I know I've already mentioned it in the initial summary, but be aware there might be some ED triggers in this story. I don't wish to trigger you if you have an ED so please be careful if you're reading this.

Chapter Six: Skeletons in the Closet

.o.o.

.o.

Sherlock woke up alone in the hospital room and smelled the sterile scent that hung in the air thickly. He sighed heavily and looked down at the wires still in his arms and his hand as the machines next to him measured his vitals. There was no reason for him to be here; he wasn't feeling the pain in his chest anymore or having difficulty breathing. He could feel himself going through nicotine withdrawals.

He unhooked the plastic conductor pads that were hooked onto his forearms, causing the machine to buzz and scream at him in protest. He was about to unhook the tube that went into his hand when he saw John hurry inside, panic spread on his face.

"I-I… I thought something had happened…" John stammered, out of breath.

Sherlock looked up at him. "I need to get out of here. I cannot stay in here like a rabbit in a cage. There's nothing wrong with me. We know the cause of my… panic attack… or whatever it was earlier. Now get these things off of me, John."

The doctor looked disapprovingly at his friend but reluctantly plucked the tube out and grabbed an adhesive gauze pad and placed it on top of the small hole where a thin spurt of blood had begun to come out. He unhooked the other wires from Sherlock and shut the machines off before he wrote something on his clipboard. "This won't help you, Sherlock. You need to stay here and get the help you need."

Sherlock Holmes sighed, rolling his eyes before he stood up and waited a bit to get his balance back before he started to put his regular clothes back on. "I don't need help, as I've told you before. I'm perfectly fine."

John threw his arms up now in impatience. "Oh yes! Besides nearly having a heart attack, overdosing, and being anorexic, you're just fine! There's nothing wrong with you at all!"

"John… I'm very grateful you helped me. I know what I'm doing though. I know my limits," Sherlock affirmed, confidence in his voice.

His friend looked at him with false astonishment. "Oh? You think so? What about Molly Hooper? Does she know your limits?"

Sherlock felt a tight feeling in his stomach, not liking the almost threatening tone in John's voice. He tried to remain calm and raised his eyebrows. "I'll tell her in due time. It's probably best not to scare her off before we get to know one another."

"I already know that being the genius you are, you already know every detail about Molly, and you're just leading her on by not telling her your little addictions and the skeletons in your closet," John replied in an icy voice.

Sherlock tucked in his button down shirt in his pants. "I'm not leading her on, John! Damn it… I'm just… not ready for her to know about my skeletons. I'd like to tidy up my closet a bit first before I shove my skeletons out!"

"Ready or not, you still need to warn her first before she gets too deep in… whatever this is with you! Hell, what am I even saying? You wouldn't even let anyone get close enough to you to actually allow yourself to love another human being! For all I know, you might not even have the ability to love someone else, forget even caring for another person! You're just going to let her live in a beautiful, ignorant bliss!" John yelled at him now as he slammed down his clipboard on the hospital bed.

Sherlock shook his head and was trying to keep himself calm but it was becoming increasingly difficult. He walked over to him now and searched John's face. "Contrary to what you believe, John, I am capable of feeling particular emotions about someone else and I can't even tell you if it's love but I feel like I care about Molly more than I've ever cared about another person, besides you, that is. I'm rather surprised though; I really thought you'd be absolutely ecstatic about me making an effort to build a relationship with someone else…"

"Well, I probably would be a bit happier about it if you weren't selfishly hiding your secrets from her, Sherlock. If you weren't anorexic, dangerous underweight and addicted to drugs, then oh yes, I would be completely on board with you and Molly!"

Sherlock put his socks and shoes on and then looked at John again as he walked towards the door. "But… I am those things, John, like it or not. I can't change those things because… I can't see what you see and the drugs help me to focus and concentrate on the important matters at hand. I'll tell her, I know I have to do that. I just want the timing to be right."

John looked at his friend as if he was seeing someone else he didn't recognize. He just shook his head in disbelief and grabbed his clipboard. "If you don't tell her soon, I will. She has a right to know what she's getting herself into with you."

Sherlock smirked slightly and looked at John. "No, you won't. You won't tell her because it'll hurt her, and you risk yourself losing my respect as well as my friendship. It would be detrimental to everyone involved."

John moved closer to him now and with a seriousness and determination in his eyes that Sherlock's never seen before, he spoke threateningly. "Try me, Sherlock. I dare you…"

He wasn't sure if he had underestimated John or not, but he couldn't stand here and take his threats anymore. Sherlock moved around him and left the room, heading out of Bart's hospital and back to Baker Street. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice echoing off the walls.

"Sherlock? Is that you?"

"Of course, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled, not stopping to chat. "Is there something you wanted from me?"

"I only wanted to know what you were up to tonight!" She called back up to him. "I hate to think of you being cooped up by yourself up there all alone…"

Sherlock leaned over the railing. "Never fear, I have a date tonight! There shall be no further inquiries now so we can stop yelling!" He ran up to his flat and walked inside before he glanced at the clock.

3:45.

They hadn't set up a time or anything for their promised date. He tapped his teeth against each other in thought, wondering what he should do. He pulled out his phone and texted Molly:

What time would you like to start and where shall we have dinner? – SH

He paced, waiting for her reply eagerly as his heart raced in his chest, except this time it wasn't caused by amphetamines. He decided to kill some time by going into his bedroom and checking his long coat to make sure his stolen prescription bottles were still there. Sherlock felt the rounded texture of the orange bottles once he stuck his hand in and felt the tops before he relaxed slightly as he heard the chime of his phone.

5 and my place? Is that okay? – Molly H.

Sherlock texted her back saying that both were fine and he'd be there then. He hopped in the shower, washed the stench of hospital off his body before he shut the water off and dried off. It was almost 4:15 by the time he got changed in his silk lilac button down dress shirt, black pants, and a nice pair of shoes.

He paced for a bit, trying to figure out how John would act for a date. Then he realized, John wasn't him. John wasn't addicted to nicotine and didn't smoke. He swallowed hard, thinking as he continued to pace. He couldn't very well smoke at Molly's apartment; she was sure to disapprove of it. Then another part of him asked, well why did he care so much?

"It's a date," Sherlock said aloud, the words gliding across his tongue, foreign to his ears. It was potentially serious.

He walked over to his desk and pulled out two nicotine patches and slapped them onto his forearms. Three might be overkill for a first date but two would at least get his mind off of lighting up while at Molly's place. Sherlock pulled down his shirt sleeves again to cover the patches and headed out, hailing a cab to Hosier Lane where Molly lived. He felt like he had swallowed a bundle of butterflies as he rang the bell for her flat.

"It's… me, Sherlock Holmes," he spoke awkwardly.

Molly chuckled softly. "Alright then, come on up, Sherlock…"

Sherlock heard her unlock the door and walked up the stairs to her number and was greeted by a blushing Molly Hooper. He looked at her and smiled nervously.

"Hello, Molly…" Sherlock shifted his weight anxiously, wanting his nicotine patches to kick in. "You all right, then?"

She nodded and smiled brightly. "Come inside… the food's still cooking but I figured we could talk for a bit."

Sherlock nodded and walked inside, looking around. The flat looked similar to his own on Baker Street except he observed it was a lot homier, even cozy. He walked into the living room and saw a couple bookshelves that were completely full of books.

"Ah, now there's something familiar! I can read others fairly well but I didn't think you would have so many books…"

Molly poured two half glasses of wine and moved over to where Sherlock was. "A lot of them are just… pathology books but I read recreationally when I can. Wine, Sherlock?"

He turned around and felt his heart rate quicken when he saw the alcohol, remembering the night when he had confessed about his mother to John. He took the cup from her and nodded politely. "Thank you, Molly. So what are we toasting?"

She thought for a few moments. "How about… to good friends?" she offered, hopefully.

He could tell she was trying hard not to get her hopes up about tonight. She was looking happy, embarrassed, and eager all at once. He clinked his cup gently against hers. "To good friends," he agreed, taking a small sip.

They stood in an awkward silence before she finally spoke up. "Sherlock, I-I know this isn't your thing. I know that you aren't used to being good friends with anyone besides John. We don't have to consider this a real date or anything, if you don't want. I-I understand… and… if you'd rather be home, you can leave. It's… really okay," Molly insisted, stumbling over her words, fearfully.

Sherlock was surprised she offered this but he had to be better. He had to at least try to act like a normal human would act with someone else. The thought of going home to an empty house sent his mind spiraling downwards, so that wasn't an option right now. He was almost afraid to admit it, but he didn't want to be alone at Baker Street again. He took another sip of his wine and looked at her.

"Molly, if I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be here," he comforted, making an attempt to calm her fears.

This seemed to relax her a bit and she nodded in understanding. "Let's eat, shall we?"

He moved into the kitchen and placed the spaghetti bolognaise on their plates. Sherlock looked down at his food, feeling almost nauseous as he added up the calories in his head.

Pasta = 550 calories / serving

2 cups = 755

Sauce = 75 calories / 1 cup

75 x 2 = 150

755

+150
_

865 calories

Sherlock took a deep breath before he tried to ignore his mental calculating and his obsessive behavior. He closed his eyes as he felt the panic beginning to rise up again. She set her fork down and looked at him worriedly.

"I-If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it, Sherlock… I know I'm not the best cook or anything – "

Sherlock contemplated lying and saying it to avoid eating but there was something within him that was stopping him from doing so. He shook his head and bit his lip. "No, no, Molly. It's… not that. I'm… I'm sorry. I just need a moment."

He stood up and then glanced over at her. "Your loo?"

She was taken aback but looked over at him. "Umm… down the hall, on your right."

He nodded and walked down the short corridor before finding the bathroom. He walked inside and shut the door before he started to pace. "You can do this. You need to do this. She's going to think you mad if you don't eat it. It's just food. Why is this this such a big deal?"

He stopped and looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink, despising the person he saw. His breathing increased and he looked at himself in disgust. "You failure… you fat failure… you need to do this!" he hissed at himself in frustration resisting the urge to let out a cry.

He then heard footsteps near the door and he covered himself by clearing his throat and then flushing the toilet. He opened the door and swallowed hard, trying to come up with something to say, but fell short. He could see the upset look on her face though.

"Sherlock, if you don't want to be here, just leave. You know how I feel about you and I don't want you to stay here out of… pity or whatever for me! It's just hurtful… you don't need to hide in the bathroom…" she explained, running her hands through her long hair.

He shook his head. "No, Molly. I don't want to leave… I just, it's not you – "

"'It's not you, it's me?' Are you honestly going to play that line with me?"

Sherlock felt like he was royally screwing this up and he didn't know what to say or do. "What do you want me to do, Molly? I want to do this right… I know you won't believe me but I do."

"If you want to do this right, then stay here with me, Sherlock. I don't want you to leave," she searched his eyes, as if she could see answers in them.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay, then I'll stay… wait a moment… you weren't eating your dinner either," Sherlock drawled in a curious tone, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

Self-conscious

Average weight

Overly organized

Heavily used scale in the corner of bathroom

Long sleeves, long skirt

Divorced parents

Ignored by father

He paused, biting back the words that lingered on his tongue. He couldn't give her away without giving himself away as well. Sherlock sucked in a breath and blinked a couple times, before he shook his head.

She wrung her hands and she looked back at their food in the kitchen. "I-I made it for you… I thought you'd like a nice, home-cooked meal. You… don't eat very much and I figured you could use some meat on your bones…"

Anxious

Uncomfortable

Sherlock swallowed hard. She knew it too. She had to know that he knew her secret too. Maybe if he avoided the subject of food, she wouldn't figure it all out and send this one particular skeleton burst out of the closet before he wanted it to. Then again, it took an anorexic to know one. "L-Let's get our wine and… sit on the couch. I'm not really feeling all that hungry…"

She nodded eagerly and forced a weak smile but he could see there was sadness in Molly's eyes. There also seemed to be relief in them too. "Right… y-yeah, let's do that. I'm not all that hungry either."

Sherlock hurried into the kitchen and grabbed their wine glasses before going back into the living room and handed Molly her wine glass. He sat down beside her on the soft living room couch and took a long drink of his wine.

"So… umm… are you and John not living together anymore then?"

"No, he moved out and is living at the hospital, sleeping in his office, I suspect. We had a row about…" he paused to think quickly. "About me, and it was the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. It is rather nice not having him nagging me about one thing or the other. Are you seeing anyone?"

She took a drink of her wine and smiled sadly before she shook her head. "Nope, I'm not. Not since Jim… or… Moriarty or whoever he really was." When she saw Sherlock's eyebrows raise in confusion, she then added, "He told me a different name. It's not like I'm real heartbroken about him or anything. No one seems particularly interested in me, I suppose. Can't say I blame them. I know I'm not that pretty or anything."

Sherlock felt the familiar ache in his heart and shook his head. "You're not pretty, Molly. You're beautiful…"

It was the first time he had ever been able to tell another person this and he felt like it had come from a sincere place. It wasn't just the fact that she had the same image disorder as he did; it was the fact that Sherlock Holmes actually saw her beauty, for the first time, actually saw it.

Molly's eyes looked up at him in surprise and she searched his grey ones, trying to mentally decide if he was telling the truth or just trying to humor her. Her cheeks flushed a cherry red color and she just shook her head, obviously not believing it. How could she, though? He couldn't believe that he was slender to an unhealthy degree.

"You're not so bad looking yourself, Sherlock," he bit her lip to stop herself from smiling.

He didn't know what to say so he just forced a weak smile and nodded, finishing off his wine. He sighed contently and looked at her. "How do you think our date's going? Is it up to acceptable standards?"

She chuckled and nodded. "Yes, I believe it is. Would you like some more wine?"

"No, thank you… best not. Feel free to help yourself, Molly. Don't feel self-conscious on account of me," he encouraged casually, genuinely trying not to be intimidating or anything towards her.

She thought for a moment and then set her glass down. "Thank you, Sherlock… for this. For doing this date for me… and not being your usual self-centered self. I was wary about this at first but you've showed me that how you are in front of most people isn't how you actually are in front of others."

Sherlock set his glass down beside hers on the coffee table and sat up straight. "This is the least I could do after all you did for me at the hospital yesterday. I knew I could trust you to do it without fail, and you've more than met my expectations. That was… a very large favor for me. As far as how I act around most people, it's not that I act differently around others. I only act differently… in front of you. You're the first person that has given me a chance to act like myself and I couldn't act this way in front of anyone else. You've been the first person who, as strange as it is, isn't afraid to stand up against me or question me on anything, and that takes courage."

She swallowed hard and her blushing became more prominent. "Well, thank you, Sherlock. I feel like I can be myself around you, regardless of me being… nervous sometimes. How long until you can tell me what was in your coat pockets?"

Sherlock had a feeling it would come down to this. He stood up and looked down. "Actually, I think I will have a bit more wine. Would you like some?"

Molly hesitated at first but then nodded. He grabbed both their glasses and walked out into the kitchen where their untouched plates still laid on the table before he poured half a glass more of wine into each of their goblets and then brought them back into the living room. He handed her hers and then sat down, taking a long drink of his, letting the alcohol burn his throat.

"I'll tell you what was in my pockets, but you mustn't tell anyone else, especially John. Do you understand?" he asked, not unkindly.

She nodded surely now before taking a small sip of her wine. He took a deep breath and then sighed softly before he turned to face her, a part of him afraid of how she might react. "I… stole one prescription bottle of morphine pills and another prescription bottle of amphetamines."

Molly set her glass down now and looked at him with disappointment. "Sherlock, you stole from the hospital? Even you should know better than that! What are doing with morphine pills and amphetamines? You could've had a heart attack yesterday!"

He nodded knowingly and then put his hands together, as if he was praying. "They helped me focus, Molly. Granted, I shouldn't have taken both of them so close together but I was hoping the amphetamines would keep me awake and help me concentrate better. I took two of my morphine pills at home before I arrived at the hospital. Going there had been a last minute decision I hadn't planned on doing at all. I should've stayed at my flat while I was under the influence of them but I didn't, and I realize that had been a very big mistake."

Molly looked angry, confused, and was left rather speechless now. She sighed and sat back on the couch, shaking her head. "I can't believe you did that, Sherlock. I mean, of course I can but I wished you hadn't stole. I honestly would've rather you had asked me for them instead…"

He looked at her skeptically now. "What good would that have done? Then you would have stolen from the hospital! You work there, I'm not bloody well going to get you fired to fuel my addictions…"

"I could've forged them for you! I would've make up some excuse. It's better than you being hauled off to the police station, isn't it?" Molly argued.

Sherlock couldn't stop himself from smirking now. "You would've forged amphetamine and morphine prescriptions for me? Why?"

Molly shrugged her shoulders but gave him a weak smile. "I don't know… I care about your well-being and… at least then I could control the dosage I give you so you don't end up killing yourself or ODing on them."

Sherlock nodded in understanding and his smirk faded before his eyes turned serious. "We have more in common with each other than you think, Molly. I-I think would be really amazing together. We're both intelligent and determined."

She looked at him curiously. "Are you saying we should have another date…?"

He nodded once. "I… do believe that is what I am recommending for us. Would you strongly object to seeing me again?"

Molly chuckled and shook her head. "Oddly, no. I would love to do this again, Sherlock. I think you're right; I think we could be really good together."