I would just like to say before I begin that I am SOOO SORRY! I've been super busy these last few months; mainly with school. I was in my final couple of weeks of college and had about 8 essays that took precedence over all else. Again, very sorry. But I've finally graduated college so that is a plus.
I am also getting married the first week of July, which has taken up quite a bit of my time (I'm basically doing a DIY wedding, so when I'm not working I'm hot gluing something to something else or hand writing my invitations)
Oh, and I won't forget to mention that the new Avengers movie has taken up quite a bit of my attention :P
But I promise, yet again, that I AM planning on getting this story done. It's become my baby and I really love writing it, life just has a tendency to take over. So have no fear, this will be done, just not in as short of a time as I was hoping for. But with Sherlock S.2 coming out in America on May 22 (FINALLY) I should have new inspiration. Anyway, that is my rant/apology.
I would like to thank all of the people who have favorited, alerted, and, especially, reviewed my story. You are the reason I stay up until 4 am on a school night to work on this.
This is also probably the longest chapter so far (another reason for the delay). I was thinking about breaking it into two parts but, with the number of weeks I've gone without an update, I thought I would be nice and give ya'll something good and long to enjoy. This chapter is a crucial emotional turning point, which is another reason why is it so long…
This chapter also deals with some pretty adult themes. Nothing to extreme, but there are moments. Just to be forewarned.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Supernatural
Thanks: To Superwiki and IMDB, both of which gave me some excellent information. FYI the male names (read the story to understand) are names of (some) of the producers of Supernatural , whilst the female names are producers of Sherlock. Though that might be a fun little tidbit. ENJOY!
"Sam?" Molly repeated. She reached out and grasped Sherlock's arm. He glanced sharply down at her, but she wasn't paying him any attention. She felt like her head was spinning and she felt her knees go weak.
Sam stepped forward, a wary smile on his face. He was exactly how she remembered him; big as a house, floppy hair all about, and those bright eyes that stared down at her.
"Hey Mol."
Molly's eyes widened even more. Sherlock looked back up at the man. The adults all stood in an uncomfortable, strangling silence. Samuel finally stepped forward, effectively breaking the silence.
"Bobby, what about that book you were going to show me?"
Bobby glanced around, then nodded.
"It's…upstairs."
Sherlock watched the two men go, then turned to look down at Molly. She was ghost white and the hand on his arm was tightening.
"Molly," Sherlock whispered, reaching up to loosen her grasp. Molly jumped and tore her eyes away from Sam. She looked down at Sherlock's arm and her clenched fingers and let go quickly.
"Sorry," she murmured.
"It's quite alright," he said. He looked back up at Sam, then pointed out the elephant in the room.
"Sam, it is nice to see you again. How did you get out of hell?"
Molly's jaw dropped before she turned and hit Sherlock's shoulder.
"Tact, Sherlock. It is called tact. Try it some time," she muttered, but the usual fire wasn't in it.
"It's okay Mol. I'm not sure how I got out of…how I got out of there. I don't remember anything up until a few months back when-"
"Wait…you've been back for a few months? Does Dean know?" Molly interrupted. Sam looked down in shame…or at least, it looked like shame. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and studied Sam.
"No, Dean doesn't know."
"Why not Sam Winchester?"
Sam flinched. Molly was using her…mom voice.
"I went to him. I was…I was going to tell him. But then I saw him with Lisa and Ben. He's happy now Mol. He finally has the family he has always wanted. He finally got out Mol. You of all people know how hard that is."
Molly stared at Sam. Something in his voice…in the way he talked about Dean. It was bothering her. She shook her head, partly to deny what Sam had just said and partly to clear the thoughts out of her skull.
"No Sam, Dean would want to know that you are still alive. He just isn't…Dean, without you."
"It doesn't matter Molly. He's happy now. And I need you to promise me that you won't tell him."
Molly looked torn. She knew she couldn't not tell Dean something this important, but she couldn't betray Sam. She didn't want to betray any of her boys.
Suddenly Sam stepped forward, a menacing presence in the small, crowded hallway. His sparkling eyes grew dark, and he seemed to grow slightly.
"Promise me Molly," he said. There was something…wrong here. Sherlock couldn't feel it. Molly could feel it. Sherlock reacted first.
He stepped between the two and placed a firm hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam glanced down at Sherlock's hand, but he didn't move away. He knew that if Sam wanted to he could level Sherlock with a swat. But Sherlock wasn't one to give up that easily, particularly when it came to someone who he…cared about.
In that moment Sherlock realized that he did care about Molly. More than he cared for many people. She had somehow come to the same level as John and Mrs. Hudson in his mind.
"Sam, Molly has been driving all night. She's quite exhausted. Let her get some sleep. You two can talk when she wakes up."
Sam looked over Sherlock's head at Molly, then looked back down and nodded. Sherlock turned around, regretfully turning his back to Sam, and began to gently push Molly until she began to make her way up the stairs. They passed by a room where they heard hushed voices before they entered Molly's bedroom. Sherlock kept an eye on Molly as she moved to sit on the bed, and then fell back with a heavy thump. She really did look exhausted, but, more so, she looked distressed.
Sherlock turned away to pull off his coat. He laid it across the bed and began to unbutton the flannel he had decided to wear that morning (if, truth be told, he was starting to like the shirts…they were quite a bit more comfortable than what he used to wear, especially during long road trips). He walked over to the window and pulled the heavy curtains so only a sliver of sunlight crossed Molly's bedspread. He heard Molly shuffling around behind him, two thumps as her boots hit the floor, then silence. He lay back on his own bed and pulled the dark green throw over his body.
He pondered over his revelation just a moment before. He discovered, surprisingly, that it didn't…bother him. When he had realized that he cared about John, about what John thought and felt, he had been wrought with self-loathing for at least an hour before he realized that it was un-productive to feel as such. But this time…this time it felt different. It also didn't feel as…destructive as when he realized that he had cared about Irene Adler.
It was all a jumbled mess. It was clouding his thought processes so much that he hadn't realized that Molly was saying his name.
"Sherlock?" he suddenly heard in the darkness.
"Yes?" he answered.
"I think…I think something is wrong," she whispered.
"Wrong?"
Silence reigned in the room again. Sherlock heard a deep intake of breath, then a deep sigh, before a small voice permeated the heavy silence in the dark room.
"With Sam. I think…I think something is wrong with Sam. I don't…I don't think I trust him as much…as I used too."
Molly couldn't sleep. With each passing minute she lay wide awake. Her eyes were burning and her body was achy, but her mind was a blur and her heart was heavy.
After almost two hours of lying on her bed she sat up. She could see a lump in the form of Sherlock on his foldaway, his breathing slow and steady. She sighed and pushed the covers away. She shivered when her feet touched the cold wood floor. She rubbed her bared arms, her tank top providing no warmth whatsoever. She suddenly noticed Sherlock's trademark pea coat illuminated in the moonlight.
She glanced at Sherlock to make sure he was asleep, then picked up the coat. She held the coat for a moment, then pulled it on quickly before she could change her mind. She suddenly remembered all of those times when she had seen him strut into the morgue, his coat giving him that forbidding, mysterious presence that Molly has so adored. She had always imagined wearing that coat, inhaling his essence.
Now she just pulled the coat around herself, relishing in the left over body heat.
She made her way out of the bedroom, padding past Bobby's bedroom and down the stairs. She didn't hear any voices coming from the study, and when she finally reached the bottom of the steps she was surprised to find the lights out. Her Uncle very rarely took an early night…unless he was drunk of course.
She turned on the lights of the kitchen and busied herself with making a cup of tea. She sighed deeply as she wrapped her hands around the mug, taking a quick sip of the hot liquid. She leaned against the counter and stared out the window, her face bathed in the moonlight.
She whipped around quickly when she heard footsteps in the kitchen, almost spilling tea on Sherlock's coat in the process.
Sam stood in the entryway. He walked in, his eyes locked on her the entire time. He circled the kitchen, opened the fridge to pull out a beer, then circled back to sit down at the table. Molly didn't move a muscle. She didn't know what to expect from this Sam.
"Molly?" Sam's voice reverberated throughout the entire kitchen, shaking Molly to the core.
"What?" she asked, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice.
"Do you remember when you first came to Bobby's?"
"Of course," she said, wondering where he was going with this.
"Do you remember how skittish you were? Cause I do. Here you were, this tiny, odd little thing with a funny accent."
Molly found herself smiling. Of course she remembered.
"I remember the first time Dean and I showed up after you moved here. You took one look at us and bolted up to your room. I remember dad saying you might make a good hunter cause you sure as hell could run fast."
Molly laughed slightly. Sam smiled and took a drink of his beer.
"Do you know what Bobby told us after that?"
"No," Molly said softly.
"He told Dean and I that you had been through something pretty traumatic, what with seeing your parents die and your grandfather abusing you. That you wouldn't always bee this skittish. Bobby told us that going through something that traumatic, that life altering, can change a person. Can make a person act different."
Molly froze. She bit her lip. She turned away from Sam's accusing eyes.
"He told us that we just had to try to understand and wait until you felt better. Do you remember what happened next?"
Molly nodded, tears pricking her eyes.
"I remember. You came into my room…and you gave me a stuffed cat. And you asked if we could be friends."
Molly bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. One tear slowly trailed its way down her cheek.
"I died Molly."
Molly's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat for a moment. She clenched her chest, above her heart.
"I know."
"I dove into a pit into hell and I died. I think I deserve a little bit of leeway in that aspect."
"I know," Molly whispered. She hadn't thought about it that way. She hadn't realized that the trauma that Sam had gone through would change him.
"I mean, I know that I'm acting weird, but-"
"No Sam…it's alright."
Molly sat down across from Sam at the table. Then she reached out and took his hand.
"I am…so sorry Sammy. I don't know what came over me."
Sam smiled and patted her hand.
"It's alright Molly. We all make mistakes."
Darkness permeated the deepest recesses of Sherlock's mind. He couldn't feel or touch anything, for there was nothing.
And then…then there was a pair of stairs in front of him. Sherlock stared at the flight of stairs in confusion. He stepped forward onto the first stair. Suddenly a hand rail appeared. He placed his hand delicately upon the railing.
With each step more and more of his surroundings came into view. And with each step he came to realize where he was.
It was the stairwell from 221B Baker Street.
He finally came to a stop at an all too familiar door. He raised a hand and took the doorknob slowly. The door opened without a sound.
Sherlock looked around the room. It was almost exactly as he remembered. It even smelled like his old flat; a mixture of ink, chemicals, and some sort of lemon cleaner that Mrs. Hudson liked to use when she would not act as his housekeeper. Underneath that, though, there was something new. Something foreign.
Suddenly a cry sounded out, causing Sherlock to jump.
"Hello? Is anyone there? John?" Sherlock called out. Another cry was the only response. Sherlock turned towards the sound of the crying. He stopped in front of his bedroom door. He pushed gently and the door flew open.
His eyes widened in shock and trepidation at what he saw.
It couldn't be.
It couldn't…
Sherlock sat up in the bed quickly. He closed his eyes and grasped at the tendrils of the strange, disturbing dream, but it was soon completely out of mind. Sherlock turned to sit up and rubbed his eyes. He shivered slightly from the cold draft in the room. He reached over to grab his jacket, but he couldn't find it. He glanced around his bed, felt underneath it, and finally decided that someone must have taken his jacket.
He stood up slowly, stretching out his back and trying to work the kinks out that had settled into his muscles during the long car trips. He opened the door and quietly made his way down the stairs, wincing when he stepped on a squeaky step.
As he reached the foot of the stairs he heard voices, one male and one female, echoing from the kitchen. His eyebrows furrowed when he heard the female voice laughing. He instantly knew who it was from the laughter.
He stepped into the light of the kitchen just in time to see Sam hold Molly's knuckle to his lips. Suddenly Molly spotted him. She smiled and stood up, pulling his coat around her frame.
"Sherlock, what are you doing up?" she asked. Sherlock didn't answer, just looked past her to rest wary eyes on Sam. Molly followed his gaze, then looked back up at Sherlock.
"Sherlock-"
"Why are you wearing my coat?" he was staring down at her again. Molly rolled her eyes and took off the coat, holding it out to the man.
"It's…it's alright-" he began to say, but Molly shook her head.
"No, it's fine. I'm not that cold anymore," she said, an icy chill edging her words. Sherlock took his coat and pulled it on, noticing that it smelled faintly of Molly. His eyebrows furrowed again at this revelation…or more to the fact, why he cared about such a trivial fact.
Sherlock continued standing, lost in his own thoughts, when the scraping of a chair snapped him back to reality. He looked over to see Molly sitting back down across from Sam, while Sam was glaring pointedly at Sherlock.
"Molly?"
"Hm?" Molly mumbled as she took a sip of her now cool tea.
"May I speak to you for a moment? In the study, perhaps?"
Molly raised an eyebrow, then glanced over at Sam. Sam shrugged.
"Doesn't bother me none," he said before tilting his head back and finishing his beer in just a few swift gulps. Molly shook her head, a smile on her face, before she stood up and followed Sherlock out of the kitchen. Once they were alone Molly grabbed Sherlock's shoulder and spun him around to face her. Her smile was non-existent.
"What was that all about?" she hissed. Sherlock shrugged off her hand.
"I thought you said you didn't trust him, yet here you are, sitting alone in the same room as him. A man you do not trust, who threatened you yest-"
"Oh Jesus Christ Sherlock, he wasn't threatening me. We talked about it. He is just really worried that Dean will find out he is still alive. He really doesn't want Dean to find out."
"Why did you say yester-"
"Yes, Sherlock, something is wrong with him. He went to hell. You are a helluva lot smarter than me, you should have been able to tell. It's like…PTSD, or something. Like what John had."
"John never threatened to hurt someone he cares about."
"Sam wasn't threatening me!"
"And his body language said otherwise! Maybe if you thought with your head instead of your heart you would see that there is something far more wrong with him then simple PTSD!"
By this point the two were nearly screaming at each other. They were loud enough to rouse every occupant in the house, and maybe the house next over.
"Are you calling me stupid!"
"Honestly, yes! You are always so…emotion driven, you become blinded! If you would actually act logical for once in your life you-
Sam suddenly walked into the study, a mild look of alarm on his face. He had (obviously) heard the entire conversation. A red faced Sherlock suddenly noticed the man, cutting off in midsentence. He ignored Molly's yelling to walk over to the man.
"Shut up for a moment Molly, would you?"
Molly shut her mouth, but her body shook with anger. She watched as Sherlock studied a nearly impassive Sam. Then he stepped back with a nod as his face turned back to normal color.
"What are you looking at?" Sam asked hesitantly. Sherlock steepled his fingers and glanced between Sam and Molly, who had gone silent.
"You…Sam, do you love Molly?" Sherlock asked. Sam stepped back, his eyebrows rising into his hairline.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean do you love Molly? It only requires a simple yes or no answer. Even someone as…Cro-Magnon as you should understand."
"Sherlock," Molly hissed through her teeth. Her face was beginning to redden with anger and embarrassment.
"Yes, of course I love Molly," Sam said. Sherlock stared at the man a moment longer, then shook his head.
"No you don't. You don't love her."
Molly's jaw dropped. Sam crossed his arms.
"Of course I do. She's like a sister to me."
Sherlock waved his hand in the air.
"Of course, you say that. It is easy to say you love someone. It is entirely different to mean it."
Sam uncrossed his arms and stared at Sherlock incredulously. Sherlock sighed deeply and placed his fingertips against his forehead. When he was done being dramatic he glanced over at Molly, who was sharing the same look as Sam.
"It is quite simple. I can say I love you Molly, but I obviously don't mean it."
Molly's eyes widened and, deep down, she felt something crack and break inside. She would be the first to deny that she still held a flame for Sherlock. Yes, it wasn't quite as…vibrant, as it used to be. But it was still there.
Until now.
Molly realized at that moment that Sherlock didn't want her to help him because he cared about her and wanted to spend the time with her. It was because she was convenient. She was a means to an end. And she knew that when all was said and done Sherlock would go back to John, to his old life, and she would become nothing but a memory.
At that same moment, however, Sherlock felt a rise of emotion inside of him as he said that. Saying…saying love. Saying that he loved someone. Yes, it was easy to say he loved John, but it wasn't a romantic notion. It was more of a friendship, almost brotherly, love. But saying that he loved Molly…it hit him at the core of something that he was afraid to confront. Instead he turned his back to his emotions and focused on his logic, as he had always done in the past.
"Sam, I believe that you are a sociopath," Sherlock said simply. Molly was shocked out of her musing by this proclamation. She scoffed in disbelief.
"You are joking Sherlock. Sam, a sociopath? He's one of the most emotional people I know. That's why Dean used to call him a girl-"
"Ah, another good example. The Sam I met almost a year ago had nothing but loyalty to his brother. It was obvious in his gestures, in the way he spoke to his brother. Now when he speaks of his brother he holds nothing. There is no emotion, no love…nothing. Come now Molly, even you are not stupid enough to not see this. Sam is nothing but a shell now! He is-"
Whatever Sam was they weren't going to know. At that moment Sherlock felt a hard blow strike his right cheek. He wasn't expecting the blow, so wasn't prepared, which ended up with him crashing into Bobby's desk before he fell to the floor. He clutched his cheek and checked his teeth with his tongue. Thankfully nothing was broken, and there wasn't any blood.
Sherlock glanced up through a haze of pain and falling papers to see, not Sam, but Molly standing in front of him, her fists clenched and her face pale.
"Molly, what-"
"Enough Sherlock. Please…enough," she sighed. She looked…exhausted. Worn down. And, especially, emotionally drained. She surprised Sherlock, however, when she walked up and held out a hand. Sherlock glared up at her before smacking her hand away and pulling himself up. She didn't act surprised.
Bobby entered the study just as Sherlock felt steady enough to let go of the desk.
"What the hell is going on here?" he asked, looking around at the adults in the room.
"Nothing, Uncle Bobby. It's…been taken care of," Molly said, her eyes not leaving Sherlock.
"Taken care of my ass," Bobby started, but a sharp glance from Molly made him stop. Only Molly could make Bobby stop before he went off on one of his rants. She turned back to Sherlock.
"Sherlock…look, I'm not sorry for what I did. You went way too far."
Sherlock didn't say anything. Molly sighed.
"Sherlock…I'm leaving,"
Sherlock looked up in surprise.
"What?" he asked.
"Not…not forever, obviously. I…Sam was telling me about a hunt that he and Samuel are going on after they leave here. A succubus in Arizona. I was going to have you come along but…but I think we need some time apart. You can stay here with Bobby until I get back. And then we'll…we'll resolve the Moriarty thing. We'll get it done, and then…then you can go back to your old life."
Sherlock stared at Molly. He couldn't believe what she was saying. He didn't understand.
"Molly-"
"Look, sometimes hunters who work together get tired of each other's company Sherlock," Sam said. "It used to happen to Dean and I all the time."
Sherlock stared between the two of them, then stood up straighter, his face emotionless.
"Fine. Go on your hunt," Sherlock said briskly. Then, as he used to do in the days before his world came crashing down, Sherlock stuck up his nose and turned on his heel. He made his way up the stairs and into one of the vacant rooms.
Molly watched him go and then sighed again.
"Well, he handled that well," she said softly. Bobby and Sam stared at her.
"That was handling it well?" Bobby asked.
"Trust me," was all Molly said, before she followed Sherlock's path up the stairs to pack some of her things.
Sherlock stared out of the window of the dimly lit storage room. He stood amongst dust covered books and swore that he had tripped over a broken crossbow when he entered the room. At least, he hoped it had already been broken.
He watched as Samuel and Sam walked out of the house first and out to the truck. Sam placed a couple of bags into the back of the truck while he said something to Samuel. Suddenly Molly ran out to the truck with Bobby following close behind. She threw her bag into the truck and then turned to give Bobby a hug. Sherlock watched them with sharp eyes as Bobby pulled away, patted the girl on the head, and then turned to reenter the house. Molly waved one last time and yelled something before Samuel opened the door for her to get into the front seat of the old truck. Sherlock was about to turn away when he noticed something that sent a sharp wave of unease through his gut.
Sam was staring at Sherlock.
Sherlock stared back.
Sam didn't back down. Instead, he smiled. It wasn't the kind smile that Sherlock remembered the man having. It was sinister, menacing.
It was a Devils smile.
Just as it had begun the entire situation was over. Sam turned around and jumped into the truck next to Molly, and then Samuel put the truck in gear and they took off.
Sherlock stood staring out the window at nothing but the gravel drive way. He ignored the footsteps coming up the stairs until they got a bit closer. He turned just as Bobby entered the rarely used room.
"You okay?" Bobby asked. Sherlock contemplated the question for a moment.
"I'm fine," he said, not looking Bobby in the face.
"Hmph…well I'm going into town. Need anything?"
Sherlock shook his head. In a moment of weakness (at least, he felt it as weakness) he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. When he pulled his hand away he grimaced at the blond-with-dark-roots tresses that were tangled around his fingers. He huffed under his breath and flicked his hand to get rid of the blonde hair.
"Uh…" Bobby just mumbled as the tall man pushed past him and into Molly's bedroom. The door slammed behind him. Bobby shook his head and sighed.
It wasn't even an hour later when Bobby opened the door and threw a bag onto Sherlock's foldaway.
"When you are done come on downstairs. And don't stain the tub."
Sherlock watched the man go before he opened the bag. With a raised eyebrow and a pleased gleam in his eye he looked down at the box of hair dye.
Sherlock felt…more Sherlock all of a sudden. He knew that hair color shouldn't affect him like it was, but he couldn't help it. He finally felt more like himself, like how he used to feel before all of this madness started happening.
He made his way down the stairs, his hair still shiny and wet from the shower. He entered the study to see Bobby sitting at his desk as he flipped through some books. Sherlock made to grab a book and help out when Bobby placed his hand on the book putting it back down. He gestured for Sherlock to sit down in the chair across from his desk. Sherlock was suddenly reminded of his days in primary school when he was sent to the headmaster for some silly reason or another (honestly, he didn't know that they weren't planning on dissecting the frog…don't hand a child a frog if you don't expect him to dissect it…although, honestly, using his pencil was a bit morbid).
"Sherlock, I hate playing a therapist," Bobby said, his eyes not leaving the papers on his desk. Sherlock knew this was a tactic to avoid making the situation more awkward than it already was.
"Obviously," Sherlock said.
"But this whole thing between you and Molly…well, it's gettin' on my last nerve."
"I can assure you there is no…thing between Miss Hooper and I," Sherlock scoffed. Bobby rolled his eyes.
"See, that right there. That is the thing."
Sherlock scoffed and walked over to pick up a book off of the pile on Bobby's desk. He tried to ignore the poignant stare that Bobby had leveled at his newly-darkened head.
"Bobby-" Sherlock began, his voice snappish and annoyed.
"Do you love her?" the older man suddenly asked.
Sherlock stopped, his fingertips resting on top of a large, dusty tome. His eyes widened and he felt suddenly…blank. Like his mind, in that very moment, had no answer to the question. No quickie remark or snappish comeback.
Love
The very word…frightened Sherlock. He had seen love ruin even the strongest man. It had very nearly ruined himself, as it was. Although…it hadn't been real, that time. With…The Woman.
No…no, Sherlock though. It can't be love. Love is…a stupid emotion. Useless. Makes people do…stupid things. Makes people useless and nonsensical.
And yet, there was that feeling. In his stomach, when she looked at him. When she laughed. No, she was not the most beautiful woman on the planet. She was quite…plain. And she wasn't the smartest, especially compared to Sherlock. But she had that thing. That quality that made her so…
She was strong. So much stronger than any person Sherlock had ever known. It wasn't physical strength. It was the strength in her heart. And it made her the most gorgeous creature…
All of these thoughts bombarded Sherlock suddenly. He pulled his hand back and dropped it to his side. He saw Bobby smirk and sit back. Sherlock looked the elder man in the eyes.
"What do I do now?" Sherlock asked. Bobby raised an eyebrow.
"Haven't you never been in love before?"
"No. I thought, once, but she was…no, it wasn't like this."
"Like this?"
Sherlock sat down in the chair in front of Bobby's desk. He lowered his head and looked down at his hands. He grimaced at the dirt that had begun to gather under his fingernails. He began to methodically pick at them.
"Sherlock, what did you mean like this?"
"I don't know!" Sherlock snapped, his voice getting louder.
"That girl…that woman…she drives me mad. She is insufferable, and some days I think it would be easier to go hunt down Moriarty without her! She is always so…kind, and caring, and she gets me to tell her things that not even John knows! How does she do it?"
Bobby smirked at Sherlock, ignoring the fact that the man had just screamed at him.
"Sherlock Holmes…you are in love."
Molly sat uncomfortably between the two Sam's. The elder, Samuel, drove the truck whilst the younger, Sam, stared out the window.
"So, um, where in Arizona are we going?" Molly asked, glancing between the two hunters nervously. Samuel glanced around her to lock eyes with Sam, then sat back.
"It's called Paradise Valley. Christian's been following some reports of some male bodies being found throughout the city."
"How do you know it's a succubus?"
"Each of the bodies had been at a bar the night before. Witnesses saw them leave with a brunette woman the night before their bodies were found."
"Where were the bodies found?"
"In bed, which is fairly typical of a succubus-"
"Yeah the succubus attacks in dreams. So if she takes the man home, sleeps with him, and waits for him to pass out…well, they are fair game."
"That's what we figured. Plus, the latest body was found by his wife, who insisted that he would never have cheated on her. He was out for the night with some friends after work. While I'd usually say that any man can be seduced, with the knowledge that he was found completely drained of life the next morning… well, you can make your own assumptions."
Molly grimaced at the thought, then turned to glance at Sam.
"You okay?" she asked the man. He seemed to be deep in thought. The look on his face reminded her of Sherlock a little bit. She suddenly felt a stab of remorse through her chest. She felt so…guilty, for being so mean to Sherlock earlier.
"Yeah, I'm fine. You?" Sam said, interrupting her thoughts. Molly shrugged.
"Fine."
Sam smirked and continued looking out the window.
"No you aren't," he said unexpectedly. Molly frowned.
"Why do you say that?" she asked. She noted that Samuel was paying extreme attention to the road. He was like Bobby; he hated being dragged into dramatic situations like this. It was easier to feign ignorance, or deafness (which had happened when Molly's first boyfriend dumped her…he seriously had her convinced for two days that he was deaf just so he wouldn't have to talk about emotions).
"I saw the look on your face when he started saying all of that crap back at Bobby's. Like someone stomped on your puppy."
Molly shrugged again, but she was far from feeling nonchalant. Everything inside of her felt twisted. She almost began wishing for the simpler life she had back at the morgue, before Sherlock had intruded and messed everything up.
"Okay, if you don't want to talk about it," Sam said softly. Molly nodded. The rest of the trip was silent after that. It didn't take them long with Samuel speeding down the back roads before they were in Paradise Springs, Arizona just as the sun was setting. They pulled up to a dinky little inn. Only a couple of cars were parked outside of it, and the whole building had a couple layers of dirt caking the outer walls.
The Hunter's office.
Samuel led the two to room 23. When he opened the door Molly noticed two others in the room.
"Molly, this is Christian and Mark. They are going to help us."
Molly nodded to the two men. She suddenly realized that she was the only female out of the entire group. A shiver of alarm twined around her spine.
Sherlock sat on the porch staring out at the dark sky, the stars bright and vibrant even though there was no moon in the sky. He was holding a beer in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Apparently Bobby was nearly as good at reading people as Sherlock was, and had bought the cigarettes when he had bought the hair dye. Unfortunately he wasn't so good to know that Sherlock didn't smoke menthols.
Sherlock inhaled the acrid smoke from the cigarette before exhaling heavily. He rested the back of his hand on his forehead, trying to make sense of everything.
Sherlock had never been one for balancing out emotion and logic. He had always just chosen one over the other, the pertinent being his logic. But now…now he didn't know how to feel.
Molly leaned against the railing outside of the hotel room. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She stared up at the stars, wondering about Sherlock.
"It hurt you, didn't it?"
Molly whipped around to see Samuel standing behind her. He held out a beer, which she took gratefully.
"What hurt me?" she asked, taking a swig.
"I was upstairs when you and that Sherlock-guy were arguing. It hurt, when he said he didn't love you. Didn't it?"
Molly turned her back to the man and continued to look up at the sky. She felt Samuel lean against the rail next to her. They stood in silence for a good long while before Molly finally worked up enough courage to speak.
"Yeah…yeah it hurt."
Samuel nodded and gestured for her to continue.
"I just…don't know why it hurt so badly. I mean, I used to have a huge crush on him, but now…"
Molly stopped and took another long swig of beer. When she lowered her hand she saw Samuel staring pointedly at her.
"What?" she asked, her eyes widening.
"You don't know?
"Know what?"
"Know why you are feeling the way you are feeling?"
Molly raised an eyebrow. Samuel laughed and finished off his beer.
"Can I tell you a little story?" he suddenly asked, setting his empty beer bottle on the ground.
"Do I get a choice?" Molly asked, humor evident in her voice. Samuel laughed again.
"No, I s'pose not. I met my wife, and the boy's grandmother, when I was just a young man. Barely out of my teens and already sporting a pretty decent repertoire in the hunting world, if I do say so myself (Molly scoffed teasingly at this comment). She was just a year or so younger than me. Her brother was a hunter, and he and I were working together on a job. That's how we ended up meeting the first time."
"Let me guess," Molly interrupted. "It was love at first sight?"
"Are you kidding. She hated me. And I hated her right back. She thought I was arrogant and selfish. I thought she was a goody-goody and a know-it-all. She didn't have much in the way of hunting skills, but damn was she smart. And she liked to prove it too. She always had this…smirk that she shot at me when she knew she was right and I was wrong."
Molly laughed.
"Yeah, Sherlock has the same thing. It's so…infuriating."
"Exactly! The woman drove me crazy. And, of course, she hated my ass. Every time we ran into each other on a job she and I would butt heads like no other."
Samuel got this dreamy look on his face.
"Then, one day about four years after we had met, we found ourselves on the same hunt together. At first it was like hell. She kept rubbing her smarts in my face, and I kept proving to her that I was a better marksman. It became a competition."
Samuel went silent suddenly, lost in the memories. Molly stared at the man.
"What…what happened then?" she asked softly. Samuel continued staring out into space, but he began to speak again in a soft voice.
"We found ourselves in a bad spot. A couple of poltergeists, altogether in one house. I didn't know what the hell to do, how to fight them. She wasn't able to fight them. And then…suddenly we were depending on each other. We had each other's backs. And it just felt so…right."
Molly suddenly thought back to her most recent hunt. Sherlock's first hunt.
She thought back to the moment in the bedroom, when the ghost of the little girl was attacking her. Sherlock saved her life. He barged in without a second thought and saved her. And then she saved him.
They had each other's backs.
"After that," Samuel said, making Molly jump slightly. "It was like…everything changed between Deanna and I. She and I worked together. We got married and we had a beautiful little girl. It was…perfect."
"Perfect?" Molly asked hesitantly.
"Perfect…until the demon came."
Samuel shook his head and sighed heavily. He pushed himself away from the wall and bent down to pick up his beer.
"Just remember Molly," Samuel said as he stood back up.
"Sometimes that person that drives you crazy…is the perfect person for you."
Samuel turned away from Molly and made his way back into the hotel room. Molly watched him go, then sighed and went back to staring up at the sky.
"That girl makes me crazy!" Sherlock said, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Bobby looked on, his annoyance showing at the fact that he hadn't been able to go to bed yet. Bobby glanced at the clock and huffed.
"Sherlock, it is four a.m. Can't we do this after we wake up?"
"No, I wouldn't sleep. No no no, this time is perfect. Night is perfect for thinking. There aren't as many distractions. I need to think."
Bobby sighed and leaned heavily into his hand. Around 10 pm Sherlock had come up with a way to prove that he couldn't be in love with Molly. He was trying to bring up reasons why he wasn't in love, and Bobby was putting him down at every turn. Sherlock was getting very annoyed.
He had never met someone who could match wits with him. Especially someone who didn't look like he would be so smart.
Finally Sherlock dropped himself into the chair across from Bobby, his fifth beer making its way into his hand (which was more than likely part of the reason he was acting so…odd).
"Sherlock, why are you so blind to all of this?"
"Because…I don't want to be in love," Sherlock finally said. Bobby sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Sherlock noticed the look on his face and sighed.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Oh, I wouldn't would I? It's not like I had to gank my own wife when she got possessed!"
"Exactly! Love makes people crazy!" Sherlock hollered. Bobby sighed heavily.
"Maybe so, but goddammit the time I spent with that woman I was never happier. She gave me something that I couldn't get from anyone else."
"Sex?" Sherlock asked.
"Love. Compassion. Affection. Sex was just an added plus. Karen…she was my soul mate," Bobby finished softly. Sherlock stared at the man in surprise. Bobby was not one of those men who spoke in such a…poetic way.
"But…you killed her."
Bobby nodded sadly.
"Yes, I did. And it changed me more than anything in my life."
"More than the abuse as a child?"
Bobby shot Sherlock a sharp look. Sherlock backed off (something he probably wouldn't have done if the beer wasn't effecting his judgment…as it were, he knew that Bobby could probably kill him with more ease than Moriarty would have).
"As it is, Sherlock, you need to grasp onto this. Because, if you don't, you may lose something that you sure as hell don't want to lose."
"Love?"
Bobby nodded.
"Love."
Molly sat at the small hotel room table next to Christian. They were looking on a computer. Molly was typing things into the server while Christian glanced over her shoulder then down at the sheaf of papers in his hand.
"So I hear Samuel gave you a lecture," Christian said, not looking up from the papers in his hand.
"Yup," Molly said. She had come to like Christian, even though he was a bit gruff, but she wasn't willing to talk to this strange man about her personal life..
"Well, take his words to heart. It's usually pretty…rare, to even get a couple of words out of that man. Not since he got back."
"Back?" Molly asked, turning away from her computer to glance questioningly at Christian.
"Yeah. Apparently whatever brought back Sam also brought back Samuel. We're not all sure why, but I don't question. I just hunt."
Molly nodded. They went back to working in silence.
"So are all the Campbell's males? No girls in the family?" Molly teased. Christian shook his head.
"Naw, there is Gwen. She's another cousin. And my wife Arlene, of course."
"Oh, you are married?"
"Yup. You?"
"Oh no no no. I…I don't think I'll ever get married," Molly answered, hating how sad she sounded.
"Yeah…being in a life like this makes it hard to have a normal relationship."
Molly nodded in agreement. They went silent again.
"So if your wife a hunter?" Molly asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.
"Nah, she stays behind. She doesn't like the idea, but she knows that it has to get done. Gwen is a hunter though."
"Oh? Why isn't she here?"
"Well isn't it obvious? We couldn't-"
Suddenly Sam, who had been sitting on one of the beds silently cleaning his gun, stood up and strode over.
"What have you two found?"
Molly glanced up in surprise. Christian raised an eyebrow at the man. Molly turned back to her computer.
"Honestly, not a lot."
Christian picked up a piece of paper and held it out to Sam.
"All we do know is that all of the victims were at a local bar called The Jade Bar before they were found dead the next morning."
Sam nodded. Molly turned back to the computer.
"You know, it's kind of weird though…I typed in the names of the men you told me about, but I couldn't find any records of them," she said, typing in some things in the computer. She didn't notice the look that Christian and Sam shared.
"Well, just keep looking. In the morning," Sam added, noticing the yawn that Molly tried to cover up. She smiled up at Sam, her best friend and very nearly her brother. He grabbed her shoulder and smiled back.
Molly started. His smile…it didn't reach his eyes. Not like it used too.
Another effect of his time spent in hell, she thought as she stood up from the desk. Sam walked out of the room with her and into the other room that was being rented. She had her own room while Sam and Christian shared one and Samuel and Mark shared the other.
"Night Molly," Sam said.
The next morning Sherlock sat up with a start. He had, yet again, fallen asleep in the study with a book in his hand. He sat up from the chair and stretched his back, grimacing in pain at the stiffness. He felt the beginnings of a hangover-induced migraine and bemoaned the amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before.
"Morning," he heard Bobby's gruff voice say from the doorway. Sherlock looked up to see Bobby holding out a cup of coffee. He accepted it gratefully and took a sip. It was black. He grimaced at the bitter taste.
"Something wrong?" Bobby asked as he walked over to a stack of books while he took deep drags from his coffee.
"Nothing. Just a bit strong," Sherlock muttered.
"Lemme guess, only Molly knows how you like your coffee?" Bobby asked in a teasing voice. Sherlock glanced up at Bobby with a glare.
"And John," he muttered. Bobby let out a huff that was probably supposed to be a laugh.
"So what are you gonna do today?" Bobby asked. Sherlock stood up from the chair and stretched his back.
"Research," he said matter-of-factly.
Molly dried her hair while she took small bites from the hotel-offered-slightly-stale bagel with sticky cream cheese. She was looking through some newspaper articles, particularly the obituaries, but she still couldn't find the names that Sam had given her.
Something was niggling deep inside. Something that she couldn't explain.
She typed the four names into Google, hoping for better luck.
Todd Aronauer
Erik Kripke
Jerry Wanek
Ben Edlund
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Molly sighed and closed the laptop. This was starting to get weird. She jumped slightly when she heard a knock on the door.
Sherlock sat at the dusty computer which was, obviously, very rarely if ever used. He had his fingers steepled in front of his face. He sighed and typed in a few words into a search engine, then backspaced. He, honestly, had no idea where to start.
"Having problems?" Bobby asked. Sherlock shut his eyes and sighed.
"Don't you have anything else better to do rather than bother me?"
Instead of getting offended and going away like John used too, Bobby just smiled and shook his head. Now Sherlock understood where Molly got her stubborn, pig-headed-ness from.
"What are you having problems with?" Bobby asked again. Sherlock's eyes turned to glare at Bobby while the rest of his body stayed still. With a deep sigh he placed his fingers on the keyboard.
"I am trying to figure out Moriarty's next move," Sherlock said.
"You won't find that on any computer," Bobby said. Sherlock glared at him again.
"I know that. I'm thinking about looking for strange disappearances and the like."
"Well, I wouldn't be the one to talk to about that. Molly was always better with the computer…stuff. I'm a book man myself."
Sherlock nodded and typed something else into the search engine. Then he sat back with a contemplative look on his face. He was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't hear Bobby move to stand behind him until the man was reading over his shoulder. Sherlock jumped slightly and cursed the hunter's uncanny ability to sneak up even on ever (usually) observant Sherlock.
"Just do it," he heard Bobby whisper before he turned away from Sherlock and left the room. Sherlock looked after him, then back down at the computer.
Strange deaths in Paradise Valley, Arizona
Molly frowned as Sam and Mark walked into the room. She was leaning in the chair, her face livid as the two men stared guiltily at her.
"So why did you tell me that you guys were going out to speak to the families of the victims?" she asked, her voice calm even though her demeanor said otherwise. Mark cleared his throat and stepped back, letting Sam to take the fall for this.
"Look, Mol, I didn't think you would be all to interested."
"Sam Winchester, I have been stuck in this hotel for two days! I'm crawling up the walls!" she yelled at the man. He flinched slightly at her tone. Samuel and Christian suddenly entered the room. Christian turned to Sam.
"She reading you the riot act too?" he stage whispered. Sam nodded. Earlier that day, while Molly was still in her room researching, the four men had gone out to speak with the families. They had…neglected to tell her.
Sam rubbed the back of his neck while Molly glared daggers at him.
"You know, Molly, I may actually have something you can do," he finally said. Samuel shot a sharp look at Sam, but he just ignored it.
"Really? What's that?" she asked.
"Well, we can't go to the Jade Bar because we are males. But you aren't," he said.
"Yeah, I kind of knew that," she said sarcastically.
"Well, I'm just thinking. We need someone to recon at the Jade Bar. Just for an evening or two. Just to see if we have a pattern."
"Oh," Molly said, the reason dawning upon her. Molly turned her head away to glance at her computer, missing the not-so-nice smile that Sam sent her way.
"Yeah…yeah okay I could do that," she said after a moment of thought. Samuel sighed from behind Molly and shook his head sadly.
Sherlock stared in the confusion at the information in front of him. He kept looking down at the list of names that Bobby had given him (that he had received from Sam), and it just wasn't making sense.
"Bobby?" Sherlock asked. Bobby, who had been browsing through a book for his friend 'Rufus,' looked up.
"What?"
"A succubus, it only attack males, correct?"
Bobby sat back and nodded. Sherlock frowned and looked back down at the information on the computer.
"And what is it called if it attacks…females?" he asked hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer.
"Wha…why do you ask?" Bobby asked, standing up slowly. Something was amiss. Sherlock beckoned Bobby over.
"I began to look up suspicious deaths in the city and I found a couple. The thing is, none of these deaths are on this list. In fact, none of these mysterious deaths are…male."
Sherlock hit a few buttons and the two men stared at the screen.
Sue Vertue
Rebecca Eaton
Bethan Jones
Kathy Nettleship
Each of the women had been found in their beds completely drained of life. Two had been found by friends or landlords, one by her husband, and the other by her wife.
Bobby looked up from the screen.
"Something…something doesn't feel right," Bobby said. Sherlock nodded, his lips pressed against his steepled fingers.
"Bobby, may I ask you something?"
"What?"
"If a person weren't in their right mind do you think they would endanger someone they love for a cause that they thought was right?"
"What do you mean?"
"Would one sacrifice one, even one they loved, to save many?"
"If they were in their right mind, I think they might. But if they weren't…if they were, say, a sociopath or the like, they might do that."
Sherlock suddenly looked up at Bobby.
"Bobby, I need to use your phone."
"Why?" he asked. Sherlock stared back down at the screen.
"I need to make a call."
Molly paced in her room, glancing at the clock every so often. She couldn't even start getting ready for another couple of hours, but she could feel the tension building. She knew that a succubus wouldn't attack her, but that didn't stop her from feeling nervous.
Suddenly the door opened and Christian walked in. He was holding a dress in one arm and a pair of high heels in the other. Molly smiled thankfully at him.
"Hope they are the right size," he muttered. Molly took them from him and nodded. She put them on her bed and turned around, surprised to see that the man was still standing in her doorway.
"You know, you don't have to do this," he said softly. Molly stared at him in confusion.
"Of course I do. It's no big deal. If it helps us."
"Right…if it helps us."
Sherlock threw some shirts into a bag before he hastily threw on his coat. Bobby stomped up the stairs and held out a very large dagger. Sherlock stared down the weapon, an eyebrow rising.
"It is a silver dagger blessed in holy water and rubbed with salt. I couldn't find the exact way to kill an incubus…I figured we'd just cover all the bases."
Sherlock took the dagger from the man.
"And if this doesn't work?" he asked. Bobby shrugged.
"Improvise."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw the dagger on top of the shirts. The two men made their way downstairs and out to Bobby's truck. Sherlock sat down next to Bobby in the truck, his leg jiggling in anticipation and nervousness.
As they drove Sherlock had a startling realization. This was the first time that he was doing the thing that he swore he would never do; he was thinking with his heart, rather than his head. He hadn't even given it a second thought. The stark realization that Molly might be in trouble had driven him to do something that he would never have done a few months ago.
"You okay Sherlock?" Bobby asked as they sped down the highway. Sherlock gripped the handle on the door as Bobby took a sharp turn.
"I'm alright Bobby," Sherlock said softly. Bobby glanced over at Sherlock.
"You sure you want to do this alone?"
Sherlock stared out the window quietly. He watched the trees pass him by for a moment before he finally answered.
"Of course I do…I just hope I'm not too late."
Molly smoothed down the front of her dress with shaking hands. While she did this Sam sat in the car beside her and proceeded to place a gun into her small purse.
"Are you okay Mol?" he asked as he handed her the purse. She nodded as she adjusted her feet in her heels. They were at least two sizes too big for her rather petite feet.
"Yeah…yeah I'm good. I mean…I know I shouldn't be nervous, right? I mean this thing only attacks males. I'm just…I've got a bad feeling," she stuttered. She suddenly wished Sherlock was there. He would know what to say to make her feel better…or worse. It really depended on the mood he was in.
"Just remember, I'll be right outside waiting for you. So if something goes wrong…I'm here for you."
Sam smiled at her, but it still didn't reach his eyes. He held his hand out and cupped her face. She leaned into his cool palm and sighed. He looked down at Molly for a moment longer before pulling his hand away.
"Good luck Molly Hooper."
Sherlock ran off of the plane, swinging his bag high onto his shoulder. It had been a short trip, only about four hours, but it had felt like a lifetime. He left the small airport, glancing quickly down at the name of the hotel he had quickly scrawled on his hand before leaving, and looked around for a cab. He then realized, in such a small town, that cabs weren't going to be nearly as plentiful as they were in England.
He hoofed his way down the road as fast as his long legs could carry him. To make matters worse it began to rain. It was light at first, but it suddenly became very heavy very fast. Sherlock pulled his coat around his body and shivered. He didn't notice the truck pulling up beside him until the passenger side mirror nearly hit him in the back of the head.
"Hey, you need a ride?" the driver asked.
"Yes, please. Thank you!" Sherlock said. He climbed into the passenger side and slammed the door.
"Where you off too?" the man asked. Sherlock took a brief moment to study the man, worried that he had made a mistake. He had never actually 'hitch-hiked' before.
The man was innocent looking enough. A farmer, if the dirt under his nails and the mud smeared on his rough, worn clothes was any indication. His skin was weathered and dark, but his eyes were bright and cheery. Sherlock inclined his head to the man and spoke with the best American voice he could muster (which sounded like a cross between Welsh and Southern Georgian).
"I need to find the Paradise Valley Motel. A friend of mine is staying there."
The man raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and pressed his foot on the gas. Sherlock drummed out a simple beat of frustration on his duffel. The man was a slow driver, taking his time on the turns and stopping for almost thirty seconds at every stop sign. Sherlock wondered if walking would have been faster.
Finally after what felt like two lifetimes the old farmer stopped in front of the small, secluded inn.
"Good luck with her," the farmer said with a smile. Sherlock nodded his thanks and began opening the door when he stopped. He looked back at the man.
"How did you know it was a girl I was coming to see?" he asked suspiciously. The farmer got a strange twinkle in his eye and he patted the side of his nose with his index finger.
"You got that look."
"Look?"
"The look of love. It's plastered all over your face."
Sherlock stared at the man. Before, in England, no one ever really knew what Sherlock was feeling. Mycroft was the only one who could get close, and that was only because he had had much longer to study Sherlock's habits than anyone else. Sherlock liked to keep up the appearance that he was an emotionless ass; it was easier, and people didn't treat you like you were weak. Emotions were weak.
And yet, in the last two days, two different people had been able to read Sherlock as though he were their favorite novel. And they were even quoting from it, annoyingly enough. Sherlock practically fell out of the truck and slammed the door after himself. He had just enough mindset to properly thank the farmer before he ran to the lobby of the Paradise Valley Motel.
Inside the lobby it was about as decrepit as the inside, and the owner of the motel was the same. She sat on a stool behind the counter and flipped between two channels on her extremely old TV while she shoveled pork rinds into her mouth.
Sherlock flipped his soaking wet hair out of his face and put on his best, most handsome smile. He leaned against the counter and stood there until the lady had turned her attention upon him. When she saw him she quickly wiped her hands on her stained dress and attempted to tidy up her blonde-gray bun on top of her head.
"Well hi there. How can I help you?" she asked, leaning against the counter. Sherlock had to refrain from flinching back at the smell coming off of the woman. He smiled even wider.
"Hello…" he began in his normal accent. He had learned his first year of Uni that American girl's swooned when they heard a man with a proper English accent. Or, at least, they swooned at the other men that were in the same class as Sherlock. He had never had time for silly girls at the time.
"Oh, my name is Rosie."
"Well, hello Rosie. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. I was hoping you could help me."
"Uh huh?" she said as she stared at Sherlock.
"I'm looking for some friends of mine. They should have checked in yesterday evening. An older gentleman, a young woman with brunette hair, and a gargantuan man."
The women nodded.
"Yeah, I remember the big guy. Built like a tank. But why do you need to know where they are?"
"They are friends of mine. They told me to meet them here."
The women glared at Sherlock in suspicion.
"Shouldn't you know the room number if you were supposed to meet them here?"
"You've got me Rosie. Alright. The female is my sister. She ran off with her boyfriend and his father. Our father sent me here to bring her back. He doesn't like her boyfriend. And I really don't either. So please, Rosie-"
Sherlock reached across the counter and took Rosie's ham-hock hand in his own. He covered her hand with his other and looked Rosie deeply in her eyes.
"Please tell me where they are so that I can save my sister."
Sherlock smiled to himself as he made his way down to room 23. The smile slid off of his face and was replaced by a determined grimace as he knocked on the door.
A strange man answered the door and, even though Sherlock couldn't see it, he knew the man was armed.
"What do you want?" he asked in a hostile manner. Sherlock raised his hands to show he wasn't hiding anything.
"Please, my name is Sherlock. I'm here to see Molly. I have to warn her. It's not a succubus she is after. It's an incubus. It attacks females, not males."
The man stared at Sherlock for a heartbeat before he sighed and opened the door all the way. Sherlock entered and, upon first glance, realized that Molly wasn't there. A deep pit of dread began forming in his stomach.
"Sherlock, why are you here?" came a voice from the doorway. Sherlock looked up to see Samuel standing in the doorway with a perplexed look.
"I'm here to see Molly."
"Molly isn't here."
"Then where is she!" Sherlock demanded. The other man in the room, a darker haired man, stepped forward threateningly. Samuel shook his head at the man.
"She's down at the Jade Bar."
Sherlock felt his blood turn icy. His eyes widened and for a moment he almost reached out and punched Samuel as hard as he could. But he knew that doing that would get him nowhere fast, except maybe dead by the looks on the other two men's faces.
"Why is she down there? Doesn't she realize that the creature is not a Succubus, but an Incubus? It will attack her."
Samuel sighed after Sherlock's explanation and sat down slowly on the bed.
"Yeah, I was worried about that," he muttered. Sherlock stared at the man.
"And you still let her go?" he asked dumbfounded.
"Sam's with her. He'll protect her if anything goes down. Besides didn't you and Molly have some sort of-," Samuel said.
He didn't get to say anything else. Sherlock had already walked to the door, thrown it open, and had disappeared into the pouring sheets.
"-tiff?" Samuel finished. He glanced at Christian and Mark, who both shrugged. Suddenly they heard the sound of Samuel's truck starting up.
"Hey!" Samuel yelled. The three men ran to the door, but Sherlock was already peeling out of the parking lot.
"Ah, hell," Christian said. Samuel nodded in agreement.
Molly sat at the bar, a bloody Mary in her hand as she glanced around the bar. She could feel her palms sweating even though the bar was quite cool. She rubbed her right palm on her dress before turning back to the bar.
The Jade Bar was not very crowded that night. It was only a Wednesday after all, and still fairly early in the evening. Maybe a handful of people were occupying the bar. A group of what looked like business people were enjoying an after work drink in the corner, their attention focused more on the sharing of water-cooler gossip than their drinks. The stereotypical lonely man was sitting at the end of the bar, his eyes glazed as he finished off his fourth beer.
The only other patron, and the only one that Molly believed could possibly be the succubus was a woman in a short red dress. She was sitting at a booth, her eyes scanning the bar. Suddenly a man walked in from the pouring rain. Molly watched as the woman stood up and hugged the man to her body before pecking him on the cheek.
Molly sighed and turned back to the bar.
"You know, you don't strike me as the type to be into someone of the …fairer sex," a male voice invaded her thoughts. Molly turned around in surprise, then promptly began blushing.
"Oh no, sorry. I just…I liked her dress," Molly stuttered. The man in question was one of the better looking ones from the group of business people out for a drink. Molly glanced behind her, but the others of his group looked as though they didn't realize he was gone. Molly turned back to the man, then blinked.
He was…extraordinarily handsome. His flyaway hair was a natural strawberry blonde with stripes of fake peroxide blonde. It made him look much younger than he probably was. His brown/gold eyes shown underneath the fringes of his bangs, and, as Molly's eyes traveled farther down, she noticed that his suit hugged him in all the right places. His white shirt was open slightly to reveal a smooth chest, tight and defined from what had probably been years of exercising. He was basically everything Sherlock was not, disregarding the height. This man was probably taller (which was quite a feat…he was probably just a bit shorter and smaller than Sam).
Molly gulped when the man looked her up and down, his leering gaze penetrating her in a way that made her feel a little more than uncomfortable. But then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and she felt this calming, relaxing feeling flow through her body.
"What's your name sweetheart?"
"M-Molly Hooper," Molly said. Her eyes widened. Under normal circumstances she would have never revealed her real name, especially to someone she had never met.
"British, huh?" he smirked.
"Yes, I'm from London."
"Well, my name is Matthew, but you can call me Matt," he held out his hand. Molly took his hand and felt a strange zing flow from her palm and up her spine. Her entire body suddenly felt heavy. Her limbs felt like sand and her eyesight wavered. A serene smile crossed her face.
"Come along Molly Hooper. Let's go have a little…fun," he grinned. Molly didn't even think about how wrong this all was. About how she shouldn't go. About how this was all going to end badly.
She just stood up from the bar stool and began to follow Matt. He slithered an arm around hers and gently guided her to the front door of the bar. Molly didn't even feel the rain on her skin. She didn't feel anything but pleasure radiating from the patch of bare skin on her own.
The door to the bar slammed open. A dark silhouette stood in the doorway, his dark hair dripping and his eyes alight as he scanned the bar. He stomped in, every eye in the area trained on him. He stopped at the bar and looked up at the bartender. The bartender, a short balding man stopped what he was doing to stare at the man.
"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, rain water flinging off of his lips at the ferocity of his words.
"W-where is who?" the bartender asked.
Sherlock pushed himself away from the bar and tried to bring back some of the dignity that he had lost in his panic-stricken attempt to locate Molly. Of course, he thought, the bint won't be here. Nothing is ever easy anymore.
Sherlock looked around at the occupants of the bar, his eyes scanning each one intrusively and intimately.
"I'm looking for someone. Her name…is Molly. She is 5'7'' and fairly pretty."
Beautiful, his mind said. He grimaced at the stray thought. His brain was beginning to betray him.
"She may have been here for a while. And she may have looked like she was waiting for someone. She was also English, like me," Sherlock gave the vague description. He noted that the bartender had a look of recognition on his face, but nothing that set alarm bells off. Suddenly Sherlock noticed a couple of people from the group in the corner shift uncomfortably.
Sherlock would look back on this moment and wonder what exactly he was thinking. Maybe he was stricken with sudden madness. Maybe Bobby had rubbed off on him in a strange way. Or maybe…maybe this was one of those rare moments in his life where Sherlock was thinking with his heart, rather than his head.
Sherlock walked over to the table and glared down his nose at the group. It was made up of 2 women and seven men. Sherlock noted a missing space where someone was probably sitting at earlier. He slowly pulled the knife that Bobby had given him out of his waistband. The nine people gasped and leaned back slightly, then the females screamed when Sherlock unceremoniously speared the knife tip into the table. He stepped back and the knife wobbled slightly, catching the light and reflecting the look of rage on Sherlock face.
"Now, who is going to tell me where my friend is? Where did the creature take her?"
The others looking on with frightened, confused looks. All accept one. The last one, one of the females, looked downright terrified. Sherlock narrowed his sights on her.
"You know what he is," Sherlock stated. It wasn't a question. The woman looked between her coworkers, then down at the table before nodding.
"I…I caught him, at work, feeding. A…A girl had fallen asleep. He was just standing over her, but I saw this…mist passing from her body to his mouth. But he told me that it was just a taste, just enough to keep him alive. That he didn't kill. He didn't like killing," she said, her small speech ending with a dry sob. Sherlock realized that the girl had strong feelings for the man…the monster. But she knew…she knew that he wasn't refraining from killing the women he fed on.
"Where did he take my friend?" Sherlock asked, gentler this time. The woman looked up at Sherlock, catching his eyes for a moment, before looking back down.
"He…he usually takes them to his apartment first. The have sex. Then he takes them back to their homes before they fall asleep. He…he feeds from there. He doesn't like…corpses in his bed," the woman said softly. The others in the group gasped.
Sherlock felt ice flow through his veins at her words. He had forgotten that the main component of an Incubus was seduction.
Sherlock bent over the table and got his face closer to the woman. She flinched and sat back slightly, a sorry attempt to escape Sherlock's strong, unwavering gaze.
"Where is he?" Sherlock hissed. The woman opened her mouth when her eyes moved from Sherlock to something behind him. Fear crossed her face again. Suddenly Sherlock heard the sound of a shot gun cocking.
Sherlock pushed himself off of the table and glanced around slowly. He turned back around.
"Hello Sam."
"Hello Sherlock. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Sam asked pleasantly, even though the gun in his hand was anything but pleasant. Sherlock whipped around quickly, a snarky smile on his face.
"I'm here to see Molly," Sherlock said, slowly pacing around the bar. The patrons had all gone silent, some from fear and one because all of the alcohol had finally got to him. His soft snores were the only thing permeating the silence between the two men.
"Molly doesn't want to see you," Sam said, his voice taking on a far more menacing tone.
"How would you know? You don't even know where she is," Sherlock said. Sam shook his head.
"I know where she is," he said softly. Sherlock's eyes widened. Sam was telling the truth. He knew Molly had left with the Incubus. He knew that, at any moment, she could be dead.
"I was wrong Sam," Sherlock said, still pacing. He had watched Molly do this once. Keep the person talking while you walk towards them in a spiral formation, but it just looks like you are circling them.
"Wrong? The famous Sherlock Holmes is actually wrong about something. That must be a massive blow to your giant ego," Sam taunted, following Sherlock's steady movement with his gun.
"I was wrong," Sherlock repeated. "You aren't a sociopath…you are a psychopath."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Listen to you. You seriously think you know everything! You think that the world is some easily read, easily defined book. But things aren't that simple. Sometimes you have to sacrifice one to save many! That is the way of life!"
Sherlock shook his head slowly.
"No, that isn't right. If you love someone, you will sacrifice anything to protect them."
Sam began laughing. He lowered the barrel of the gun slightly as he did so.
"You…you love her? Oh that is hilarious! I thought she was just convenient to you. But you love Molly. Like, actually love her," Sam repeated himself. Sherlock felt anger surge inside his body, but on the outside he continued to look cool and collected. He suddenly noticed a movement behind the bar. His eyes flicked for just a moment, then rested back on Sam. Luckily the taller man hadn't noticed.
"Sam, do you want to know something interesting?"
Sam chuckled slightly.
"And what is that, Sherlock?"
"I don't hate you," Sherlock began. "As a matter of fact, I'm not even angry with you. I pity you."
Sam's eyes narrowed and all of his attention was focused on Sherlock. Perfect.
"Hell certainly did a number on your head."
Sam's eyes widened and he bared his teeth. He let out an animalistic yell before taking a step forward. Suddenly a shot gun butt came out of nowhere and rammed Sam in the back of the skull. Sam fell to the ground with a heavy thump. Sherlock looked up to see Christian staring at him. He nodded his head at the door.
"Hurry up. He won't stay down long, and I don't think I'll be the first one he'll want a piece of when he wakes up. That was one hell of a jibe."
Sherlock nodded his thanks and turned to the door.
"Wait!" a female voice yelled. Sherlock turned around to see the woman he had been speaking to earlier standing up. Sherlock walked over to her and she shrank back a bit in fear. Then she straightened up and tried to look dignified, although it came off as sheepish.
"His apartment is two blocks away on the corner of 15th and Main. Basement, number three," she said softly. Then she sat back down in the booth. Sherlock stared down at the woman before grabbing the handle of his knife and wrenching it out of the wood table.
He was leaving just as Sam began to come too.
Molly stared up at Matt as he pulled his shirt off. Her body felt…paralyzed. It was a mixture of rage, revulsion, and ecstasy. Matt slowly ran his hands up Molly's thighs, spreading them open slightly as her dress slid up her legs.
"N-no," she managed to say softly. Matt stopped to look up at Molly, then began to grin.
"My my my, someone has a strong will," he said, brushing a lock of Molly's hair out of her face. She flinched and tried to pull back.
"Don't fight it sweetie," he said softly. He leaned down and placed a kiss Molly's slightly parted lips. She thrashed and was finally able to flip her head to the side. Matt laughed out loud.
"What's the matter? You aren't enjoying it?" he asked, his eyes full of hate as he smiled, showing all of his teeth.
"I…know…what…you…are," she hissed between her clenched teeth. She tried to ignore the electric tingles of pleasure that were crawling up her thighs from his touch. Matt laughed again.
"Oh I know. I could tell you were a hunter the moment you walked into the bar. You aren't very good at hiding it. The thing I'm wondering, though, is why didn't your hunter friend who was waiting outside come to rescue you?"
Molly turned her eyes to glance at Matt. He must have noticed the confused look on her face.
"Oh ho! You didn't notice? Of course you didn't. I gave you a pretty heavy dose of my hormones. I thought it would take a hell of a lot more to get you to come back with me than it actually did."
Matt jumped off of Molly and she sighed in relief. Suddenly she felt his hands on the sides of her head as he turned her head back to face him. He was smiling gleefully. Then he leaned in close to whisper in her ear. Her eyes got wider and wider as he spoke.
"As you came oh so complacently with me, I happened to see your rather large hunter friend. He saw me. He saw me dragging you off…and he did nothing," he hissed the last part into her ear. Molly felt tears well in her eyes. Matt pulled away, the manic smile still on his face.
Molly stared at the ceiling as the monster stepped out of her view. She couldn't believe it. Monsters lie. They did every day.
But this time was different. This time…she knew he was telling the truth. And she knew that Sherlock had been telling the truth.
Oh god.
Sherlock.
Molly bit her lip to keep from weeping openly. Sherlock had been telling the truth. He knew, and he had tried to warn Molly. But Molly…Molly hadn't been thinking with her head, like he always told her to do. She had been thinking with her heart.
And now she was going to be raped and killed.
Matt came back into Molly's swimming vision, only now he wasn't wearing any clothes. He stroked Molly's cheek. Then he reached down, underneath her dress, and hooked his thumbs around the edges of her panties. Then he began taunting her.
"You know, this is my favorite part. Sure, I love the feeding. But this…this is fun. You lay under me, completely submissive, and you hate it. But I make you love it. I make you beg for more. I make you scream and-"
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a surprised look on his face. His eyes went wide and his mouth formed an 'o' shape. Molly watched as he looked down where the barest tip of a knife jutted out of his chest, right where his heart was. With a slippering, sliding sound it was slowly pulled out by an unknown assailant.
Matt stared down at Molly as his eyes slowly glazed over. She gasped as his naked body began to pitch forward, but the person behind him grabbed his shoulders tightly and threw the body over the edge of the bed. Molly followed it with her eyes, then turned back to the other person in the room. A shaft of light from the outside street light caught his face.
"Sh-sherlock, is that you?" she whispered.
"Yes," Sherlock said softly, bending down the slide his arms underneath Molly's limp body. She reached up slowly, with much more effort than it should have taken, and stroked a piece of his hair.
"It is you."
With that she was out cold. Sherlock stared down at her serene face and, with a sigh, held her close to his body.
Molly sat on a hotel room bed in a big fluffy rob and a white towel wrapped around her hair, her knees drawn up as her feet rested in Sherlock's lap. She hadn't realized it earlier, but when she had left with Matt apparently she had lost her ill-fitting heels on the trek to Matt's apartment, and, at some point, must have waded through a sea of broken glass. At least, that's what it looked like.
Sherlock carefully pulled another shard of glass from the side of her foot. She hissed, and he looked up quickly. He noticed that her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but she hadn't been crying from the pain.
"Sherlock, I'm so sorry," she said softly as Sherlock dabbed at the wound with a cotton ball. He discarded the cotton ball onto a rather large, bloody-red and white pile. He pulled the sewing needle off of the table that he had been using for the larger, deeper wounds.
"So you said many times before," he said. He wasn't trying to be so…curt. But he was still running on adrenaline and anger. Molly flinched at his tone and rested her head in her arms until just her eyes were showing.
"How…how did you get here?" she asked, her quiet voice muffled by the sleeve of her robe. Sherlock continued working on her foot as he answered.
"I put in a call…to Mycroft."
Molly pulled her head up in surprise.
"Really? You must have hated that."
Sherlock grinned in amusement and looked up, expecting Molly to share in his amusement. But when he saw the serious look on her face the grin melted away. He continued to sew the wound on her foot shut.
"Yes, well…it had to be done, didn't it? He got me a place ticket, got Bobby's knife past security, and got us this extremely nice hotel."
Molly did have to admit that it was kind of Mycroft to put them up in a five-star hotel. She was unsure why was doing it. Maybe it had something to do with Sherlock finally calling the man for help, rather than making Molly do it.
Molly watched Sherlock work methodically, and surprisingly tenderly, on her right foot. When he deemed it done he moved onto her left foot, which was less torn up than the right. Finally she couldn't take the silence any longer.
"Sherlock, why did you do it? Why did you save me?" she asked slowly, almost fearing the answer. Sherlock stopped his ministrations on her foot and looked up at her.
"I couldn't let you die you…"
You are the most beautiful person in the world.
You are the strongest woman I've ever met.
I…I love you
"…are convenient to me. You promised you would help me settle this Moriarty problem. Once that is done…we can go back to the way things were."
Molly stared at Sherlock and marveled at the fact that she suddenly knew what it was like to feel ones heart break.
Sherlock began sewing another wound on her foot, but she couldn't feel the pain. The pain in her chest was far worse. She had convinced herself that she had zero feelings for the man, but, somewhere deep down, she had still held on to that hope.
That hope that maybe, just maybe, Sherlock could love her.
But no…no, it wasn't meant to be.
"Right," Molly managed to choke out. "After we get back we'll figure out where the real Moriarty is. And then you can go back to your previous life, and forget about all of this."
She felt her tongue go dry at the words. Sherlock stared at Molly, then looked down and nodded.
"Here. It's…I'm done. Excuse me a moment."
Molly pulled her foot away as Sherlock got up and retired into the bathroom. Molly turned her back to the bathroom and lay down on the pillow. She felt tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
She had lost Dean. He had moved on to bigger, better things in his life.
She had lost Sam. He was…well, she wasn't sure what he was. She just knew that he was lost to her.
And now…now she had lost Sherlock. Or, maybe, she never really had him in the first place.
Molly turned her head into the pillow as a wail escaped from her mouth. She began to sob into her pillow, her shoulders shaking violently as her anguish made itself physical in the form of tears. She curled tightly into the fetal position and gripped her pillow. She realized that thinking with her heart, rather than her head, had gotten her into this mess in the first place.
Behind the bathroom door Sherlock gripped the sides of the sink. He listened as Molly sobbed. His hands shook slightly and he glared at himself in the mirror. With a frustrated yell he slammed his fist into the mirror, sending rippling cracks across its surface.
Sherlock stared at his reflection through the cracked mirror, and felt that this was a much truer reflection of himself. Of how he felt about Molly.
He realized, then, that he had stopped thinking with his head and started thinking with his heart. And he wasn't sure what to do about that
Phew, what a long ass chapter! And what an interesting, slightly-more-angsty-then-I-meant-it-to-be cliffhanger! Well, I hope that sated all of ya'll's tastes for a while. I'm going to start working on the next chapter, but with my wedding only weeks away and with 9 centerpieces to make, embroidering dresses, and stuff to finish getting together it might be a bit before I update again. I'm going to try super hard though, and reviews always light that fire under my butt. Until then, your ever faithful and always (never) on time, Craven!
