So I believe I previously stated this, but in case it has been forgotten, I would like to remind my dear readers that this story isn't really supposed to be completely chapter by chapter. It's more like one shots existing within the same fanfiction universe and ship if that makes any sense. They're all chronological, but have different distances of time. I personally think that this takes place several months after the previous chapter.
It's also quite short (again, low on time but for exciting reasons) and thrown together in a hurry and! And! I've decided to try writing from Elliot's perspective today.
I don't own Sherlock (obviously)
And I am always open to suggestions and criticism.
He knew it had been a very bad idea to let her in, but she just seemed so—so lost. That was the problem with Molly Hooper; she always seemed a little bit lost no matter what she was doing. She was wearing her usual clothing, a bit of eyeliner that fell in streaks down her cheeks, barely noticeable, but Elliot tried to notice more after coming in contact with the great Sherlock Holmes. There was no doubt that it was useless to try being a slight bit more like him, but it was something to try. Elliot could even decide that it was actually an achievable superpower. But he let Molly in, let her make a direct beeline to the liquor cabinet (he wasn't even going to ask how she knew where it was) and planted herself on the sofa with a new bottle of vodka.
"How'd you know I still have that?"
"You've been off the wagon for at least three weeks now. Sherlock pointed it out when we walked past you." Molly sighed, taking a long swig and making a grimace, "You have crap taste in vodka."
"Great." Without another word, Elliot sat down next to her and took a very long drink.
Within a half hour, Elliot felt the warmth spread through his body, his mind travelling to how pretty this Molly Hooper was and at that point decided that he had enough to drink. He already caused her enough trouble as is without deciding to drunkenly pet and grope her. Elliot was, however, still drunk enough to have an oddly meaningless deep talk with Molly, who simply kept drinking and drinking, wondering when she would come undone.
"I've always wondered what happens."
"What happens when?"
"When you die. Like, where do you go?"
"I don't think you go anywhere…I think you just kind of cease to exist."
"Nonexistence is a difficult thing to imagine." Elliot grinned, taking another sip of vodka before passing the bottle to her, "So why are you over here? I thought things were going good."
"They are."
"They are going so well that you're drinking with your off the wagon one night stand who fucked things up entirely instead of sleeping or doing a late night puzzle or whatever other crap you do. What about that boyfriend of yours?"
"Sherlock's on a case. He tends to let things slip when he is. Otherwise he'd know I'm here. And would—quite rightfully mind you—not allow it." Molly knocked back the bottle, gasping for breath afterwards, "I'm not supposed to drink—not with my medication."
"So why are you?"
Molly shook her head, feeling wildly light and bubbly, "Because I want to."
"You want to risk mixing anti-depressants and alcohol?"
"No. Because I want to die." Molly's voice was flat, the blood pounding in her ears as she made this small confession, "And I want to die feeling good."
"I don't think there's such a thing."
"No…but I've gotta try anyway."
"I don't get people like you…why—why do you do stuff like that? It's horrible—it's—it's—"
"It's selfish." Molly finished, "And ultimately I am a selfish person."
"No…I don't think that's it. I just…I just don't know how someone like you can be so sad all the time. You're sad but you smile for others. You're beautiful but treat yourself like shit, you're smart, but you think you're an idiot, you're sweet but beat yourself up for being a terrible person, I don't understand it. I don't understand it at all." Elliot clapped a hand over his mouth, feeling like he said too much, and he was about to apologize when Molly started speaking, taking a deep breath after the first word before plunging into the rest of what she had to say on the matter.
"It's…it's like I'm trapped somewhere with bad air and while the rest of the world goes on around me, all I can breathe is that air and all I can see are these weird distorted images through the glass. I can tell myself every single day that everything is perfect, everything is fine, there's nothing wrong, there's nothing to be sad about but I'm still breathing that air and I'm still seeing those distorted images and messages get mixed up in my brain and then all I can focus on is work. Every day, I get up and go to work, sometimes feeling like this stupid robot that can't do anything but cut things open and scrawl down some observations. And Sherlock—he tries, he tries so, so hard and I try to acknowledge that, but it's hard for him too because he's not normal in any way either. It's terribly dysfunctional. To be honest, I don't know how we've lasted this long. We confuse each other."
"So your reaction is to get pissed with a sort-of ex?"
"Yup."
"Brilliant. I'm going to have a mate die on my sofa at this rate."
Molly snorted, "Oh you know you love me—somewhere deep, deep, deep down you know you're not going to stop providing me with this." She shook the bottle halfheartedly, "Oh it's empty now."
"Molly, I really do think you've had enough."
"No." Molly murmured, feeling her vision swim as she rose, "it's not enough, it's never enough, I should know, I've tried, it's never enough." She stumbled towards his kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine with an amusing amount of grace despite her inebriated state. Elliot could only watch, completely bewildered, as she began drinking it directly from the bottle. There was something else going on, a panic attack? No, she would be having trouble breathing. A fight with Sherlock? Highly unlikely. Feeling lonely? Possibly, but she wouldn't seek him out for that.
"Molly, tell me what's wrong, please. Right now." She had been fine before, a little distant but she had seemed to be getting better. This was the reason Elliot stopped bothering her. She actually did seem like she was getting better and had enough self-control to know he shouldn't get in the way.
Slowly, Molly lowered the bottle, sighing deeply. In that instant, Elliot realized that she was not nearly as pissed as he previously thought. She must be one hell of a heavyweight. Suddenly still and silent, she rested her elbows on the counter, viewing him through the cutout in his wall, "I really, really, don't know what to do."
Immediately, Elliot entered the kitchen, putting a hand on her shoulder, "About what, Molly? You can tell me you know."
"About…about this." She gestured toward herself wildly, straightening up and out of his grip, "I'm a fucking screw up." Her voice was too quiet for such harsh words, "I mean, look at me right now. This is bad. This is very bad and I have to do something, very, very quickly."
"Molly—okay if you can't tell me, how about you write it down?" Elliot grabbed for a marker board, holding it out to her with the marker itself uncapped.
Molly nodded, taking it. He watched her hand tremble, but couldn't see what she was writing, not even when she erased what she wrote several times before finally holding it up.
Pregnant.
Elliot's hands dropped to his sides, his mind temporarily speeding to a halt. "That's—not good is it? Especially with—" He gestured towards the empty bottle. "And Sherlock?"
He's been in Scotland. Ten days. Hard case.
"Oh…isn't it fine to have a kid in a generally stable relationship?"
Can't do it.
"Why not?"
Genetics."
"Oh." She didn't want a child that was like her.
Bad mother. Bad Father. Bad Everything.
"So…you're going to—"
Molly nodded.
"Are you sure?"
Another nod was followed by a sharp intake of breath as tears streamed down her face. This wasn't an easy decision and Elliot wasn't going to argue with her as she wrote more.
I'll go tomorrow.
With that, Molly smiled, well it was a slight upturning of the lips anyway, returning the board to him, "Thank you, Elliot. Really. You are an excellent for putting up with me. With this—" Molly gestured towards the whole of herself, "And I'm sorry."
"I am too. I shouldn't have—badgered you like that."
"No—I deserve a lot worse than that." Molly gave a small, watery laugh, "I—I think I'll go now."
Elliot sighed, watching her leave far more calmly than she went.
So love me, hate me, or murder me with a bloodied ax? More to come, probably next week. Don't worry, this will have a part two.
I'm also aware that was kind of a big red button topic (which is why I decided to do it from Elliot's point of view as the person neutral on the subject) and hope I didn't offend anyone.
Oopsies, fixed a couple blatant errors here (grrr me for getting over excited and posting impulsively, I haven't even read the reviews yet so I don't even know if you guys noticed) thanks for reading!
