I may have beaten with his very own pipe…and…perhaps I broke his leg…if my memory serves correctly…" John said softly, his eyes clearly stated he was lost in a memory. "I was so worried, there for a moment. You laying there so pale and motionless… I thought that you just might be dead, then I made you open your eyes and…and you were right as rain! Damn it all though if you didn't use that hit on the head as an excellent excuse to miss Mol—"
He stopped whatever he had been about to say clearly deciding that it wouldn't be at all wise. He attempted to cover it by taking a long sip of his tea as if he was quite thirsty.
Sherlock blinked at his best friend, knowing full well what he had been about to say. It had given him one hell of a good excuse to miss Molly's birthday party. A party that at the time he seriously hadn't intended to go to anyway.
He noticed that John seemed determined not to look at him.
Mycroft didn't worry himself with such trifles as he looked over at his brother and said what was perhaps best to leave unsaid. "Oh, Dr. Hooper's infamous party, yes? So, you remember her clearly being alive. Well, happy memories, I'm sure. Bet if feels as if you saw her just yesterday, hmm?"
John shot Mycroft a look of caution. Even statues in a storm could fall.
Mycroft lifted his chin proudly, "But don't fret, I'm sure given time all those memories will come rushing back and if you think about it, this might end up being a good thing. You have a chance at looking at this with fresh new eyes or perhaps, this is a grand opportunity to give up this silly case that has taken up your life for the last three years. Give it up and move on."
"Molly Hooper is not some silly case, Mycroft!" Sherlock informed him angrily.
"What else is she other than dead?" Mycroft said in a low cold voice. "Life does go on, brother mine, hers no longer does. All lives are lost at some point…it's really only a matter of time…Even her killer will one day die, be it old age, in a jail cell or even by your own hand."
"Get out, Mycroft, now." Sherlock's voice was so soft it seemed to be shouting with the greatest of menace.
Mycroft stood and took some steps towards him to continue, his voice still quite low as he totally disregarded his brother's wishes. "All hearts get broken, Sherlock, even men like us get broken hearts."
"What the hell do you know about broken hearts?" Sherlock asked with apparent disdain and with a nasty snarl.
With a firm hand, Mycroft reached out and took Sherlock's wrist and with his other hand tore at the bottom of his cuff to savagely move his brother's sleeve up. The both looked at Sherlock's pale arm that was covered with faded old and new marks.
"You break my heart constantly." Mycroft hissed angrily.
Sherlock jerked his wrist out of his brother's surprisingly strong grip and shoved his sleeve back down. Mycroft's face once more became emotionless as if nothing could ever bother him.
For some reason Sherlock was tempted to ask Mycroft if he'd like to try some. Knowing full well that offer would make matters quite worse. Not that he cared…No, he didn't care at all…Yet he didn't say the words…Didn't offer his brother a needle…
"I do apologize." Mycroft stated with a wave of a graceful hand. Not really sounding sorry at all. "John has warned me countless times that you don't like it when I speak of your dearly departed Molly."
"And there you go again! Poking the tiger." John muttered. "For being such a smart man, you seriously never learn, do you?"
Mycroft honestly looked confused, "I apologized!" He told John as if he had blinked and totally missed his not so heartfelt sounding apology. He said it in a way that made one think his apology meant something and perhaps for such a prideful man it honestly did.
"Well, you are about to get your hawk like nose popped and now Sherlock is reliving all those emotions again! He went bat shit crazy then too…Now, we lucky few get to experience it once more, yay us!" John replied wearily, as if he was certain that he was in for a long dreadful night. Yet, when he finally looked over at Sherlock there was compassion within those tired, kind eyes.
"I'm not bat shit crazy, John, do stop saying that!" Sherlock announced still wanting to violently hit someone, mostly his brother.
"Actually," Mycroft began nonchalantly, "what happened is that he fell into a deep black depression that there seemed to be no escape from. Really, John, you know you have a huge responsibility to your best friend and therefor you must do your very best to keep him from falling back into old familiar ways."
"Me?! Bloody hell, why don't you ask me to keep the sun from rising tomorrow?" Now it wasn't only Sherlock glaring at Mycroft, but John was joining in on the fun as well.
"Now, why would I ask that? You are staying the whole night, of course. Perhaps even into late morning…" Mycroft replied with a slight frown.
"I do have a wife and a child at home, Mycroft, as well as a job to go to in the morning. Must make a living unlike you." John reminded him a little impatiently.
"No." Sherlock's brother stated with a cold icy disdainful glance.
"Okay, there are two things I believe you really need to know." John decided to blurt out impatiently. "First, I was planning to stay here with him anyway, seeing that my lovely wife had granted me permission, so you really must stop telling me what to do for it's really annoying as hell."
"And the second thing?" Mycroft asked as he went from total ice man to a bit chilly which surprisingly was a vast improvement for the man…
"You are a total ass hat." John stated calmly, slowly without any humor what so ever.
Yet, Sherlock barked out a laugh before he went to his chair and flopped down into it as he decided to add to their conversation. "I don't need a babysitter."
John studied him before saying quietly, "You need something, Sherlock, and what you need doesn't come out of a blasted needle."
What he really needed was for Molly to be alive. He simply needed his Molly. This world, his so called world wasn't right with her removed so permanently from it. No, it wasn't right at all…
Sherlock sighed before speaking, "Put your worries off to the side! I'm not going to use a needle not even a seven-percent solution. At the moment, I'm simply trying to understand…Molly is dead, John and she's not supposed to be dead! Nearly three years are now gone from my head…" Sherlock can his hands through his dark curls. "I don't…I don't remember Molly's murder and what I do remember of her isn't enough!"
"What—" John attempted to day before Mycroft cut him off.
"Memories of his Molly, John…Sherlock doesn't have enough memories of her yet he knew her for years! He simply doesn't have enough memories of her alive…or of her with him." Mycroft sounded quite arrogant and without a single care in the world before continuing, "In which case, Sherlock, you have no one to blame but yourself."
Sherlock jerked his head up and sneered at his older brother, his tone quite glacial, "Don't you have a war to start somewhere or something?"
"Not today, no." For a moment Mycroft actually sounded a bit regretful. "However, I believe I do have an important meeting with the DMI, though I'm sure the talk won't be about war."
"Right, of course, I'm certain the Director of Military Intelligence will simply want to talk about crap telly with you." Sherlock stated with high sarcasm.
Mycroft sighed, "Sadly, I don't think he will, however, I know he will talk about some silly baking show he absolutely loves and takes great pleasure in pretending everyone else around him likes it too…The Great Bake Off or something…"
"Oh, I think I know which one you are talking about! In the next episode they will be having the cupcake finals! I'm really hoping that Sally will win but then Violet is pretty damn talented so she could easily-" John suddenly cut off what he was saying as he noticed both Holmes brothers looking at him as if he was the one who was bat shit crazy and not Sherlock.
"Um, never mind…" John quickly muttered before he picked back up his tea cup and started to sip once more.
Mycroft simply studied him as he took a deep breath before he announced, "Interesting John, though I am lying of course…"
"I know and I don't care." John said carelessly.
A corner of Mycroft's mouth surprisingly quirked, "My dear brother has been a horrid influence on you."
"I still don't care and at least he's not an ass hat."
Mycroft sighed once more and may have muttered a softly, "Such a lovely moment we are having." All this completely under his breath before asking Sherlock, "So, when you were brutality brain damaged…Answer this question for me, do you know what time this took place?"
"About 10:00 tonight." John answered as Sherlock stated, "8:17 a.m."
Both men shared a look, before Sherlock looked at his brother to ask, "Does that matter?"
Mycroft shrugged, looking as if he really didn't care as he looked down at his left hand to wiggle his fingers as if something was indeed bothering him. "I thought it might but now…Who knows? Well, brother mine, you know how I like to have all the information before me…"
Sherlock stood up to move slowly towards his brother, "What do you know about Molly's death?" Sherlock demanded to know.
Mycroft stopped moving his fingers and looked into his brother's eyes. Once more a flash of intense sadness as well as pity may have entered his cold eyes. "I know enough, brother dear. I know that one day Molly Hooper was alive and then the next her lifeless body was simply a specimen upon a cold metal slab that one heartless killer put there."
Intense emotion washed over Sherlock and a pain truly excruciating stabbed at his normally hard and sometimes cold heart. The grief was real and it overwhelmed him.
"I also know that you, brother mine, loved her." Mycroft continued softly and honestly, "And that is really all I can tell you."
Sherlock jerked sharply away turning his back on both Mycroft and John's sad yet extremely kind eyes.
"No, Mycroft, for love is abhorrent to my cold, precise and highly logical mind!"
"Then why do you care that some goldfish of a pathologist is dead? As of late, I find for you and sometimes buy you body parts that are donated to science…and some that are not…so you no longer need her for that! I can also give you access to any morgue in all of Britain. Yet, you grieve! You hurt, Sherlock! You rage about some killer who happens to weed out the surplus population only once a year! That killer stole her life, he killed her and it's slowly been killing you for years now! Hers was not his first or his last victim! Yet you want him to pay dearly for what you lost! He permanently removed her from your life and you would do anything…ANYTHING to have her in your life once more! You, Sherlock LOVED her and you loved her greatly! So do stop lying to yourself! Those close to you see it quite clearly. They even weep for you! If you really were so cold, precise and highly logical, brother mine then you would treat Molly Hooper's death as if she had been nothing more than a violin to you! If someone went out and destroyed your violin, you'd go out and simply get another one. Perhaps even a better one! Over the years I offered you other fine pathologists that you could work with and you have refused violently. You only want your Molly, a stupid woman who loved you with all her heart and never once wanted to change you! A woman that you were too bloody stupid to realize that you loved in return until it was much too late but she's dead, Sherlock, dead!" Mycroft said all of this with smoldering intensity as if there had been an emotional bomb that had been released within him.
Sherlock looked stunned and found himself breathing hard, his fists clenched once more all the while his emotions danced a wild, passionate tango within his own chest…
"Sentiment is found on the losing side." Sherlock reminded him, his voice sounded weak even to his own ears and he felt far away…quite distant.
"In my old age I have learned that both sides need something worth fighting for and you…you lost greatly with Molly Hooper's death." Mycroft told him softly and Sherlock realized that his brother had moved closer to him. He didn't touch him, of course, but Sherlock could feel his strong presence. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I really am."
"You are wrong, Mycroft…you say I loved her as if it's in the past." Sherlock finally turned back to look at him, eyes full of emotion before continuing, "It's love, I still love her…I never once stopped and I honestly don't think I'll ever stop."
"I know that and you never will. You'll continue to love her even when you breathe your last breath upon this earth, you'll die loving her." Mycroft confirmed softly and sadly. There was a brief flash of intense grief upon his face, so quick one could easily miss it.
They both became quiet as Sherlock turned away once more, this time to move towards the window to look out. He knew out there was a killer he needed to hunt down and destroy…Though Lestrade was correct, wasn't he? The worthless arse's death wouldn't bring back his Molly…The murderer's death wouldn't make the world right once more.
Molly…His Molly…He, Sherlock Holmes, was in love with her and he couldn't even tell her, show her…Oh, he had known she had loved him, of that he had absolutely no doubt, at the time finding it silly and something useful so he could manipulate and get what he thought he needed at the time. Now he simply wanted her alive…safe in his arms and he, stupid fool that he was had lost his chance. He had chosen to ignore her love for him…and somehow missed the fact that he loved her in return…He now knew what regret really was. John had tried to warn him but like a child told another sweetie would ruin supper he refused to listen, to pay attention to the most precious thing in his life…His Molly.
So now he had lost her, not to another man, for another man he could fight. Even the great Sherlock Holmes knew he couldn't fight death. Death was much too permanent.
Now he was left feeling lost and empty, he didn't even have enough memories storied and treasured within his mind palace…
He never once tasted her lips or held her in his arms. Hell, never once had he held her small hand innocently in his. He never once felt her warm smooth skin under his fingertips. Studied any freckles or small scars upon her body…
He had never learned what could have made her moan in pleasure. No there was no memory of any of those things inside his head…He should have them, really, and it was so very wrong not to have experienced life with his Molly…
There weren't enough memories…memories he wanted…He had plenty of her smiling at him…even laughing but even they weren't enough! Never enough…
His Molly had yearned for him to love her in returned yet had settled for simply being his trusted friend.
Now for a man who once had no regrets, he now had many…
What could have been…
What might have been…
Oh, if only…He hadn't been such a bloody fool…
From behind him, Sherlock dimly heard Mycroft pick up his umbrella. He was going to be leaving soon. Leave him in John's steadfast hands.
"Sherlock…" Mycroft began, "It's a shame you two were never a couple. I'm quite certain that our Mummy would have loved her."
Sherlock continued to stare out the window not really seeing anything. London, its people moved about with what seemed to be without a single care. No concern at all. His Molly was dead and gone…and for them life went on. They were all to focused on the here and now, needing to go somewhere. While he was stuck in a dark abyss without the one person he wanted by his side…
"Can you tell me…" Mycroft continued ever so softly, "Were you trying to be noble or something?"
Sherlock turned away from the window to silently study him. His brother carried forward his line of questioning, "I've always been curious, you see…Were you attempting to protect Molly Hooper in some silly, honorable way, thinking your life style would place her in danger? Or, perhaps, you thought she deserved better even if you were the man she wanted to be with…wanted to love and be loved by…Why, brother, did you never…"
A long silence fell for what seemed to last for eternity before Sherlock finally answered honestly, "I never did because…because I always miss something and now it's much too late."
Mycroft nodded sadly in understanding, "Well, I must get going but, um, when you feel up to it…I do miss us playing with a nice board game…Operation or even Cluedo…or something…I miss it all really…" He admitted the last part quite softly and for a moment he looked quite old and so very lonely.
"Not today, Mycroft." Sherlock said.
Any illusion of loneliness shattered as Mycroft instantly became an iceberg.
"Of course, it wouldn't be today. Never today." Mycroft said the last two words with great emotion even if his face seemed to be carved from stone. Then with perfect manners he told John goodbye and to call him whenever he deemed it necessary…and with that he was gone.
Silence once more followed and Sherlock gazed at John. His best friend carefully set down his saucer and cup of tea. Though Sherlock doubted that there was much tea, if any, left in that cup.
"So…" John started to rub his knees with his hands. "What do you want to do?"
What a question! He wanted to hold his Molly, tell her that he loved her…
Instead he did the only thing he could do. Find her killer.
"Fresh eyes…" Sherlock stated, watching John. "I need to look at this with fresh, new eyes! More importantly through your eyes!"
John's eyes widened even more when Sherlock moved swiftly towards him to suddenly kneel down in front of him…Sherlock placed his hands on top of John's…
"Tell me everything, John! The way you saw it, your experiences, your thoughts on that night, don't leave anything out! Think back to the night of Molly's death. Start with her birthday party…" Sherlock desperately begged. "Tell me everything that you can remember, please John, EVERYTHING!"
John sighed as he closed his eyes and when he finally opened them once more, he said, sounding truly heartbroken, "Sherlock…there was no birthday party…For Molly never showed up."
~*~End of Part 4~*~
