Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.
For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.
Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.
IMPORTANT: It's 6:30 in the morning (local time, GMT -3) and I'm going to the airport in… – glances at watch – 10 minutes. I'm making a quick trip to Rio but I'll be back by Monday the 30th. Chapter 5 is almost ready, I'll post it when I get back either on Monday or tuesday. If I don't, it's because I died in a plane crash. So yeah, pray for my soul. Haha.
Sidenote: This chapter required a lot of work. Still, I don't think it was very good…I'm not sure such responses from Sherlock could actually be possible. Please let me know what you think, if he's a bit out of character and whatnot. Also I'm reading the original stories and I intend to mix Sherlock's personalities a little (Conan Doyle's and Moftiss'). Thank you for reading. I love you.
Music for a dead man
Chapter 4: A thousand years
Molly strolled into her room and opened the wardrobe. The night was a bit chilly, so she decided to go for flannel pajamas. She pulled out a pink set that would just do it. She also pulled out knickers and set them on her bed. She started to strip, unzipping her pants when she was suddenly aware that Sherlock was just outside her bedroom, sitting on her living room sofa. She decided then to lock the door to her room. Not that Sherlock would sneak in purposely to get a glimpse of her naked body, and she felt a bit sad when admitting that to herself.
Knowing him, he would walk around her flat like he owned the place and as much as she loved him, letting Sherlock do as he pleases would mean chaos. So, with that in mind, Molly decided that the first thing to do was to let him know that she owned the place and she would be the one to define which rooms he would be welcomed in and when he could come in. Really, it was like training a dog or defining boundaries to a small kid. Well, truth be told, in some ways Sherlock was indeed like a small kid.
Molly stripped off her clothing that had a faint smell of formaldehyde and rotting meat and went into the bathroom en suite. She decided that a hot shower was best to unknot her tired muscles. Stepping inside and feeling a heavenly relief, Molly allowed herself to smile. There was too much trouble and sadness over Sherlock's supposed death, so she had to try to find a safe harbor, for the sake of her sanity.
There was a light knock to the door of 221B. John jumped a little, being brought back from his stupor. He stood and opened the door, revealing a sad looking Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh, hello John dear. I just dropped by to check on you."
"Do come in, Mrs. Hudson."
John closed the door silently as the old woman entered the flat. They looked at each other and there was silence and, a few seconds later, as if they could read each other's minds, they pulled in an embrace.
"I'm so sorry, my dear. I never imagined–"
"Yes, me neither, Mrs. Hudson."
Pulling out of the embrace, she took the hint that he wasn't in the mood to talk about Sherlock, so Mrs. Hudson tried a different approach.
"How was your day, John?"
"I talked to my therapist in the morning…met with Molly and Lestrade for lunch and went straight back home. Nothing of real consequence.", because nothing of real consequence is going to happen from now on, John added mentally.
"How about yourself, Mrs. Hudson?"
"Oh, my hip was really eating me today but I feel better now, thank you for asking. Do you need anything, child?"
"No, Mrs. Hudson, it's all fine. Thank you for your concern."
They exchanged a long glance.
"All right then, my dear. I shall leave you now. Have a good night."
"Goodnight to you as well, Mrs. Hudson."
Mrs. Hudson turned and started for the 221B door when she suddenly stopped and turned to John.
"Oh. About tomorrow, what is the time again?"
"It will be at 10 in the morning. Mycroft will come half an hour earlier to fetch us…and take us all to the…funeral." At that last word, John's voice cracked a little, but he soon tried to recover by saying "so please be here on time."
"Of course, dear. Shall we have breakfast together then?"
John couldn't help but smile, even a small smile.
"That would be lovely. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
"It's settled then. Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson."
Sherlock heard a 'beep' sound coming from Molly's purse, waking him up from his thoughts. Her mobile. Whatever, not important, he thought, and started to resume his thinking.
Wait…could it be? Sherlock looked at the direction of Molly's room and heard the faint noise of water. She was still in her shower.
Perfect, he thought. Sherlock quickly opened Molly's purse and fetched the phone. He went through her messages and checked the one that was most recent. It was from John. Sherlock frowned. As I expected, he thought to himself.
I forgot to ask you, are you coming tomorrow? It will be at 10 o'clock. Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft will be there as well – JW
Sherlock wouldn't know how much time he spent staring at the phone; he heard the sound of a door being closed and jumped a little, eyes darting quickly to the door to Molly's room. He then let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he realized the noise came from the door to Molly's bathroom en suite. He quickly slipped the phone back in the purse and then back on the coffee table.
Two minutes later, Molly emerged from her room and into the living room.
"Gosh, I'm starving. Are you sure you don't want anything?"
"Tea would be fine."
"All right.", said Molly as she walked to the kitchen, serving herself two slices of bread and waiting for the kettle to boil. She opened the fridge, fetched an egg and started frying it.
VAUXHALL CROSS, 22:17
The office room was quiet and dark, save for a desk lamp angled toward a thick file and some scattered papers and photographs. Mycroft was sitting comfortably on his armchair, his elbows on the table with his fingers intertwined and resting under his chin. He was staring at the subjects on the desk with a very frustrated look when the phone started to ring. He picked up at once.
"Holmes."
"Thames House, sir. We have new information on Moriarty's file."
"Go on."
"The sniper siding with Moriarty was revealed to be former Colonel Sebastian Moran. We have indications that he had been having contact with Moriarty for at least a year. Apparently, he is trying to keep a low profile now. We are watching him closely, 24/7."
"Is he still in Baker Street?"
"Yes, sir."
"But he didn't make any move towards them?"
"None, sir. He rarely goes out and as much as we can tell, he is keeping an eye on Sherlock related news."
"I see. Decrease threat level from Substancial to Moderate. Keep an eye on John as well. We take no risks this time."
"Understood, sir. Also, we are prepared to hack in at any time, sir."
"No. We don't know what he is really capable of yet. Any failed attempt to sabotage him could complicate matters. Just make sure he won't shoot anyone and keep researching."
"Yes, sir, understood."
Mycroft was the first to hang up. He picked up the phone again and waited for about five seconds. A woman picked up from the other side and Mycroft instructed her to forward all Moriarty related calls to his personal mobile. He then hung up, turned off his desk lamp, fetched his umbrella and his coat and strolled outside.
"There you go, Sherlock."
"Thank you."
They sat silently in the living room by the coffee table; Molly eating bread with cream cheese and a fried egg and Sherlock occasionally sipping at his tea. Molly just observed him and after a few minutes she finished her meal and turned to him.
"Please don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Plotting. You are up to something."
Sherlock just looked at her, squinting his eyes a little. He took a final sip of his tea and put the cup on the coffee table.
"Not at all. I was just thinking, and I can't really stop doing it."
"Right.", But I know you are up to something, she added mentally. Molly stood up with both their cups in her hands and washed them in the kitchen sink. When she was back in the living room she fetched her phone and earphones from her purse and Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice from the bookshelf. She sat comfortably on the sofa this time, as far from Sherlock as possible. She put the book on her lap and was about to define a playlist of songs on her mobile when a message popped up with a beep.
Sorry, I forgot you will be working at the time. See you, then – JW
She saw there was a new message before that one.
I forgot to ask you, are you coming tomorrow? It will be at 10 o'clock. Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft will be there as well – JW
Molly frowned and swallowed hard. Sorry, John, she thought, and started typing back.
I'm so sorry John, but that's not going to be possible. I'll have to be at Bart's. I'm really sorry. Tell me if I can help you with anything else. – Molly
Molly sighed and was about to plug her earphones when Sherlock interjected:
"Give me the key to your car."
Molly stared at him in disbelief. She couldn't believe he was going to deliberately ignore the "don't go out" rule.
"Sherlock, you know you can't go out."
"I'm not, I'm just going to fetch the bag that is inside your car's trunk. I want to shower and my clothes are in there."
Molly just stared at him.
"Really, Molly, I'm not going anywhere. You are already in your pajamas, the most logical and less troublesome thing to do is to let me fetch it myself."
Hesitantly, she searched for the key that was inside her purse and gave it to Sherlock.
"I'll be watching you, though."
Sherlock stood up at once, completely forgetting his body was still aching.
"Ouch!"
"Easy, Sherlock." Molly eyed him worriedly.
Sherlock said nothing, just walked to the coat rack, grabbed his coat and left the flat.
Now, let's see how my dear brother's dogs are working, shall we? Sherlock thought as he descended the stairs to the street. The key Molly had handed to him clearly belonged to a Renault and as there was just one nearby, he went straight to it. Sherlock opened the car trunk deliberately slowly, taking his time to assess his surroundings. There was one man occasionally leaning on a nearby car, two other men walking close together across the street. There surely would be others, watching him from afar.
Sherlock decided it was the most he could make without acting suspiciously. He went straight back to Molly's flat with the bag in one hand.
"Holmes", Mycroft said as he picked up his mobile.
"It's Sherlock Holmes, sir. He went out for about three minutes, opened Ms. Hooper car trunk and retrieved his bag before returning to the flat."
"Didn't he do anything else?"
"No, sir."
"It took him three whole minutes to retrieve a single bag?" Mycroft's tone was a bit ironic.
"That's right, sir." The man's tone, in return, was a bit nervous.
Mycroft chuckled.
"In all truth, he was the one watching you. I know what he is up to. He will go out tomorrow to his own funeral."
"We can stop him, sir."
"Well, you can watch him, but once he has a plan to escape the flat you won't be able to tell he is gone until it is too late. Just make sure no one suspicious threatens either himself or Ms. Hooper."
"Understood, sir."
Mycroft hung up and sighed. He was home now, after working almost two full days straight. He needed to rest. As he shrugged off his coat and put it on the coat rack he was having a million thoughts, one of them being that he now knew that Sherlock knew that there were some things he didn't tell him and that he would try to make him talk by facing him tomorrow at the funeral. Not that Sherlock could easily make him spill the beans, but Mycroft had to tell him for his own safety. He owed it to his brother, and he would help him as much as he could. He also now knew that Sherlock knew that he knew about Sherlock's plot, so tomorrow he would have to deceive John to get to talk to his brother. Oh well.
Sherlock emerged out of the bathroom in a navy blue silk robe and matching pajama bottoms. Molly was sitting on the sofa, reading and listening to music on her mobile and automatically looked at the direction of the door that just opened. If it was possible, Sherlock looked even better: it was like the shower was invigorating. She realized she was staring at him when he finally said:
"What?"
A Thousand Years (by Christina Perri)
Heart beats fast
Colors and promises
How to be brave
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall
But watching you stand alone
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow
One step closer
"Hmm? Oh, nothing". Molly blushed deeply and resumed her attention on the book.
"Why do you read Jane Austen?" Sherlock said a minute later.
I have died everyday waiting for you
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
"Um…because I like her novels. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite. The plot, the characters and the depiction of British society of the early 1800's are all very nice, along with the narrative."
"Sounds dull. Romantic novels are useless, you know. There's nothing practical you can learn from them, and Austen's novels are even more useless because the society behavior depicted in them can't be applied to contemporaneity. So why bother fill your brain with useless information about people that never existed and won't add anything consistent to your knowledge?"
Time stands still
Beauty in all she is
I will be brave
I will not let anything take away
What's standing in front of me
Every breath
Every hour has come to this
One step closer
Molly chuckled. Sherlock raised his eyebrows a little.
"I guess you are right, as always. But I still like it. I think it's because of all the drama…to root for the characters that are meant to be together to actually end up together."
"What's the point in that? You know that Austen's novels consist on the main female character marrying at the end. You know they will be together, so what's the point?"
I have died everyday waiting for you
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
"The point is the sentiment, Sherlock. The feelings felt by the characters that can be understood and almost felt by the reader as well."
They shared a long stare. She could see the confusion on his face, like the concept was impossible to understand, and she could feel she was starting to feel sad because of that.
And all along I believed I would find you
Time has brought your heart to me
I have loved you for a thousand years
I love you for a thousand more
One step closer
One step closer
"But it's so predictable! How can you stand it?"
"You think it's predictable because love has the same concept for everyone, but it is different every time you feel it because no relationship is exactly the same." After a few seconds, she added "Well, anyway, I'm off to bed. Goodnight, Sherlock."
"Goodnight, Molly."
With that, Molly stood up, put a bookmarker in the book and then put it on the coffee table, turned around and strolled in the direction of her room, shutting the door.
Sherlock glanced at his watch. 23:15. He would still have to wait several hours until he could go to his funeral. He didn't have much to put his thinking on, except that Moriarty wouldn't just fall like he did: he must have some backup plan. Basically, Sherlock was stuck. All of this was driving him crazy.
Sherlock fetched the painkiller pills in the kitchen counter drawer and took one, or three – he didn't really pay attention and didn't really care. He had to shut up his mind for the sake of his sanity. As a plus, they would ease the physical pain. He then proceeded to the guest room and then on to bed, spreading his arms and legs in a star shape.
As soon as Molly closed the door she could feel a trail of tears going its way down her face. Damn you. Damn you, Sherlock, for being so smart and gorgeous and so ridiculously out of my league, she thought.
"Having him here is going to be hell. Nevertheless, I would do this a thousand times over if it would mean to help him." Molly said to herself as she silently crawled into bed, curling into a ball and letting sleep win over.
I have died everyday waiting for you
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
And all along I believed I would find you
Time has brought your heart to me
I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more