Ok, so I get a bit wordy and descriptive in a lot of this chapter. There's not as much of the fun banter that I usually go crazy with. But I hope that you'll all enjoy this chapter! I put a lot of thought into it, and the order of events. Speaking of which, props to Sherlockedinseattle for giving me some fabulous ideas as to how things would play out! And she also gave me some lovely song ideas which I was able to make mention of in this chapter... you'll see! Oh and thanks again for the amazing support. I hit and passed the 400 review mark! I've NEVER had that many reviews. Not even on my longest story I've done! So thanks a million!... Ok, now read! ;)
The next week was somewhat uneventful for Sherlock. He took a few cases, but they were nothing too exciting. Nothing over a six. He spend a lot of extra time in his flat, playing his violin, or maybe doing some experimenting. But despite the fact that he wasn't overrun with cases, Sherlock had opted not to frequent Bart's in search of body parts or for the fun of observing the occasional autopsy.
It appeared to be the wise course. There did seem to be a shift in the level of media fascination lately. Even before the incident with Molly's supposed lunch date, there had been relatively little for the papers and the internet to feed off of. And as Sherlock had predicted from the start, eventually they would lose interest. So he figured that if the interest was starting to wane, it would be an appropriate time to keep some distance. He quickly found that this wasn't easy though.
He did it for Molly, really. He still rightly felt responsible for the way this whole things had started. And regardless of the feelings that she previously or perhaps even currently had for him, there was nothing positive for her in becoming the focus of tabloid gossip. She had a nice little life, and he knew she liked it that way. He didn't want to rob her of that. After all the woman had done for him, he felt it was only right that he at least not continue to turn her whole world upside down.
He spent some free time in his mind palace that week as well. There was a lot to catalogue from the past few weeks...and there should have been a lot more to delete. But every time he came across some little bit of information that he would normally toss, he found some sort of reason not to. The way Molly's hair smells may be a useful piece of information. Always wise to know which brands and products those around you use. Could help clear their name one day...it's probably important to know what Molly's normal vs. elevated respiration and heart rates are. Makes it so much easier to read someone. There were lots of little details like that to be sorted out . And then, of course, there was the kiss itself.
Now Sherlock didn't even possess the skills to literally delete the entire event from his mind. He'd never been able to do such a thing. He would always have a memory of the event in general. But the particulars of it...those were what gave him trouble. He tried to delete the details at first. How her lips tasted, the exact pressure that she offered on her side of the kiss, the small changes in her breathing patterns depending on his own mouth's movements, the quiet sighs, the way her small hands felt on his skin when they'd eventually made their way to his neck, and the way she'd gazed up at him after it was all over.
He eventually found that these things couldn't be deleted. There seemed to be no getting rid of them. So he moved on to plan B. Justifying their presence. That was also difficult. He was having trouble coming up with business like reasons as to why he needed to know what Molly's mouth tasted like. And it was difficult to explain to himself why he needed to remember the breathy sounds that he not only heard, but also felt against her lips. Any reason to keep those things would logically have to include the idea that the information would be used again. He could come up with nothing legitimate, and that was frustrating. There were very few memories that Sherlock ever chose to carefully store away that had absolutely no useful reason to be kept. But after enough days of mental struggle, he found that these memories would just have to stay. He could come up with no other reason besides the fact that he simply couldn't let them go.
He eventually came to plan C. Accept these details and memories as a small indulgence. He'd had precious few real kisses in his life. But he'd had enough to know...that was a very good one, for reasons that he'd realized were innumerable after his extensive sorting of the details. So it was worth keeping. If nothing else, it could become a standard. Something to compare to...not that he had any sort of desire to kiss other women and then compare it to the perfection of his kiss with Molly...
And it was a thought like that which was seriously troubling to him.
Peppering the days of that week, were also a number of notices from Mary about the shift in social media. Apparently the public now believed him to be in a lovesick state. The little video clips and picture slideshows that were being created were now much more somber. The songs being used, to name only a few, were...Say Something by A Great Big World, I Can't Make You Love Me by Bonnie Raitt, Poison & Wine by The Civil Wars, We Might As Well Be Strangers by Keanne, Someone Like You by Adele, Ashes And Wine by A Fine Frenzy, and Slow Dancing In A Burning Room by John Mayer.
Seeing as it wasn't a terribly busy week for him, and he did enjoy good music, Sherlock took to listening to some of the music that was floating around the internet as the soundtrack to his and Molly's "breakup." Some of it he found to be genuinely good. In spare time, usually at night when sleep eluded him, he would take some of these newly discovered songs and challenge himself to play some on his violin. He found some strange comfort in these sad songs, and felt that he'd gained some insight into the idea that people ironically listened to depressing music during depressing times in their lives...not that this was a depressing time in his life of course, he'd remind himself. But it was interesting nonetheless.
The morning that marked a week since he'd last been into Bart's or seem Molly at all, he got a text from her.
HI. HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN HERE FOR A WHILE. YOU MUST BE BUSY...I DO HAVE A COUPLE OF INTERESTING AUTOPSIES ON SCHEDULE THOUGH. YOU'RE WELCOME TO WATCH IF YOU'VE GOT NOTHING ELSE. :) -MH
It was somewhat unusual. Molly didn't usually contact him unless there was a specific reason, or unless he'd instructed her to for some reason. This was more of an open invitation. She was simply asking if he'd like to have a visit. He considered the possibility that she thought something was wrong. He didn't usually stay away for so many days on end. He stared at the text for a very long time before finally answering.
THANK YOU...BUT WORKING TODAY. -SH
It was sort of true. John was going to be over soon and they were planning on sifting through the inbox and attempting to find some worthwhile cases. Under more normal circumstances, Sherlock absolutely would have abandoned the prospect of mediocre cases in favor of observing some interesting autopsies. But he reminded himself that things were going well in the way of media losing interest. This wasn't the time to go running off to Bart's again just for fun. He was sure that Molly would thank him later.
John arrived about a half hour later and there wasn't a huge rush to get work going. John made some tea, Sherlock took the trouble of actually putting normal clothes on, and Mrs. Hudson came up for a chat so John could update her on how Mary was doing. When all was said and done, it was almost an hour later when they sat down to begin looking through emails. Or rather, John sat down to read and Sherlock listened when he felt like it.
"No. Too obvious."
"It's not obvious to them, Sherlock! They wouldn't be emailing you if it was. We don't have a lot of options, so you may as well pick one of these. Actually...yeah, those are all the options. So you'll have to pick one of those. I didn't come over so you could insult all your emails and take no cases."
Sherlock didn't respond, and instead picked up his phone which was buzzing on the table beside his chair. John groaned and leaned back in his chair as Sherlock muttered and "excuse me" and walked into the kitchen.
"Hello Mary," he said as he peered into the fridge. Time to examine the options for experiments since this day wasn't panning out the way he hoped.
"Sherlock, I need you to check your email that I just sent you!" she said immediately.
"Yes, I was just going through them," he replied calmly.
"No, I need you to look now! I sent you the link to a fan fiction, and it didn't sound right to me. It's supposed to be about you and Molly, but it's mostly about a shooting at Bart's hospital. It's pretty dark and it doesn't end well...Molly dies."
Sherlock closed the fridge and began listening more closely as Mary basically related the short story to him.
Back in the other room, John heard his mobile ringing and he picked it up, seeing that Lestrade was calling.
"Hi, Greg."
"John, are you with Sherlock? He's not answering his mobile."
"Uh, yeah he's here. He's on the phone actually. I think he's talking to Mary. What's going on?" John noted the fact that he heard sirens in the background.
"I need you to ask Sherlock if Molly is working today. It's important," Lestrade said with a note of concern in his voice.
"Ok, um, hold on a second...Hey, Sherlock!" he called into the kitchen.
"Just a minute John! Anything else, Mary? Anything of significance? Who is the writer?"
"It's written by Anon-author. Pretty generic, so that doesn't tell us much. I just didn't like the sound of it, it really stood out to me. It's only about a thousand words, but it's pretty bleak. Read it yourself if you have the chance."
"Sherlock! Just a quick question!" John called again to him.
"Yes, John! Yes, just a second!. Right, thank you, Mary. I'll be in touch soon." He hung up, placing the phone back in his pocket and finally coming over to where John stood. "Yes, what is it?"
John held the phone out to him. "Lestrade's calling with a question about Molly. Said its important," he said with a shrug.
Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked at the phone in his friend's hand. He hesitated a moment and swallowed before reaching out and taking it. He put it to his ear and uttered a "hello?" in a low voice.
"Sherlock, can you tell me if Molly is working today? I need to know if she could be at Bart's!"
Sherlock didn't hear any more. He didn't need to hear any more. He heard it in Lestrade's voice loud and clear, and he heard it in the sound of the emergency vehicles in the background too...and then the world came crashing down around him.
He saw Molly. He saw the way she'd looked at him the last time he'd seen her, he saw the words of her text message from that morning, and how sweet and kind the offer had been. He remembered the way he'd lifted her so easily in this very room, her small body fitting so perfectly against his own. And he remembered the way it felt to hold her little hand inside his as he felt the pale skin on her wrist. And then, against his own will, he felt it...he felt her small lips pressing against his own as the flood of all the memories came pouring out of the room where he'd tried to tuck them neatly away.
Lestrade then began repeating the question and asking if Sherlock was still there. But Sherlock had dropped the phone, grabbed his coat, and was running out the door.
"Sherlock!" John yelled after him. He huffed in irritation and picked up his mobile, grabbed his own coat, and ran after him. He also got back on with Lestrade.
"Greg, what's going on?"
"Where did Sherlock go?!"
"He literally dropped the phone and ran out the door. What did you say to him?" John questioned as he flew down the stairs.
"I barely said a thing! I asked if Molly was working, that's all! John, listen, there's a gunman in Bart's. The whole place is on lock down."
"Oh my God!" he murmured as he reached the street where Sherlock was getting a cab. "We've got to go to Bart's, Sherlock! There's a shooter!"
"Yes I know! I know! Get in!" Sherlock yelled and they both piled in the cab.
"Ok, we'll be there in a few minutes, Greg," John assured him and hung up, then he spoke to Sherlock again. "What was that? How did you know what he was calling about?"
Sherlock answered at the speed of light as he looked on his mobile.
"Mary...that was Mary calling me earlier. There's a fan fiction that's just been posted. It detailed a shooting at Bart's. There's no indication of whether it was Moriarty or not, but it certainly seems sinister enough."
"Oh God...what do we do? I mean, does the story offer any sort of clues?"
"I'm reading it now, hold on!" Sherlock's eyes quickly scanned the phone screen. A minute of two later he dropped the phone in his lap and growled in frustration. "There's nothing! It's just a description of a gunman in the hospital, Molly is shot and killed, and I don't get there till after the fact. There's nothing unusual about it except for the fact that it's sad and dark!"
"You think Moriarty could be behind this though?"
"It's quite likely. Hard to say for sure, but we already saw him send me a sort of message on that site in the form of reviews. He already knows we're watching him, along with the world of fans and social media."
John started texting Mary to fill her in on what was going on, then he spoke again.
"Should you call her? Or text her maybe? See if she's alright?"
"No! We can't do that. What if she's trying to hide somewhere. We run the risk, although slim, that the gunman could be nearby and we'd give away her location."
John let out a heavy sigh as he ran hands over his face.
"I just have to get there John," Sherlock said rather quietly, staring out the window. "I just need to get there."
John stared at him, although he wasn't looking back. He was genuinely terrified for his friend at that moment. He knew Sherlock well enough now to understand how deeply he could care about the well-being of his friends, and how far he was willing to go to keep them safe. If he were to lose Molly now...John was afraid of what it would do to him. He jumped when Sherlock suddenly moved again and yelled at the cabbie.
"Can't you go any faster?! This is an emergency!" he bellowed.
A few minutes later, they did pull up to Bart's hospital. Or at least as close as they were able to get to it. A large area of the street was blocked off and there were countless emergency vehicles around the area. The cab barely stopped and Sherlock opened the door and jumped out. John quickly paid and then followed after him. They soon caught sight of Lestrade standing just beyond the police barrier set up to hold back the reporters and cameras.
Sherlock hopped over quickly and grabbed Lestrade immediately.
"Where is she? Is she out?"
Lestrade sighed. "No, the whole place is still locked down at the moment. They're sending teams in to sweep the whole building and try to find this guy. And they're slowly getting people out too. But it could take some time, Sherlock! They have to be careful and be organized. You can't just have everyone running for the doors when you don't know where a shooter is. You're going to have to be patient!" He placed a hand on his shoulder.
"We can't just sit here! What are we supposed to do?" he demanded.
"If I get any information I promise I'll come right to you, ok?" he said, trying to be comforting. But he could see by the fire in the detective's eyes that it wasn't going to be easy keeping him at bay. Lestrade gave Sherlock one more pat on the shoulder before being pulled away by another officer.
John guided Sherlock over to wait by one of the ambulances. He reluctantly followed and leaned on the vehicle while watching all that was going on around him. He saw some officers getting into gear so that they could go into the building. He kept looking at the hospital, and thinking about how large it was. There were only a few logical places that Molly could be, and all they had to do was go there. Just go to those places, find her, and get her out.
He and John stood there silently watching what was going on for the next ten minutes. It felt like ten hours to Sherlock as he watched Lestrade like a hawk, trying to see if anything new was happening.
"I can't just stand here, John. I can't stand out here when I could be doing something in there!" He gestured to the building.
"There's nothing you can do, Sherlock, they have to go through the building the proper way. If you go running in there, you could get people killed! Including yourself!"
"She could get killed John!" he hissed in reply.
John could only look back at him silently. He knew what Sherlock was thinking. If he was right about Sherlock, and what he felt for Molly, it was the very same thing that he'd be thinking himself if it was Mary inside that building. And he knew there would be little he could do to hold the man back if much more time passed.
Suddenly Sherlock got a text alert and quickly pulled out his phone to check. He looked at the screen and John watched as his face went white.
"John...look." He held his mobile out for him to read the text on the screen.
OH, SHERLOCK...STILL SO BORING. ALWAYS ON THE SIDE OF THE ANGELS. IT WOULD BE A SHAME IF YOU WERE TO LOSE ONE OF THEM... *BANG* -JM
"My God..." John whispered, and turned back to Sherlock who looked almost like he'd just been shot himself.
Sherlock pulled the phone back in close to himself and began typing furiously.
"What are you doing?" John asked.
"I'm...playing the game," he said without looking up, and then hit send.
WHAT DO I NEED TO DO? TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT? -SH
A moment later, a reply came in.
IT'S SO SIMPLE, SHERLOCK! IT'S ALWAYS SO SIMPLY, AND YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE IT...ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ANSWER MY QUESTION. BYE! -JM
Sherlock frowned at the screen. "Question...what question?! He hasn't asked me any question!"
WHAT QUESTION? -SH
A minute went by. Two minutes went by as Sherlock stared at the screen.
"What's going on? This doesn't make any sense! This isn't how it works!" Sherlock hissed at his mobile screen as he sent the message again.
"He's playing with you, Sherlock. Who knows if he even wants you to answer anything! He might just be trying to drive you mad!"
Sherlock mouthed words to himself as he sent off multiple texts.
"What question?...Ask me anything!...Tell me what you want! Please!" Sherlock was breathing heavily and barely registered John's telling him to try and calm down. Finally he lowered his arm and stuck his mobile into his pocket again.
"Enough of this! I'm done waiting!" he growled and marched over to Lestrade. "Lestrade!"
Greg turned and came over to Sherlock and John.
"They're making their way through the hospital, it shouldn't be long now," he said trying to offer some sort of encouragement.
"Not fast enough," Sherlock insisted. "You have to make them go to the lab and the morgue now!"
"Sherlock, it's not my division! I can't tell them what to do and they wouldn't listen to me if I did! I want Molly out too, but they have to do this the right way!" Lestrade's voice began to rise in his own frustration. He didn't like waiting either, but he was firmly trapped between a rock and a hard place.
Only John was aware of how the cameras began focusing in on Sherlock and the conversation in progress. He knew it would be the wrong time to tell these men to keep their voices down.
"I told Molly, I promised her, that I would do everything in my power to keep her safe! And I'm standing here doing nothing!" he yelled back.
Suddenly they heard the muffled sound of a couple gunshots from somewhere inside the building.
"That's it, I'm going in there." And somehow Sherlock was then holding a gun and checking it.
"Hey! When did you take that?!" John demanded, feeling his side and realizing it was his. He needed to start keeping his gun under lock and key at his side.
"You're not going in there, Sherlock! Do you hear me?!" Lestrade said in his most authoritative voice.
Sherlock leaned in closer to the Detective inspector. "If you'd like to stop me...you'll need to shoot me."
The two men were locked in a heated staring contest. And the truth was that Lestrade was a split second from telling him to go ahead in, and he'd make sure nobody tried to stop him. Not only because he knew Sherlock was deadly serious in his threat, but also because he wanted Molly out as badly as Sherlock and John did. He almost said it, but he didn't have time.
A split second after, they all heard something from directly behind Lestrade.
"Sherlock?" came the small familiar voice.
Lestrade saw Sherlock's expression twitch slightly, as if he weren't sure what he'd just heard. Lestrade didn't waste any time. He turned around, and there was Molly Hooper, standing there looking up at him with an orange blanket wrapped around her narrow shoulders. His shoulders slacked as he let out a sigh of relief and gave her arm a squeeze.
"Oh, are we glad to see you!" he breathed out, then glanced over his shoulder. "I'll uh...I'll leave you to it."
Lestrade stepped aside and went back over to his team. When he did, he opened the view from Sherlock to Molly. Sherlock stood there, immobile at first, staring down at the woman who stood alive and well in front of him now.
John very gingerly reached forward and retrieved the gun from Sherlock's hand that now hung at his side. It didn't take much effort since his grip had slacked considerably, and Sherlock didn't even react when it was removed. John put his gun safely back in its place and stepped aside, carefully watching. And again, he noted that the news cameras beyond the barrier were very much focused in their direction.
"Sherlock," Molly said again. She looked up at him and almost wondered if he'd registered her presence. The only indication she had was that he was looking directly at her. Other than that, he was like a marble statue. Only an occasional blink reminded her that he was real.
"I got out," she continued softly and slowly. "I heard the code about an hour ago in the morgue, and I knew we were locked down. But after a while, nobody came, and all I could think of was how you told me that the most important thing was to get away. I just figured I needed to get away...so I did. I pulled a bench over and climbed out the window in the women's lock-"
And she cut off the word in her own mouth, feeling herself freeze up now as well. Sherlock had taken a quick step forward so that he was in reach and his hand had darted out, coming to rest on the side of her face, cradling her cheek. Molly felt like she couldn't breathe at first, but then quickly realized she was much closer to hyperventilating. His thumb moved ever so slightly on the skin of her face and his other fingers moved a bit in the hair line behind her ears.
Molly realized that she must have been functioning on adrenaline alone up till then, because something snapped when Sherlock reached out and touched her face like that. She felt her whole body let go, and everything just...slowed down. It wasn't just the delayed fear for her life, or the idea that she'd just done something rather difficult and brave. It was also the way Sherlock was looking at her. She saw all that fear in his eyes too, and all the relief, so intense that it shocked her. She'd never say that he didn't care, but the height of emotion that she saw in that moment was more than surprising. It was overwhelming.
Sherlock pressed his eyes closed and let out a breath that it seemed he'd been holding in for longer than was humanly possible. Molly began to feel pressure rising in her chest and felt her eyes cloud as she tried to control her breaths that were coming in harder and harder so that it hurt. The vision of him standing there became a blur for Molly as her eyes filled to the brim and overflowed. She couldn't stop the emotions from literally pouring out, and the tears began to shake her small body a bit as they flowed freely. And the only thing she could do was to stand there and let it happen.
And then, as quickly as his hand had darted out a moment before, Sherlock actually stepped further forward and leaned down, wrapping both arms clear around her torso. Once he had done that, he stood straight back up, causing Molly's feet to completely leave the ground. The orange blanket fell from her shoulders and pooled on the ground. And once Molly registered what was actually happening, she instantly responded in kind by wrapping her arms around his neck. She buried her face into his neck, and that was when she felt her breathing slow again and the tears finally begin to dry.
John Watson stood there with his jaw dragging on the ground. He shook his head slowly in disbelief and had to bring his hand up and cover his mouth to contain the shock of the scene before him. Very few of the camera men were focusing on the fact that the shooter had now been found and was being led out of the building and into police custody. Most of them cared about nothing except for the two people silently clinging to each other on the other side of the barrier. He watched as the flashes of cameras filled the air around them. But despite the excitement, there was what could only be described as a respectful hush that had come over the crowd.
There stood the famous detective in his long Belstaff, holding tightly onto the little pathologist in her white lab coat. Her feet continued to dangle some inches above the ground as he held her in place. Neither of their faces were clearly visible, as they were both pressed into the other's neck, not that it even mattered. Faces clear or not, it wasn't exactly a mystery as to what they were feeling in that moment.
It took a full minute or two for anyone to move. But finally a couple officers came over and gently encouraged Sherlock to come with them. He silently set Molly down, but kept an arm firmly and protectively around her shoulder as they walked off to Lestrade's police car and got in. John followed behind them and got in, sitting on the other side of Molly. And then they drove quickly away from the scene.
Sherlock had rarely ever experienced such an overwhelming sense of relief and happiness at the sight of Molly Hooper alive and well standing in front of him. It almost completely erased the feelings of fear and failure from only minutes before. He felt like he could breathe again. And temporarily, he wasn't afraid anymore. But that didn't last forever.
It wasn't till Molly was taken home safely to her flat, John had gone home to Mary, and Sherlock had arrived back at Baker Street, that he even thought to look at his mobile again. And his heart sunk when he saw the unread message that had been waiting for him since about five minutes after Molly had shown up outside Bart's...
YOU SEE SHERLOCK? THAT WASN'T SO HARD WAS IT?...THANK YOU FOR ANSWERING MY QUESTION. -JM
I just have to say that this is one of those (many) moments in my life that I wish I was a super good artist. Because I so wish that I could draw the image I have in my head of Sherlock holding Molly in a hug with her feet not even touching the ground. Something about that just gets me... right in the feels! *sigh* I hope that all of you could picture it and enjoy it the way I could! And I hope you liked the fun I had with Moriarty this time. He challenges me! And yeah, I know that wasn't even too in depth... But I will get into the whole gunman in Bart's scenario a bit more in the next chapter. I know I sort of left it vague, but I wanted the climax of this chapter to be the reunion of Sherlolly outside the hospital. Though a chilling little Moriarty text had to close out the show hehe! Ok, well I've rambled enough. It's midnight where I am right now, so I'm off to bed! I look forward to hearing your thoughts when I wake bright and early tomorrow! Till next time! ;)
Just on more PS- I have now uploaded the completed stories of mine Winds of Change and Pleased To Meet You on the site Archive of Our Own. And I'm under the same pen name. That site allows you to download the file to your computer or mobile device. So in case any of my readers liked those stories... maybe now you'd like to take them with you anywhere! ;)
