Can't believe it's only been a week! Well, school has started, but I will still try and update this story regularly. Thank you to those who have followed and favorited.
Later that day, evening came. Molly Hooper had already gone and John was leading Greg Lestrade up the stairs of the hospital to Sherlock's room.
"Don't know how much sense you'll get out of him. He's drugged up, so he's pretty much babbling," John explained.
They reached the top of the stairs and were walking along the landing when John saw Lestrade doing something on his phone. "Oh, they won't let you use that in here, you know."
"No, I'm not gonna use the phone. I just want to take a video," Lestrade explained. He and John grinned at each other and chuckled.
Shortly afterward, John opened the door to Sherlock's room and they stepped inside. The bed was empty. John walked around the room, shocked as he realized that the window was gaping wide open. "Oh, Jesus." He and Greg stared out the window and the two men exchanged a look.
Molly and Sherlock trudged down the back alleys of London, desperate not be seen. Sherlock's arm was thrown across Molly's shoulders, and he was leaning most of his weight on her, breathing heavily as the pain from his bullet wound shot through him in spasms. Molly was faring pretty well under the extra weight, she was stronger than she looked, and they were moving pretty quickly.
"Sherlock? Are you okay?" Molly asked, noticing that he was panting and his body tensed up from the pain.
"Fine," he answered, trying to mask how hurt he really was.
Molly sighed. She pulled out a bottle of pills from her coat pocket. "Here, take one of these. I swiped it from the hospital. They should temporarily help with the pain. You still have to be-" Molly was interrupted by Sherlock eagerly snatching the bottle and downing a few pills. "...careful though," she finished. Molly frowned. "Try not to take too much. They've probably noticed you were gone by now."
Sherlock, feeling better now, urged her to move faster. "Obviously. Mycroft and the others are probably looking for me now."
Molly sighed. "You saw the shooter. The bullet entered your chest, so you must have been facing the person. Who was it?"
Sherlock answered with a question. "Do you trust me Molly?"
Molly didn't hesitate. "Of course."
"Then you don't need to know, not just yet."
Molly climbed through the window of the flat of 221b. She soundlessly collapsed onto the carpet of the living room. She slowly got up, straining to hear any signs that someone was home. Molly tip-toed to the upstairs attic when she decided that it was safe. She coughed as her steps made dust stir in the air. She located John's chair in the corner and, as quietly as she could manage, heaved the chair out of the attic and down the steps. The chair made a thud with every step of the stairs, and Molly tried to listen for anyone that may have been coming. Molly finally got to the living room and pushed the chair back to where it was before John moved out.
Molly went still as she heard keys being turned from the front door. She ducked under a table. As the front door opened, Molly could hear the familiar humming of Mrs. Hudson. The old lady slowly walked up the steps with bags of groceries in her hand. She trudged to the kitchen and set down the bags. Mrs. Hudson gasped as she opened the refrigerator door. "Thumbs!" Mrs. Hudson quickly slammed the door shut and went to the sink to start washing the pile of dirty dishes. Molly had to refrain from laughing at Mrs. Hudson's reaction to the thumbs in the fridge. Molly had given them to Sherlock to experiment on a while back.
Molly scrambled up and set a bottle of Claire de la Lune on the coffee table, angling it just the way Sherlock instructed. Molly hurried back to the window and disappeared into the night just before Mrs. Hudson poked her head into the living room, thinking she heard something.
Molly let go of the railing she was holding onto and landed onto the street by Sherlock. He was leaning against a wall, speaking quickly into the phone and firing orders. He hung up as soon as Molly came.
"Who was that?"
"Bill Wiggins. I was just ordering him to get some things."
"...right. So where are we headed now?" Molly asked.
"Leinster Gardens."
Molly walked into the street and hailed a cab. She and Sherlock climbed into the backseat and told the cabbie their destination. They leaned back in their seats as the vehicle drove through the streets, a content silence falling upon them. Their hands were intertwined and Sherlock was aimlessly staring out the window into the night, his mind a hubbub of the details of his plan.
Molly leaned over, took off his coat, and started to unbutton his shirt. Sherlock half smiled. "Molly, I really don't think this is the best time to-"
Molly swatted his arm. "Don't be silly!" Sherlock chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "I'm just checking on your wound," she clarified, blushing.
John was pacing in the living room of 221b. Greg and Mrs. Hudson stood nearby in the kitchen, worry on their faces.
"He knew who shot him!" John exclaimed. The other two turned to face him as he stopped walking and pointed to his lower chest. "The bullet wound was here, so he was facing whoever it was."
"So why not tell us?" Lestrade asked, stepping closer.
John turned toward the window, letting out a thoughtful breath.
"Because he's tracking them down himself," Lestrade suggested.
John turned back to Lestrade. "Or protecting them."
"Protecting the shooter? Why?"
"Well, protecting someone, then. But why would he care? He's Sherlock. Who would he bother protecting?" John slumped down in his armchair, frustrated. He looked down and patted the arms of the chair.
"Call me if you hear anything. Don't hold out on me, John."
John was still looking puzzled at the reappearance of his chair, which Sherlock had moved elsewhere after John had moved in with Mary.
"Call me, okay?" Lestrade repeated.
"Yeah. Yeah, right," John answered, distracted. Greg and Mrs. Hudson said their goodbyes as John stroked the arms of his chair, frowning.
Mrs. Hudson turned back to John worriedly. "John? Need a cuppa?" She walked into the kitchen.
"Mrs. Hudson..." John cleared his throat. "Why does Sherlock think that I'll be moving back in here?"
Mrs. Hudson glanced over at John. "Oh, yes, he's put your chair back again, hasn't he?"
"Huh."
Mrs. Hudson went into the kitchen to get John some tea. John's gaze fell onto the small table to the right of his chair. There were two books on it, and in from of them was an ornate glass bottle, shaped like a crescent moon. John frowned at it.
Mrs. Hudson came back with the tea in her hands. She stopped when she saw John fixated by the bottle on the table. "John, what's wrong? Tell me. John?"
John looked away from the bottle as a phone started ringing.
"That's your phone, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson walked across the room and retrieved the phone. She looked at the screen and then turned back. "It's Sherlock, John! It's Sherlock." She held out the phone to him but John was still staring at the bottle. "John!" she cried urgently. "You have to answer it!"
But John couldn't tear his eyes away from the bottle. He could now see that it was a bottle of perfume, and its name was Claire de la Lune.
Molly sat on the shoulders of Bill Wiggins, trying to place a projector in the trees.
"Hurry up!" Bill hissed. "You're heavy!"
"Well then quit shaking!" Molly said in frustration.
Sherlock was standing near the tree, once again talking to someone on the phone.
Molly was finally able to set the projector in a firm place in the trees. Sherlock mouthed to Molly to turn the projector slightly to the right. She complied and shifted the projector so that it was now straight.
"I'm...giving out!" Billy was too weak to support Molly any longer and the two collapsed onto the grass.
Sherlock hung up his phone and drew out two headsets. He gave one to Billy and the other to Molly.
"What do I do with this?" she asked.
"Put it on. And hide in the tree."
Billy groaned, knowing he would have to hoist Molly up there. With difficulty, the two finally managed to get her up there and comfortably seated in the branches. Sherlock stepped back. He smiled when he was satisfied that Molly was well camouflaged. He tosses up the remote to the projector up to her. She caught it ungracefully, fumbling a few times and almost dropped it.
"Turn it on when I need you to."
"How will I know when?"
"You'll know." Sherlock turned to Billy and told him to get into position. Billy scurried off and placed himself on a street corner. Sherlock strode off into the night and disappeared in a building.
Molly sat and patiently waited in the trees, fully trusting Sherlock in his judgement. She remembered the headset by her side and put it on. A few minutes later, Molly saw a cab pull up in front of the building. A figure got out and the cab sped away. She squinted, struggling to see who it was in the night. It was John Watson.
The moon was half full in the sky, and Mary was walking alone down the road towards Leinster Gardens. A homeless person was squatting with his back to the wall at the corner of the road. The hood of his jacket was pulled over his head, a blanket was wrapped around him, and a small plastic tub was sitting on the ground in front of him. As Mary walked by, the homeless man spoke to her in a hoarse voice.
"Spare any change, love?"
"No," Mary said, not stopping and not even glancing in his direction.
"Oh, come on, love. Don't be like all the rest."
She stopped and turned back to him. She ruffled in her coat pocket and took out a handful of change. Mary bent down and dropped the coins in the tub. Before she could fully straighten up, the man took a hold of her wrist. Mary looked carefully into his face and saw that it was Bill Wiggins.
He spoke in his normal voice now. "Rule One of looking for Sherlock 'omles..." He placed a phone and headset into her hand. "E' finds you." He stood and picked up his tub.
"You're working for Sherlock now," Mary stated.
"Keeps me off the streets, dunnit?"
"Well...no." She shook her head at him as the phone in her hand started to ring. As she placed the headset into her ear, Bill turned and walked away. She answered the phone.
"Where are you?" Mary asked as she walked along the road.
"Can't you see me?" Sherlock spoke through the phone.
"Well, what am I looking for?"
"The lie, the lie of Leinster Gardens, hidden in plain sight."
Mary stepped a few feet into the road so that she could get a better view of the tall houses lining the left side of the street. There was nobody else in the street, and no cars.
Sherlock continued. "Hardly anyone notices. People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what I think you are, it'll take you less than a minute."
Mary continued to walk down the road.
"The houses, Mary. Look at the houses."
"How did you know I'd come here?"
"I knew you'd talk to the people no one else would bother with."
Mary laughed briefly. "I thought I was being clever."
"You're always clever, Mary. I was relying on that. I planted the information for you to find."
Mary slowed down, looking at a couple of adjoining houses in the middle of the terrace. "Ohh." Mary sounded impressed. The face of the two houses caught her attention. There weren't any lights shining from any of the windows, unlike the houses on either side, but otherwise the two houses looked similar to the rest of the terrace.
Over in the trees, Molly sat, waiting patiently. She was listening to the entire conversation between Mary and Sherlock, and she was quite confused. Mary was standing in front of the houses that the projector was pointed at, and Molly sensed that it would soon be time to project the picture.
"What am I looking at?" Mary asked.
"No door knobs, no letter box..."
Mary looked toward the two front doors to confirm it, and then raised her eyes to the opaque windows.
"...painted windows. Twenty-three and twenty-four Leinster Gardens...the empty houses. They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains. Only the very front section of the house remains. It's just a facade. Remind you of anyone, Mary? A facade."
Molly sat still, absorbing every word of the conversation, trying to piece together the clues. Sherlock asking her to help him break out of the hospital, preparing all this for...Mary. Sherlock was facing the killer when he was shot, so he knew who it was. But he didn't say, because it was someone he knew. And given the fact that he didn't tell the police, that also meant that he was protecting them. Molly sucked in a sharp breath and pressed the button on the remote. A large picture of Mary was projected onto the building. The projection was larger than Molly expected. Her heart sank. The photo was Mary at the flat of 221b. She was smiling into the camera and she had crinkles of laughter around her eyes. Molly recognized the day it was taken, it was Mary and John's engagement party. In the blurry background, Molly could make out friends cheering and drinking. A tear of anger pricked in Molly's eye. Mary was the shooter. She was the one who hurt Sherlock.
Mary turned around and looked behind her, trying to see where the picture was being projected from.
"Sorry. I never could resist a touch of drama."
Mary turned back toward the houses.
"Do come in," Sherlock invited. "It's a little cramped."
Mary proceeded to walk to the houses. "Do you own this place?"
"Mmm. I won it in a card game with the Clarence House Cannibal. Nearly cost me my kidneys, but fortunately I had a straight flush."
Mary walked toward the door that was slightly ajar with a dim light emitting from behind it. She pushed open the door and walked inside. All that was in the house was a long, narrow corridor. Mary focused on the far end of the corridor and made out a shape sitting on a chair in the shadows. She stared at the shape and drew in a breath.
"What do you want, Sherlock?"
Sherlock still spoke over the phone. "Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where, five years ago, you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity."
Mary started slowly walking along the corridor.
"That's why you don't have any 'friends' from before that date. It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognize a skip-code on sight and have extraordinarily retentive memories."
Mary was now close enough so that she could see the person in the distance a little better, though the face was still covered by shadows. The person was sitting in a wheelchair, and there was a medical drip on a stand behind the chair.
"You were very slow," Mary finally spoke.
"How good a shot are you?" Sherlock asked over the phone.
"How badly do you want to find out?" Mary drew a gun out from her pocket.
"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that."
Mary nodded her head in agreement.
"I want to know how good you are. Go on. Show me. The doctor's fiancee must be a little bit bored by now."
Mary took out a coin from her pocket. She flicked the coin high into the air, raised her gun, and fired at it. The coin fell to the floor as someone walked through the open front door. Mary turned around and recognized Sherlock.
"May I see?" he asked.
Mary peered toward the shadowy figure sitting at the end of the corridor, then turned back to Sherlock, laughing quietly.
"It's a dummy," she said. She took the headset from her ear. "I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick." Mary walked a few paces forward, put her foot against the coin, and sent it sliding across the floor toward him.
Sherlock bent down and picked up the coin. When he straightened up, his voice was tight with pain. "And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot." He held the coin up, which had a hole in it from the bullet. Sherlock was shaking, sweating, and breathing heavily. "Enough to hospitalize me, but not enough to kill me. That wasn't a miss." He smiled slightly. "That was surgery. I'll take the case."
Mary stared at him. "What case?"
"Yours." Sherlock frowned a little angrily. "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"
"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever. And Sherlock, I will never let that happen." She took a step toward him. "Please...understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening."
Sherlock turned away. "Sorry." He walked toward the fuse box and flipped a switch. He looked back towards her. "Not that obvious a trick."
As Sherlock flipped the switch, all the lights in the corridor came on. Mary's face filled with dread as she realized who was sitting at the end of the hallway. Letting out a shaky breath, she turned to look across the corridor. John was sitting in the wheelchair, looking back at her with no expression in his eyes.
Well how was that? This story is a bit different from the timeline of the series. Here, Mary and John haven't gotten married yet. I'm doing things out of order so that I can fit Molly's plotline in.
Please review! Tell me what you think :) Polite, constructive criticism is always welcome.