Sorry again for the irregular updates - however, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was by far the most interesting one to write. Thank you all for reading!
Molly Hooper stepped out into a dim hallway. The doors of the TARDIS shut with a click behind her, and she was left with only the soft light from a nightlight shining through a crack at one of the doors. She walked lightly so her feet wouldn't make any noise on the wood, but even she couldn't prevent the few small squeaks that were inevitable when walking on the second floor of an older house.
Molly reached the room where the faint glow from the nightlight could be seen through where the door was sitting open a few inches. It illuminated a thickly carpeted floor, which was relatively clear, save for the occasional Matchbox car or lone army man stationed at the side of a bookshelf.
Molly certainly felt strange about this, but she nonetheless placed her hand on the door and pushed it open a few more inches until she could slip inside, closing the door most of the way behind her.
There was a twin bed in the far corner, where a small child was curled up under a soft blue blanket, fast asleep. His slightly chubby arms were wrapped securely around a teddy bear, where his nose was buried as he exhaled deeply through his open mouth.
Even as a four year old, John Watson was unmistakable.
Molly tiptoed closer to the bed, unable to keep a smile off of her face from the adorably sleeping child in the bed.
"Hey, John," Molly whispered, sitting down near the head of the bed and leaning against the wall. "I know you're asleep, and really, please, do not wake up, because I don't know what I'm supposed to do in that situation."
John took in another deep breath, eyes still resting gently shut. Molly breathed a sigh of relief.
"Anyway, it's me, Molly. Although you can forget that. I'm really not important right now." Molly glanced up at his tiny, sleeping face, and was struck again by how innocent John looked. Not at all the hardened soldier who had befriended Sherlock Holmes. She felt the sudden urge to protect him from this harsh world, to somehow keep him from getting hurt, but knew that it wasn't her job. There was one thing she had to do, and she was determined to succeed.
"So, John Watson," Molly started softly, crossing her legs and leaning her elbows on her knees as she spoke. "Someday you're going to meet a brilliant man. You'll be flat mates and the best of friends. Solving crimes and saving lives, if you can believe it." Molly chuckled, the idea seeming ridiculous even to her as she looked at the sleeping child. "Sherlock is the most brilliant man London has ever seen. He is amazingly intelligent, and can tell everything about you just by looking at you. He did that when I first met him - scared the wits out of me, it did - and I'll daresay he'll do the same to you. You won't be scared by it, though. You'll realize how amazing it is, and he'll realize how brave you are. Someday, John Watson, you will meet Sherlock Holmes."
John shifted in his sleep, clutching more tightly to his bear and giving a little sigh. Molly smiled at how endearing it was, standing up and resisting the urge to ruffle his hair or drop a kiss to his forehead.
"Goodnight, John," she murmured, before disappearing out the door to his room and back into the box that brought her there.
~~~~0~~~~
The next time Molly stepped out of the TARDIS it was into a cluttered dorm room. There was a rumpled bed against the left wall, and a more meticulously made bed against the opposite. The only light in the room was from a desk lamp, which illuminated the form of a teenage John Watson, who seemed to have fallen asleep slumped uncomfortably over an open biology textbook. Molly gave a small smile of sympathy, taking a seat on the edge of John's neatly made bed and looking over at the young man.
"Hi, John, it's Molly again," she whispered into the quiet room, hoping that the dorm walls were still relatively soundproof. "Goodness, this strange...I've just seen you minutes ago but for you it's been years, and now you're nearly grown up - " Molly stopped herself with a small chuckle, reminding herself to stay on task. "You look incredibly stressed out right now, John. Take it easy, yeah? You're going to get there in the end, don't worry. You'll be able to help people and protect your country soon enough. It won't be easy but it'll take you back to London, where you'll meet Sherlock. He'll help you get past it, I promise."
Molly noticed a slightly rumpled letter sitting on the edge of the desk, and out of curiosity, she picked it up and skimmed it. It seemed to be from John's mother, and from what she could gather, she was sick (and getting worse, judging from how much she denied it) and someone named Harriet (probably John's sister) has been having trouble with alcohol and hasn't been home in a few days. There didn't seem to be a father in the picture. Molly's heart broke as she read this, carefully placing the letter back on the edge of the desk. She couldn't resist placing a light hand on John's shoulder, who didn't even stir from his troubled sleep.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, sadness filling her eyes for this young man who seemed to be growing up far quicker than he should have to. "You'll meet Sherlock someday, John, and all of this will be behind you. Just...remember, alright? For him."
She clenched her hand on her knee, fighting foolish tears.
"And the times you had...would have had... never had. In your dreams, they'll still be there. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. And the days that never came. The cracks are closing, John, but they can't close properly until he's on the other side. He doesn't belong here anymore. But the rest of it doesn't matter. Sherlock hates repeats, he does." Molly let out a little sob, smiling sadly at the teenager at the desk. "Goodnight, John."
And with that, Molly removed her hand from John Watson's shoulder and stepped back into the TARDIS.
And if John Watson dreamed of a dark haired man in a long coat that night, he didn't remember it when he woke in the morning.
~~~~0~~~~
The third time Molly stepped out of the TARDIS, the first thing she noticed was the heat. The dry, sandy wind whipped at her hair, and she could see people moving in the distance. She slipped into the tent to her right, immediately noticing the strange, sharp, sterile scent. Definitely a hospital tent, and it was surprisingly empty, with only a scattered few of the beds filled. It was quiet on this side of camp, and the inhabitants of the beds were all motionless (asleep, Molly was hoping).
She crept among the empty cots until she reached one in the far corner which held a familiar yet barely recognizable face.
"John," Molly breathed, gingerly taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to his, her face twisted in pity. John looked completely broken, his left shoulder and arm completely bound up in white gauze and a sling. He was thinner than Molly had ever seen him, his face older looking and more worn. John's expression was troubled, even in sleep, and he was likely tormented by nightmares.
A quick glance at the chart at the end of John's bed told her that the surgery had been performed several hours ago to remove the bullet from his shoulder, and that he was on some heavy painkillers that would keep him asleep for hours yet. However, the doctors were due to check on him in less than ten minutes, so she didn't have much time.
"I'm sorry, John," Molly murmured as she replaced the medical clipboard at the end of the bed, mindful of the other injured soldiers occupying the cots at the other end of the tent. John's face was screwed up against the pain and nightmarish visions that no one but him could see, and it was so different from the other times Molly had visited him that it pulled uncomfortably at something in her chest. "It will hurt for a while, and you'll feel like you can never move past this, but you will. Trust me. Sherlock will be there, he'll remind you again why you want to live. He'll be infuriating and irritable and impossible but Sherlock will heal you, and I daresay he needs you as much as you need him. Just...hold on, alright? It will get better. You have to hold out for Sherlock."
Molly paused for a few moments, words that she had heard the Doctor say floating back to her from the recesses of her memory, words from the beautiful planets of Correina as the Doctor spun stories into the warm night air.
"It's funny...I thought if you could hear me, he could hang on somehow. He'll be a story in your head. But that's okay. We're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh? Because it was, you know. It was the best. The great detective and his army doctor."
Molly heard voices and shuffling from the other end of the tent, and she quickly slipped out of the nearest flap, wiping tears from her face with the end of her sleeve. She disappeared around the corner just as the doctors entered, leaving John Watson broken and alone once again.