Sorry for the late updates, I'll try to be a bit more on time!
BIG shout out to quotegilikay for the reviews, critiques, and words. This chapter is for you!Also big thanks to DanceFireDance and ME a guest, you guys make my day!
This chapter was difficult to keep in a word limit, but I hope you guys enjoy it. I will admit the end is my favorite. Just somethin' to hopefully put a smile on your face for today!
I do not own Sherlock. Or John. Or Molly. I do own Christopher and Michelle...and the young daredevil Taxi Driver... That's not too much to be proud of though, really.
I'm done talking now!
The Sherlock Alphabet: G is for Gallimaufry
(Gallimaufry: Noun: A confused jumble or medley of things.)
Gallimaufry = 11 Letters = 1,100 words.
This man came in as a police department investigator needing to "talk" to her, but Molly didn't buy it for a second. He looked quite intimidating; his eyes seemed to see into her soul. She had a feeling he was dangerous. So when he stepped a bit too close for her liking, she mustered up all the courage she could and demanded to see his ID that instant or she would call the real authorities. Molly's bravery backfired when he pointed a gun at her face and told her to "get in the damn closet."
She raised her hands in surrender, slowly walking towards the supply closet behind the intruder. She had one chance to escape. That instant she was began to pass him, she whipped around and gripped the handgun with all her strength, attempting to push it out of his hand.
"Nice try."
A painful blow to the stomach, and she was on the ground. "Who are you?" she coughed.
"The last person you'll ever see," her attacker growled, shoving a foul smelling rag to her face. Knowing better, Molly held her breath and faked an unconscious state. Sure enough, her invader bought it and unceremoniously chucked her into the supply closet, closing and locking the door.
Molly now switched on the lights. The Pathologist began to panic when she heard something about a "lab chick" and a grenade. She pounded as hard as possible on the door with both fists. "P-please let me out…now," she bit her lower lip and listened for a response.
A chuckle. "Lab chick sends her last regards…" *Click*
"You-you better open this door…"
Christopher rolled his eyes, and the familiar sound of a timer began. "Who ya gonna call? Wasn't smart to leave your cell phone on the counter here…"
"Wha-what do you want from me?"
"You're just to help prove a point, hopefully…" he calmly sighed, as if this were routine. "Well, I best be off before this bugger goes off. It isn't safe to play with fire…" he snatched the time bomb and stalked over to the closet. "I am actually quite sorry you have to die like this." He said, unlocking and opening the door.
His dark eyes met Molly's terrified ones as he tossed the ticking bomb inside and slammed the door shut, "This is for Michelle…" he whispered, locking Molly's only escape.
The cab Sherlock managed to hail was driven by one of the younger drivers, and quite a daredevil sort, judging by the various tattoos and scars along his arms. Sherlock told them of their destination and smiled at his good luck. "We need you to go as fast as you possibly can…" he told the man directly, knowing they would get there in time.
"Ha…I'm afraid we'll be pulled over if I do that, sir…" he responded, taking the lesser-known short cut. The road was empty.
"We're with the police and we need to go as fast as possible." John told him urgently as Sherlock flashed Anderson's badge he "borrowed" that morning.
A grin cracked across the cab driver's face. "Whatever you say, officers…" he said, flattening the gas pedal without further hesitation.
"Oh!" Molly exclaimed worriedly as her trembling hands lifted the intricate bomb. The glowing green numbers read 1:30. "Ohhhh no…"
Trying not to panic, Molly ran to the corner of the closet and shoved the bomb in a plastic bucket of what seemed to be water. It continued to tick. She gave a running start and rammed into the door, to no avail. "No, no…" she mumbled. There had to be a way out.
She pulled at the doorknob with all her strength in hopes to break it straight off, but it also failed. She tried pushing it down…nothing.
An ear shattering explosion came from the corner, shaking the room, and Molly spun around to see the bucket fall, letting loose hungry flames. She forgot the water contained flammable cleaning solution. She watched in horror as the bucket fell, the fire quickly consuming nearby shelves and supplies, the orange glow being almost too bright to look at. The cleaning closet was quite large, about ten feet long and five feet wide, but the various chemicals would explode and catch fire any moment. Molly turned to the door for another attempt at escape before it was too late.
"Come ON," she pleaded, but the door wouldn't budge in the slightest. Heavy, thick smoke fogged her vision, and she knelt to the floor, coughing. Molly knew she wasn't ready to die, there were so many things she hadn't done, hadn't said... She wouldn't see anyone for a last time, she was going to burn to a crisp alone in a closet. That is, if she didn't suffocate first.
"He-Help!" she choked out, beating on the door in a last attempt for survival. The flames grew, licking the walls and coming closer with every second. Despite the intense heat, Molly shivered. "Help!"
Tears formed and streamed down her cheeks as panic took over, her body shaking as her lungs screamed for oxygen. She had minutes left, if she was lucky.
"MOLLY?" a familiar voice boomed as the doors to the main room practically swung off their hinges.
"Sher-Sherlock?" Molly whimpered, feeling the heat of the flames at her feet as more chemical bottles exploded.
"Where are you?" the tall detective yelled.
"C-closet!" she coughed desperately, "Help!"
"John, grab that fire extinguisher" The keys to the closet were gone… "-Molly, stand back!"
"I-I CAN'T!" she hacked over the sounds of crashing shelves, watching the flames grow nearer.
"MOLLY, TRUST ME!" Sherlock yelled through the door.
She did trust him. More than anyone else.
She scooted back into the flames. "Help me, Sherlock…" she squeaked, terrified.
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat when he heard Molly's desperate plea. He grabbed the fire extinguisher from John and rammed it powerfully into the closet door. It gave a snap before swinging open.
Sherlock dropped the extinguisher and dashed into the closet, scooping the trembling Pathologist into his arms and swiftly carrying her to safety as John extinguished the fire.
"Molly" Sherlock gently set her on her feet, helping keep her balance as she shook. ", are you hurt?"
"I'm f-fine…" she croaked and wiped her tears, obviously lying. Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in worry.
"Molly…" he cooed softly, somehow knowing just what she needed. "It's alright now…I'm here." He wrapped his arms around her frail figure as she whimpered into his chest. John sighed at the destroyed closet and quivering Molly. Sherlock just held her…his mind for once a complete gallimaufry.
Interesting word, is it not? It's fun to expand on your vocabulary so you can use it to impress people. :)
I need H to be quite long and meaningful. Any ideas?
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