Well, here we are again. Another long week, and I find myself needing some therapeutic release, hence another update. Thank you all so very much for the continued support, it means so much to me, and I know I'll never be able to convey just how much.
I do not own Sherlock, Molly, John, Mrs. Hudson, or anyone else that is from the series that we have come to love so very much. Fantastic creators of more famous names get all the credit. I am merely trying to try something here. Thank you so much for reading.
PLEASE! PLEASE BE AWARE OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS IN THIS STORY! VERY DARK SUBJECTS, INCLUDING: DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/ATTEMPTS, AND SELF-HARM. IF YOU READ, PLEASE READ WITH DISGRETION. IF YOU EVER NEED TO TALK, PLEASE DO NOT HESITATE TO MESSAGE ME!
Okay, here we go. Another Chapter!
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"Where the bloody hell have you been?"
Earlier that day:
He had woken up feeling marginally better, the few hours of silent rest refueling his weary mind. He stretched and stood up, deciding to check on Molly. Sherlock walked to his bedroom, pushing the door open as quietly as he could. She was curled into a tight ball, her long auburn hair curving around her face. He sighed, glad she was finally resting peacefully. Sherlock quietly shut the door again, and returned to the living room.
As he reached the sofa again, the distinct buzz of his phone against the coffee table sounded. His hand plucked it up, and slid his thumb across the screen to view the text alert.
'Case for you. A nine at least. - L'
Sherlock bit his lip, silently debating about whether or not he should reply at all. However, when another text lit his phone screen up, the detective found himself desperate to at least respond with something.
'Three murders, all done with some sort of electrical shock, according to forensics. Please come. - L'
With another glance toward the door at the end of his hallway, Sherlock came to a swift decision. He walked across the room, grabbing both coat and scarf, and silently retreating out the front door.
'Fine. But if I'm not done in an hour, I'm leaving anyway. -SH'
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Oddly enough, an hour was all it took, and Sherlock had solved the deaths(incidentally not murders) of the three victims. He'd felt highly proud of himself to notice what everyone else failed to see; the long trail of scorching marks on the earth made from sudden spurts of electricity, all which followed a small trail of puddles and traced back to a downed power line. Unfortunate for the victims, but at least he wouldn't have to be chasing anyone down today. The detective had just walked back into the flat, when he heard the muffled sound of Molly's soft sobs, and John's strong and comforting voice. He sighed deeply, ashamed that he hadn't been swifter to deduce the scene, disappointed that he hadn't been here when she woke up. He softly walked to the edge of the hall, listening to their conversation that came in bits and staggered pieces. However, he quickly put the trail of words together, and discovered that he had missed something big. She'd been having nightmares again, only this one had struck a nerve deep within her. The quiet voices grew even softer as Molly fell asleep, and Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if she would actually be able to rest this time.
John had been his usual, bitter sounding self when he asked the question, and the response given only seemed to put the doctor on edge even more.
"I had a case."
"You had a – Sherlock..." John began, his mouth opening and snapping shut again as he tried to formulate the correct words. As he wiped his hand over his face, he let out a long and heavy breath, before turning to his flatmate.
"Sherlock, in case you haven't realized, things aren't going to just return to normal. They can't. You can't just leave to go chasing criminals down because you're bored." Sherlock was quick to retort in his usual way, which may have been the reason why he was suddenly facing the furious glare of the former soldier.
"I didn't have to chase any criminals down, it was an accident." He knew it hadn't sounded right upon leaving his lips, and yet there was no way around the truth of the matter.
"Huh, how very predictable of you, Sherlock. In case you had forgotten, there's a severely damaged woman lying in your bed, trying to cope with this. For God's sake, she almost...if I hadn't been here..." John stopped himself again, this time in a pure act of self-containment. He knew Molly was just in the other room, and it wouldn't do anyone any good if he woke her up by shouting. Sherlock was at least good enough to show his shock at the idea of Molly hurting herself again.
"Did she...was she...alright?" Sherlock's voice had gone low, almost a whisper. When John looked up, the expression that was waiting for him was unlike anything he'd seen. Sherlock Holmes, the most stoic and brusque man he'd ever encountered. The same man who had stared down the barrel of more than one gun and had the calm resolve to laugh at the criminal on the other end, was currently looking similar to a lost little boy. He slowly sat his frame down in his black leather chair, and was obviously calculating the several varying scenarios in his head that could have occurred. Any of the rage that had been festering within him dissipated as he took in the sight of his friend, so obviously distraught.
"She's fine. I got to her before she could even reach the loo. Sherlock, I know this is difficult on you, hell, on all of us, but you can't just leave her like that. Molly needs you, more so than you realize. Whatever pushed her over the edge, it stems much deeper than we originally thought. Just... don't leave her like that again." His speech was met with a simple nod, clearly the genius man's mind was elsewhere already, and so John left him to his thoughts. After several moments in the silence of the room, Sherlock stood up. He quietly made his way to the hallway, and peered into the bedroom. Molly slept on, looking less distressed than she was before he left, the tear stains of her cheeks dried onto her skin.
'Flawless.' He thought to himself, before closing the door again. He then made his way to the bathroom that stood adjacent to his own bedroom. Taking a look around, he knew what he would do. He was bound and determined to keep her skin as flawless as possible, so he began in the bathroom first, removing anything from 221B Baker Street that would challenge that promise.
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Well, sorry for taking so long. It's been quite the week, and I'm already exhausted, but I knew where I wanted this chapter to go, so I just forced myself to sit down and do it. Thank you all for reading, and please tell me what you think so far. I will hopefully have some more updates for you soon, not just on this story, but on others as well. Thank you for your kindness and patience, and I look forward to hearing from you all. Love you very much!
