I waited for him to come home in a drunk rage. Sometimes when he left, he would come home drunk and it would be just like before except more aggressive. You would figure I would fight back in his state of distress, but that somehow made things worse. Sometimes I thought about running. Not running away, because that is what children did to escape, more like leave and never come back. Maybe move somewhere new. If I left Greg I couldn't stay and work where I did, now could I? Easy access for him. And I couldn't leave Sherlock or John.
One time when Mycroft, the older of the Holmes brother and sometimes I believe the more observant, noticed my faded black and blue eye and all the minuscule bruises and what-not's. They weren't extremely noticeable and I had worn a long sleeve shirt that day, and of course my lab coat. He had waited until Sherlock and John were done with examining the body they needed and he waited for everyone else to exit. I had thought he had left too, for my back was turned and I had heard the door shut behind everyone. I hadn't heard him breathing either. He just stood there, silently and patiently.
"Miss Hooper." He drawled. "May I have a word?"
I slightly jumped and let out a little scream in the process as I whipped around. "Mycroft, I thought you left with everyone else." It was a half statement, half question.
"Naturally I would have Miss Hopper."
I stopped him there. "Please, call me Molly. I assumed we were on those terms already Mr. Holmes." I joked.
"How are things at home?" He asked. He began looking at the body bag which closeted another victim from the cold air and the cruel world.
"At-at-at h-h-home?" I stammered. Why was he asking about home? He didn't need to know about home. What was going on? Had Greg said something? Oh no! I've messed up. I've said something. Greg is going to get s upset with me now. Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!
"You look frightened as if you've just seen a ghost." He chuckled. How humorous, being in the morgue and all.
"No, sorry. Home life is good. Great even. Fantastic you could say. Brilliant. Lovely. Yes, good." I spat the words out, half sick. I made it a little to painfully obvious that I was lying.
"I beg to differ, Molly." He stepped closer. He reached for my arm which was dangling by my side. I flinched back, colliding with the sink.
"Please don't." I squeaked out. If Greg walked in and Mycroft was touching me, he would flip out. Not in front of Mycroft, of course, but when we got home.
"Molly." He whispered. He was so close to me that I could smell the refreshing bergamot contrasted with mint, cedar, and suede. Sophisticated and smart, I thought. He did smell good, but he was still too close for comfort. He grabbed my hand none-the-less, but this time I flinched with pain. He had his fingers on some fresh cuts and bruises.
He then rolled up the sleeve of my coat and my shirt. "As I assumed." His fingers brushed against my skin gently, and I had noticed almost a pain in his eye, like he felt something, maybe regret or sadness or something. But it was an emotion, one a Holmes never shared and one I had never seen on Greg's face.
"I could help you you know." He whispered in my ear. I tear had began to roll down my face when he said that. It was something kind. Something I was sure not used to anymore. "I could get you out of there. I could have him arrested or have you put somewhere safe. Or both." I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. The head of the British Government wanted to save me? A mortician. That's all I was. A mortician who had a crummy childhood. An awkward, hopeless romantic. He wanted to save me?
"No." I side-stepped out of his reach and re-positioned my sleeves. "I can't. Nothing is wrong. I'm okay. Things are okay. He was just drunk. It won't happen again." I tried to distract myself and it was useless lying to a Holmes. I just wanted him to leave. I wanted to leave. I wanted to hide in a hole under a rock and die there.
"This has happened more than once and we both know this will happen again. We are not that oblivious or that ignorant." He straightened back up and walked to the door. "Consider my offer. It will always stand."
And he left.
That day was a day I will never forget. That was a day I had a chance to escape. A chance to be free, start over, have a new life. But I would still be haunted by all of this. And what would happen if I left Greg? He gets arrested? He finds another girl to make into a punching bag? He kills himself? No. I couldn't have that. He was fragile and just as unstable. Just in a different way that me.