COD (Cause of Death): Unknown
Note: I'm baffled by all of you honestly. I know this story is getting more confusing but your reactions to it is making me smile and laugh. So thank you. I'll talk more when I get to the ending note. Enjoy.
Eleven.
Logic had completely been tossed out the window. Both Molly Hooper and John Watson were sure of that. It was either that or Sherlock had been knocked around too many times. John wasn't sure which one he wanted to go with. The latter would probably make things better for him but he had learned to accept Sherlock's odd ways of solving cases. However this made no sense at all.
What made matters worse, Sherlock wouldn't explain anything. All he said was is that it will all make sense soon. This wasn't one of those games that they had played in the past. If what he said was true then that meant that something else was still hanging in the balance. It couldn't be that simple.
So, John Watson waited until they arrived back to 221B Baker Street. However, Sherlock didn't even attempt to bring about the subject again. Instead he moved over to the wall which had once had photographs from other cases of murders. He began to move the pins from their original places and began constructing a new web. All of it still pointed to the seemly dead pathologist - Molly.
John decided to watch and see if he could unclog the mess of his mind upon the one statement that had begun the change in the mystery. He plopped down in his chair and just stared at the moving form of his best friend. He hadn't stopped moving, he still had his coat on.
Wait. He stopped and quickly unwrapped his scarf and tossed it on the table and then came the coat. He moved hurriedly as if it was of utmost importance. John supposed it had to be. In moments like this when other cases were on the wall, Sherlock would do this when they embarked of it all. Did that mean this was the end of the line?
Something still was puzzling however.
John closed his eyes and sighed as he went back to the moment outside of Molly Hooper's flat.
Sherlock blew out another puff of smoke as he inhaled another hit of the nicotine suctioned stick. He looked as close to peace as one would think they would get. Or as close as Sherlock made himself get. He was leaning against the building, out of the way of the officials milling around.
"Molly Hooper is very much alive or she will be the next time I see her."
"Have you gone mad? I checked her pulse - there wasn't one. We saw her body at the crime scene. She hasn't been seen since that night. There is no way that she is alive."
"Trust me, John." He sighed exasperatedly before tossing the end of his cigarette onto the ground and stomping on it as if it were an ant or an ugly cockroach. He looked angry but it quickly went away before he joined John near the curb and hailed a cab.
There had to be something there that he was trying to tell him. He often left things out. He thought that everyone was on the same wavelength as him. That wasn't ever the case until the very end when he explained things. He wasn't doing that now. He was stalling.
Could it be something was still plaguing him as well? It wouldn't be the first time it took him longer to complete a case. This had been one of the longest. John couldn't help thinking that maybe there was another reason for that however. Despite all the clues and puzzles they had gotten. He had noticed a slight change between the consulting detective and the small pathologist.
It wasn't anything particularly huge. That is if you weren't looking. John had kept a tab on Sherlock's actions towards the young woman. There had been a shift. A good one, he thought.
Sherlock stilled then. It looked like he was surveying the wall for something in particular before he stepped back and walked in the direction of his room. That was odd.
John looked in the direction that his flatmate had went before looking before getting to his feet and beginning to web of connected information. Only to hear Sherlock's voice shouting through the closed door. "Step away from the wall, John!"
John just shook his head before retreating to his chair and grabbing the remote for the telly and turning it on. It wouldn't hurt to see if anything was on there.
Sherlock had locked himself in his room for a reason. He needed to take a step back from everything. He for the first time needed a break from a case. It was necessary for him to be entirely there now that this one was reaching it's end. If anything all he had to do was wait. He detested waiting but he needed to be at his best to see all of it as what it was.
Rationality had been shoved down during the first moment that he had pushed something away as silly. The visit to Nana Hooper. "She's closer than you think."
She had said. Logically thinking Sherlock had dismissed it immediately. Then the two times she had invaded his mind palace. It was supposed to be impossible. He had several layers of security and he had laid more every time she slipped through. He had never believe the figment excuse. He had no true reason why he should feel anything remotely at all when it came to the young pathologist.
However, as John liked to tell him he couldn't hide from everything. Despite that people put him on a pedestal and he in turn had crafted his mind to endure most events with little to none remorse about it. He seemed to want to do things more rashly every time she was pulled into it.
He still wouldn't admit that he did care about her. He couldn't do that. It would only create an even bigger web. One he would more than likely get tangled in. He couldn't do that.
Sherlock stood near the window in his room for a moment - looking out the window at the droplets of rain. It had rained that night too. When she supposedly died - no - she had died. The question that he had now: why would they bring her back? What purpose would that achieve and would even be possible? He screamed no more vehemently than ever as he turned and plopped down on his bed.
His hit the pillow as he turned his body so that he was facing the window. The storm outside was calming. It was much like the gears twisting in his head. Continuously moving but waiting for something much more instense.
He closed his eyes and turned away from the window, placed his hands over his stomach and tried to push it all back. He needed to focus. He knew that she was around, he knew she was contemplating slipping through again. He was waiting. He needed to ask her something.
Fifteen minutes was how long it took for her to push through. He had decided to wait to see what she would do before he tried to get her to talk. "You lie a lot." She sighed.
"Excuse me?"
"It's not possible for me to be in two places at once."
"So you're not going to try to play with me this time, Molly."
"It's unnecessary. You know I'm lying. I don't know when it clicked to you but I don't know anything. Don't try to get anything out of me. You will only get so far." She turned as if she was about to leave but then Sherlock reached out and grabbed her wrist. He didn't try to pull her towards him, just to keep her there; near.
"How is it possible you've been slipping in here? That I could see you." Molly just stared at him. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
"When I told you that I only know as much as you, I wasn't covering my tracks. That is the truth. I've only uncovered one thing and it was because of the picture that the Rooks sent you. It wasn't much." She pulled her wrist out of his grip and folded her arms and walked a few steps away from him. "I was afraid of him. He was blurry in the memory so I can't even be sure of whom it was."
"You do know. You won't be scared for no reason. You knew him, Molly."
"You'd be surprised of what us ordinary people are afraid of." She spoke without thinking.
He was standing there then, gripping her elbows and looking at her with that looming glare of his. Molly tried to step back. She wasn't afraid of Sherlock. He was starting to not look like himself. He look bigger and blonde. More ruthless. It took her a quick second to realize it was happening again. She weeped as she tried to rein herself back in but he was there again. Smirking as he shoved her back.
It's not Sherlock. She reminded herself. He's not real. Not right now. "Stop it." She cried.
"Molly." There were two voices. Two figures. They were both one in a way. They kept fuzzing together. It was terrifying and confusing her.
Sherlock had let her go when she first stiffened up at his grasp. He watched the quick change in her demeanor. Mere seconds ago she now she was crumbling. She wasn't seeing him. He could tell. Her eyes were cast towards him but were veered to the right slightly. It was him - the one who played the demeaning part of the duo who had hurt Molly.
He called out to her only for her to shrink away from him. Then she fell back and she covered her ears as she continued screaming. Each time louder. "Stop it! Stop it! Make it stop!"
Sherlock wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He knew that when someone was in a state of delusion you were supposed to do something that would help. Something that would trigger a calming sensation. He wasn't great at that and he knew this wasn't real. This was all in his head. He knew that it was as real as anything to Molly with whatever she was seeing.
He reached out just as she screamed his name. It made him flinch back. She sounded like a wounded animal as she shrieked. It took him a moment to try to regain his focus but then she did it again. "SHERLOCK!" She wailed and then it was almost as if she had combust. The air where her presence had been just felt overwhelmingly hot. As if on fire.
Sherlock slipped back out and sat up quickly. He counter back from twenty five slowly as he got his breathing back under control. It felt colder in his room. It was most certainly empty. The shift had happened now though. It was coming. The storm was coming.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Molly felt several things. The first being that she hurt all over. She had had her eyes open for a moment or so and they felt heavy. She wanted to close them but she didn't. She couldn't not yet. She could feel so much. It was painful but also very gratifying.
She struggled as she moved her eyes around trying to find anything or anyone that could help her. She needed to know where she was now. Was she alive? Yes, she concluded as she felt the thumping of her blood coursing through her veins and most importantly her heart. It was beating. She was breathing. It hurt.
A mask was sleeped over her head and then and she could breathe much easier. She wanted to rest. She needed some kind of sign that it was okay.
"Welcome back, Doctor Hooper. Rest now, we'll explain everything soon." A voice called out before Molly closed her eyes. Molly Hooper was alive.
Note: I started typing and I didn't know when I was going to stop. Can I tell you how long I've been waiting to write this chapter? Since the first chapter, honestly. It's like the beginning of the second half of the story. I know y'all are probably still like WTF is going on? More to tell in the next chapter, promise. Tell me what you thought, please. :)
Before I go, I have a Sherlolly story recommendation for all of you lovelies. It's called Humane by hiddlestunned. It's a really brilliantly written story that only has two chapters so far but they're really long so go check that out asap and be sure to tell her that I sent you!
See y'all next week!
Much love,
Day