Author's Note: Again, there are no trigger warnings this chapter - the initial case is solved and we're in character development territory. I'm not entirely confident in this chapter tbh, but I think it covers ground nicely. I hope you're all still somewhat enjoying this journey. - CG
-x-x-x-Chapter Four - and it's more than i can bear -x-x-x-
After his breakdown, Sherlock had asked John to leave, to which the doctor obliged. The next morning, Sherlock's typical persona was back and he refused to share anything more with John aside from the steps that needed to be taken to safeguard Molly from ever being bothered by Sherlock again. If Molly couldn't know about Sherlock, there really wouldn't be much cause for John to see her again, not often anyway. The same would be true for the rest of their tight knit group of friends. Molly was a friend because of Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson and Mary had both become friends with Molly over the mourning years and it was going to hurt that they couldn't mention any of that now. And Lestrade would have to be careful about sharing Sherlock-related cases with her at the morgue. John was still not fully convinced that this was the best course of action, putting everyone through the loss of another friend.
Of course, John wouldn't delude himself, the pain Sherlock was going through was definitely worse. They could all still see Molly, interact with her, she would remember them in some small way, whereas Sherlock couldn't. John also didn't want to make things worse for his friend by sharing the nagging suspicion that this would definitely not be what Molly wanted. She would rather face a lifetime of unrequited love than never see Sherlock again. John knew it, and was pretty sure Sherlock did as well. He just wasn't willing to admit it, too lost in guilt and grief to see any other solution. The man was on a mission and John could only go along for the ride.
That was how John found himself, once again, walking the basement corridor toward the morgue. Molly was busy working, dictating her findings on her current subject. It created the perfect opportunity for him to perform his assignment. Slipping on down the hall to the staff locker room he approached Molly's. Sherlock had told him her locker number and combination, of course Sherlock would have the information. John briefly wondered how much he had stored about the pathologist. He could possibly reconstruct their whole history if he wanted to - or create an entirely new one learning from his past mistakes. John resolved to bring that up with him later. Right now he was to find her mobile and erase Sherlock's number and any text message history. Molly being as sentimental as she was would have kept them, regardless of the subject matter, just because they were from him.
John had worried that she might have already noticed them. Wouldn't she realize her phone had been tampered with when they were gone? Sherlock reassured him saying that if she had happened upon them by now she would have sent some sort of inquiry asking for an explanation, combining that information with the almost kiss upon her awakening. Since she hadn't, it was safe to assume she hadn't bothered to go through her contacts in the past 48 hours. Also, she must have brushed past the almost kiss, to both of their disappointment. John found her mobile right where Sherlock said it would be. Unfortunately, it was passcode protected. He had no idea what the code was. Using his own phone, he sent a text to Sherlock.
Found her mobile but it's locked. Now what genius?
1979
John entered the code hoping he wouldn't get caught. This situation was delicate enough without her showing up catching him prying into her belongings. The vibration in his hand made John almost drop the thing as if it had shocked him. 'Wrong Passcode - try again' the screen flashed in red.
Didn't work. Hurry up, don't have much time.
Not her birth year. Try father's death date 5-7-06
'Wrong Passcode - try again' John swore under his breath.
Wrong again
Clever girl, will have to think
There was the sound of a door opening behind him and John knew he was about to be caught red-handed. Out of time! - he shot off to Sherlock before jamming his mobile into his pocket and trying to think of a bluff. Of all the messes, the detective had gotten him in, this was near the top of the list.
"Dr. Watson - John, I mean - what're you doing here?" Molly asked, coming over to stand near him. She was trading her white coat for her jacket before heading out to lunch.
"Um...Molly...Hi, I was...just going to leave you a message. Didn't want to bother you," John stuttered, lying through his teeth, relieved she didn't ask why her locker was already open. "Your phone rang and I went to answer it for you...say you were on your way...lunch break, yeah?...But didn't know the code. Sorry, I know it's rude…" He trailed off, frantically running his hand over his face and pushing her mobile into her hands.
She giggled, "It's fine. You didn't happen to take a guess at the code did you?"
John's face flushed. She had seen through the lie, just like Sherlock would have. John felt foolish for even trying. These two really were perfect for each other. He ducked his head.
"Yes, but I got it wrong. I swear I didn't see a thing. Really sorry, Molly."
"Shoot. I was sort of hoping you cracked it. I haven't been able to remember the code. It's the only bit of thing I've forgotten in the whole mind scramble incident." Molly laughed again.
"Really," John exclaimed, comforted that she hadn't actually read his mind. "Why didn't you tell me? I asked you to let me know if you had any symptoms."
"Couldn't text you with my mobile all locked up, could I?" She waved the gadget between them.
Ah, Sherlock would have just rolled his eyes and called him an idiot. Funny how she could say practically the same things he did but it always came out nicer.
"What was I thinking," John laughed, "Of course you couldn't."
"I was going to see if there was someone in IT that could take a look."
The mention of Barts IT department made John pale slightly. He wondered how she could be so casual about the place before realizing that the whole Jim incident was another memory she had lost because it was so intimately tied to Sherlock. The man was right, all the worst parts of Molly's life really did trace back to him in one way or another. Definitely didn't want her going to IT and getting any flashbacks.
"Actually, I've got this friend who's pretty good with gadgets and codes. I'm sure he'd look at it and could have it unlocked in a jif," John offered.
"Thanks!" Molly replied brightly. "Now, you said you were leaving me a message?"
"Why don't we talk about it over lunch, don't want to waste your break here."
"Oh, uhm...okay." Molly grabbed her bag and awkwardly joined him as they left. Without thinking about it, John put his arm around her shoulders as they stepped out into the hallway. She squeaked and pulled back. John was startled as well, throwing both hands in the air.
"Sorry! Sorry!" He'd instantly recognized his mistake. It had been a long time since he saw this awkward Molly. Again the sadness of all the lost lunches they'd shared swept over him and he wondered if he'd ever be able to get that level of comfort back around her.
"Oh, no! Sorry, John. It's just, it's just...I didn't expect...I mean, it just seems weird. We don't hang out that often."
"It's fine, after your accident, I'm sure you're a bit jumpy."
"No, it isn't that." She continued walking and John followed, keeping his hands firmly tucked in his coat pockets. "There are just these odd sensations sometimes."
"Odd how?"
"Well, I was going to text you but it was silly, and then my phone was locked…" she took a deep breath, obviously trying to find her courage. "I feel bad when I smell certain things," she rushed, letting it all out in one breath. She then laughed sadly, "Oh, listen to me, it's so silly."
"Not at all. What smells make you feel bad?"
"Blood mostly. But lots of people don't like the sight of blood, it can't be all that odd to not like the smell of it either." She was nervously twining her fingers watching the ground as she walked.
"Has this ever happened before?"
"No, that's the weird bit. I don't remember having that problem in med school. I cut into bodies all the time, if the smell of blood is going to put me off, what can I do?" She looked to him with genuine concern clouding her features.
"You said mostly, are there other smells too?"
"Just now, when you put your arm around me. The smell of your coat."
John put his face into his coat sleeve and sniffed loudly.
"Smells like a crazy person, you were right to be afraid," he teased. Molly giggled. Her whole face relaxed. For a split second he saw the Molly he remembered. Smiling he continued, "All I smell is dust and cedar. Got this one out of our cedar lined wardrobe this morning. Could be worse, could smell like mothballs. But you're right, I probably should air things out a bit more before wearing them."
Molly leaned over to John's coat and inhaled experimentally. Cedar. A cold knot formed in her stomach and she had an overwhelming sense of dread. She stepped back from him and shook her head, willing the feeling to pass but it lingered. Why would the smell of cedar make her so uneasy? Had something bad happened to her in the woods at some point? Not that she could recall. This time it was stronger than with the blood alone. Thinking of the two together made her almost nauseous.
"Sorry John but that smell is just making me really uncomfortable. Can we maybe do lunch together some other time? I think I need to go have a lie down. Ta."
She started back to her office without even waiting for John's reply. He looked at her retreating form and wondered what that was all about and if he should mention it to Sherlock or not. Shaking his head he figured it would have to wait. Unlocking her mobile would be enough of a task for Sherlock for now, especially considering the terrible mood he would be in after his assignment today was complete. He'd gone to ask for a favor.
-x-x-x-
Drumming his fingers anxiously on the desk, Sherlock glared at his laptop screen waiting for the feeds to come up. He had expected his brother to sneer at him and give him a lecture about the frivolity of his request. Instead, Mycroft had actually agreed without any questions. All he had said was, "Of course, brother. Whatever you need." There was no lecture about the obvious sentimentality of Sherlock's actions and therefore all the cutting retorts that Sherlock had prepared had gone unsaid. Not fighting with Mycroft made Sherlock edgy. It was like Mycroft knew something that he didn't. He hated it when that happened. No matter how long he thought about it, he couldn't decipher what it meant, agreeing so readily. It had to mean something, it was Mycroft after all. Finally the four black-and-white video feeds blinked into existence on his computer and he was able to relax slightly, putting his brother's attitude aside for now.
This was going to be the hardest but most important part of his life now. Although Molly had forgotten him, the world hadn't and he still had enemies. If she was going to have a life free from him, he would have to try to keep any of that from coming to her. So he asked for Mycroft to maintain a level of security on Molly much the same as what was on Mrs. Hudson. Subtle but constant, secret but unwavering. Sherlock had also asked for the CCTV coverage now before him. The top two feeds were relatively boring, simply street views of unremarkable areas of London. People were coming and going but Sherlock considered them merely background noise at the moment. The lower left-hand camera was directed at the front door to a group of moderately priced flats on a nondescript residential street.
Sherlock's entire focus, however, was drawn to the lower right-hand image and a gray-scale Molly Hooper busying herself with afternoon tasks in the laboratory. He wanted to be able to keep his own eyes on what her day-to-day was like. It would make it easier for him to avoid crossing her path and he could be on the look out for potential danger. He didn't tell Mycroft or John that it would also allow him to satisfy his need to see her. He missed her already and maybe, hopefully, just seeing her safe and happy would be enough. Sherlock ached to know what she was working on and to hear her incessant humming. She always hummed while she worked, he never thought he'd actually miss that. How many times had he snapped at her to be quiet or chased her from the lab so he could work in silence? Not even realizing he reached out and gently touched the image on the screen. Forgive me, my Molly.
-x-x-x-
"Any progress yet?" John asked, walking into the kitchen to find Sherlock staring at Molly's locked mobile. He'd been trying to guess the passcode for a week. He would deny that he was 'guessing' but as the device was still here instead of having been returned to Molly, John figured he wasn't trying deductive reasoning. Either that, or he enjoyed having it in his possession, much like The Woman's.
"No. Beginning to suspect she picked numbers at random. Although that isn't, wasn't, like her. Whatever the code is it must 'mean' something."
"I told her you were still working on it." Sherlock's head shot toward his friend. John brushed off his concern, "Well, not 'you' but that 'my friend' was still working on it. She's gotten a prepaid to use in the meantime, which you already know." John gestured now to the open laptop and the ever present CCTV feed. An inset screen showing Molly was visible at all times on the consulting detective's laptop. John was fairly certain that the screen was never out of Sherlock's peripheral vision. It was very likely the first thing he saw in the morning and the last image he saw at night, when he allowed himself to sleep anyway. John wondered if Mycroft had cameras in her flat. He hoped not, that was an outrageous invasion of her privacy, regardless of what Sherlock said.
"It only shows the exterior of the building and her windows. I can tell when she is home but not exactly what she does while there. I'm not stalking her, merely making sure she is safe."
John scowled. Damn that man for always reading his thoughts. "Anyway, she isn't in any rush to get this one back. The worst part though was how she said it. 'Not like I'm the kind of person trusted with state secrets or matters of life and death,' were her exact words." John shook his head sadly, "She has no idea how important she was."
"That is the whole point of this exercise, John. Now, unless you have something else on your mind…" Sherlock's attention was drifting.
"Actually, yes. Lestrade has been asking if you're ever going to take cases again. They've got a tricky one and he would like for us to take a look. It's been a while since the last one, when all of this began. Ready to see if this arrangement will really work?"
"What does that mean? Of course it will. Let's go." Sherlock stood, collecting both her phone and his from the table. Upon donning his signature coat and scarf, he hid hers in an interior pocket. Together with John, he bounded down the stairs as if nothing had changed. In less than an hour he would realize how perfectly wrong he had been about his plan.
The body had already been removed by the time they got to the crime scene. Samples had been taken. There was little for Sherlock to do but seethe and throw dirty looks at the forensic techs. Lestrade told Sherlock it was his own fault for not responding to the request earlier. If he still wanted to assist, the body and samples had been sent to Barts. He could go look at them there, just like always. Sherlock froze and John was sure he was about to have to restrain his friend from punching the DI.
"You know I can't work there anymore," Sherlock huffed.
"They're the best, and the closest. We can't just establish new protocols because you have a sensitivity. If that was the case my job would have been made easier a long time ago," Lestrade grumbled. "Now, are you on the case or not?"
"Not," Sherlock spat. Storming back the way he came, he fumed about the utter idiocy of it all. Although he needed a case, needed a distraction, it was too much of a risk to Molly. He was leaving her alone and that couldn't happen if he popped in at all hours like he used to. The Yard would get along without him. Hell, the world would get along without him. It had for the better part of the past three years and very well could again.
-x-x-x-
So began a long downward spiral for Sherlock. He didn't leave the Baker Street flat for anything. Regardless of temptations presented by Lestrade, John or even Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson and John alternated checking on him and that only served to irritate him. He didn't understand their concern. He was still dressing for the day in his suits, eating and sleeping as necessary, playing violin when the mood struck him, and tinkering with his microscope and experiments. He just refused to take any cases. If he was gradually spending more time watching the laptop feed or secluded in his own mind, no one commented.
After two weeks, he had grown bored with his experiments. No Molly meant no fresh specimens or cultures. He took to focusing solely on the video of her day, trying to decipher the outcomes of her experiments and tests remotely. And he still had the mystery of her mobile. John sensed it was now from a reluctance to give up the last bit of Molly than from an actual inability to determine the code. At the four week mark, his violin music became non-existent as had any pretense of getting dressed. He had apparently decided showering and suits were a waste of time and lounged in the same pyjamas and dressing gown for four consecutive days. John had finally had enough.
"C'mon. You're going outside this flat."
"Why should I?" Sherlock's voice creaked. He'd not spoken to either John or Mrs. Hudson in several days, not even to shout abuse at them.
"Because this isn't healthy. Because your plan isn't working. You're killing yourself with kindness."
John took hold of Sherlock's arm and yanked him up off the couch. Throwing a hooded sweatshirt and some trainers at him, John manhandled him out the door. It really wasn't that difficult for the army doctor, Sherlock had literally been wasting away in the past month. He also didn't put up much of a fight, resigning himself to be drug out the door and shoved into a waiting cab.
"Where are we going?"
"Where do you think, genius?" John snapped.
"NO! Let me out of this car immediately! It'll ruin everything," Sherlock shouted, ripping at the latches and nearly throwing himself into traffic. John grabbed on to him again, forcing him back into his seat and pinning him with his own death stare.
"Have you actually been paying attention to that laptop of yours, Sherlock? You're plan is not working. And I don't just mean that you are dying of a broken heart."
"You have to have a heart for that," the former detective muttered, staring at the floor, refusing to make eye contact.
"Don't start with that. Your actions over the past two months clearly prove you have a heart. Or you did, until you gave it to a girl who doesn't even know about it." John eased back into his own seat.
"And you think I can just show up and tell her all of this and it will be fixed? How romantic," he sneered. "Look at me. I was unpleasant to her before, now I'm a disaster."
"Contrary to what you think, this isn't about you. Something is still wrong with Molly and getting worse. Before I let you rot, I'm going to force you to fix it."
At this Sherlock actually did perk up. "What do you mean? I watch her all day, every day. I would have seen." He finally looked at his friend, familiar sparks of curiosity coming to life in his eyes. He was trying to deduce anything he could about Molly from John's whole body.
John smirked at him, "You have seen but not observed." He'd waited ages to be able to say that. Sherlock's glare could have drawn blood.
"Very funny," he replied dryly. But it was possible he had been so lost in his own turmoil to take note of what really was going on with Molly. Synapses fired and he struggled to to focus. Thoughts of Molly had consumed him, pushing all other information to the farthest reaches of his mind. The mental disarray was almost as bad as it had been after the drugs. That made sense, he had been addicted to Molly for better than a month. "What is wrong with her, John?"
"She won't say. But she has a lingering melancholy about her. She doesn't have any friends anymore because we're all avoiding her on your orders. Well, I haven't been because I still don't think it's right. At first, I thought she was lonely, tried to get her to come out with me and Mary but that didn't go anywhere. If I didn't know any better I'd say she has the same bad attitude you used to get without a case. Like she misses the excitement of working with you. But since she doesn't know that was part of her life, she doesn't know what it is that is missing."
Sherlock just sat back taking in all this new information about her. He really had been blind, only interested in making sure she was safe, forgetting to look to see if she was happy. "What else? Why do I need to go see her in person?"
"Something she said right after she woke up, the day I nicked her phone. She said that she gets a weird feeling from certain smells. I thought you might be able to figure out if that's important, but I don't think you can do that remotely."
"Have you got any plans if she recognizes me?"
"Dressed like you are, smelling like you do, I don't think anyone would recognize you, Sherlock. You were right before, you're a bloody sight," John chuckled.
PS: Ugh, the chapter was so long that this became the necessary stopping point. I'm afraid there wasn't much action but so much was done setting up for action next chapter. We are nearing the moment when all the threads come together. Only one or two chapters left. Hopefully you're on the edge of your seat waiting to see what will happen. Hopefully it will surprise you. Even if it doesn't, hopefully it's satisfying. Can you tell that hope is the key word here? I hope so.
Finally, I want to do some shout outs:
Colorful Magic – I hope this cleared up that issue. It's actually become a major plot point now so thanks for bringing it up!
MorbidbyDefault – Chapter Three was certainly one of the saddest things I've ever written. At one point I was going to leave it at this, but just couldn't bear to.
Crimson and Chrome 42 – True! And that is a big part of what I did here in Chapter 4 – showing how he was trying to protect her from everything about himself. Even to the point of asking a favor from Mycroft.
Ballykissangel – I was initially going to end it at Chapter 3 because I wanted a truly angsty story. But I just can't bring myself to do so. It will have an ending, you'll have to tell me if it's good enough or not when we get there.
My thanks also to Lucy, jane. emma .jhan, MegHolmes, Rocking the Redhead, Little Minamino, jankmusic, crooney83, and all those silent but lovely readers who have added this story to favorites and alerts. Love you all!
- CG
