Molly Hooper. Two words. Two simple words bounced around and grew in my mind, stretched and thickened until every crevice of my brain was captured by them. I muttered an excuse me, then ran out of the room. I didn't care if I was supposed to keep my cool. I didn't care if this looked bad. I didn't care if there was a limit to time at the moment; my mother was going to die. I didn't care . I didn't care. Mum...
I knew there would be no women's bathroom at this point of history, so I ran to the nearest utility closet, unlocking it with my sonic. Someone could have seen- but I didn't care. It was a small room- but I hardly noticed. I slumped against the closed door and wall, my knees crumpling, and my dress with them. I lost all regard for time, and space, and thought. I felt nothing; grief made me numb. The only thing I felt was the burning tears running down my cheeks. Burning tears on my cheeks; my mother's name in front of my eyes; her quite, soft laugh in my ears, which I would never hear again- that was all there was. That was the whole world. Nothing else.
Some time later- it could have been a year, it could have been a second, I wouldn't have been able to tell, though in reality, it was probably five minutes- I heard a hand slamming on the door. I didn't care. They could go jump off a large hospital- I could tell them how to get there, if they wanted. I wasn't getting up.
" Violet! Come on!" The Doctor yelled, still pounding on the door. Guess not- he'd just regenerate... He tried the door with his own sonic, and pushed open the door, but I shoved it back closed with a booted foot, and used my own sonic to re-lock it.
" Don't be such a child!" He could talk.
" Come on, Violet! Please, we need you. Listen, I have good news!" That was going to work? I had had half of my greatest influences in my life ripped from me in under 12 hours by the same person- the rest of my family was going to die, and I was too, most likely. How could any of this be amended?
"It's not you're mother! It's the wrong Molly Hooper! We looked in Lestrade's files! It's another Molly Hooper!" If it was a trick to get me out of the closet, it didn't matter- I was out in under a second, with my arms around my grandfather, tears trickling down into his shoulder. He was confused, his arms forward, figuring out what to do at first, but then he embraced me back, giving me the comfort I needed.
" I'm sorry for the... you know... break down..." I muttered, breaking away.
" Such a Holmes! No... no I guess that's my problem too... Never apologize for having an emotion, Violet, remember that. Any way... I have a lot to tell you..." he said, quietly. He seemed worried- he was biting his lip, and his ancient eyes were wide: more bad news.
" Oh... is it about... the other Molly Hooper?" I asked, with much trepidation.
" Y-yes. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
" You lied to me to get me out of the closet?" I yelled, hands above my head- for a second, I was felt like I was going to hit him- I was going to unleash all of my self control, and it took everything in me not to hit this man in front of me, the hidden explosive side that no one knew until too late- the wrath of a Timelord, it's been called. I put my hands down, clasping them together, visibly, to keep his long chin in tact.
" Well?" I demanded when he just stood there, eyes wide.
" No! No, it's not your mother, I promise... Not... Let me explain. The assassin, He sent this assassin here to kill those girls, get our attention- okay, you know this. Good, good," he said, searching for the words, his hands flying. " The assassin is going to kill one more person, and we have to stop that- then He is going to let us move on, that's what Sherlock says..."
" Spit it out, please!" I said, or else he never would.
" Right... the next victim, Molly Hooper... she's not you're mother, she has to be from this time period... but... there is a young girl, nee Molly Hartnell, who got married in 1895 to Thomas Hooper..."
he stopped, not able to find words. I swallowed the bile coming up in my throat. The names seeped through the cracks of my memory, a genealogy I glanced at years ago: Molly and Thomas Hooper, father and mother of Nicolas Hooper, the father John Hooper, the father of David Hooper, who married Aria Tyler. Their daughter was Molly Hooper. My Molly Hooper. My knees felt week. The murderer may not have been planning to kill my mother directly, but this was worse. So much worse. If he killed the first Molly Hooper- my ancestor- my mother would have never existed. She would have never been born, never met my father, never helped him live, never changed him... She would never have existed. Meaning: neither would I.
The first time I heard that a loved one was going to die, I was shocked. I was crushed, and disoriented, but I shook out of it to find him- to find Uncle John. The second time, I was numb. When I thought that my mother's body was going to mutilated in the manner that those women had been- so bad that the Yard thought it was the Ripper- that time, I felt nothing but numbness and tears. I could not think. The third time- this time, when I was informed that my mother would never exist to help make my father a better person; never exist to help the Yard; never exist to raise me; never exist to shine her soft, but beautiful light on London, I was no longer dull, no longer disoriented. I burned. My heart burned in fierce anger, and there was nothing in Creation that could quench the fire with which I was going to incinerate my enemy. Nothing except for my mother and friend safe, and the death of the wretch that dared touch my family. My mind was clear, my soul was burning, and that worm was going down, come hell or high water.
Without a word, I strode past the Doctor, to where my father and Lestrade where. The Doctor looked at me, at first concerned- he had never seen my rage before. But then( I read his eyes) he realized that if we didn't hurry up, he may lose his second granddaughter. Then I saw what they meant- fire and ice and rage inside. His foam eyes lit aflame, anger consuming them; he set his jaw, as well as his thoughts, all towards one goal- the downfall of our enemy. If this is what I looked like, then I felt bad for those passing by- two angry humans with a purpose is bad enough, but two angry Timelords... that's another thing, all together.
We walked into Lestrade's office, and both men looked up. "Are you okay, Ms. Holmes? You seemed frightened? If you'd like, I could get you a cab to your house..."
" No thank you, Inspector. I apologize for my weakness- I know the next woman, so I was a bit shocked, you understand. But I am quite well now, and I will not cause a fuss. In fact, any thing I can do to help, I will do all in my power to do," I said, forgetting my light, innocent voice near the end. He looked surprised, but as with the way of the Lestrade's, he said nothing. Bless him.
" This cause will be better achieved if I collect more data. You have no record of where the Hoopers live currently? No. Confound it!" My father swore, Victorian style, forgetting his high voice, to the confusion of Lestrade. I did not care. " No matter. We shall find them We shall find them, and then warn them, then find the worm! We shall need an officer of yours, Lestrade," he said, storming out of the room, the Doctor and I behind him. Lestrade ran out, his short legs hardly able to keep up, unlike his descendant.
" An officer, right, for protection of the family, or for yours?" he asked, grabbing a man as we passed.
" Neither, Inspector- for the protection of the criminal," my father said, his voice deep, his jaw set.
" Wh-what do you mean, for the criminal, Holmes?" he said, flabbergasted.
" Because- if I lay eyes on this man, he may not be the only murderer you lock up tonight!" he yelled, his eyes wide with rage. With that, we left Scotland Yard, and Lestrade with it.
I looked into my father's icy eyes, and that's what I saw: ice. My father had learned of the fate of his wife, and now his soul was unmeltable ice. Anger and sorrow only sharpened his sense of cold logic- he thought quicker, he processed faster, and when something came in his way, his anger exploded- like an icecap, so much built up energy, but when let out he was an unstoppable, with painful force, like shattered glass.
In anger, I was the fire; he was the ice; the Doctor was the storm. I no longer thought of our enemy as a predator - he was now our prey. He had broken us by threatening our family, a fatal mistake. He had made us afraid, but right then, he should have been the one quivering- for we where angry, determined, and for once in my life, I was ready to kill.