Thank you for all the reviews, guys! I'm embarrassed at how long this chapter took me. I've been really busy, since it's the end of the school year: theatre performances, finals, AP tests, preparing for senior year and all that. Anyway, here's the instalment!
"I need you to help me fake my death."
Molly blinks once, twice. She clenches her hand into a fist and steadies her breathing.
"Why do you do that?" she asks.
"I do like a dramatic flair to my otherwise mundane life."
"No, why do you manipulate me like that?"
Sherlock's eyes widen slightly and he steps back, "I didn't mean to. I was rather hoping you of all people would sense the sincerity in my voice. Because...I was being sincere. You do count."
Molly looks away and inhales. She holds her breath for a moment then exhales loudly. There is a pause as she seems to be considering something.
Sherlock panics briefly. Hadn't he come to the right person? The person he is sure will always help him, no matter what? The person who has complete faith (and awe) in him? The person who loves him for who he is, but too much to leave him that way?
"Do you still want to help me?" he asks, worriedly.
Molly looks up, startled at the inflection of the detective's voice. She's never seen him like this - worried, distraught. It frightens her, how insecure he appears.
Molly nods, "Yes."
Sherlock smiles at her and relaxes considerably.
He mentally shakes his head, the smile leaving his face. Sentiment is transport.
Right now, he needs focus.
"Tetrodotoxin? Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure, Molly." he says. He's pacing now, hands steepled under his chin.
"You know, you could always use potassium cyanide pills. They're easier to make and have lots of reliable antidotes."
"Don't question me, Molly." Sherlock mutters, not looking at her.
He continues with the minute details of his best laid plan of mice and men, but Molly is no longer listening. She's gotten the gist of her part, right? She doesn't need to hear more of this insane scheme. Not that she doubts its efficiency, or the brilliance of the man concocting it. It's just that she's terrified.
Before she can stop herself, she's standing behind the detective and when he turns to begin another tread across the floor, she is in his way. Sherlock stops, his hands jolting apart to avoid hitting Molly in the head.
He stares at her for a moment. She seems completely level headed, as he expects her to be. However nervous she is in his presence normally, he had sensed that she worked well in emergencies and under pressure. Still, there is an off look, as if she's about to be sick but is determined not to show it and to push on like a good soldier.
She throws her arms around his middle, making him step back. Surprised, Sherlock doesn't move at first, but then slowly lets his arms fall around Molly's petite frame. He holds her securely until all of her uncertainties fade and she's ready for battle.
"Be careful." she whispers.
Sherlock looks down at her. He doesn't deserve this. But she definitely deserves this chance to help him and he knows he's made the right decision. "I will." he quietly responds.
He releases her and grips her shoulders, "So." he says, "You know what to do."
Molly opens her mouth to respond, then closes it as her face turns red, "Well, I...wasn't entirely listening towards the end."
Sherlock groans in frustration, turning full circle before grasping Molly's shoulders again and repeating the suicide plan while looking her right in the eyes – fully certain that she'll be able to repeat the plan word for word.
When she has done so – at least for the most part, some of the diction is off – Sherlock releases her shoulders. "Good." he says and nods, "Fine. It's all settled."
Molly nods, "I'll just...I'll go make that...amalgam. And find some blood packets."
Molly heads towards the back of the room, then changes her mind and leaves through the door, opting to get the blood first.
Sherlock's hands fidget for a few seconds, unsure of what to do now that he's finished scheming and made sure everything is in order. Well, not everything, he supposes and goes after Molly to the morgue.
"Oh." she says once he's caught up with her, "I see. You don't trust me enough to get a few blood donations?"
"No. I completely trust you. I'm trusting you with my life. But, isn't there that one saying?" Sherlock asks as they step onto the elevator, "Something about doing things yourself."
"If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself."
"Yes. That. However, there would seem to be a bit of a metaphysical conundrum if I were to execute this plan alone. That's why I've recruited your assistance, and I couldn't wish for a better person suited to do this."
"Really?" Molly asks, looking up at him in surprise.
"In this particular scenario, most definitely yes."
Molly considers this statement, unsure whether to take it as a compliment or not. They exit the elevator.
"Thanks?" she says.
Sherlock opens the mortuary door for Molly to pass through. She almost thanks him again, but thinks better of repeating herself.
About an hour later, the tetrodotoxin solution is ready and Sherlock is pacing again. He's being forced to wait all night and probably into tomorrow afternoon until Moriarty begins the end to the final problem.
Molly yawns and brings a hand up to cover her mouth. Sherlock turns to her at the sound, "You can go home now, Molly."
"No." she answers sleepily, "I want to make sure I'm here when Jim is."
"He won't be here until tomorrow. Get some sleep. You'll need it."
Molly looks up at Sherlock, who is once again eroding trenches into the linoleum floor. He looks worried and fretful. He has nothing to do but wait. And Molly has known him long enough – six years, at least – to realise that when he has nothing to do, his brain is like a rocket trapped on the launch pad, tearing itself to bits. Add anxiety to the mix, and that rocket may very well self-destruct. Molly yawns again while reaching into her bag.
"Here." she says.
Sherlock peeks at her through the corner of his eye as he passes, wanting to be distracted but not by anything trivial, and certainly not by any sort of sentimental lecture that he feels Molly might be obligated to give.
"Sherlock."
He continues pacing, stopping when Molly once again blocks his path.
"Calm down," Molly says and smiles at him, "Here."
She holds out a blue bouncy ball.
"What is this for?"
"It's to take your mind off of things."
"Why would I want to take my mind off of things?"
"What do you have to think about?"
Sherlock breathes in heavily, "Everything."
Molly places the bouncy ball in his palm and presses his fingers around it gently. She smiles up at him and blinks her weary eyes.
"I'm going home to get some sleep." she says, stifling a yawn, "It wouldn't hurt you to do the same, just this once."
Molly leaves, shifting her striped bag on her shoulder. Sherlock stares down at the gift Molly has given him.
"Thank you." he says quietly to no one in particular.
Also, wanted to point out for anyone who may have been confused, this story is kind of weird in that the chapters typically go back and forth between 'the present' and 'flashbacks'. (I put them in quotes b/c all of it is in present tense, so technically, every thing's in the present. i'm probably just confusing you more. sorry.)
