Chapter 10
The insistent ringtone of Sherlock's phone in his jacket's inside pocket, brought Molly back to reality. She broke the kiss and abruptly broke away from his embrace, rearranging her clothes. Sherlock reached out to her, to hold her back but she nervously escaped his grip, "You better answer…ongoing case, it could be important" she panted.
He looked at her confused "Molly", she turned away from him "Answer that damn phone, please!" she repeated irritated with herself for letting herself go. What the hell was this? It was necessary for them to talk, to clarify what was left pending before giving outburst to the obvious attraction between them. Molly turned away as Sherlock slipped off the stool and tried to hide the evident bulge in his trousers under his jacket.
As he abruptly answered "What do you want, Mycroft?", Molly's phone chirped an orgasmic moan. She hastened to take the device from her lab's coat pocket, hoping Sherlock was distant and focused enough in his conversation that he hadn't heard the well-known ringtone. Why Irene had chosen to use it for her too, was a mystery. After reading her text, Molly looked up and met Sherlock's puzzled one "Yes, she's with me".
Wasting no time in calling Irene, saw him pace the room without taking his eyes off her "Slow down, brother mine. Why on earth should one of your cars wait for Molly out here?", his gaze was piercing and attentive, it was obvious he was trying to deduce her. As soon as Molly heard The Woman's voice, she turned her back on Sherlock and asked in a low voice "Where are you? What happened?".
"Just tell me the truth, Mycroft…what the hell did you get her into?" she heard him say to his brother in a worked up voice, as she dropped a line to Sherlock on a post-it note. Molly took advantage of the fact Sherlock was turned away and was not paying attention to her to sneak out, "I'm on my way. Don't move" she ordered Irene running towards the locker room.
Sherlock closed the call, angry with his brother who had refused to give him any explanation, hiding behind the usual 'national security issue'. But what made him rack his brains the most is what Molly had to do with national security, "At this point I think you have something to tell me" he said flattening his tone and turning on himself, but Molly was already gone.
Sherlock walked over to the counter where the piece of paper Molly had written on lay. He took it in his hand and read it: I'M SORRY FOR THE KISS. I SHOULDN'T HAVE. DON'T WORRY IF YOU DON'T HEAR FROM ME IN THE NEXT HOURS. TRUST ME. I'LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING.
Sherlock rushed into the corridor but there was no sign of her. He thought about running at breakneck speed into the downstairs locker room but for sure Molly would be out of the building by the time he got there. He picked up his phone and sent her a text, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, MOLLY, WHAT ARE YOU GETTING UP TO? YOU CAN BET WE NEED TO TALK. STRICTLY TOMORROW AT LUNCH. WAITING FOR YOU IN BAKER STREET. SH
It was several minutes before her reply arrived, I DON'T THINK IT WILL BE POSSIBLE. DON'T GET CAUGHT IN THE FRENZY OF FINDING ME…I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF. SOLVE LIZZIE'S CASE. HOWEVER, I'LL SEND YOU THE AUTOPSY'S RESULTS IN THE AFTERNOON. MH
Sherlock flopped onto the stool ruffling his hair in frustration. If Mycroft had involved Molly in anything dangerous he swore he would kill him with his own hands. He wasn't going to spare him the way he did at Sherrinford.
"Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time" his sister's words came back in his mind. He had to calm down and think, reflect…and he realized that Mycroft would never deliberately recruit Molly for national security matters knowing exactly what Sherlock felt about her and whose main purpose in life was that she was always safe. Not to mention that she had been away for six months during which she had had no reason to have contact with Mr British Government.
Sherlock closed his eyes, joined the fingertips of his hands in a prayer position and lingered in his mind palace. Data began to float free one after another: Molly, Baltimore, FBI, murders, wanted people.
While she was in the US she had stumbled upon something or someone…Sherlock had to do a little research among the more recent cases that had passed through Molly's hands. Whatever it was, she had turned to Mycroft and not him. Why? It had to be a big thing or a person of great power, one who could bring world governments to their knees. Suddenly Sherlock opened his eyes…it couldn't be!
He got up, pacing restlessly around the room. It was impossible! Yet…yet it was the only name that fit the bill. It had to be her. Irene Adler, The Woman!
What was Molly helping her with? What had made her run away from him at half past four in the morning? On Christmas morning moreover! And especially while things were heating up between them? Because it was obvious that if Mycroft hadn't interrupted them they would surely go beyond kissing.
His brother, however, had not been the only one call shortly before, Molly had received a text. Sherlock closed his eyes again, surrounding himself with the noises and sounds present at that moment.
From the metallic one of the analysis machine to Molly's footsteps moving away, from the slight rustle of her clothes being rearranged to the voice of Mycroft urgently asking if Molly was with him as she wasn't answering her phone, from the tearing of the post-it note to the faint tone of Molly's ringer for texts…
He had just barely heard it, hadn't paid attention to it, but now in his mind palace Sherlock heard it clearly. It was Irene's orgasmic moan.
Assuming he was right, Sherlock wondered why Irene hadn't turned to him. That was why she had continued texting him, because she knew what a great asset it was to have Sherlock Holmes available in case she needed him. This led him to believe whatever was involved in, The Woman didn't need a brilliant detective.
And what did she need a pathologist for? Hold on! A pathologist is also a doctor. Was Irene sick? In that case Molly would certainly have helped her…Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks "The kid!" he said aloud through gritted teeth.
The son of a friend recently moved to London who is taken home by Mycroft. He saw the image of the little guy hugging Molly, in front of his eyes. The resemblance with Irene was all there, "There was always something!" he mumbled exasperated.
Sherlock was brought back to reality by the sound of the machine, which had finished analysing the samples. He ran a hand over his face wearily and watched carefully the results. He did a quick internet search on his phone and sent a text to Lestrade. He had a clue. It usually gave him adrenaline rushes but right now his only thought was Molly.
Sherlock was a little annoyed about it. He didn't want sentiment to slow down his mental processes or his work. Neither did Molly. She had clearly written him to focus and solve Lizzie Sterling's case.
He slowly slid off the stool and grabbed his Belstaff to put it on, then pulled out of his pocket his new leather gloves, Molly's Christmas present. Sherlock sighed shoving under his arm the folder of the case's files. Coming out of the lab with a firm step and his coat flitting behind him, he told himself he would trust Molly, just as she asked him.
Sherlock decided he would wait until that afternoon. If he hadn't received the autopsy's report as Molly promised by then, or hadn't heard from her, then he'd go find her.
The biting morning air hit him full in the face and he pulled his coat around him to protect himself from the coat. Thank God, the cab he called was already waiting. As he climbed aboard, an idea flashed through his head "Address, Sir?" the driver asked, "221b Baker Street please, but I have to stop somewhere first" was Sherlock's reply.
While the cab ran quickly through the free streets of a London still asleep on Christmas day, Sherlock looked out the window at the landscape that passed in front of him, thinking of Molly and the chat he no longer wanted to postpone.
From the exact moment Molly stepped on the plane would take her to Baltimore, she had crept into Sherlock's head, into his dreams, under his skin. Her absence had become a physical discomfort to which Sherlock found remedy for in meeting her more and more frequently in his mind palace.
The space Molly occupied in Sherlock's mind palace was not confined to a single room, it was more like an apartment with several rooms connected to each other. At first he entered that space for a short time and only once a week, exactly after talking to her on video call.
Then he went to his mind-Molly more often and stayed longer. He always found her waiting for him, welcoming him with her sweet and warm smile. Sometimes wearing only her underwear and one of his shirt, sometimes fully clothed.
During those visits they often made love. He remembered the first time was a passionate and erotic act consumed against the front door because his desire for her was so strong that the bedroom seemed too far away. But most of the time their lovemaking was slower and more intimate, whispering their names like a chant amid rising groans.
Countless times they had just talked hugging and curled up in bed. Or they were both on the sofa, she sitting with a book in one hand and the other intent on stroking his hair as he was lying with his head on her lap lingering in his mind palace.
Other times they stood in the kitchen with Molly wrapped in a white apron with cherry designs, in front of the stove and he beside her, ready to taste what she was cooking. Or they were relaxing in the hot water of the bathtub. The bubble bath's foam covered their naked bodies. Molly's back against his chest and her head resting on his shoulder, their fingers intertwined and their legs tangled.
Sherlock's favourite moments, however, were when sitting across from each other with the chessboard between them, with Molly very focused on the best move to make and occasionally looking up at him in an attempt to deduce him. Sherlock went crazy for her dimples which beautified her smile when she defeat him "Come on King, the Queen wants to win again!".
He ordered the cab's driver to wait for him for ten minutes and sneaked into Kew Gardens by a hidden entrance known only to him. Sherlock reached the blind greenhouse silently. He hadn't been in that specific bolt hole for a while. Out of habit he took a look around but of course there was no one there. He entered cautiously, first lighting the room with the flame of a lighter, then settling fire to the wick of a couple of candles.
He picked up Molly's well-wrapped gift. It was square in shape, 22 inches on each side. Sherlock's mouth curled into a smile, deducing what it was. He turned over the gift's tag attached to the present:
DEAREST KING
LOVE, QUEEN xxx
