Genre: Drama, angst, friendship
Spoilers: End of series 2, "The Reichenbach Fall"
Warnings: Spoilers, angst, some violence, mentions of drugs, swearing
As always a heartfelt thank you to everyone who alerted, favd, read and followed my story so far. Love to talk to all of you and your input inspires me and helps me write!
Special thanks to Koneko Zero, Feej, Zacha, Erindors, Ysad, SusanneHolmes, Prothoe, Amelia Greene, October25, Eldar-Melda and Impractical Beekeeping!
Reviews could get you breadcrumbs! And whoever spots the ACD references will get cookies!
Bit not Good
Molly has been infinitely more patient with me than I have ever been with her.
She has not only treated my wound with care and medical precision, she has also almost cured me of a looming bronchitis and left me enough food for two days when she went away for her yearly Christmas visit to her parents. She has even bought me a new jumper and several T-Shirts for as a gift, and presented me with a scarf, which John had bought months ago for me and offered to her after my suicide.
In return, I have not been thoroughly honest, never acknowledging her concern of my apparent serious drug habit and sneaking out of her flat on two or three occasions against doctor´s orders to rest.
Even though I am itching to continue my mission, the cold and bleary weather does not invite on leaving her house for good. Consequenty, I have already stayed far longer than I intended. Every passing day cost me precious contacts and information, not to mention the difficulties Brian could cause if he told anyone of the web his version of our encounter. But I feel I have run out of steam, not only due of physical, but also on grounds of mental exhaustion. What use is it to attempt to track down Moran in secret when the web threatens John in the hope that I will reveal myself? Does it really make a significant difference that I keep myself hidden?
Pondering questions and revising my plans, I spend most of the short winter days in Molly´s spare room which thankfully is bare of any dinky adornments, It is probably the smallest room I´ve ever lived in. With the bedside lamp dimmed and the window tilted to allow the sounds of the city in, I can finally think properly. The room is only slightly heated, too, as I am used to sleeping rough by now. Molly doesn´t approve for fear I might catch pneumonia on top of my bronchitis, but she refrains from repeating her concern, instead biting her lip in annoyance every time she looks after me.
On New Year´s eve, Molly opens the door and finds me stretched out on the bed, arms crossed under my head, staring at the ceiling.
"Sherlock? Would you like dinner? It´s in the fridge," she offers, fidgeting. "I will be away to a party, so if you like to help yourself…"
A grunt is her answer. She shifts uneasily, not yet ready to leave. "You know, I ´m not sure…" she stutters. "Whether you need any… I mean, if you are ok," she corrects herself. "You´re healing well enough, and the cough is nearly gone, but I was wondering…" She backs off, startled and nervous, and I push myself upright.
"Wondering what exactly, Molly Hooper? Whether I am shooting up in your house? Where I do get my stuff?"
She takes a step back, but raises her head and looks me firmly in the eye. "You´ve been back nearly a fortnight, Sherlock. But you hardly ever talk to me." Drawing nearer, she lets go of the doorknob she has been holding in a dead grip and smiles reassuringly. "I´m concerned about you. You´ve never been so wired."
I get up and face the window. "So what do you want from me?" I turn and face her, snarling. "Do you want to pacify me so that I will sit in your lap and purr? Or do you want me to break down crying, confessing how sorry I am to have caused you concern? That I wish things were different?"
"No, that´s not it," she states, firmly. "I just want to know why you´ve changed so much. Do you really want to take all the blame for what Moriarty did, what his people are still doing?"
My answer is silence. But Molly doesn´t back off. "So why... why are you back on drugs?" she asks after a minute of quiet, softly.
My glare and my balled fists should be threatening enough to chase her away from my room, but she doesn´t waver. Harsh words are needed, not the truth. To protect her, I need to apply the same method I applied on John.
"Why would you even want to know?" I snarl. "You, a doctor — you are enough to drive a patient into an asylum! Is cutting up corpses not exciting enough, are you dying to dissect the living, too?"
Molly´s lips start trembling, more from rage than from hurt. "I simply care, Sherlock. I can´t understand what happened to you, please explain!"
I snort. "Ah, your tiny brain can´t comprehend my line of action. Have you even considered anything more than the obvious?"
"What?"
I spread my arms in a gesture of impatience. "Oh, come on! It´s quite easy to grasp. Don´t you know that there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact?" Falling back onto the bed, covering my face with my hands, I groan. "Are you really that thick, Molly Hooper?"
She steps nearer, furious about my rant. "Oh, thanks for your gratitude," she spits. "Being friends with a doctor who would stitch you up comes in handy, I suppose. But when I show the slightest concern for you, all you can think of is to blurt out insults. Thank you very much, Mr. Holmes! Probably you´d better be off to your delirious friends again and on to your absurd chase, since this seems to be the only thing you are truly capable of: cornering your prey and scorning it."
A sarcastic smile tugs at my lips. "Thank you, Dr. Hooper, for enlightening me. Please don´t expect to meet me when you are back – I think I´ll do as you ask and explore an area where I can make better use of my genuine talents."
Nodding, her eyes narrowed to slits – a rare sight with Molly, I register - she uncrosses her arms. "Do as you please. But don´t expect me to pick you up again should you ever crawl back begging for help."
That´s settled, then. Not the most elegant way to avoid answering her questions, a bit not good, as John would say. She must not know anything of my plans lest she would be an easy target for the web´s members. And I need to move on. Letting Molly know the truth would complicate matters far more than lying to her does. I can only hope that she might grasp the meaning behind my words. If not, I hope there will be a time, later, when I can explain.
Listening to her getting dressed for the evening and finally leaving the house, I find myself regretting my insults. I wish she would grasp what I was trying to transport to her. More likely, though, Molly will be just another casualty, another victim of betrayed trust, like John.