Notes: This ones a bit more relaxed i guess, in both writing and how much care i put into it. Bit of a spell between the last chapter and the next one which will go back to some new inspiration of whump and the good old sherlock and Molly...thing we've come to crave!
Thank you to all who favd and or alerted; franzi86, drey'auc475, drpaz, lcores, Laughablelou, bookworm142, Tamiriel, NicoleJacobs, Catie501, Clufie, FanFictionette and SchmidttenForever You guys, thanks so much for joining in on the fun!
And a big big thank you to all those extra wonderful people that left me such lovely reviews!: AdaYuki (you gonna have to wait to see what happens next again!), booknerdhere (seriously you, you know how much i appreciate your support =) ), mrsmuchmore (I'm so sorry, have some more now!), LadyK1138 (Guest) (you have every right to mske me feel guilty! have some more and thank you so much for reading and reviewing, great to hear how much your enjoying it!) Irene90 (your request is still at the back of my mind, i really want to use it and hope the chance will come up soon) Brightpath2 ( =) ) NicoleJacobs (Thank you so so much (again) ) and finally Catie501 (you've been so great. I started writing this before your PM but will begin using your requests in the next chapter, its given me direction and i've challenged myself to use all of them. Thank you so much! =) )
So here it is, sorry guys, its hard with my final year of school approaching the end and with two stories going at once. Really shouldn't have started this one but i wanted it out before season 3, (heaps of time right?! hehe). Anyway, i'm enjoying writing bits of this every now and then and you all loving it so much that i want stop till its done.
Thanks, hope you like it despite its...strangeness.
=)
IX.
The next time she saw Sherlock was two months later, although technically she didn't see him. Instead returning home to find at least half of her loaf of bread gone, the honey and butter left out and an empty cup of what use to be tea in the sink. Molly rolled her eyes and cleaned up the mess. On the fridge she found a yellow sticky-note with Sherlock's hand writing.
Back in London. Sorry about the crumbs.
Molly smiled, back in London, she couldn't believe it. For good?
'Yes', Sherlock answered the next time she was with him a week later. He had texted her and she had met him at a coffee shop in the middle of London, he was dressed in jeans and a baggy jacket sprouting stubble that Molly thought made him look like a over-worked father.
'There's a few last things I have to tidy up here and then I'm done.' He said it so casually that it caught Molly off guard.
'And then you're done?!' She couldn't believe it, the past years seemed to never have an end in sight, at least not a happy one.
Sherlock frowned, hating being repeated; things didn't need to be said twice.
Molly felt a large grin take over her face and she couldn't remember being this happy in a long time. Sherlock's himself was also trying very hard not to break out into a smile and just before losing the fight he brought his coffee cup up to his twitching lips, hiding the still obvious smile behind a large sip of coffee.
Sherlock was obviously living on the streets of London, but wouldn't admit it. Molly was also sure Sherlock was taking food from her flat and giving it away to the homeless network he was using for assistance in destroying the last few threads of the empire.
Every now and then he would crash at her place, almost literally from the exhausted-like way he would fall into her bed and sprawl out, face down only to leave again early the next morning. It wasn't till much later that she found out the actual story behind 'the dog.'
Sherlock had been gathering information; tracking a group that had become uneasy as their former safety network collapsed around them. However, embarrassingly enough for Sherlock that Molly had to ask him to repeat what he had said, it wasn't the black-mailers who beat Sherlock to a pulp, but a gang of thugs, boys really.
Sherlock's info from his homeless network had led him to the dangerous back-streets of London that Sherlock knew all too well from a wasted chapter of his youth.
The frantic taunts and obnoxious swearing was what first alerted Sherlock, although on realising the noise was nothing but a group of bored street-kids, he was prepared to walk past without a second thought. But something caused him to look again and he saw the cause for the teenager's excitement. A group of seven boys were circled around a few month old German Sheppard; backed up against a wall and growling, hackles raised at its ring of terrorizes.
The boys threw objects at the dog, darting forward to kick it in the side or face. The pup was clearly terrified and knew it wasn't going to last much longer as it panted and struggled to keep its defensive position.
A spray can of paint emerged and the dog yelped in pain as one of the boys aimed the pink spray into the pups face. This caused another round of laughter and although Sherlock wasn't one to care for domesticated pets, this was ranging on pathetic. It was the abuse the teens inflicted with their sudden found power that caused him to interfere, at least that's what he told himself later.
'Oie! Piss off,' he said in an exasperated tone causing the youths to turn in shock at who addressed them in such a confronting way, but the look in Sherlock's eyes made them slightly hesitant in retaliating straight away.
'Seven of you against a pup, surely that could only entertain your small minds for so long. Did the other gangs get too tough for you?'
A few youths frowned when realising they were being insulted as Sherlock studied the group more closely.
'Which one of you initiated this then? Terrified of dogs I assume.' His eyes fell to the biggest boy with the spray paint who flinched just the slightest bit. 'Ah, there he is.'
They boy's eyes widened in panic as they others in his group turned to look back at him with shocked and mocking faces. Their leader's persona of fearlessness was doubted and so the boy was forced to reinstate it. 'Get him idiots!'
The six other boys slowly advanced on the seemingly defenceless stranger. Sherlock didn't want to beat up teenagers as a small voice whispered what an incredibly stupid decision to make based on no logical basis of thought.
Only when the teenagers were a few feet away did he realise how much taller they were and how heavy his limbs suddenly felt and exhausted his brain was. He reprimanded himself so more for such an emotionally based decision as they suddenly gained back their courage and ran at him. Sherlock manipulated their strength against them, dodging out-of-the-way and feeding off their attempts at punches. The boys faltered in uncertainty, not use to someone fighting although Sherlock wasn't actually fighting.
Their wild swings fell through and some looked to their leader for direction.
'Look,' Sherlock began again, not wanting the situation to develop any further. 'You can either clear off now or I get the police to put out a warrant for each of you for drug trafficking.' Probably not the best thing to say as their first lesson as street-kids was kill or be killed.
Suddenly one of the boys produced a pipe or something similar, swinging it into Sherlock who only managed to get partly out-of-the-way. He fell back against a group of dumped rubbish, his head connecting with the brick wall with a loud thwack. Once on the ground he was in trouble, god, he was too exhausted for this.
Sherlock had now traded places with that bloody dog as he was repeatedly kicked by all seven boys, making sure to keep him down. For half-starved, drugged up boys they produced pretty accurate and powerful kicks. Well they have done this sort of thing for a while.
The leader produced a knife, reinstating his power in the group. The glint of the metal sent a cold stab of fear in Sherlock's chest. Not to mention how contaminated it probably was, the last thing he needed was an infected stab wound. All for that dog, he mocked himself. All for that pathetic, miserable animal-
There was suddenly blood and screaming as said pup latched onto the knife wielding hand inches from Sherlock's face. The boy shouted in horror as his life-long phobia was coming true as the pup ripped deeper into the exposed flesh of the hand. The other boys backed off, watching on; offering no help.
Sherlock was stumbling to his feet in a matter of seconds, finally reverting to the unloaded hand gun from beneath his hoodie. They dog had let go as the boy dropped the knife. The German Sheppard now stood tall, growing deeply at its group of previous attackers; threatening a similar revenge.
The teens' hands rose at the sight of the gun which Sherlock flicked in a dismissive motion. The boys didn't need a second warning and raced off down onto the street and continued to run, their leader struggling at the back of the pack.
Sherlock dropped the gun and fell back against the brick wall, sliding down painfully until he reached the ground, breathing heavily, arms wrapped around his burning torso. He focused on the pain, as a punishment for such a stupid act.
The pup was watching him curiously and Sherlock would have glared at it had his eyes not been scrunched up in pain.
An hour later after slipping in and out of consciousness, he finally managed to wobble to his feet and stumble down the alley-ways, the dog got up and began to annoyingly follow, it still bloody does.
Please come
Shit! Molly thought as she scrawled through the dozen messages from Sherlock, one of them being an address in the middle of London.
Molly had been working and only just got the chance to check her mobile. She quickly collected everything and got down to her car.
When she finally arrived at the restaurant through all the traffic and finding a park, she couldn't see Sherlock anywhere. To say Molly was pissed off would be verging on accurate.
I'm here, she texted. Where are you!
She doubted he would actually be in the restaurant and surprised that he was anywhere near. This was a dangerous place to be for him; there were too many people about, too much of a risk of Sherlock being recognised.
Round the back, he eventually replied.
Molly growled in frustration, she was not in the mood to play his games. She walked around to what she hoped was the back of the business. A variation in kinds of trash and boxes were really the only objects filling the space but then she saw him, sitting on steps that lead up to a back door. Molly cautiously moved closer, 'Sherlock?' She queried again but didn't get a step further as a fairly tall dog sprang forward from the shadows, growling with teeth bared and hackles raised. It crouched in front of Sherlock as if protecting the man but that's ridiculous, Sherlock doesn't do pets.
'It's alright.' Sherlock finally croaked, confirming that he was actually conscious. The young dog broke its tough demeanour and looked back at Sherlock then to Molly again, uncertain. Eventually it stalked back to Sherlock's feet and crouched down, eyes locked on Molly and ready to defend again at any moment.
'Sorry,' Sherlock replied, shifting slightly where he sat on the concrete steps and pulling his jacket closer around himself. 'Apparently feeding it only makes her more loyal.'
Molly wasn't sure if it was meant to be funny but she wasn't in a laughing mood. This was all so strange, different to any other meeting they'd had so far, even when he surprised her by showing up at the lab in Bart's.
'Are you alright?' She asked straight to the point, noticing the glint of a bloody cut alone Sherlock's brow as he shifted again into the light. Molly also noticed his split lip but could sense there was something much worse. For an answer, Sherlock stiffly peeled back his jacket to reveal a dark patch on his thin shirt underneath.
Blood Molly instantly realised.
'It's just-' Sherlock looked ashamed and upset, hating how he always had to impose on Molly for help.
'It's okay,' she said stopping him and slowly easing closer. 'Is it really bad? Do you actually need to go to hospital for once?'
Sherlock instantly shook his head, 'No.' He didn't sound to certain though.
'Well I'll see about that.' She was being firm, but with Sherlock in dire straits like this she had learned she needed to be. He wasn't always the best judgement when it came to his own health and safety and Molly now knew what he really required from her was to call the shots. Insist he wasn't at all fine and make sure everything possible was done about it. Really, for the past almost three years, Molly was John. Sherlock probably knew this already which would explain why he found so much comfort in her help. She was stable and a constant, no matter where he was in the world or what he was doing, Sherlock knew he could always come back and rely on Molly. He needed her, he always needed her.
Looking closer in what little light was available, Molly could see the situation was a lot more serious than Sherlock was letting on.
Shit that's a lot of blood. The patch on his side was glistening and wet. The wound was still open and flowing with Sherlock no longer having the strength to apply pressure to the area. The deep red stain streamed down a trouser leg and had began to collect on the concrete step.
How long has he been setting there? Molly felt terrible about not being able to check her phone earlier and been able to come straight away. Instead Sherlock slumped where he sat, breathing unsteadily and clearly terrified in being stranded for god knows how long.
Molly was here now though, and would do what she could to help rectify the situation of Sherlock dying from blood loss.
'Can you stand? Or walk?'
Sherlock shook his head no. God, he could barely do that. Molly was beginning to panic, she didn't know what to do and more and more blood was flowing out of him despite her scarf which she pressed to the wound. He was white as snow and half dead; lord knows how long he had staggered around in this state until he just couldn't anymore. The pup whined in concern.
'Sherlock, you're going to have to use that massive brain of yours and help me out here. I can't carry you to the car. You've lost a lot of blood Sherlock, and right now we need to act really quickly.' Sherlock groaned and his eyes scrunched up more, either from the pain or trying to think of a plan. Molly hoped it was the latter. She put more pressure on the wound which squelched and ripped a cry out of Sherlock's otherwise tightly closed lips. Molly slapped her blood covered hand over his mouth to silence him, although desperately needing help, the last thing they needed was someone hearing or finding them and calling an ambulance.
Actually, Molly desperately thought. That would be great right now. But they couldn't. It was just her, Sherlock and the bloody useless pup.
Molly dropped her head onto his quivering shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to concentrate on forming some sort of plan. Sherlock was running out of time and she couldn't even help him.
A movement caught her attention and she leaned back as Sherlock's hand continued to dance around inside her jacket.
'Sherlock! What are you-'
With a sharp distinctive tingle he produced her car keys from her inner jacket pocket. With eyes still closed he dropped them into her hand and slumped forwards into her, still conscious but barely. The pup's whining increased but Molly ignored it as she tried to image her car, measuring it up against the width of the back alley. She grimaced, it would be tight but she had asked for Sherlock's help.
'Okay,' she breathed, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she leant him back against the door. 'But you owe me a new car, a nice one.'
The dog is paramount! (no seriously, i need him for the finale) Don't worry, i wont make it lame.
Love to hear your thoughts
