"St. Bart's Hospital." Sherlock said, after getting in the taxi. I couldn't help but enjoy the look of almost surprise on his face as I had held up the phone; I had always been good at pickpocketing. I handed the phone back to him as we drove away from 221B. He put it back in his pocket and looked out his window.
For several blocks, the car was silent and I felt my sense of worry begin to rise up again. What if we couldn't get to them in time? What if they were already torturing them? What if-
"How long have you been out of the RAF?" Sherlock interrupted my thoughts. I looked to him, a little surprised he knew. So the amazing ability to know a person's life story just by looking at them wasn't just a story.
"Uh, almost ten years." I said. He nodded, still not looking at me. Silence descended on the car again. Then he broke it again.
"You were a flight lieutenant." That was a statement, not a question.
"…Yes…" How much did he know? Probably everything. Great.
"Are you a captain for Air England?"
I sighed, "Not yet, and my favorite color is purple. My dog's name is Gladstone and I love John more than any man I've ever met." I spat. "Just to fill in some blanks, I'm sure your deductions left you since you probably know everything else."
He remained quiet for a minute then said, "Not everything else."
"No. Just everything worth knowing that you can use as ammunition to split John and I."
"I'm not trying to-"
"Oh, please. You've made it painfully obvious that my presence is not welcome to you."
"It's not."
"Exactly."
"But that doesn't mean I'm attempting to end your relationship. Without you…I don't know if John would have survived the last three years."
My mind went back to a night not long after John and I started seeing each other. John hadn't showed up for our date and didn't pick up his phone. Normally, I would have just brushed it off but something told me to go to him.
The door to the flat was unlocked; I looked around the apartment but could not find him. I opened up the door to one of the bedrooms, and he was in there on the bed with his gun in his hand. That image was seared into my mind; I remember the red of his sweater, the periodic table of elements on the wall, the shaking in his hands.
"John…" I said, quietly and slowly walking into the room. He didn't acknowledge my presence, but was staring at the shaking gun. I stood in front of him. "Give me the gun." He slowly looked up at me, the moonlight highlighting the tear tracks on his face and the fear in his eyes. "Don't do this. You don't want to do this." He looked back down at the gun and his shoulders shuddered. I slowly reached out for the gun. "Give me the gun. Please, John." My voice broke on his name.
He slowly forced his hands to hold out the gun and I quickly took it from him, unloading it and placing it on the dresser. My heart was racing like I had just run a marathon and I took a deep breath. He took a shuddering breath and covered his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, Mary. I'm so sorry." He said, his voice thick and somehow empty at the same time.
I knelt before him and rested my head on his knee; a few tears escaped my eyes too. "It's fine, John. But know that that is never the answer. Never even think about throwing your precious gift of life away. Never." He looked down at me. "You have so much to offer the world. Don't forget that." He ran his fingers through my hair and sighed.
"I promise not to."
I blinked a few times and mentally returned to the cab. "He wouldn't have survived." I said, trying to shake off the dark feeling that memory always gave me. Sherlock, for the first time, was looking at me, observing every emotion that danced across my face. He turned away, obviously understanding what I had not said, and sighed.
"I am indebted to you."
I looked at him, feeling a bit more sympathy for this man. Obviously, the past three years had not been easy for him either. I smiled a little.
"I bet that's driving you mad." He glanced to me and then turned to his window, but I saw the hint of a smile in his eyes.
After a few more blocks, he spoke again. "Poppies."
"What?"
"Your hair is the color of poppies." He said, still not looking at me.
I looked down at my hair and then back up. "What about it?"
"It's rather coincidental."
"What do you me-"
"We're here." Sherlock said, jumping out of the cab before it really stopped. I sighed and followed him into the hospital.
I pushed open the door to the lab and found Molly sitting on a stool, staring intently into a microscope. She was scribbling notes on a piece of paper next to her and was so caught up in her thoughts she didn't notice me. Her face was extremely concentrated as she sat back to think through her observations. It was then that she saw me.
"Mary." She said, smiling and standing.
"Hey, Molly." I came around and hugged her. John had introduced us a while ago and we had been friends almost from the start.
"What brings you here? I thought you were going to be in America…?" her eyebrows furrowed. "Is everything alright?"
I shook my head. "No. Everything is all wrong."
Sherlock barged into the room, still messing with the phone. "Molly, I'm using the x-ray machine." He said, dropping his coat on a chair and sitting down on a stool like he belonged there. Her eyes grew wide and she looked to me.
"Don't worry. We know you helped him."
She looked worried. "I am sorry-"
"Don't be. It's fine…well…sort of." I paused. "John, Mrs. Hudson and Greg are missing."
"Were they kidnapped?"
"That's a very good question."
The next few hours crawled by, Sherlock was impassive as a stone. Testing the phone for something. I mostly just sat around, feeling useless, as Molly returned to her work.
"Molly, you're taking care of the Willis case." Sherlock said from his fixed spot in front of the microscope.
Molly looked up from her own notes, her mouth open a little and then she nodded. I couldn't help but smile a little at the effect Sherlock had on her.
"Good." Sherlock said, making another note. "At least the autopsy will be complete, though Anderson's crime scene notes were so atrocious it will have delayed the investigation a minimum of 3 weeks."
I stretched and stood up. "I want coffee. Molly? Sherlock?"
"No." Sherlock said, not looking up. Molly smiled and nodded her head.
"The coffee in the A & E is better than ours. Has more caffeine." She offered.
"Three sugars and lots of cream?"
She nodded again.
I left the morgue, thankful to have some purpose.
The door closed behind her and I picked up the phone.
Where are you? – SH
I dropped the phone and sat back, waiting for a response. Molly was bent over her notes, hair creating a curtain around her. There were a few more grey hairs in her mouse brown hair since I had seen her three years ago. She still didn't have a serious boyfriend. The sister-like affection between Molly and Mary was almost palpable, but not surprising. Neither had a very strong familial background, and Molly was so agreeable she could get along with a fencepost.
I believe the text was directed to Mary.
She's indisposed. Where are you? And who is this? – SH
I held the phone in my hand, waiting for the next response. Molly was staring at me, but when she saw me look up she quickly turned away, blushing. When I looked up again, Molly was watching me again.
"…so…do you like Mary?" She asked in her usual halting manner. I glanced to her. Why was everyone so keen on knowing my opinion of Mary Morstan?
"She's not the first girlfriend John's had."
"But she could be the last." Molly practically finished my sentence. I stared at her. "I mean, nothing's official…but Mary and I talk a lot…they're so cute together." She smiled.
"Right." Whoever was texting back was taking an awfully slow time about it.
"So you dislike her?" Molly asked as the phone buzzed again.
Come now, Sherlock. Think and I'm sure you'll figure out who this is. ;) – JM
Jim Moriarty is dead. Who is this? – SH
"I never said that." I said, putting the phone down.
"But you don't like her." Average people were always so obsessed with how they thought of each other. And I didn't feel like playing Molly's game.
I wrote down some instructions on a sheet of paper, ripping it out of the notebook and folding it.
"Molly, there's a man on the corner of Hayne Street and Long Lane. Take this to him." I held the paper out to her. She sighed but eventually plucked the paper from my hand and left the morgue.
Since when did such a silly thing like death stop either of us, Sherly? –JM
Oh, and you will want to hurry. They don't have much time. – JM
Do I have a deadline? – SH
Midnight. - JM
To Be Continued…
