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John rushed out the door after Sherlock, trying desperately to keep up with the detective as he whisked himself away from the doors of the hospital.
"Sherlock, what the bloody hell was that all about?" He called out after the man, still attempting to get by his side. The tall man with the blowing black coat slowed until the doctor was at his side, and John finally caught a good look at his face. It held two completely separate, yet slightly codependent looks. One was a look of utter shock, as if he had just seen a spirit. The other, the one that Sherlock was trying to hide, was a look of absolute agony. He wheeled around to his friend, who was now standing deathly still in the middle of the road.
"Sherlock?" John asked after him again, and it seemed to snap the stiff man out of whatever trance he had been in. He shook his head, before looking down to John. He wiped a wide, albeit false, grin on his face, and nodded to his friend.
"I'm fine, John." The response was just as automatic as his facial expression. The good doctor looked back to the hospital that was now blocks away from them, and then looked back to see Sherlock walking toward Baker Street. He decided that perhaps it was something he should ask Mycroft about.
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Molly had woken the next morning to the sound of the bell to her room ringing. She blearily rubbed her eyes as she wrapped the thick housecoat around her thing frame, and walked across the beautiful Persian rug to her bedroom door. There to greet her, stood the handsome Lord Augustus. He had a wide grin on his face, hands held behind his back. Molly smiled shyly up at him, brushing a tendril of hair behind her ear.
"Good morning, my lovely Molly. Happiest of birthdays, if I might add." He bowed gallantly, and she giggled at the sincerely posh air he held about him.
"Thank you, M'Lord." She tucked her chin down a bit in a tired bow. Augustus's fingertips lifted her face up to meet his gaze. He studied over her tired features, and a worried glow appeared on his own.
"It seems you had a rather stressful evening at that hospital of yours, my dear. Is everything alright?" His thumb grazed her cheek, where the tear tracks had dried themselves in her sleep. She pulled away, not violently or with repulse, but just enough to not have his touch on her.
"I'm fine, M'Lord. Just a bit tired. I'll be better for the party tonight, I promise." Molly answered, her smile growing to a wide grin. This answer seemed to appease Augustus, and he bowed again. He picked her hand up and kissed just across the rise of her knuckles, before placing the limb delicately back at her side.
"Right, well, I'll leave you to your thoughts and to ready for the day. I have some business to attend to, but I will be back this evening in time for your birthday party." He nodded and turned, leaving Molly to return to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed, and simply sighed out as she flashed through the memories of her birthdays spent with him.
OoOo
The effects of seeing her again had stopped his thought processes immediately. He had gone to the morgue with the intentions of collecting another sample of the infected lungs of the pneumonia's latest victim. He had not expected to see her there, let alone being the one in charge of the room at that moment. She looked as she had three years ago, if not more beautiful than he last remembered seeing her. He hated her for it. It had taken him the full three years to get to a seemingly normal way of life, one that did not involve his pained thoughts of her betrayal to his once-was heart. Now, after he had thrown himself into case after case, experiment after experiment, she had come dropping back into his life, ruining all of his hard work and focus.
Sherlock had barely heard his flatmate enter the room. Having just shot up with enough morphine to kill a man, he really wasn't surprised. John had come home to find his friend staring off into the darkened space of the room. His usually magnetic eyes were hazy, blurred with the effects of the drug. John had slid the needle from underneath his skin, and tossed it in the bin. Sherlock didn't even acknowledge him. The doctor found himself far too curious as to his friend's odd behavior over the past twelve hours, and knew of the one person who would easily tell him what he wanted to know.
"Oh, hello John. How are you?" Mrs. Hudson chimed from her kitchen as John entered her open flat. He politely knocked first, before shuffling into her living space. The older woman bustled about, cleaning her counter tops.
"Mrs. Hudson, you've known Sherlock longer than I have. Has he ever had any sort of relationship, you know, a young lady, engaged, married, anything?" John asked directly, not really sure how to bring the topic up. Mrs. Hudson's demeanor changed completely. She stopped her scrubbing of the surfaces, and dropped the hard brush from her hand. When she turned to face him, John could see the beginning of such sympathetic tears in her eyes. He wondered if he still wanted to know.
"Oh, oh dear. Perhaps you better come in and have a seat. I'll put the kettle on." Mrs. Hudson ushered him to sit, and shuffled her way back to the kitchen. A few moments later, she returned, tea tray set and ready for serving. She poured and prepared his cup for him, before sitting across from him. When she was all settled in, the woman sighed out, her hand going up to her face to wipe away a tear.
"You see, the first time I met Sherlock, he was a devastated mess. He'd just had his heart ripped out by a young girl. I am not sure about all the details. He never tells me anything, won't talk about it at all. But his brother, Mycroft, had mentioned upon his moving in here, that a young lady had been betrothed to some sort of lord or earl. This same young lady and Sherlock, they had somewhat of a romance, I guess. They had planned to run away together, but she decided to stay with her fiance. The poor boy was ruined. That's about all I know." Mrs. Hudson had finished, her eyes glossy with shining tears as she tried to contain them.
John had been holding his cup up to his lips for the entire story, not having taken a drink at all. He looked up the stairs in the hall, wondering what the young woman from the morgue had to do with this story. He knew the two were linked, but it was just a matter of unearthing the truth. He set the cup of tea down, and promptly stood from Mrs. Hudson's small sofa. He raced to the door, and then ran out to the streets of London, determined to solve this new mystery he found himself wondering about.
OoOo
The day passed quickly, and Molly spent most of it sitting in her personal sitting room, enjoying one of the many books her dear Papa had left her. She had skipped lunch, not feeling hungry when she let herself think about Sherlock. That face he had held when they met again. It turned her stomach to see such disdain. Molly shut the book she hadn't looked at in the past five minutes, sighing in resignation that she wouldn't be reading much now. Her eyes drifted shut, and she wandered through the happier memories between the two entwined hearts of her youth.
OoOo
John strolled into the office of Mycroft Holmes, his mind ready for the answers to a growing list of questions. The older man sat behind his desk, filtering through letters and papers of a questionable nature. John cleared his throat as he stood in the doorway, waiting to be acknowledged. Mycroft looked up, before giving a tight lipped, diplomatic smile. He wordlessly waved him in, and John entered, closing the door behind him.
"Please, John, have a seat." The older Holmes said without looking up. John sighed and did so, looking expectantly at Mycroft. Finally, after a few minutes, he set a small stack of parchment down, and folded his hands in front of himself, before returning his attentions to John.
"What has my baby brother done now? I'm sure it must be fairly urgent, or else you would not have insisted upon seeing me so soon. So, what's happened?" Mycroft asked with imperial intonation. John sighed, before furrowing his brow.
"Well, I was wondering about what happened with Sherlock and a certain young lady a few years ago." He watched as a shocked Mycroft looked up at him sharply. The gaze was ferocious, as well as confused.
"We went to the hospital today, to the morgue. There was a young lady there, and as soon as Sherlock saw her, he left. As if she had the plague or something. What's the connection?" He was stunned to see a very wide eyed, less composed than usual Mycroft Holmes staring back at him. John tilted his head to the side a bit, suspiciously eying the posh politician.
"Did this, young lady, happen to have long, auburn hair, and a nervous sort of smile?" Mycroft was now taking a deep breath in. His hands were poised in somewhat of a prayer position, and his normally critical eyes lie closed behind tight lids. John had never seen the man look stressed before, and it worried him to confirm his suspicions.
"Yes, yes she did. Who is she?" John nodded, having pictured the young woman they met the other day. Mycroft sighed out, sipping from his cup of tea that sat beside his hand.
"Her name is Molly Hooper, and she is the love of my brother's life." John's eyes widened at the words, almost bugging out of his head, before he finally uttered something.
"Bollocks."
Mycroft informed John on the past history of Sherlock and Miss Hooper, the way he had spiraled after their brutal parting. John was, needless to say, a bit more than shocked at the news. His best friend had been in love once, with that lovely young lady, and she had broken his heart. 'That actually explains a lot.' John thought. It was the final piece of information that Mycroft shared though, that made John realize just how severe the situation was.
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The magical, mystery tour, is coming to take you away...COMING TO TAKE YOU AWAY!
