Well, Here we are again...Another chapter, and hopefully one that will speak to you. This is going to go a bit differently than I'm sure most of you expected. It is a risk that I am taking, but I hope it translates the way that it was thought out in my head, and hopefully you all understand my reasons for doing it, which I'll explain at the end.
I do not own Sherlock, Molly, Siger, Violet, or any of the Sherlock Holmes characters, or places.
This story contains Trigger Warnings that some may struggle with, including: Depression, Self-Harm, Suicidal thoughts/attempts, Anxiety, and other dark themes similar to the ones listed. If you struggle with any of these, or feel that you may be triggering something by continuing to read this story...PLEASE STOP!
The last thing on Earth that I want is for anyone harmed or emotionally wrecked by something that I have written in this context. Please feel free to talk to me, or someone you feel comfortable with, if you have need to. I am here for all of you, and I want you to know how safe you are talking with me about whatever you are going through.
Love you all, so much!
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They began each morning the same way. Molly would wake up, sometimes alone, sometimes in the strong grasp of Sherlock's arms. On those days, she took an extra moment to observe him, taking in the strange sight of his calm and soft expression as he slept. She would carefully untangle herself from his limbs, and make her way to the loo to get ready.
When she had enjoyed a delicious breakfast from Violet, she would make her way to Siger's office, where he would be waiting for her. Some days, they would stay inside until the sun had broken over the horizon, others, they would leave before the dawn. They walked the same path, leading all the way around the grounds, and Molly would talk. The first few days hadn't been anything special, and she was unsure that this was truly helping her at all. However, with every kind word from Siger, and every sweet smile cast her way, Molly felt more and more inclined to share her thoughts with the older man, even without knowing she was doing it.
The gentleman never let on, but he was collecting a massive hoard of her thoughts, and was hoping to find out the beginning to this whole thing.
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They had been there all of two weeks, when Siger finally broke through the hardest of shields Molly had unknowingly put up to guard herself. The walk had been quiet, and instead of his usually casual opening discussions, he had simply strolled beside her in silence. When she looked up at him suddenly, he knew something was about to give, and sometimes he hated when he was right.
She had tearfully blurted out the confession, revelation, whatever sort of word fit to describe the sudden realization that ghosted to the front of her mind, almost peering out of her soft brown eyes. She searched his face for some answer, desperate to stop the terrible memories and cruel emotions from lurching into her mind. Siger knew right away, it was just as much news to her as it was to him.
"Breathe, Molly. You need to take a deep breath with me, okay?" Siger had offered only this one bit of advice for the time being, shocked himself at the way she had just spilled the information to the open country air.
Molly could barely focus, her world seeming like it was cascading over her, drowning out anything that Siger's now frantic face was saying. She could feel herself falling, but didn't have the energy to stop it. Her last thoughts before blackness consumed her were muddled, blurry messes that she couldn't even translate as she closed her eyes.
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When Violet saw her husband slowly running up the hill, she immediately knew something had happened. She tossed down her tea towel, and raced to the stairs.
"Sherlock, come quick! Something's happened!" She then ran back to the door, letting her pale Siger inside. His face was freezing cold from the energy he had used to push through the morning breeze, and his eyes were watering from both the wind and tears. Sherlock was down in the kitchen within the minute, and his eyes darted quickly around, searching for Molly.
"I'm...I'm sorry, son...couldn't...I couldn't get her up the hill. Damn this old age...she's...she's down in the glen." Siger huffed and puffed out between trying to collect his breath, and he glanced up to see a worried Violet staring at him. She only looked to her son for an instant, and he was immediately gone, running to get his girl.
"Siger, darling, what's happened?" Violet brought him inside, sitting him down and fetching a hot cup of tea to warm his cold, and now sore bones.
"She...she had a breakthrough...somehow. Vi, love, I... I don't know how to help her."
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She was there when he reached her, her form curled into as small and tight a ball as was physically possible. She was smaller than he had ever seen her before, and her whole frame shook violently. In a split second, he was by her side, not waiting for her to argue as he picked her up and began carrying her back to the house.
Their return was silent, save for the soft sobs that wracked through Molly, and the quick, beating breath of a more than urgent running detective. He should have known, should have seen a sign that things were building up to this moment, despite not knowing what she had even discovered about herself, her past, or any potential reason for this to be her reaction.
Were it not for the known fact of his father's sincere and strict policy of keeping his patient's sessions hush hush, Sherlock may have been compelled to ask. He knew the answer, though, so it was a useless endeavor.
As Sherlock brought Molly into the house, he was automatically met at the door by Violet, who was waiting with a warm blanket, and practically shoving Sherlock toward the bathroom, murmuring worried instructions of a bath for the chilled pathologist. He followed orders without question, his sole focus on getting Molly warm, and getting her relaxed enough so she could hopefully unfurl from the tightly wound nest she had made of herself.
It felt like it did when he first brought her to Baker Street. She had closed herself off from the consciously functioning world around her, her mind's automatic barricades going back up with full force it seemed. He'd managed to get a one word response from her, when asked if she needed him to step outside.
"Stay."
With every ounce of her being poured into that one word, Sherlock planted himself on the floor beside the tub, his hand reaching to hold her own, fingers intertwining and gripping her tightly. Her eyes stared off into space as she soaked in the hot water, and Sherlock tried to track the invisible trail that they were going down, hoping he could somehow see into what had happened earlier. However, when her eyes slipped closed, and she finally let out a long sigh, Sherlock knew she was finally letting herself relax, letting the feelings from the day swirl down the drain with the used water as he dried her and wrapped her carefully in both her pyjamas and his dressing gown. She'd nuzzled into the curve of his neck as he carried her up the stairs and to the shared bedroom, not a single hint of her letting go in sight.
He settled in beside her, holding her closely, and deciding that while he needed her to be alright, he also needed to know.
"Molly?" He hadn't even finished her name, when the soft shaking of her head could be felt against his chest.
"Not today, please, Sherlock. Not now," Molly mumbled into his night shirt, a shaky breath puffing into the fabric and hitting his skin with a warm blow.
"Alright, alright... not now," he whispered back to her, placing a kiss on the top of her head, before he began to run his fingers through her damp hair. He glanced out the window, noting how the sun was still high in the sky, and how the dew on the windows had long since evaporated with its heat. He glanced down to Molly's face, noting how she wasn't asleep, but was as still as the grave, her eyes still focused on nothing in particular. The mystery was itching away at his insides, his brain frantic in its chase of theories and thoughts surrounding his lovely companion's recollection that day. However, as the sweet and sad woman fell into sleep in his arms, she mumbled something that stopped him in his tracks. All thoughts immediately flew to her words, leading to the source of her struggles.
"Oh, Molly..." her name fell from his lips as his breath left him, and his heart clenched as he finally caught a glance into her reeling thoughts. Molly made no motion or arguing groan as Sherlock clutched her tightly to himself, anchoring the woman to his side as much as he could.
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PLEASE READ EXPLANATION FOR THIS CHAPTER:
So, explanation time. As you may have noticed, the therapy sessions and Molly's breakthrough/break down are NOT actually given in details. The reason I decided to do it this way was because not only does it keep this story easy to relate to for those reading it, but it also gives a sense of confidentiality, much like what goes into a therapy session for people who suffer from mental/emotional challenges and disorders. There are several types of situations/reasons that lead to people to struggle with depression, suicide, self-harm, anxiety and etc, some of them more brutal and haunting than others. While Molly's personal struggle has a specific causing factor, and one that is similar to my own, I will not be sharing it. It's not my place to, despite this being my story and my words. Nor is it mine or anyone else's position to tell someone else's story or struggle.
I hope you understand that this is NOT a cop-out method of writing a difficult subject. I wanted to try something, so I did, and I hope it translated well.
Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you will continue to read and review my stories. Let me know how I'm doing! Thank you all so much, you're all so lovely and dear to me, and I am always grateful for your kind words of encouragement.