Well, here it is!
And lovely thanks to Succi, Applejacks0808, lilsherlockian1975, Kathmak, you guys are awesome with the reviews and encouragement. Thank you so much! Love ya, I really do~
So, I feel that I should perhaps give a warning there is some sensitive material in this part. I tried to be respectful and not be too graphic. I hope that I have done so. This is a heartbreaking part and was to be honest hard to write. So please note I in no way meant to offend.
Hopefully you will still enjoy and I will understand if you don't…
~*~And So Beats A Gentle Heart~*~
~*~PART 7~*~
'…Should I ever marry, Watson, I should hope to inspire in my wife some feeling which would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeper when my corpse was lying within a few yards of her.'
-The Valley of Fear by Arthur Conan Doyle
I do not think I have ever seen such deadly paleness in a woman's face. Her lips, too, were bloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying.
-The Beryl Coronet by Arthur Conan Doyle
~*~SHERLOCK~*~
Sherlock laughed…
Of course, it was nearly soundless. A sharp exhale of disbelief that seemed endless…perhaps even more than that…It was quite hard to tell to be honest, but it was still a laugh nonetheless.
This moment could have easily been termed by John as another 'not good'…but really? Seriously? Molly Hooper a murderer?
The word 'murderer' sounded like a blatant and obvious lie when put towards his dear sweet Molly. It was a title that in no way belonged to her. It was bollocks, really.
Sherlock knew damn well that she wasn't yet she honestly believed it. So that told him that there was a story from her past there. She felt she honestly had a good reason for believing this…
But really…Come on…
Yet, the look upon Molly's pale face…Broke his heart, and he knew he had one, he simply did his best to hide his heart…It had always been easy….Too easy…sadly, as of late, with those the closest to him, he wasn't hiding it as well as he'd have liked.
Sherlock also knew instantly that Molly hadn't taken his laughter very well. She looked completely stunned and now…well…devastated…as well as highly ashamed…She honestly looked for a brief second as if she was extremely raw with hurt…as well as grieved with guilt.
Sherlock had once shot a man in the head and felt…nothing…
Molly shot a man to save John's life and she felt a kaleidoscope of powerful human emotions that Sherlock didn't understand or couldn't understand. He knew he was different and remarkable in his uniqueness but there were times he wished he could understand…people…and their emotions better…emotions could be such a horrid weakness…He knew that and accepted that yet…there was times…like now, if he understood better then he could perhaps help Molly…
And also finding out that this wasn't the first time she had taken a life…He could tell it still traumatized her greatly…
For once Sherlock actually wanted to comfort someone. This someone is quite important to him, dear to him, in fact. Yet sadly, he was complete rubbish at this sort of thing. It would, however, be easier to distance himself emotionally from her…Yet, he found that he couldn't do that. Never that. He wouldn't do that. He was simply a brilliant man who could never accept the easy way or take the less of a challenge kind of life. He would never take the road more traveled, the road less dangerous…
There was a reason he walked on the side of the angels…It was harder for a man like him to do so…More of a challenge really…
And the things he was feeling at his moment…
Scared him to be honest and Sherlock Holmes didn't like being scared…
As he was thinking this, Molly turned around and her hand on the doorknob…
Sherlock knew suddenly that she was going to leave and the damage would destroy something within himself…Destroy something they had. He knew he had to keep her in the room with him, keep her near…He needed her to stay.
Sherlock moved quickly. So very quickly some people like John would think it was almost supernatural, for he had moved with such incredible speed…also he honestly didn't care that he still wore no clothes, he seized her by the shoulders with his strong hands and turned her around to face him once more…He carefully trapped her body against the wooden door and his own lean body…Keeping her there with his iron strength.
Molly gasped in surprise, going perfectly still, for she had not expected such a move from him.
Sherlock's palms quickly moved to tenderly cup her face.
"Molly…Trust me, I'm not laughing at you or even at your obvious pain…No, it's the actual thought of you as a murderer…and I've known many murderers, hell, I too am one. Shot a man in the head and felt nothing…You…Well, you shot a man to save John's life and now you are feeling so many emotions over a man that I doubt is really worth it. He was working for Moriarty's brother and may have even worked for the man himself…Even knowing he could be Satan's spawn you are still hurting and drowning in these painful emotions…and now you tell me that you've killed before…and knowing you as I do, I'm quite certain that you had a reason…"
Molly swallowed hard before taking a shaky breath.
"Y-You…you shot someone?" She questioned unable to stop her tears from falling.
Sherlock tenderly wiped her tears away with his thumbs as he felt himself nod.
"I did," He confirmed in a low soft voice. "There was no chance of even denying it or hiding it. I killed the horrid excuse for a human being right in front of John, Mycroft's men and even my brother witnessed it from the helicopter that he was flying…I didn't even attempted to stop my actions. I took the gun in my hand knowing exactly what I was going to do…and I did it. Shot him and I honestly think if I had the second chance…I would still do the exact same thing…well…maybe I wouldn't take John…but then I wouldn't have had the gun…so…anyway I still I think I wouldn't have found a way to keep him from—not that it matters…"
Molly reached up and with infinite tenderness she softly touched the back of his hands, the same warm strong hands that held her face so carefully…almost…lovingly?
"You had a reason." She whispered loudly and with great certainty.
A corner of Sherlock's lip lifted before he moved to quickly kiss her forehead. He then rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes almost in relief…Her belief in him overwhelmed him at times…
"And…If I had no reason for what I did?" He questioned softly…Wondering what her answer would be.
"You did, I know you did…" Molly answered back just as softly.
After what seemed like a long intense moment he asked, "What if the reason is simply I hated the man?"
"Then you lied." Molly informed him with no malice but with a gentle understanding…a loving acceptance…
Sherlock slowly opened his eyes to pull back slightly so he could look at her. When he was searching her wet jewel like caring eyes…eyes that held no judgment. She continued, "If you had no reason and yet you felt nothing…Sherlock, hatred can indeed be quite a powerful reason yet it is also a powerful emotion…So, I'm thinking that you had a bloody good reason."
Sherlock wasn't sure what to say so he said nothing. What could he say? If he wasn't careful an emotion he was unfamiliar with would rise up and take control…Her acceptance…His dear sweet Molly's acceptance…He could feel it…She still…cared for him and about him even if he had taken another man's life…
His hands trembled and he knew Molly could feel it and he wondered if his own eyes…were betraying him…Damn him, were his eyes always this moist? Did she see how much her acceptance meant to him?
"You had a damn good bloody reason." Molly repeated. "Sure, your hatred for this man must have been strong…Maybe he did things that you found unforgiveable…But I believe that there is much more than what you are telling me…"
Oh, those sweet beautiful dark eyes of Molly's…They studied him as if his own eyes were under her microscope…Her eyes at the moment seemed to see everything, much like his normally did…
He had a sudden sharp realization that she was a perfectly clean and clear glass window that allows the light to come into his normally dark and dastardly world.
"You did it to save John in some way, didn't you?" Molly asked yet it sounded more like a certainty than a real question.
Sherlock gave a slight nod before he titled his head to ask, "And earlier you shot a man to save John as well…Tell me, Molly are we such horrible worthless worms?"
Molly blinked at him, her hands still on top his own, holding on to them as if they were a much needed lifeline.
"You're not…" She breathed.
"Neither are you. We both had our reasons…for good or bad…We have both killed and Molly, I'll sleep easily tonight however I know you…and you won't, will you? You'll sob when you are alone in that darken bedroom and never once drift off to sleep. You'll think about it and allow it to haunt you and break your heart over and over again…I wish…I don't want that to happen but I know it will and I don't like it."
Molly closed her eyes; new tears escaped and ran down her red cheeks.
"Sometimes, Sherlock, I wish…"
"Hmm?"
"I could be more like you…" She admitted almost sadly. "Things happen to you all the time and you seem to simply get over it so quickly and almost so effortlessly…"
"Or maybe I'm simply real good at faking it. Maybe it's not all effortlessly…Maybe I don't get over things as quickly as I try to make others believe…" Sherlock suggested to her.
Molly sighed before saying, "I'm not all that sure that I believe that…"
"Tell me…about the man you killed…that first time" Sherlock ordered as he decided to change the subject back to something he felt was important. He kept his voice low and firm.
Molly suddenly squeezed her eyes tight and attempted to shake her head yet Sherlock's hands held her face in a completely unmovable fashion. He even leaned more of his body weight against her. Not to hurt her or even intimidate her…No he wasn't attempting to bully her…He simply wanted to make certain that she knew he was there.
There for her.
That he, Sherlock Holmes, cared. He wouldn't judge her. He would accept her as she did him. In his own way, a way that he was a bit unfamiliar with, he was trying desperately to comfort her. Even if he really wasn't sure how, for to be honest it was a true mystery to him. It was more of a puzzle to him than a certainty. He wanted to try...He wanted to succeed in giving her the much need comfort.
He wanted to keep her from falling apart yet he wanted her to know, to trust him enough that if she did fall apart…He'd be there.
He wondered unknowingly if she had ever shared that experience so many years ago…and he knew it had to have been years. How long had she been silent about it? Her pain? Her heartbreak? Maybe…it had been too long. Perhaps she needed to talk about it and although he had a bloody hard time sharing his own stupid and sometimes illogical feelings…It by no means meant that he would refuse to listen to hers.
Sherlock might not like it at times but he would do what needed to be done…for her.
For his Molly.
"I shouldn't have said anything…" Molly's voice seemed rich with tears and true heartbreak.
"But you did and now you must tell me about it. Nothing bad will happen." Sherlock promised. "I won't mock your pain. I won't turn you away in disgust…You are not my client but you are my friend, right?"
Molly slowly opened her stormy surprised eyes. "Of course, how can you ask that?"
"How can you tell me that you killed someone and then not explain?" He questioned right back.
"I'm…not sure I want to talk about it…" Molly admitted in dismay.
"But you will because I want you to…and because you know I will now work to find out. Either you freely tell me or I will seek out the information I want on my own. However, you may not like my methods. And to be honest I should be more focused on Moriarty's brother and getting him before he gets me but for you…I'll make the exception." Sherlock told her honestly.
Even though he was the one pressing her against the hard wooden door he felt her begin to lean towards him. Molly seemed not to notice, however she did notice one thing…
"B-But you are still completely starkers…"
He found himself blinking at her in surprise. Really? What did he being naked have anything to do with their serious conversation? Human flash was simply another garment one wore. Nothing more, nothing less. Oh, perhaps she was trying to un-cleverly change the subject…Silly Molly…That would not work, especially on him.
"And must I remind you that I have been savagely tortured?" Sherlock reminded her, his voice held a sudden icy calm that warned her that he saw through her game and would not tolerate it. She really should know better. "My body is seriously sore, Molly, just like your spirit. You can clearly see that my body hurts and I can clearly see that you are hurting as well. Now you must share your pain, let me see your wound…or are you going to cruelly make me beg? Moriarty's brother failed at making me do just that, must you be the one to succeed?"
Molly's eyes were now wide as she slowly shook her head.
"No…" She whispered in soft dismay. "I'd never do that to you…never…"
"I know." He whispered softly, his iciness for now gone as he freed her face.
Molly had let go of his hands as she had whispered in dismay, her hands were now on the skin of his back and side. Amazingly she never touched any of his bandages or bruised and raw skin…Her touch soft and incredibly gentle…The touch felt so very right…so very good…There was a sweet sensual intimacy to it.
He leaned back slightly so she could move willingly closer to him if she choose to and she did do exactly that. Move closer to him…and she did indeed do so willingly…His heart skipped a beat and a strong completely unfamiliar feeling overwhelmed him as he allowed his arms to gently surround her.
Sherlock felt her breathing…felt her strong attempt to not fall apart. To not let the horror of some long ago memory tear her apart. Though Sherlock suspected that the memory had come to her countless times to shatter her dear sweet heart.
Her head came down and let her cheek rest on his shoulder. Her face turned away before she told him…
"It…It was an accident…"
'Of course it was.' Sherlock thought completely without malice. He knew she wouldn't kill someone on purpose. Not her…
Now Sherlock simply waited for her to continue. As he waited he reached up and with great tenderness caressed the back of her head. She seemed to relax against him. Accepting his kind, gentle touch. She seemed to take his comfort, allowing him to calm and sooth her the only way at least, the only way he could think of…
"I…I d-didn't mean to shot Vic—"Molly took some deep breaths and held him even tighter before she continued, "I don't know where to start…h-how to b-begin…"
Sherlock continued to caress the back of Molly's head…When his long fingers would end up tangled in her hair he carefully untangled himself to simply repeat the motion. The most loving of caresses…
The slight change in the temperature of the room told Sherlock that the hot water he had turned on was now cooling a bit yet he didn't dare remove himself from Molly to turn the water off. The room still held enough stem and even if it didn't he'd still hold her…Not ever wanting to let go.
Really he couldn't….wouldn't let her go especially now that she needed him. If he turned away now to do something as simple as turning off the shower…She would perhaps run out of the room…Maybe even out of Baker Street, knowing that he was in no shape to go running off after her…He couldn't let that possibility happen. He couldn't lose her to something as simple as turning off the water!
All he knew was that no matter what to lose her would wound his very soul.
So he held on and she let him. Though Molly probably thought she was the one doing the holding and that he was simply being kind enough to let her…How foolish. Molly should know by now that he was in no way kind.
"It doesn't matter where you start…" Sherlock finally told her. He understood her reluctance to share her heartbreak…He could actually feel the intense grief radiating from her…Her guilt and sorrow far too great. She shouldn't carry it alone. It seemed to him that the guilt that she borne was far more brutal than the torture he had experienced at Moriarty's brother's hands. "The beginning or the middle is a good place for we already know how it ended."
As Molly choked back a sob, Sherlock belatedly realized that he probably shouldn't have said it that way…Not that he meant anything bad by it; he was simply stating a fact.
"My grandfather had been an MI5 agent once and he taught me how to handle a gun and shoot at targets all under his watchful eye. I'm certain that I was the only nine year old in the neighborhood who knew how to expertly clean a gun. I had fun shooting the targets and cans and the odd bottle…There were times I would pretend that I was the legendary Annie Oakley…sometimes, anyway…"
She went quiet for a moment as if lost in a memory.
"Silly, I know…" Molly admitted softly.
"Oh, I don't know…I have no idea who this Annie is that you speak of but when I was a kid I wanted to be a pirate." Sherlock found himself admitting right back.
She lifted her head from his shoulder to blink at him with wide wondering eyes.
"Silly, I know…" He repeated her words right back to her.
Sherlock thought he witnessed a slight smile before it quickly faded. She lowered her head back to his shoulder to hide her face.
Ah, she didn't want to look into his sharp eyes as she shared that horrible moment from her past. Well…that's okay. He was here. His arms were tight around her, giving her security and comfort…An odd yet hopeful protection from that ghastly painful ghost from her past.
Sherlock felt a tremor run through her and it made him hold her even tighter.
Molly was so still and though he could feel and hear her deep breathing, he wondered if she was going to continue and when she did her tone was almost emotionless as if she was reading from a medical textbook.
"My best friend growing up was named Victor. He was a great and funny mate. We met one day when his parents were moving into the house next to mine. Victor's small dog, Carlos, got loose and ran up to me and began to hump my leg! I had been playing in my yard; you see and was completely taken by surprise. We both giggled over that and from that moment on…we were pals, the best of mates. I was eleven and…and he was the same age…well, a few months older, actually."
Molly stopped speaking to swallow a couple of times before she started to once more…This time the façade of her being an emotionless textbook faded away….really she didn't have the talent for it. Now the emotional woman he knew so well was there. A woman who had once been a young carefree girl; who had one good funny full of life friend. A friend she had one day accidently killed.
Oh, Molly…
"W-When I was sixteen the area where I lived was being burglarized…later it was realized it was being done by a father and his two grown sons…One of the sons was quite violet…and sometimes...stealing wasn't the only thing he did. There were even horrible rapes…a-and…a couple of murders. They were caught and went to prison as is such fate of those that live that way…but before that…Oh, how the neighborhood was afraid, one could feel a worried panic in the air…"
Sherlock wasn't sure if he should make an encouraging noise or not. If she were a case he would be so bloody impatient for her to continue and give him the facts. If she were a case he was positive that he would do whatever was necessary to get to the heart of the matter…no matter how cruel or manipulative he needed to be. However his dear Molly wasn't a case, now was she?
No, not at all. His Molly was simply just that his Molly…and she seemed to need him at the moment.
Their bodies were so close, Sherlock could feel her warmth. A warmth since being tortured he found that he very much needed. Maybe he had always needed it but it took being tortured to see it. Who was comforting who, hmm? There could seriously be a mystery in this, he found himself pondering thoughtfully.
As he was thinking, Molly had stayed quiet and stayed so still in his arms. Perhaps she was lost in countless memories, each leading to the one that would forever haunt her.
Finally she spoke once more, "Victor had some problems with his overly religious dad, and they got worse when his mom died in a crash…He, um, Victor was more of a Victoria…and, um, his dad didn't like it or even accept it. He would pray for his son and would force Victor to pray…in an attempt to save his soul. After his mom's death…Victor's dad got worse, he started to try to beat the sin out of him…and after, sometimes in a brutal attempt of getting Satan out, Victor would come and hide out at my house…use my bedroom when things got bad…I didn't mind. Even if our house was close to his, using my room as a secure bolt-hole seemed to work out. I wanted to help him in any way that I could. One day his father caught Victor with his boyfriend…um, caught as in…you know…caught."
Sherlock nodded. Yeah, he understood, he had a strong feeling that it things did not go well after that.
"Victor was then sent away…His father hoped the new military boarding school would change his son, make him…change his ways. I…I didn't think it was right and I cried when he went away. He was gone for a couple of weeks until one night he ran away and came back. To the one place he felt the safest, my home…He should have been safe but…but…I made a horrible mistake…I-I didn't know that he had run away or…or…"
Again she stopped…
"Mistakes are always made, no matter how hard we try not to make them." Sherlock informed her softly.
She took a deep breath and he felt her nod against his bare shoulder.
"Still I feel it shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have been so stupid…The night he came to my house, there was a storm and my parents had gone out to the theater and though I too had a ticket I hadn't been feeling well and stayed home. I had been watching the news and a report of another robbery and this time a violent death was being spoken of…And I realized just how alone I was in a big empty house. I went to the safe and got out my grandfather's gun. I, um, kept it near me as a curled up with a book. At some point the storm got a bit worse and knocked out the electricity. The darkness was so complete. I remember that so clearly. It was so eerie. The only light was when lighting would fill the room. Suddenly I heard noises that weren't coming from the storm…Noises that told me that I was no longer alone in the house. I grabbed the gun, of course…I waited, fear overwhelming me…thinking about the robberies, the rapes, the murders…they filled my mind. When I noticed a shape, movement in the room…I told it to not come any further…that…that I had a gun, that I would shot…It said nothing, Victor said nothing…I heard a low laugh and I pulled the trigger. I only needed to pull the trigger once for it to be an instant death…"
'And when the lights came back on…' Sherlock thought sadly, closing his eyes before he moved his head to brush a single kiss onto her head of hair. She must be completely drained after sharing this, as well as shooting another man. His Molly had a truly horrible day.
He was already thinking about how to make sure she got some much needed rest. She may not like it but he had some safe chemicals and herbs that if he slipped it into her tea…
"I wish he had said something! Why didn't he say something…?" Molly asked as she surprisingly pulled away from him in a restless and wholly feminine movement.
It felt wrong not to have her in his arms and he wondered why that was. He had spent a lifetime without her in them and now…they felt much to empty. Much too empty.
"He probably thought you didn't have gun or if you did that you wouldn't shot." Sherlock answered simply. "If you told me you had a gun pointed at me and that you would shot, I too would be hard pressed to believe it."
Molly took a shaky breath yet she no longer seemed to be crying. "I still wish…"
"Wishes are as foolish as wishing on stars." Sherlock told her watching her closely.
She gave him a quick glance and lifted her chin defiantly. "I still wish on stars."
Sherlock grinned. Of course, she did. His grin faded as he said honestly, "What happened, Molly, was an accident. "
"I was still stupid and it shouldn't have happened." Molly protested.
"If it had been one of the robbers? The one who liked to rape and kill?" Sherlock asked. "Molly, my dear Molly, it was an accident and though the universe is rarely lazy, they do indeed happen."
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and he yearned to place his arms back around her. Yet he some instinct told him she thought she needed some space. Pure foolishness but he would let her think she had it.
"I-I...Um, should go and check on your dinner and maybe get you some clothes…" Molly told him eyeing the door.
"Right." Sherlock stated calmly. "However I don't need clothes, you can bring me my bed sheet. John is so damn Victorian that he would clench his pearls and possibly fall into a faint before he screamed at me like some bloody fishwife…And speaking of clothes, I do hope you brought yourself some to stay for a couple of days."
"What?" She now looked at him in surprise.
"Hello! Tortured man standing in front of you! I need someone to take care of me, help change my bandages and watch me for a couple of days. John can't do it, he has a wife whereas you have cat that won't punch you hard in the balls if you fail to show up at a reasonable time. Nor do I feel like yelling for Mrs. Hudson to come take care of me, all the whole listening to her complain about her hip or the fact that she is not my housekeeper. Never fear I won't yell for you, I do however have a bell I can ring. I expect you to answer it quickly. Oh, do make me some blueberry pancakes in the morning."
"O-Okay." Molly answered with wide eyes.
"And sprinkle some cinnamon and sugar lightly on the pancakes before pouring some warm syrup on them. Oh, and I won't be offended if you want to take a close look at my wounds." He moved his thigh towards her and his hands went into game show model mode showing one of the marks off. "It's not often that one sees blowtorch marks on live flesh…Rarely does one even see it on dead flesh, which is a shame. I am quite looking forward to watching it heal and make use of such an experience. You can share it with me. Feel free to get on your knees for a much closer look, anytime if you like, I really don't mind."
Molly took a deep gulp of air and looked down before her cheeks turned bright red.
"Right…On my knees, right there in front of…um…Thanks…That's…Nice of you." She breathed deeply, her chest raising and falling, and for a moment her pupils dilated.
He gave her an encouraging nod and smile. She seemed to accept it with a weak smile of her own before she quickly turned around to make her escape quite quickly in fact.
Sherlock's smile faded once the door closed behind her and frowned.
His Molly was still hurting. Would perhaps always hurt, all he could do was…what? Watch over her? Protect her? Let her for the next few days take care of him so her mind won't think upon those two deaths that happened at her hands and tonight…Yes, he would make certain that she slept and he would watch over her as she did so. Try to make certain nightmares didn't disturb her and if they dared he'd take her back into his arms.
Hmm, yes, drugging her, he would, of course, make it look like an accident. He'd tell her that he would make the tea and with his own he planned to put something in it to help make him sleep, with a careful sleight of hand he would switch the cups…Perhaps put it in both cups and he would simply fake sipping it…When she would start to get 'sleepy' they would both realize his 'mistake'…Oops. His bad. Molly would forgive him and she would get the much needed sleep…
Yes, that would do. That was going on his mental to do list.
Sherlock looked down on the wound that he showed Molly and suddenly the thought of what he had told her…A picture of her on her knees in front of him…right there in front of him…while he was naked…or while his Molly was naked…
Bloody hell…
His penis was now erect and it looked suddenly quite hopeful at the possibility that it would have future company. Joy!
Sherlock growled down at it before telling his hard-on, "Oh, stop it, it will never happen!"
His penis didn't seem to look all that disappointed or even believe him.
'Right, you keep believing that Sherlock…' He heard John's voice in his head mock him followed by his gleeful laughter. 'Though something tells me that if you entered your mind palace right now your Molly will be waiting for you without a stitch on…and I'm willing to bet you that at some point, quite soon, you are going to get bloody tired of using your imagination!'
Okay, the first item on his to do list was to go out there and punch John hard in the face.
~*~end of part 7~*~
