Sorry this took so long I just couldn't find a way to bring it together. x
Chapter Four: Sorry.
"What do you want?" Sherlock looked down on the thirty-one year old woman in front of him. She was lent against the white door frame. Her head titled looking at him with lust filled eyes. Holmes watched her smirk grow into a smile as the realisation hit him. "Ah, well in that case you are in luck." Sherlock pushed the open door wide, but did not move. Janine looked at him oddly, but soon got the idea as she ducked under his arm and walked in.
Holmes kicked the door shut and walked over to the delightful distraction that had entered his room and was already kicking off her shoes and reaching for the zip on her dress. "Oh no you don't." Sherlock grabbed both of her wrists and walked her backwards to the wall not far behind her. "That pleasure…" he said as he placed them above her head. "Is very much mine."
Janine couldn't help but giggle as she felt the hand that wasn't holding her wrists run down her side. His fingers skimmed over her hip and back over her bum cheeks with a little more pressure.
"You're a very bad girl." Sherlock whispered into her ear. "No knickers? Very naughty."
"And what are you going to do about it?" Her breath was laboured and he hadn't even touched her yet. When his lips pressed against her pulse point she couldn't help but shiver. And when he began to nip and lick at her collar bone she moaned in delight.
"Nothing." Sherlock pulled away letting her arms drop to her sides.
"What?"
"I'm not going to be doing anything about it." He sighed noticing that she still didn't understand him Holmes walked over to grab her shoes and handed them to her. "Girls who pretend to be drunker than they are aren't worth my time. Good night." Sherlock opened the door again, and as she walked out swearing like a fishwife he added. "Greg is in room 28. I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you again." And with that he all but slammed the door before slumping back into the sofa.
….
Janine stood outside his door for a moment. "Shit!" she cursed under her breath. 'That jumped up son of a bitch!' she shouted in her head as she walked down the hall to the room. 'You'll pay for that one you dick!" The-was-bridesmaid looked at the number above the end door checking it was the right one.
'Room 28'
There was no point in wasting the high of a wedding when abroad. After all what happens in Bruges. Stays in Bruges.
Janine composed herself and reached out to knock on the door. However her shoulder blade and cheek hit the door before her knuckles. "Ow!" She looked up at the man who had pushed her into the wall or rather the door. He was already walking off. He didn't seem to give to shits about him knocking her over. "Dickhead!" Janine regretted spitting out the word when she saw the look in the young man's eyes. Cold and determined, that one look took away all the lust full feeling she had had and threw them away.
The man looked at her over. "Is that Sherlock Holmes' room." There was no emotion in his voice which scared her more. How can a man that looks so angry speck so calmly?
"No. His is 37. Why?"
Tom looked back down the hall ahead of him. He looked at her once more. No point apologising to her. She is a whore just like Molly.
Janine looked back at the door in front of her. 'Well if he didn't answer to me landing against his door he won't hear me knock.' She sighed and walked away, but not without looking back. The bridesmaid watched as Tom, she thought that was his name? Walked briskly towards Sherlock's door. Whatever Sherlock had done it didn't look like he was going to get away with it. A part of her laughed at the timing of it all. 'Not worth my time either Holmes.'
…
Tom slammed his fist against the door to Sherlock's room. Bang. Bang. Bang! "Hello? Avon calling!" he shouted. "Holmes. I know you're in there. Holmes!" Bang! Bang! "Sherlock!" he growled and hit the door harder. People began to come out down the hall and watch what was going on. Some shouted for him to 'bugger off'. Others asked him if he know what time it was, but most just watched.
Sherlock got out his phone when he recognised the voice that was bellowing outside the room. He typed quickly as he walked towards the door that was amazingly still standing after the way the slightly taller man had been hitting it.
Why is Tom outside my door telling me he wants to kill me? – SH
It was true. Tom had threatened him. Which Sherlock found hilarious of cause. After all Two years on the run, Six months of those been spent chained up and beaten sets you up for anything. And this prick was nothing compared to any of that.
So with a sigh Sherlock opened the door. Predicting Tom's move he moved with the door as it opened leading Tom and his clenched fist to fall flat on his face.
"Evening Tommy boy. How are you?" Sherlock smirked before stepping over him to assure the people who had gathered out in the hall that the man was drunk and just needed to sleep it off. Holmes shut the door kicking Tom's feet inside. He watched as the thirty odd bloke got to his feet again.
"She told me."
"Told you what Tom?" he sighed.
"You slept with her." the younger man growled.
Sherlock watch the other mans every move, the way he shifted his wait slightly. The clenching and unclenching of his left fist as he wanted for an answer. He clearly wanted Sherlock to say something that would give him the reason to punch him. It was as if sleeping with his wife-to-be wasn't enough and Sherlock was almost tempted to give him what he wanted just for the satisfaction of seeing him fail again.
"Yes I did." He answered plainly. There was no point lying about something so glorious, he still wondered why he had never done it before. 'What a waste.'
"Why?"
"You know why. The same reason you sleep with her." replied Holmes trying not to laugh. "Shouldn't you be asking her these tedious questions?"
"Oh I would but…she is…hmmm….unable to speak at this present time." Tom smirked at the thought of the sound her head made against the bed post and the little grown she gave as she passed out. He wonders if Sherlock Holmes would make the same sounds too. He was asked again by the consulting detective about Molly's inability to put words together and all he did was smirk at him. That was until he felt Sherlock's hand at his throat and the wall against his back.
"IF YOU HAVE HURT ON HAIR ON HER HEAD!" His voice was that of a roaring lion, but Tom showed no regret, no fear, and not sign of caring at all. A punch to Tom's abdomen wiped his smug look away and at last he got his answer.
"S-SHE GOT WHAT SHE DESERVED!"
…
Molly began to stare from the hazy of pain that was shooting across her face and head. She slowly pushed herself up on shaking arms. What had happened to her was now unclear. She could feel a slow run of wet sticky liquid run slowly down her forehead. Molly reached slowly to the source of the flow and felt the sting of a deep cut that was starting to scab. She looked down at where she had found herself laying and saw a lard dark red blood stain on the white sheets of the bed, and then things slowly began to come back to her.
"Tom." She heard herself whisper. His name rolled of her tongue slowly and left a bitter feeling in her heart. It was not for him, but for the mistake that she had made. That beautiful mistake had lead her here and lead him… It was then that Molly realised just exactly where he would have headed. "Sherlock. Oh god!"
By the time she reach Holmes' room it was too late. Tom had left leaving Sherlock with his back to her as he lay out cold on his side. Slowly and carefully she rolled him over. What had she done? The man she truly loved was now in front of her with a badly broken nose, a bleeding check bone and what would become a beauty of a black eye. Tears began to well up in her eyes as a thousand thoughts ran their way through her mind. Where was Tom? What would he do next? Would Sherlock ever forgive her? What would the others think of her when they find out? What the hell was she meant to do now?! She couldn't lift him to the bed he was just too heavy. She couldn't run and get John and Mary for obvious reasons. And Greg would be no help, last time she saw him he was rat arsed to the extreme.
Molly looked down from steering at the wall in front of her when she heard a low sombre moan come out of the split lips of Sherlock Holmes. "Sherlock?" she whispered softly. "Can you hear me?" he made a noise that she presumed meant yes. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I am so sorry." Molly took one of his bruised hands in her small ones gently. "Oh god Sherlock please forgive me."