Hi! Another chapter! Hope you enjoy it! This one is a bit on the angsty side... "Please forgive me" - see what I did there?
Info:
""+ italics = inner thoughts, mind palace
italics = scenes from the past
Chapter Seven: The mysterious pathologist
- What did those women had that made them so special? To make them a target?
Lestrade was doing his best. It wasn't good enough, though.
It had taken a few of the police force to prevent Sherlock to go inside the interrogation room and knock the man out again as he leered over the photographs of the women - Molly's included - the Detective Inspector had on the table.
- How is Dr. Hooper?
Mycroft's voice sounded behind him and Sherlock turned to see his older brother - he had a hard expression on his face, harder than he was was used to.
- What are you doing here, Mycroft? - The detective consultant looked curious and his eyes frowned. It wasn't like the British Governement to come to a police station in the middle of the day to look over a serial killer.
- Anthea told me what happened. I do have a task force surveilling Dr. Hooper.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to his older brother.
- And they missed a man, a strange man go inside Molly's building? Inside her apartment? - Sherlock hissed the words out, angry - no, furious at the careless of the task force regarding his Molly - yes, his Molly, get over it.
- Careful, Sherlock. Sentiment is showing.
- I do not care, Mycroft! We already know what happens when I repress my emotions. - Sherlock made a dramatic movement with his hand, turning away from him.
Mycroft merely stared at his brother. The tense stance as he looked over the glass to the murderer, the frown, the worry in his eyes, the fire that was simmering just under the surface - yes, his little brother always had been the most emotional of the three. And now, he was still dealing with the consequences of Sherrinford and it's trial. He looked different - not less rational, but more emotional, letting the sentiment run wild for everyone to see. Mycroft knew he had to help him get it under control or his enemies would take advantage of it.
- You didn't answer my question, brother mine.
- Why do you care? - Sherlock's voice sounded too quiet all of the sudden.
- Because, spite everything that I am, I do care about the people that surround my brother and that he cares about. And Molly Hooper is one of them. I came to check on you and her, as well.
Sherlock looked over his shoulder to his older brother. There was something different about him. He too had come a different man from the island.
- She's... I don't know how she is. - Mycroft sensed pain in his little brother voice. - She let the paramedics check on her and I know that John went to see her.
- And you don't know how she is? - The British Governement frowned, leaning his head to the side, trying to understand what was wrong.
- She told me to leave. She doesn't stand my company.
The look that his younger brother gave him, made Mycroft understand what he meant. The lovely pathologist didn't want his company since three months now. He knew that their sister would break Sherlock and that's why he had kept her a secret - and Eurus did it in the most painful way, by breaking his heart. And now... now everything was different and there was no going back. Should he help him fix things with his pathologist? Or should he just let them figure out things in their own peculiar way?
- I'm sure you'll find a way to fix things, Sherlock. You always did.
- Yes. Fake my death and kill Magnussen. That's how I fix things, is it not? - Sherlock gave a fake laugh as he remembered the past. - Should I die once more so that Molly Hooper comes to rescue me? - The detective consultant glanced his brother's way.
- I'm sure you can find a less dramatic way to get her attention, brother mine.
...
Sherlock Holmes was about to open the door that led to the labs when said door opened and Molly Hooper crashed against him. His hands immediately went to her arms and steadied her. He felt her flinch and knew that he had grabbed her by the bruises she most likely had.
- Sherlock! What are you doing here? - Molly immediately stepped away from his almost embrace, putting a considerable distance between them.
By the look of her eyes - glacing towards the door - Sherlock could see that Molly couldn't wait to leave the room. Or perhaps she just wanted to leave him. But then again she already had her coat on, so leaving St. Barts was the correct deduction.
- I wanted to check on you. To see how you were doing after...
- I'm fine.
- Molly, we should talk. - The detective consultant gave her a half, hopeful smile.
- I'm heading out. I'm late for an appointment.
There was something in the way that her eyes fled from his gaze that told him that she was lying or, at least, hiding the truth. She went out the door before he could utter a word. What the hell was happening? Molly never lied to him, never hid things from him, for as much angry as she was. Why was it so difficult to deduce her these days?
- What is it so important that prevents you from salvaging a friendship? - Sherlock let out those words so harshly, without even thinking about them.
Molly stopped and turned. Oh, she was capable of knocking him down. Yes! Emotion, that was good. That was always good when it came to Molly Hooper.
- My sanity, Sherlock! I'm putting my sanity and my heart ahead of you. No, Sherlock. - The pathologist held a finger to stop whatever he was going to say as he approached her. - You don't get to to have the last word. Too many times you had the last word. No more. - Besides the first time she had slapped him, Sherlock had never seen her with such fire and fury inside of her. - Please, can you just do something that I asked? - The tone hinted for an almost begging.
Without waiting for a reply, Molly turned around and left his sights.
Frustrated, angry and curious, without even letting two minutes pass, Sherlock Holmes was leaving St. Barts.
Once he was outside, he saw Molly pick up her phone as she walked through the streets of London.
Fifteen minutes later, Molly - and Sherlock - arrived at a building.
"A dance studio?" The detective consultant frowned. He didn't know Molly liked dancing. Or muffins, for that matter. He just realized he didn't know a lot about her. He just knew enough to get what he wanted from her. He merely deduced that she was only visiting a friend or perhaps watch someone, a performance.
However, Sherlock was curious - too bloody curious, she did say she had an appointment, not a dance lesson - so he decided to enter.
As he walked through the corridors, he could hear music and giggling once a girl or two saw him. Suddenly, he heard that laugh - that carefree, happy, warm laugh - that he didn't know Molly was capable of.
Sherlock hid in the shadows of the dark corridor, seeing the person that Molly was talking to leave her alone and he waited to see if his pathologist would exit the room as well.
When she didn't, he approached the small porthole of the door and watched Molly dim the lights a bit, her body covered with tight shorts and tight top, her body in full display with dance sneakers on her feet. He never seen her that exposed - except for that Christmas, with that black dress and his mean attitude - and that did something to him, something he didn't understand.
The echo of the electronic music reached his ears and he watched as she assumed position and started to move.
"Ain't that a surprise? She never told me about this." Moriarty's voice sounded amazed.
"Me neither. How could I never knew about this?"
"My dear Sherlock, you are so blind towards the simple things of life. But you are learning." Mary's voice sounded soft and happy, somehow in his mind palace.
At some point, Molly twirled with full force, jumping, never missing a beat of the drums or rhythm of the music, her brown eyes serious, passionate. It was as if the fire he had seen earlier had come to life inside of her.
Sherlock was fascinated by the lighteness that surrounded his pathologist, her features, her movements. She looked so at ease with the music and the dance. He had never seen her like that - except when she performed an autopsy. But this was different. It was like a completely different Molly from the one he had come to know over the years - how did he never knew about this? About her obvious passion for dancing?
Suddenly, for a moment, Sherlock imagined her moving at the sound of the tune he had composed only a few days ago.
Molly was now going on a faster rhythm and Sherlock was mesmorized by it. She was exquisite, nothing to do with the nervous, petite woman he had met years ago.
The music stopped and in a twirl and a dramatic move, Molly fell to the ground, breathing heavily.
In a transe, Sherlock opened the door and stepped closer to her quietly. He could see she had her eyes closed.
- Molly. - His eyes were on her form.
Sherlock could tell the exact moment she tensed. He could see the moment everything changed in her body - now in full display for him to watch the complete transformation from relaxed to tense from when he enters the room or when he speaks when she does not yet sees him these last few weeks.
Slowly, he saw Molly sat up and lock her - angry, furious, beautiful, brown - eyes on him.
- What are you doing here? - The detective consultant took a step closer and kneeled in front of her. As a reaction, Molly slid back, her knees to her chest, her eyes narrowed. - Are you following me now?
- I had to know.
- Is your ego that big? - Her voice trembled, furious. - No, wait. Don't answer that. Of course it is. - Sherlock frowned. - Why can't you just leave me be?
- We're friends, Molly. - He saw a flicker of sadness went over her eyes as she glanced away. - I just wanted to make sure you were okay.
- I'm leaving, Sherlock. I'm leaving London. - Molly watched his face turn hard at her words and it was her turn to see the flicker of something in his blue-green eyes. - I'm leaving England.
- Why? - His voice was quiet and deep.
- Why?! - She gave a fake laugh, her arms holding her knees as if protecting herself. - I'm tired. I'm tired of this, of being angry, of being hurt and in pain. I need to move on... - The pathologist looked up. - From you and I can't do that if you keep showing up at my flat or at the lab... Even here, my safe place. You had to ruin it.
Sherlock merely stared at her.
- Molly...
- No, Sherlock. - Molly stood as did Sherlock, wanting nothing else but to step closer - and hold her, perhaps. - John can take it, Mary could take it, I can't. I'm not strong enough. I was a plaything for Moriarty because of you. I was a plaything for your sister, because of you. I can't take it anymore.
- Moriarty is dead. And Eurus won't hurt you anymore.
- You don't see, do you? - A few tears fell Molly's cheek. - I'm a plaything for you as well. Like you said, an experiment. You don't love me, you're not capable of love, but you keep doing this to me, showing up, asking for my help, when you know what it does to me. Being looked at and not being seen at all.
- I do see you, Molly. Please...
- No! You don't! - A sob left her chest and she cursed herself for feeling weak in front of him. - And that's why I'm leaving. - Molly walked over to where her things were and picked them up, meaning to leave the room.
Sherlock barely managed to step out of his stupor and grab her arm, which she managed to avoid - there were times where she wished he would have hold her, he would have touched her... Now wasn't one of those times, she couldn't stand being touched by him.
- Please... - Molly begged. - Don't... Don't follow me. I'm asking you. I don't want to be near you, Sherlock.
Molly avoided his eyes stepping away from him and leaving the room with tears in her eyes.
*Molly Dance Music: Epic Pop - "(I just) Died In Your Arms" by Hidden Citizens (Epic Trailer Version) - It's a great song, you should hear it. The first moment I heard this song, it was like seeing Molly and Sherlock and is one of my inspirations for this fic.
Reviews, please?
