Molly pushed her dresses aside one by one in the wardrobe and huffed in annoyance and confusion.
"Surely Mrs. Watson will not be terribly critical of your fashion sense at tea this afternoon," Sherlock commented as he walked in the bedroom and observed her.
"It's not that," Molly said, finally grabbing a gown and shutting the wardrobe door. "It's so strange, but I can't seem to find my green gown. You remember, the one with the yellow sash?" She began dressing as she spoke since she'd already lost a good bit of time in her hunt for the missing garment.
"Ah yes, I recall." Sherlock stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Come to think of it, I came home last week while you three were out at some shops and I was convinced that someone had been in the flat." He shrugged. "Most likely one of my irregulars. I've often given them the freedom to come and go as they please. I'll soon inquire as to whether they know anything of your dress. Perhaps it was being borrowed temporarily."
Molly frowned. "Borrowed?" she questioned. "Mr. Holmes, I hardly think that is appropriate. At least, not when I haven't been first consulted! Perhaps such an arrangement was acceptable when you were living alone, but as things stand I would appreciate a bit more respect for our private living space."
"Ah, I see," Sherlock said, clearly realizing that he'd failed to think of her feelings on this matter.
"Just ask me first, that's all I want," Molly said, with an added smile to indicate that she wasn't planning on arguing further.
Sherlock agreed and then helped with the buttons at the back of her neck as Molly put a couple more pins in her hair and then secured her hat. She then hurried to exit the bedroom and be on her way.
"We should be back well before supper time," she said as they both made their way down the hall and out to the sitting room.
"I will somehow attempt to content myself with the silence!" Sherlock said with a little smirk at the three women.
Molly shook her head and smiled to herself while she and her mother and sister pulled their gloves on and prepared to leave. "Good afternoon, darling," Molly said sweetly and couldn't resist strolling over and planting a somewhat playful kiss on his cheek. She was pleased to see the involuntary pink that shaded his cheekbones as she pulled away and whispered, "I shall miss you as well."
Mrs. Hudson giggled merrily from where she was preparing some tea in the kitchen. "Oh, it does my heart good to see some romance in this flat!"
As the three women left the flat, they laughed as they heard Sherlock's annoyed response.
"Mrs. Hudson, haven't you anywhere else you need to be at the moment?!"
Molly had gladly offered to join Mary in the kitchen in order to help her ready some more tea for the four of them. She was itching to be able to chat freely with Mary, without the presence of the mother and sister.
Mary shook her head as she filled the kettle and listened to Molly talk. "I honestly cannot imagine how you stay sane, Molly. Forgive me for speaking frankly, but the man is literally undressing you and then you're sharing a bed every night! And never once…I cannot imagine!"
Molly couldn't help but laugh. She tried weakly to defend the strange scenario. "Well it simply is not part of the arrangement. Which, to be fair, I willingly agreed to!"
"And can you count the number of times you've questioned the wisdom of that arrangement now that you are living it?" Mary asked with an expression that clearly said she already knew the answer.
Molly sighed heavily. "I know it seems strange to say but, well, I'm happy that I have…something with him. I honestly can't say if he is truly capable of a genuine romantic love." She shrugged. "So, perhaps this is it. Perhaps this is the most that I can ever expect from Sherlock Holmes. We are friends and he cares for me, at least enough to want to help me. I'm grateful for that, even if there are other things that…" Molly's voice trailed off and she chewed her lip as a blush spread on her cheeks.
"Things that you wish you could share with him," Mary said, kindly finishing her friend's thought. She paused and smiled before going on. "Yes, I admit it seems a bit odd to me. But I do understand your meaning. You want to enjoy what you have instead on focusing on what is missing between the two of you."
"Yes, exactly," Molly said more cheerily.
There was a moment of silence as Mary retrieved the kettle and poured the hot water into the pot. As the steam began to rise and Mary set the pot on the tray, she smiled slyly at Molly.
"And of course, along with enjoying what you do have, there is always the hope that someday…" She looked at Molly with suggestive raised brows and laughing eyes.
Molly shook her head and sighed as she gathered up the plate of biscuits to carry back to the sitting room. "As I said, I question whether he is even capable of more than what has ever been between us. I try not to read into things and let myself hope."
As the two women returned to the sitting room, Mary managed to whisper one last thing. "Ah ha! Reading between the lines would tell me that means there are times when he gives you reason to hope!" She winked at Molly and then walked away before giving her time to make an answer.
A few minutes later, as the four women enjoyed their tea and biscuits, the topic fell on Mary's impending delivery.
"Somewhere in the next two to four weeks, surely," Mary said with an accompanying pat on her large stomach. "I seem to double in size every morning right now, so I can't possibly go on like this forever!"
"No, indeed, I'm sure it will be soon," Molly agreed. "And please promise to have Dr. Watson send for me when the time comes. It would be my pleasure to help you in every way I can."
Mary laughed as she began speaking again. "Believe me, my dear, your husband has already insisted upon it! Dr. Watson was forced to hear all about how competent you are at midwifery and that it would be a terrible oversight on our part if I did not call upon your expertise!"
"Yes, that sounds like my brother in law," Rebecca said as she nudged Molly playfully. "He can barely go an hour without proclaiming Molly's exceptional abilities in some area or another!"
Molly blushed and tried to hide her pleased smile with a sip of her tea. But when she looked back up, there was no missing Mary's pointed little "I told you" glance.
Molly's attention faltered a tiny bit as the lecture was coming to a close. She reached her hand up and brushed her fingers along her right temple. Is still tingled pleasantly, she could swear it did, even though she knew that was impossible. But that didn't make it seem any less real. It wasn't all in her mind, she thought happily as her fingertips moved along the skin…just the spot where Sherlock had pressed his lips a couple of hours before...
She jumped as the professor's voice boomed a little louder while making his closing statement about how much more in depth they'd be covering this topic once the regular classes began.
Molly stood a minute later and began gathering up her notebook and pen and papers in preparation to leave. She was pleasantly surprised when one of the other students approached with a kind smile.
"Afternoon, Mrs. Holmes," the young man said with a little nod.
"Yes, good afternoon, Mr. Thompson," Molly replied, glad that she recalled his name since they'd never really conversed much before.
"I was told to inform you that Mr. Anderson would like to speak to you. He said you could meet him downstairs in the morgue after this lecture had concluded."
"Oh, I see." Molly frowned, surprised at the unexpected request. "Well thank you for relaying the message. I'll be sure to stop downstairs before heading home."
"My pleasure, Mrs. Holmes. And a good day to you!" The man gave her another smile before turning and leaving the lecture hall.
Molly picked up her things and walked happily out into the corridor and then to the stairwell. She went down the two floors till she was in the basement and then walked the long hallways till she came to the area where the morgue was. She passed a couple of orderlies, but for the most part it was awfully quiet today. In fact, she glanced around for a moment as she was about to open the door to the morgue, hoping to see someone else about. There was something a little uncomfortable about being so secluded all the way down here. Usually she was with a small group.
Molly pushed the heavy door open and immediately announced her presence. "Hello! Mr. Anderson, are you in here?" She was greeted by nothing but silence as she stepped fully inside and let the door swing shut behind her.
It was mostly very dark in the large and chilly room…except for one lamp in the middle of the room. It created what almost seemed like a beacon of light upon just one of the exam tables. And when Molly's eyes were drawn to it, she realized something that stood out. All the other tables which held their silent and still occupants looked the same. There was the simple shape of a human form shrouded in the same white cloth atop the flat surface. This one table in the center though, its occupant looked different. It held a dead woman, to be sure…but she was fully clothed.
Molly glanced around her once again, wondering if this was perhaps what Mr. Anderson had asked for her to meet with him about. Perhaps he needed some sort of assistance. She could only assume this woman had just been brought in. She wondered if this was something to do with a case and they'd be calling Sherlock in as well. The possibility distracted her a bit from the unusual circumstances and she began crossing the room, advancing closer to the illuminated table.
But as Molly got to just a few paces away from the dead woman, she stopped short and felt a disturbing sort of chill run up her back. The dress she wore which cascaded a bit over the table's edge…green…and a yellow sash.
Pushed forward then, mostly by morbid curiosity, Molly stepped closer still to the table as she listened to the pounding of her heartbeat in her own ears. She finally stopped where she could clearly look upon this young woman who was wearing the exact same dress she owned. This young, petite, brunette haired woman with sweet and kind features…Molly tore her eyes from the woman's face as she also noticed that there was a folded sheet of paper lying on her abdomen.
She reached over hesitantly and retrieved the paper, but as she did, her eyes fell on one specific part of the yellow sash. There on the edge of the fabric was a darker discoloration; a grease stain that she instantly recognized. As Molly was already beginning to feel a sickening realization flood through her, she unfolded the paper she held and looked down at the words in blood-like ink…
RIP DR. HOOPER
Molly wanted to scream. She opened her mouth as if a sound would come out, but nothing came. She simply stood there looking back and forth at the body of this woman and the words on the page in her hand, her feet seemingly cemented to the stone floor. She wanted to move as much as she wanted to scream, but the shock and horror had rendered her body useless for what seemed to be an eternity.
But the moment ended rather quickly in all reality, and Molly finally ripped her feet free and tripped her way back the way she had come. She would have burst through the morgue doors and run all the way till she was out on the street…but she collided in the doorway with Mr. unfortunately for him, that was when Molly's strangled scream finally broke free.
"What?! What is it?! What has happened, Mrs. Holmes?!" Anderson asked, wearing his own look of horror as he held her by the shoulders.
Molly looked into his eyes in silence for a brief moment, and she very slowly felt her fear begin to melt away. It took her less than thirty seconds to determine with a certainly that Philip Anderson had nothing to do with what she had just come upon. She let out a small sigh and then shoved the paper she still held at his chest, which he took from her.
"That woman," Molly gasped out as she pointed toward the center of the room. "She is wearing my dress."
Anderson frowned in confusion for a moment, but when he looked at the words on the page she'd handed him, he gasped. He then rushed over to have a look at the dead woman for himself as Molly braced herself on the doorway and prayed that her heart stop racing like a locomotive.
Anderson came hurrying back over and looked at her with concern. "Do you have any idea as to who could have done this?"
Molly shook her head. "All I know is that I was told by another student to come and meet you here."
Anderson looked thoughtful for a moment before placing a steadying arm around her shoulder and guiding her through the door. "Come, I will personally escort you home to Baker Street."
As they rounded the corner in the hallway, Mr. Anderson waved down two orderlies. "You there! I want you to go stand guard at the door to the morgue. Absolutely nobody is to go in besides the authorities! It is now the scene of a crime! And you, I want you to go and fetch Inspector Lestrade and inform him that a threat has been made on Mrs. Holmes' life." Anderson quickly relayed the details to the orderly before the young man ran off to go do as he was told.
Anderson smiled determinedly at Molly as they continued on their way to the stairwell. "Now, let us get you home…and we shall be sure that Mr. Holmes hears of this outrage!"
Molly's heart sank a little, even as she thanked him and was feeling glad to have a friend on her side. Yes, Sherlock would hear of it…he'd have to hear about all of it now. She dreaded telling him that this was not the first threat that she'd received.
Sherlock leaned his weight on the mantel, his hand grasping the wood so hard that he thought it might crack. He stared silently into the fire, the flame in his eyes matching its intensity. He turned finally when he heard Molly's footsteps returning to the sitting room with what she said she was going to retrieve.
Molly looked resigned when she handed over the items to him. Sherlock took the anti-feminism advertisement and the note included in the delivered hand, and he examined both thoroughly. He read the words, looked at the handwriting, and noted any smudges or ink or variations in the way the pages were cut. After a long while, he finally looked back at her.
"Where you ever planning to share these things with me?" His question was simple, but the meaning behind it was not.
Molly's eyes fell to the ground. "I had hoped that this would all…blow over with time. I believed that if this person or people saw that I was standing my ground, they would leave me be. So I suppose the answer is no. I had hoped never to have to trouble you with it." She raised her brown eyes to meet his again, and he was surprised to find that it was like a stab to his heart…deep and painful.
"Trouble me?" Sherlock questioned, almost angrily. He pressed his lips together, choosing not to speak further at the moment.
He marched past Molly and over to where Anderson stood by the doorway. He thrust out his hand and gave the man a quick but firm handshake. "Anderson, my gratitude for your support of my wife and attempt to keep this matter in hand, but I shall take it from here. Good day to you, sir, I have much work to do and there is not a moment to spare." Before Anderson could say much in reply, Sherlock took quick strides down the hall toward his bedroom. He could hear Molly also thanking the man and bidding him good day before she follow after him.
"Thank goodness my mother and sister are out to lunch at the moment," Molly said with a sigh as she entered their bedroom. "W-what are you doing?" she asked, observing the fact that he had discarded his dressing gown and replaced it with a jacket.
"Going out, obviously. The more time goes by, the less likely it will be that I'll easily track down who this person or persons are that have been threatening your welfare." He spoke quickly while moving about the room and readying himself.
"But I- I told you that Inspector Lestrade was informed. They'll likely be at Bart's right now, observing the scene and making inquiries."
Sherlock whirled to face her. "I care nothing for what Scotland Yard is doing about this matter. This is primarily my concern and I would want to deal with it personally even if the Queen herself had assigned her personal guard to the case!" His voice had risen steadily as he spoke, and he saw the shock in her face as she stared back at him.
"Mr. Holmes, there's…" Molly's voice was rather small and unsure, especially compared with the way his had sounded. "There is no one else present to hear you at the moment, and I would beg you not to turn this into some grand display as part of our charade of a normal marriage." She shifted her feet nervously. "I hardly think this is the time for such a thing."
The look in her eyes further twisted the knife that had buried itself deep just minutes earlier. How could this be where things stood between them? And yet, he knew very well that this was exactly where he himself had put them.
Sherlock blinked, staring down at her. "You…you believe that is the only reason I would have to want to protect your safety? To put on a show? You are my-" He stopped himself as he realized that he was about to say wife. But he couldn't really say that, could he? Yes, technically she was his wife…but in private moments, the two of them didn't refer to each other in that way. He even still privately addressed her as Miss Hooper! To suddenly call her as his wife would certainly confuse her, perhaps even as much as he'd just confused himself…
He quickly came up with an equally accurate alternative. "You are my friend," he said kindly but firmly.
Molly seemed to become a bit emotional in addition to her confusion at his attention. She opened her mouth, but quickly closed it once again, pressing her lips together and shifting her eyes away from his for a moment before finally speaking. "Mr. Holmes, please, you don't need to take any action. I would rather you keep out of it and avoid anything hasty. Surely Scotland Yard-" Sherlock quickly cut her off.
He touched her face, just briefly, but it was more than enough to make her halt mid-sentence and stare wide eyed at him.
"Your family will return, likely within the half hour. Tell them everything that's happened," he stated as his hand dropped from her cheek. "Mrs. Hudson is downstairs, so you may go sit with her if you'd rather not be alone till then. I will also make sure a couple of my irregulars are in the area to keep a watchful eye. I will return later…and this will be settled, I swear it." He told her with his eyes as much as his words, and this time he didn't give her the chance to argue.
Sherlock turned and left her standing there, hurrying from the flat to do exactly what he'd promised. He would end this tonight.
Sherlock eased the bedroom door open and quietly entered, seeing immediately that Molly had left her bedside lamp on, but had nodded off anyway. Not a deep sleep though, because her eyes shot open the moment he approached the bed.
"Mr. Holmes!" He watched her scan his face as he came closer and took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Oh, your eye," she murmured while sitting up to face him.
Sherlock removed and tossed his jacket on the nearby chair with a slight groan. "It's just a bruise. You should see the professor."
"What?" Molly was instantly shocked. "You mean…"
"Professor Davis was behind all of it. Oh, yes there were others involved at his request. But he was the mastermind," Sherlock said with disdain. "Of course he insisted he meant no harm! Only to scare you off. No harm to you at all!" He laughed in disgust.
"It's difficult to believe," Molly said, shaking her head. "He always seemed rather polite."
"Idiot," Sherlock hissed angrily as he tugged at his neck tie and loosened his shirt collar. "You've nothing to worry about now, though. I've ensured that he will be punished to the maximum degree. That includes likely not being welcome to teach at Bart's again. He'll not be any more trouble to you and it will send a powerful message to any other foolish men who feel so very threatened simply by your presence! You will be free to learn without worry, just as it should have been from the start. It's what I promised you when you came here and it is the least you deserve…the least that I can do." When Sherlock looked back over at her, he saw that he eyes were filled to the brim and her chin was quivering despite her efforts to still it.
"Miss Hooper…" Sherlock wasn't sure what else to say besides her name now that her emotion was so evident.
Molly sniffed and gave him a watery smile. "I'm alright, truly. I just…I want to thank you. I- I'm not sure I have the words…"
He was a little taken aback at first when she reached out and slid her arms around his neck, pulling herself over against him and holding him tight. He hesitated momentarily, processing this new and overwhelming feeling. But then he lifted his own arms in instinctive response and wrapped them around her small form, contributing what seemed to be the missing piece of their unexpected embrace. Because once he'd done that, Sherlock realized that he and Molly were truly locked together in what felt like an unshakable physical bond. It was like a practical experiment in applied strength, pressure, action, and reaction. The results were…thrilling.
Sherlock could feel her breathing against his neck and could even feel the dampness from her tears when she finally spoke.
"I am sorry I kept all of that from you," she mumbled against his shirt.
"I am just as sorry that you thought you needed to." He felt her hold tighten a bit.
Sherlock shut his eyes tight, wanting to give his other senses maximum control over this experience. Not only did this allow him to enjoy their embrace more fully, but it also helped him to sense what she felt. Molly finally felt safe, at ease, and cared about. That had been what he wanted since this afternoon, and it was such a relief to know he'd been able to give her what she needed. She was happy.
He was admittedly a bit let down when Molly let go and shifted back to lean against her pillow again. But once they made eye contact again, it brought Sherlock back to reality a little and he instantly got up to finish readying himself for bed.
By the time he settled in under the covers, Molly was already half asleep, lying on her side facing toward him. He reached over and tugged the blankets up over her shoulder where they'd slid down. He was about to lay back himself when he realized the lamp on Molly's side was still on. His own fatigue made him unwilling to get up and go all the way around the bed again, so he carefully moved over and leaned around the sleepy Molly in order to turn the lamp off. As he finished his task and was moving his arm back, he felt a weight settle onto his chest. There was Molly's head, resting comfortably on him as she let out a very soft sigh. He froze for a moment, wondering if he should shift away from her completely.
But he didn't. Not so much because he thought he shouldn't, but because he simply didn't want to. Sherlock leaned back against his pillow, easing his arm around Molly's shoulders and leaving her head exactly where it rested in its strangely comfortable spot…right atop the rhythmic thumping of his heart.