Hello!
OK HEAR ME OUT!
I had Exams I needed to prepare for.
Word Document decided to delete all my files and I have now lost all of my chapters...
It has also locked me out all together so now Word Document is now useless to me and now I have to write chapters in Copy-N- Paste in Doc manager which is very frustrating.
AND then I had to start chapter 4 from scratch, and I had wrote AT LEAST 4,000 words...
So yeah. I'm pretty peeved off.
ANYWAY! I know have a tumblr account which you could follow if you wanted updates or that sort of thing! There's a link to a playlist on there as well.
: /hypsterPlayer/MPL?media_type=playlist&playlist_id=6780359&us_id=5074080 (playlist)
For the Tumblr, just type : bhhgefslotrthzimm98 dot tumblr dot com
A special thank you to everyone who has Favorited, reviewed and followed this story!
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK OR ITS CHARACTERS. THEY BELONG TO MARK GATISS, STEVEN MOFFAT AND SIR ACD.
- If there are any mistakes I apologize.
Chapter 4:
Molly Hooper sat in front of the TV with her Grandmother with questions that needed answers swirling around in her little noggin. She of course was too scared to ask as her Grandmother was very adamant to answer any of Molly questions. Molly has gotten to that age where curiosity took over her and she simply needed to know everything.
Molly Hooper was 6 years old. She was 42 inches tall and weighed 50 pounds. She was a happy child, most of the time. When she remembered things from her past she would cry a little, and go to her Grandmother for comfort. Her Grandmother, Elsie Domma, was a loving women, age 62 and had a big heart. Little Molly was her pride and joy, since she had raised her for two years. This may seem like a short period of time but it seemed like Molly was as much as her child than her own daughter.
Now, you may be wondering why Molly wasn't living with her Mother and Father, like most 6 year old's. You see, Molly's Mother was once a loving young women, just like her own Mother until greed took over.
Once upon a time, a lady called Joanne Domma, at the young age of just 20, married a man called Dominic Hooper in a church on the 5th of July. It was a happy marriage, and as soon as little Molly came along they were so happy. They had their own family now.
Dominic Hooper was a very wealthy man. He had a good job in a company which made over £100,000 pounds a year. They had a lovely grand house with high ceilings and marble flooring. Only the best for the Hooper's, He would say.
Lets just say, The Hooper's were never short of money.
As the years went by, and by the time Little Molly was 3 years old, Dominic had reached the highest in his ranking, and became head of his own office in a trade unit. His job was to know which company's would provide the best income, without actually taking too much money from them. He, of course, was great at the job, a great negotiator and always brought the money in. Dominic started bringing double the money home to his family, and spent it all on grand renovations and presents for his darling wife and daughter, he even bought a little lake house in Switzerland.
He didn't actually save any of it. Idiot.
One day, Dominic Hooper made the wrong decision, and instead of bringing in the money, he had lost it all. He became too cocky over the years of success and of course decided he was ready to make bigger offers. He made the company loose its high rank in the list, all for a stupid mistake. He had made mistakes before, but tiny ones which hardly left a dent in the company's wealth.
He sadly, lost his job and the Hooper's were forced to leave the high ceilings and marble floors that had become their home. Molly Hooper, only being 3 years old was too young to understand the loss and just waddled around on her chubby toddler legs on the carpet of their new council flat.
Drowning in his failures and lost of what was his career, he turned to alcohol to help him get through the days of crap telly and benefits. He had too much pride to ask for money from his other siblings, who would of refused anyway. The alcohol changed him, made him reckless and careless.
Molly's Mother also felt the need to get away from what was their life now, and the kind women was gone, overcome by greed and loss. She felt like she was above all of this - This flat, horrible wallpaper and carpets to match. She had simply forgotten what her life used to be like and became engorged with the high life she once had. She had forgotten that life could still be happy, full of friends, family and new beginnings. They had Molly now, this could be a new start for her, and for all of them.
She stopped talking. She avoided her husband like he was the plague. He had given up trying to speak to her, after being happily married for 3 years they both seemed to forget the vows they swore to follow.
"For better or for worse..."
Molly was oblivious, only being 3 years old she just seemed to walk and gabble about nonsense, trying to get her Mother or Fathers attention like any other 3 year old would do. But they just drowned in their sorrows over the lost money and house. They still fed her and took her to bed, soothed her when she cried - but that was all. No cuddles for the sake of loving their daughter, from the joy of having this small little life who was a little bit of them both in their hands to cherish and love.
They didn't see the joy Little Molly could give them. Her father practically lived at the pub, and her Mother just stared at a wall or the TV, never drank the tea she had made and left it to cool on the table. She was just a shell now, a shell of what she once was.
She had outbursts of anger towards Dominic. " This is your fault!" "We are above this and you let us fall down to this level!"
It was only 5 months into the downfall that social services had to become involved. They seemed to realize that Molly was not attending day school, and came round for a 'friendly chat'.
They saw how the Hooper's had fallen apart, just saw the remains of a once loving family. They saw the little ray of hope that was Molly Hooper, scooped her up and let her play with the hem of his collar while he carried her out of the flat and into the police car - giving her her doll she had grew very fond off.
They told them they were taking her away unless they could sort out their ways. Molly's mother, of course being on her own as her husband was digging his grave in a pub that didn't even sell nice beer, couldn't see how they could provide for the small child, and with her last shreds of commonsense, let them take her daughter away.
She knew that they couldn't provide for her. She knew they were terrible parents. Molly deserved better... Her little Molly.
She went to live with her grandmother. She took her in, not even starting to think about letting her go into a care home. She was 3 years old for Christ's sake.
She didn't know what to do about her daughter. Her stupid, stupid daughter who let this poor little ray of sunshine out of her life. Surely she raised her just so? To never give up and to always do what was necessary? For example, Talk about this drastic change, get a job and provide for Molly.
Elsie Domma decided to raise Molly completely different than her daughter. She wanted Molly to be kind, loving and compassionate. She wanted her to find love in the future - Marry a nice man and never, and she meant never, let what happened to her mother happen to her. To never give up hope and always open your heart to those who need you love the most.
Lucky isn't it? That Elsie Hooper had succeeded.
"So, What's he like, then? This new patient of yours?"
Greg took a hearty swig of his pint, before placing it on a place mat (Too Molly's request) on the table. John and Mary nodded in agreement into their drinks, wanting to hear the new gossip of their friends work.
She knew that they didn't exactly approve of her job choice. They thought she was too innocent to work with people who were troubled by their past or struggling with addictions. But, She worked with dead bodies... She wasn't exactly squeamish. She knew what she had signed up for. Just not with Sherlock Holmes. She had to figure him out. Like a puzzle. A very, very, complicated puzzle.
She didn't exactly know why she did the job at first. She could use the extra money, treat herself to a lovely bottle of expensive wine or a new book. She knew she wanted to help people, help them have their lives back and wanted to feel the sensation of waving goodbye to one of her patients as they walked off into the sunset, eager to start their new life of happiness and adventure.
She also knew that that was just a daydream, a goal it seems, that she wishes to for-fill. This profession, this job, was a lot more serious than that. She knew what she was walking into as soon as she started to study and train. She knew how serious it could become as soon as Catalina had made a big impact on her life. She had to watch that little girl waste away in front of her and as much as she helped... It just didn't get any better. She had felt so useless and she didn't... She never wanted that to happen again.
Sherlock would not be easy. Maybe even worse than Catalina and she wondered if she had the mental strength to watch him get worse and cave into his mind and never come out again.
No. No.
It was either she saw him waste away in that god forsaken asylum or she saw him happy and getting on with his life. Using his skill of deduction as a job and fulfilling his true potential.
Maybe even having a family.
That's what she wanted to do. To bring him that happiness that a family or a job could bring.
"He's... He's different. I haven't really spoken to him, he was drugged up on medication for the most part. I can't really say much more." She respected the rules of patient confidentiality and decided that they shouldn't know his last name as they could come up with some kind of connection. She figured 'Sherlock' wouldn't exactly be discreet but Mycroft had suggested that telling her friends (or comrades as he said) about him may help her to figure out how to deal with him... Thinking aloud, he said.
He used so many technical words and Molly was an intelligent women but she just couldn't keep up.
"If he's allowed out of that place, you could bring him to the Christmas party at John and Mary's place. Get him back to the outside world, y'know. It's still 3 months off yet." Greg suggested, hoping that this fellow was a social butterfly of some sort. Molly didn't know what to think. If they knew about his whole story, would they still want to meet him? She thought it was a grand idea! Get him outside for some fresh air and socializing. Not now, of course, She would see in the three months on how he progresses. He still needed to gain her trust. She hasn't even talked to him properly yet. Who knows? He might even enjoy it.
John again nodded in agreement,"Sure, He can meet Mrs Hudson. I'm sure she'll enjoy stuffing him with her selection of biscuits. If he wants, he could come along, no bother, right Mary?"
"Of course." She nodded enthusiastically, still munching on some pork scratching's, and she felt blessed. These people, these wonderful people who had welcomed a man they didn't even know and was more complex than they could imagine, practically with open arms.
"Thank you, I don't know what to say..." She shook her head in disbelief, "Maybe... Hopefully."
"Could I get some pain killers?" Sherlock suddenly piped up, cracking his back as he had been slouching onto the table, and sat up straight to steeple his fingers under his nose.
"You already take pain killers." Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow.
"We've acquired new neighbors who tend to have a little meltdown in the middle of the night - I can't think clearly." He looked around, gesturing to the patients around him who all had individual problems of their own. They had family members pining over them, giving them magazines and books, saying that they looked well and hugging them. There would of been a time when Sherlock would have craved the comfort of others - such as family. It was unfortunate his family was full of wankers.
"Should we play deductions?" He asked, looking around. "See, Billy's brother over there is having an affair with his nurse. Naughty, naughty."
"Sherlock-"
"Affair, Affair, Debt, Drug addict and oh look! Another Affair-"
"For God's sake, Shut up!"
"Oh come on, I've been cooped up in here for ages!" Sherlock sulked and crossed his arms over his chest in a huff.
"In regards to your question, Need I remind you of the event that took place 6 months prior? No Sherlock, You cannot have more painkillers." Mycroft scowled as he remembered what had happened when he had provided extra medicine for Sherlock. Never again.
"God, you are a spoil sport. I have a collar now. Surely you trust me enough." Sherlock waved his hand to show Mycroft the annoying piece of technology on his wrist. " I won't ruin another waistcoat, which I am not sorry for. It was hideous."
"No Sherlock."
"Aspirin?"
"No."
"What about Neurofen?"
"That's a child's medicine. No."
"Worth a shot."
Sherlock looked around before turning back to his brother. "You never told the others."
"They never asked."
"And she did?"
"Yes." Mycroft fiddled with his umbrella handle as Sherlock ran his thumb across the scars on his forearm and over the 'collar' on his wrist in thought.
"Why?"
"It seems her intentions are genuine. She want's you to get out of here."
"Maybe I don't want to leave."
"Clearly you do, Sherlock. You will not drive her away, understand?"
Mycroft only got a sigh and a grumble in response.
"You know I don't like the mumbling, Sherlock. What was that?"
Sherlock sighed, "What if she end's up like the last one. I saw him before, ran away. He's pretty screwed up Mycroft. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
Mycroft saw how his brother was trying to change his mind, trying to show him what he would do to her if he didn't send her away. With his last carer, he had deduced him - Told him about his appalling marriage and that his wife was seeing all these different men behind his back. That his son was getting involved with the wrong people and was obtaining a a very serious drug habit. Seeing as the man was under so much stress already, with work ( His boss was literally breathing down his neck) he snapped and had a mental breakdown. He even tried to throttle Sherlock- Who hit him on the head with his collar, knocking the man out cold as he was placed in a cell for treatment and assessments on his health.
"Oops." Was the only thing Sherlock had said in reply regarding what he done to the man's now messed up life.
"She's stronger than she looks, Brother mine."
Sherlock scoffed, "Brother mine."
There was a silence that surrounded them and it seemed almost choking to them. They were brothers... I wasn't supposed to be like this. But, Mycroft supposed, with a history like theirs, it was to be somewhat expected.
"How be Mother?"
"She wants to see you. It's been years."
Sherlock's face instantly hardened and Mycroft saw as his eyes flooded with anger. Mycroft still talked to their Mother, she had divorced Siger Holmes when Sherlock last came into St Bartholomew's (When he was 28). She regretted what she had never done to stop him from harming her boy. She regretted when she thought that her social status was more important than her own son. She missed him.
"She should of thought of that before she put her stupid parties and gatherings with the other poncy gits before the welfare of her son."
"Shouldn't you be at one of your meetings? Which you clearly hate attending. Come to think of it, Shouldn't I be the one attending?"
Ah. Those meetings.
"Sherlock..."
"It's funny isn't it? How all of those rich, pompous, gullible people believe every single word that comes out of that man's mouth because he is more condescending than them. And there you are, joining in and standing up in my place to accept the reward for my so called success? What makes you think that I want to be accepted by those imbeciles? They think they know everything about Mr Holmes and his big, big, prosperous company and his two sons who are holding up to the family name. They know nothing!" Sherlock all but sneered to the man across from him. Mycroft sighed and looked at his watch before standing up and tucking his chair under the steel table.
"Good afternoon, Brother. I have a... Meeting... to attend." Mycroft turned to walk away, but Sherlock's voice made him turn around again.
"Tell Father his business is running strong in Philadelphia. See if he gets the joke." Mycroft nodded and just before he turned to walk away, he saw how his little brother's mouth twitch into a sad smile.
Molly Hooper woke up and looked out of her window and she wasn't surprised to see that it was British weather was living up to its expectations. Rain. Lots and lots of rain.
And she was also not surprised to see a black car roll up outside of the building. What time was it?
10:30 am. She guessed Mycroft had give her a lie in. She got ready quickly, wearing a colourful striped jumper given to her by her grandmother and some comfortable baggy pants. Judging how the tree outside her window was swaying rather dangerously close to her bedroom, she guessed it was quite chilly outside. She donned her pink and black striped scarf and put on a knitted hat before grabbing her bag just as she heard her phone go off.
Car is outside of your building. MH.
Nodding at her phone, she patted Toby on the head. She put on her coat and left her flat, Saying good morning to Mr Flannigan on the way past to the stairs. She had a spring in her step ( Must of been the lie in) and she was glad as she knew that today was going to be difficult. This was going to be their first proper conversation and she would be lying is she said she wasn't at least a tiny bit terrified. Sherlock Holmes was more complex than she could imagine and so heavily guarded, she knew it would take time to gain his trust. She was confident in her methods (Which where in no way similar to the ones she had been taught - which in her mind where ) and what she had to do now was to figure him out. She had to learn his personality - which she had already had a glimpse at during her first encounter with him. She had to learn him - To get the best possible outcome (And because she just wanted to meet the Sherlock Holmes beneath the mask). She had to know what he felt about his past, let him release all of the pent up emotion that he had withheld during his horrendous childhood. She had seen it before, what happens when all the emotion becomes too much. It tears you apart, piece by piece until you just can't go anymore. The weight is so heavy, your hanging on by your fingertips to the last shred of your sanity and one day you just have to let go. Sherlock was an prime example... And it scared her.
And what worried her was that Sherlock Holmes had had over 24 years of isolation and pent up emotion and she was scared he would break before she could piece him back together.
When Mycroft's car pulled up into the the path of his family home, he took a deep breath before venturing out of the car. He saw the other member's cars of his fathers board parked on the gravel. He also spotted a TV camera crew van - which he guessed where the reporters and journalists transport. He adjusted his grip on his umbrella and slowly made his way to the wooden double doors and turned one of the handles and was graced with the presence that was the front room. His footsteps echoed through the halls as his shoes hit the black and white tiles and wood flooring as he made his way to the main stair well; A huge, spiraling staircase that led to the second and third floor of their home. He was about to take the first step, but a memory surfaced from the back of his mind and stopped him in his tracks.
A 16 year old Mycroft took a last drag of his cigarette - He didn't even like smoking - before throwing it to the floor and rubbing it into the stone until the orange embers of the ash burned out. He took out a tiny bottle of cologne from his pocket and sprayed it on him to get rid of the smoke, he knew they would know but he didn't want to stink of smoke, did he? Grabbing his suitcase, he straightened his coat and rang the doorbell.
Two curious, blue-green eyes peeked up at him through a mass of black curls as the small boy was stood on a stool, his arm reached up and still gripped on the door handle. Obviously, he was too small to reach the handle and needed the aid of the foot stool that always rested near the shoe rack. Mycroft was about to say something before the boy closed the door again, but not completely.
Mycroft heard him dragging the stool back to it's original place and then the soft pitter patters of Sherlock's footsteps as he came back to the door. He patiently waited for his 4 year old brother to open the door and he saw a pair of tiny hands wrap around the door frame to open it fully. When he had finished pushing the door back as far as he could (Mycroft couldn't blame him - it was a very heavy door) and he stood, waiting for Mycroft to come in.
When Mycroft had finally stepped into the house and put his suitcase down, he turned back to his brother to find him pushing the door back closed. He watched as he struggled with the weight of the door and Mycroft sighed. He walked over, and stood behind him and pushed the door closed with a single push. Sherlock nearly fell at the sudden movement and Mycroft let out a little chuckle. Sherlock turned around with a huff and crossed his arms over his small chest.
"I didn't need any help!"
"You would still have been there next sunday, Sherlock."
Sherlock glared at his older brother before his face split out into a large, toothy grin and he ran to Mycroft and wrapped his arms around his legs. Mycroft, not exactly expecting the sudden change, patted Sherlock on his curly head.
"I missed you, Mycroft. It's been so boring but Mummy got me a dog, he's called Redbeard!"
Mycroft had been at boarding school for the last 7 months. He didn't write to his family in that time. The boarding school he attended was over 200 miles away from where they lived, so he skipped the family holidays and weeks off as well.
He looked down at Sherlock who was still hugging his legs. He patted his head again.
"A...A dog?" He felt Sherlock nod againt his thigh and looked around the and saw the signs as clear as day.
Imprints on the stair carpet, hairs in the corners of the room and obvious slober stains on Sherlock's clothing.
Just as Sherlock was pulling away, he took a deep sniff and stepped back. He looked up at Mycroft and narrowed his eyes.
"You've been smoking, haven't you?" He smirked at Mycroft's face and giggled even more when Mycroft put his finger to his lips as to say 'Shh!'
Sherlock nodded his head, his curls bouncing and he took Mycrofts hand in his. He began dragging him towards the dining room.
"Come on! Mummy said food will be ready soon..."
Mycroft blinked, and was back to reality. He adjusted his grip on the banister of the staircase and made his way up the stairs, leaving the memory of a 7 year old Sherlock behind him.
The ride to Bart's seemed shorter than the last time and before she knew it, Mycroft was staring at her through the window of the car, waiting patiently for her to get out. She said her thanks to the driver, who nodded his head in return, and stepped out to meet the eldest Holmes brother.
"Good Morning, Doctor Hooper." He nodded his head to her in greeting. She smiling as he said 'Doctor'. She liked to be addressed as Doctor Hooper, but it reminded her of the morgue too much, which wasn't a problem - She actually enjoyed working as a pathologist. Working with the dead seemed to be easier than working with the living. As morbid as it sounds. She liked to give the family members some type of comfort, they deserved to know what had happened. But when she was here and helping with people who were living, she preferred to be called Molly. Being called Doctor also reminded her of doctors she had worked with in the past - She had taken a disliking to all of them.
"I appreciate you calling me 'Doctor' Mr Holmes, but please call me Molly."
"Very well... Molly... Then please, call me Mycroft." He gave her a small smile and held out his hand in a sign of agreement. She giggled at his awkwardness, and took his hand in hers and shaked it slowly, before he drew back and readjusted his grip on his umbrella handle. He motioned for her to follow him through the main entrance and lead her to the desk where the same guard from the last time she was here was typing furiously at his keyboard.
"If you would sign in, you can get to work, Meet me at the ECU Cells when you are ready... Sherlock asked to discuss something of an important matter with me. Excuse me." He walked back down the hall, she assumed back to Sherlock and she watched as he swung his umbrella with every other step. Such a strange fellow.
She turned back to the reception desk and cleared her throat to get the guards attention, "Sherlock Holmes's sign book, please." She smiled at the obvious shock in his eyes, before he bent down to the lower filing cabinet and placed Sherlock's book on the desk in front of her. She grabbed the pen from the side, and carefully wrote her name under Mycroft's neat scrawl, writing the date and time next to it. She handed the book back and smiled.
"I see you're back then, miss."
"Yes.. Well. Have a nice day, Sir." She was about to walk off when his voice called for her to turn around, " If you're going to be 'ere often... The names Sam. And you're..." He looked back down at her name in the book, " Miss Molly?" She nodded and smiled. " Have a nice day Molly."
"You too Sam."
She walked down the white halls, trying to block out the voices of the other patients. She maneuvered her way through the corridors and through the units before she reached the door leading to the ECU Unit Sherlock was in. She got out her ID Card (Which Mycroft got or he to give her access to Sherlock at any time, which she was grateful for) And showed it to the guards who only grunted in response before opening the door. She smiled at them - She didn't know why, frankly they quite annoyed her. Walking through the door, she was greeted with the white chipped walls that she would soon become accustomed too, but saw that Mycroft was no where to be seen. She saw how the other patients in the ward seemed to be on break, and she could tell that there where now new residents, judging by the state of the cells. The cell to her left was a state, the covers where ripped off of the bed and what she hoped was food was smeared across the walls. The cell to her right had multi-coloured pill's scattered along the floor and wasn't much better than the other. She saw a opened head gear lying on the floor in the corner and she felt her insides turn. She hated how patients in the 1800's were treated - Head gear, dunk tanks, shock therapy. It disgusted her. She, of course, had researched methods used by the doctor's in the early years of mental health - It was required for the training - and she had learned about medicne through the ages during her history GCSE's. The methods they thought would make these poor people better... It shocked her how they could treat another human being so horridly. She understood that at first, they had to try out these methods to see if they worked at all, but if they wasn't helping the patients show any sign of improvement, then you stop doing them. Seeing a piece of headgear in this persons cell in the 21st century shocked her. So many new procedures had been discovered; Some of which were still be horrifying to even think about but they worked.
Now she understood why not many people got out of this mental institution.
Seeing how the other cells were empty, she wondered if Sherlock had gone on a break too. She went to make her way towards Sherlock's cell when she heard Sherlock's voice quietly echo through the corridor.
"They are doing something with the patients. I think their giving them some toxin or some kind of gas; Mycroft their doing something... If you just let me look around-"
"What they do to other patients is none of your concern, Sherlock. You should focus on your recovery, not thinking of running around the asylum because you think something is going on!" Mycroft's voice snapped back at him and Molly held her breath.
"Listen to me. They are doing something. I know there testing on them. Just let me-"
"No you listen to me. You are not a 7 year old boy anymore Sherlock. You can't run around and solve mysteries with Redbeard like that stupid TV show on the television. You are a 32 year old man and you are not healthy. You need help." Mycroft saw how Sherlock's jaw tightened and carried on while Sherlock was silent for once. "Look... Sherlock, We will get answers when you next have an assessment ,They want to see if you... Qualify... For a new type of treatment and see if a new method will work with conditions such as yours. This treatment is not exactly-"
"Don't you dare think for a second that I am letting them anywhere near me again-"
Molly knew she had to intervene before it turned into a full fledged argument. She walked up to Sherlock's cell to see him sat on his bed, his eyes intense and his hands gripping the sheets. Mycroft looked calm but his hand was clenching the handle of his umbrella and his stare just as intense. Molly cleared her throat and they both looked at her as she stood awkwardly on the other side of the glass.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Yes." "Not at all-." Mycroft turned to Sherlock, as if to say Shut up, who was all but glaring at Molly as stared back at him. Keep it together you're doing great. You are in control Molly Ann Hooper!
"We were going to move into canteen area... Shall we?" Mycroft moved to the side door and opened it, waiting for Sherlock to move. Molly watched as Sherlock's gaze flickered to the door and then back to her, like he was contemplating whether or not he wanted to go anywhere near her. It was very unnerving, the way he stared at her. She didn't know what to do! So she just stared back at him, adding a small smile in his direction to try and tell him I just want to talk.
As though he read her mind, he stood from the bed and walked to the door on the back wall which must take them to the canteen area. Mycroft opened the side door, which she went through the last time she was here, and closed it with a bang as she stepped into the cell. She watched how Sherlock jaw and shoulders tensed as she stepped closer to him, waiting for Mycroft to unlock the back door. When it was opened, Sherlock all but rushed out and was already halfway down the hall before Molly was even out the door. She heard Mycroft sign.
"If you would follow me, Molly."
When they got into the canteen, she scanned the area for Sherlock to find him sitting on one of the tables in the far right corner of the (rather small) room. She took a deep breath.
He obviously wants to scare you away, so you have to stay strong! Remember-
"I'll leave you two alone, I'll be other there." wait- what?
Before Molly could even think to stop him he was marching off into one of the vacant seats, maneuvering his way though the patients. Right.
Molly walked over to the seat opposite Sherlock's and placed her bag on the cringed as her seat screeched against the floor as she pulled it back, and cringed even more when she tucked herself back in. She felt Sherlock staring at her and when she looked up she wasn't surprised to see him staring at her with narrowed eyes. His hands were clasped beneath his chin, so Molly folded her arms and placed them onto the table in front of her.
Molly cleared her throat. "Hello-"
"Please don't feel the need to make conversation, everything you would ever need to know about me is typed up or wrote in a file somewhere. Surely, judging by a women of your intelligence, you would think to look at them before even thinking about trying to have a civil conversation with me."
"I've read one of them. I prefer to do my own editing." Molly pulled out Sherlocks file that she received from Mycroft and placed it on the table in front of her. "Have they actually let you read your own file?"
He ignored the question completely, " So you would rather listen to me than read one of those files filled out by my doctors and past therapists?"
Molly's brow furrowed, "Yes, Of course..."
"What if I was told you that I'm completely fine and my brother is the mad one and the the only reason I'm still here is to humour him?"
"Then I would say that he is a bloody good actor."
"Interesting." His gaze shifted to the file, then back to her. She saw the small smirk that appeared on his face as he looked her over. Well this is better than glaring.
"You asked the others that didn't you? The other psychotherapist's? Judging by the smirk on your face, I've given you a different answer."
"It seems that you are more intelligent than the others I've had to encounter."
"I wouldn't say more intelligent. I would say more... eager."
His eyes squinted for a second and his gaze sweeped over to where to Mycroft was sitting before returning to her again. "Do you want to know what I think Molly Hooper?"
"Yes."
"I don't think you do."
"Go ahead."
He took a deep breath, "I think you're a woman who thinks everything and everyone has a second option and a other chance at life with the help of others. You think that a good laugh or friends can help you through the worst of times and that everyone deserves to have a little happiness no matter who they are or what they've done. A psychotherapist seemed like a good option for you because you wanted to give people, like me, that 'second chance' but that seemed to backfire a couple of years ago, didn't it? Something went wrong and made you rethink your job choice. Your friends think you to be too fragile for this sort of occupation, and you started to think they were right, didn't you?" He leaned forward and grabbed one of her hands in his and brought it to eye level to inspect it, "Psychotherapy was what you originally wanted to study but you also studied something else. Judging by the site of your hands, remaints of germicidal and iodine were you haven't washed properly and still faintly smelling of nitrile, I would say that your other career path was pathology. The scars on your palms, most likely from a small instrument, are at least 5 years old so you've been juggling two careers for quite a while." He placed her hand back onto the table and glanced at Mycroft who was staring at him with wide eyes, before he carried on. "You're an only child, and was raised not by your parents, but an aunty or grandmother going by how you dress in old jumpers and baggy pants which previously belonged to said grandmother or aunty. Your parents were quite wealthy, but one of them made a wrong decision or something along those lines and they lost everything. As you were raised by a relative, they must of been unable to care for you. Your father most likely turned to alcohol or drugs and your mother found comfort in nothing, not even her baby daughter and you were taken by social services and placed in the care of your closest relative, an aunty or an grandmother. Your education was fairly standard but you seemed to shine in sciences and went on to go to university where you got top of your class, and all the times you rejected parties invitations where spent studying for a exam you could already pass with flying colours. I know this because I was like that myself." His hands returned to their position in front of his face, "You don't have many friends, but to the few you have you are loyal and would do anything for. You're in your early thirties, and worry that if you dont marry within 3 years you would never settle and have the children you always wanted. You met someone, but he broke it off recently and the indent on your ring finger is a reminder of the wrong choices you made as you felt that he would be your last chance to settle down..." He took another deep breath, and exhaled into the palms of his hands as they rested under his nose. "Am. I. Wrong?"
Molly released the breath she never knew she was holding and blinked to snap out of the trance. She gulped. He knew everything... How did he know everything?!
"Well?"
She cleared her throat and she feared that her voice would waver from the shock of it all. "It was my father who made the wrong decision. Made the company loose lots of money so they fired him, and he turned to alcohol."
"So I was right on all accounts then."
"Tom didn't break off the engagement, I did. I caught him cheating and he had the audacity to blame it all on me." Molly looked down at the faint imprint of where once layer her engagement ring, and rubbed the spot between her finger and thumb before looking back up at him.
"There's always something." He showed no sympathy for her failed relationship and she was somehow grateful. He leaned back in his chair and frowned grumpily as if the tiny mistake he made was the end of the world.
She shook her head in disbelief, " What is a amazing man like you with a mind like yours doing in a place like this, Sherlock Holmes?"
His eyes shifted from where he was staring a hole into the wall to lock onto her gaze. "No ones ever said I was amazing."
"What do they call you then?"
"Freak, knobhead, deranged, pyscho. They all have a dull and repetitive vocabulary when it comes to name calling."
How could anyone say that this man was deranged? This amazing, wonderful gift he has was the most interesting thing she had ever seen, even if he was a bit harsh in how he voiced his opinion and knowledge. When he ( was it deduced? ) her, his voice captivated her and help her in a trance as he told her everything about her and instead of finding it offending and quite frankly annoying... She found it endearing.
"Well you're not. Not at all. Your intellect is... It's astounding." She couldn't still quite wrap her her head around how in the world he new all about her life, her upbringing, her friends simply by looking at her.
He stared at her blinking in disbelief. My, my Molly Hooper you are different. He cleared his throat, "... Thank you."
Molly smiled at him. Now were getting somewhere.
Everything about Mycroft will be explained later on, I promise!
Again, I am sorry for the long wait and if there are any grammatical errors. School is more important right now.
Thank you all for reading!
-BHHGEFSLOTRTHZIMMS98