Whack!
Molly was startled awake. She raised her head so swiftly she felt a crick in her neck. She grunted and rubbed her nape. A newspaper unfurled on her desk only a few inches from her face. She then looked up to see the sardonic smile of her classmate Janine Donnelly. The attractive, dark-haired Janine was flanked by her shorter, stouter lieutenant named Mary Clery, and oddly enough, the posh Miss Emilia Blakeslee. Molly didn't dislike either Janine or Mary. However, their tendency to dominate class discussions irritated her at times. As for Emilia, Molly could never quite make up her mind about the attractive debutante. Emilia's motivation to obtain a medical license seemed wholly to shock the aristocratic part of society to which she belonged (something Molly could respect) but she otherwise kept to herself. However, this day, her pert nose was wrinkled in distaste.
"Oh, well, look who decided to join us! The consultant examiner herself, Molly Hooper!" Janine exclaimed in an exaggerated Irish accent.
Molly curled her fingers into her palms on her lap as she blinked away the fog in her brain. Her lips pulled tight. Her brows bunched together in supreme annoyance and confusion. She prided herself on being level-headed and even-tempered in most situations, but those traits were overwhelmingly overruled when she was abruptly roused from a sleeping state. She was so annoyed in that moment that she thought a jet of fire might erupt from the top of her head. She picked up the paper and flung it at Janine.
"Sod off," she muttered.
The other girls in the immediate vicinity gasped. In the back of her mind, Molly knew she probably over-reacted but she was too exhausted to check herself. The previous evening, she had stayed up late performing a full examination of a man who had been publically executed (apparently by a ghost). After her examination, she had waited for Mr. Sherlock Holmes to make an appearance (as he had been the one to request the work) until well past one am. When he hadn't shown, she'd resorted to leaving him detailed notes. That meant she hadn't gotten home to bed until 2 am.
Janine scooped the paper from the floor and waived it around. "Ah, well, our Morbid Miss Molly does not need to read about her own exploits, I guess."
Molly frowned at the hated nickname and sat up stiffly. "What are you on about?"
Janine hiked a brow and shook out the paper dramatically. "Why, I was just reading all about the, ahem, services you have been performing for Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You are now his preferred medical examiner according to the infamous Dr. John Watson's column, are you not?"
"Wh-What?" Molly lurched out of her seat.
She reached for the paper but Janine laughed and yanked it away and out of her grasp. She was a good head taller than Molly.
"Whoop! What un-lady like behavior, but not really a surprise if this story is to be believed."
Molly swallowed and held out her hand. "Please let me see that."
"Ah, no, I think the whole class should hear this piece written by Dr. Watson," Janine proclaimed, then cleared her throat as she read the paper. "He has such a way with words. Ahem, he writes, 'A reader accused me in a letter recently of fabricating the existence of the hero of my stories, the great Sherlock Holmes. My first inclination was a hearty chuckle but then I came to realize that I have made a grievous error in my depiction of him. I have painted him as a man with no frailties. Thus I forgive you, dear readers, if you find his deductive feats too fantastical to be true. This you can lay entirely at my feet as I have perpetuated the myth that he is not reliant on anyone for his determinations. Holmes, for all his intimidating acumen, is acutely aware of his own limitations and predilections. I have neglected to inform you that in fact, he readily seeks out those who might supplement his genius. He will never admit it, of course, but he is quite dependent on others such as myself, Inspector Lestrade of Scotland yard and most recently, his preferred medical examiner, Miss Molly Hooper.
"Yes, you have read correctly. Holmes resources the intellect of a student at the London School of Medicine for Women. So, you see, my good readers, even the seemingly irreproachable detective has his weaknesses. Perhaps this bit of information will help cast him in a more human light and convince you that such a man does exist. Certainly, I have found myself viewing him differently lately.'"
Warmth flushed through Molly's skin as Janine flicked the paper down to study her reaction.
"It goes on from there describing your great wit and so on. You have made quite the impression on Dr. Watson. Of course, what we really want to know is what kind of impression you have made on Mr. Holmes."
Molly squirmed in her chair. "I am sure I do not know of what you speak."
"Do you not?"
A combination of rage and embarrassment caused Molly's face to burn at higher temperature. She knew exactly what Janine insinuated. She glanced around at the other women in her class. They all listened with rapt disapproval. There was not a single supportive face amongst them. Their resentment felt like a tidal wave of ill will. Emilia Blakeslee shot her a particularly dark look. Molly was more than a little shocked by their reaction.
"Molly Hooper!"
She turned her gaze to see the dean of their school and sometimes instructor, Dr. Elizabeth Anderson, framed by the heavy wood molding around the classroom's entrance. The woman was a pioneer and quite intimidating with her stern expression. Molly gulped and stood up, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirts nervously.
"Yes, Dr. Anderson?"
"Please come with me," she directed in clipped tones.
Molly rose quickly, brushed by the grinning Janine and followed the dean into the wide outer corridor. The heels of her sturdy boots rapped against the floor and echoed off the walls as she deliberately planted each step. All in all, Dr. Anderson was an imposing woman. She was taller than Molly with her grey hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her shoulders were broad and squared. It was no wonder she had become the first female physician in England. Molly could not imagine anyone, male or female, having success setting their will against hers.
"Sit down, please, Miss Hooper," the dean instructed upon entry into her office.
Molly slunk into a simple, sturdy wooden chair across from the dean's solid oak desk. She glanced around anxiously. Dr. Anderson's office was a treasure trove of curiosities. There were stacks of papers and medical tomes on every surface. A display case to her left held jars of preserved pieces of anatomy and all manner of artifacts that begged for closer inspection including a hideously deformed skull with a bubbling bone growth twisting half the bone structure of the face. Behind the dean, her framed medical diplomas and certifications lined the wall between the room's two slender, stained glass windows. Molly felt as if she had stepped into a shrine of sorts, a kind of palace of wisdom, or a mind palace if one were so fanciful. She stifled a nervous giggle. What an odd bit of musing that had been!
Dr. Anderson settled herself into her high-backed upholstered chair and pushed the spectacles that had been dangling from a light chain around her neck up onto her nose. Molly chewed her lip as the older woman picked up what looked like another copy of the newspaper Janine had been brandishing and lifted her chin to read it through her glasses.
"Miss Hooper, you can probably surmise why I wanted to speak with you."
Molly nodded slowly. "I-I only just found about this article this instant-"
Dr. Anderson tilted her chin down to look at Molly over her glasses with raised brows. "So, it is not a mistake or an embellishment? You areacting as a medical examiner?"
Molly shook her head adamantly. "N-No! Not at all! My Uncle and his staff are still the authorities in these matters. I just offer my opinion and not on very many things, mind you. My expertise, erm, such as it is, is offered as part of an exclusive arrangement with Mr. Holmes."
The dean pursed her lips. "Hmm."
Molly did not know what her mentor thought. She clutched her hands together on her lap as she anticipated a response.
"A-Am I in trouble, Dr. Anderson?"
The dean sighed and removed her glasses. Then, she sat back and clasped her fingers together over her generous bosom.
"I have received several complaints regarding this article, Miss Hooper. As you know, people are not very supportive of this school and its students. There is a relentless campaign to sully our reputation and drive students away. We are constantly accused of corrupting the minds of young women and leading them into morally reprehensible behavior. For some, this story is proof."
Molly sucked in a breath. She did not like where the conversation was heading.
"B-But I was just gaining experience for the profession I seek to enter."
Dr. Anderson raised a hand. "Miss Hooper, while your penchant for this work is laudable, there is an unseemliness about the manner in which you are conducting yourself. Now, I know you are a bright girl, if not the brightest in my school, and I personally have no qualms about your morals, but you must appreciate that others are not so open minded. If this article is to be believed, you have attended at least one crime scene unchaperoned with a well-known single gentleman of the upper class. You have made yourself notorious, Miss Hooper, and our school already suffers from it by association."
Molly's eyes stung. While she knew that one day her activities with Mr. Holmes might be brought to light, she thought that day would be well into the future after she had obtained her degree. She did not expect it to come so soon.
"I am dreadfully s-sorry, Dr. Anderson," she choked back a cry. "It never occurred to me that I might embarrass the school. I thought I risked my reputation alone. Wh-What can I do to make amends?"
Dr. Anderson sighed and rubbed her temple. "We are past the point of amends, you understand? I cannot undo this and you certainly cannot. Oh, Molly, my girl, you have put me in an impossible situation. I cannot condone your behavior as much as it would behoove me not to do so. I have to make an example of you."
Molly's heart pounded. Her world felt as if it were shifting beneath her feet. She knew what was coming and every subsequent breath grew harder and harder to draw.
"P-Please, Doctor, I am so very sorry. I will cease my activities at once. I swear that I will never attend another crime scene with Mr. Holmes . . ."
Tears escaped her lids and spilled down her cheeks. Dr. Anderson sniffed and looked away.
"Oh, my dear child, I am in anguish for you, truly, but I have been fighting this fight from before you were born and the sad reality is that we women can never just seize what we want," her eyes glossed, she held up a fist and shook it. "We must tease and cajole each woven strand of victory from those holding the ropes that bind us. There is no avenging blade to cut our bonds as much as I wish it were so."
Finally, her gaze returned to Molly. "I am sorry to inform you that I have to suspend you for this behavior."
Her pronouncement hit Molly like a falling branch. She started sobbing and ended up on her knees on the floor in front of her mentor's desk with her hands held up as if in prayer.
"Our final exams are only weeks away! P-Please, do not do this," Molly begged. "This career means everything to me. Please, Dr. Anderson. Without this, I . . . I cannot imagine how I go on living . . ."
Dr. Anderson rose from her desk and rounded it to stand next to her. When Molly looked up, the matriarch's eyes glistened.
"Now see here, Molly Hooper," she admonished as she dragged Molly to her feet and shook her by her shoulders. "This is a suspension not an outright expulsion and certainly not the only avenue for you. It guts me to do this but I have to make a show if it, you understand? This school is dependent on benefactors who do not want their daughters' names dragged into the mire. I am sure you can imagine of whom I speak."
Emilia immediately popped into Molly's mind. "The Blakeslees?"
Dr. Anderson expelled a long breath. "I will let you make your own conclusions."
"I-Is this it, then?" Molly cried.
The dean nodded. "Yes, and I think it is best if you gather your things and leave immediately so we can avoid any further disruption. Again, I am sorry."
What followed was a numb drift as Molly shuffled through the task of gathering her books. Fortunately, her class had moved on to their labs and she didn't have to deal with jeering at the lowest moment of her life. She managed to stave off more waterworks until she was alone in the hackney cab with the busy streets passing by her window. Then she saw a happy couple strolling down the sidewalk and divulged into another fit of tears. Her risk had not turned into any kind of reward. She was no longer on the path to becoming a doctor and her reputation was in shreds. She had neither career nor hope of a more modest existence as a wife and mother. She laid her head against the cold glass and let the tears flow freely.
To add insult to injury, when she arrived home laden with her texts and stepped into the parlor entry, she observed none other than Sherlock Holmes and John Watson imbibing in drinks with her Uncle Mike. When Mr. Holmes noticed her he sat forward, studied her intently and a deep furrow set into his brow. She averted her eyes as her lip quivered. Damn him for looking concerned!
"Molly!" Her uncle exclaimed from his deep leather chair. "You are home early. Did class let out prematurely today?"
She briefly considered concealing her suspension but her face had other plans and twisted into what felt like a mask of misery. Both Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson stood suddenly and dipped their heads in anxious greeting.
"Molly?" Her uncle probed.
She lifted her chin but her lip trembled again. She did not want to look into Mr. Holmes' eyes even though being the subject of their focus felt like radiant heat on her flesh. His will was incredibly hard to disobey.
"I-I have been suspended indefinitely, Uncle," her gaze flitted to Dr. Watson. "Apparently, the revelation of my extra-curricular activities has brought disrepute to the school and I am no longer welcome to attend classes."
Dr. Watson's face fell and his mouth hung open. He closed it again into a grim line and shook his head ruefully at Mr. Holmes.
"I told you it was a bad idea," he muttered.
Molly's heart skidded to a stop in her chest and cold washed over her flesh. She began to pant as she tried to control her emotions.
"You . . . you deliberately sought to expose me?"
As hard as she tried to subdue the avalanche, the stones of her composure began to crumble. She tried to distract herself by assessing Mr. Holmes' ridiculously spot-on attire but the perfection of his tailored brown pin-striped suit with its complimentary chocolate cravat served only to rattle her foundations further. At last, it was the cinching of his brows and the digging in of his metaphorical heels in the way he clenched his jaw that set her off. How dare he brandish her name so cavalierly!
Molly threw her books to the floor save for her smallest notebook which she stared down at briefly before she let out a cry and whipped it in the direction of the handsome detective. It landed short as he stepped backwards.
"Molly Hooper!" Her uncle exclaimed. "Control yourself!"
She was too incensed though and as if by providence, Gomery appeared beside her with a tray of cakes and biscuits. She reached over and grabbed a hunk of cake and in doing so startled poor Mr. Gomery. She then flung it at Mr. Holmes who side-stepped her projectile easily. With a growl, she grabbed another and another and hurled them at him, along with a few choice insults, until a wedge of cake laden with a thick coating of buttercream hit him square in the waistcoat. Her chest heaving, she surveyed the disastrous scene. Her uncle and Dr. Watson looked mortified standing amongst the remnants of their ruined refreshments. Mr. Holmes just lifted his nose and pulled a kerchief from his pocket. He shook the slinky fabric out casually and began to wipe at his soiled suit.
"Feel better?" His deep voice intoned as his nearly translucent green eyes levelled again.
She could not read his face, he was a complete blank. She would have preferred anything else in that moment but his reticent emotion finally forced her to look inward. She felt wretched.
"N-No," she whispered.
Molly inhaled a shuddering breath, then her chest was seized with a spasm. He didn't care. Whatever his reasons for inciting Dr. Watson to include her in his article, he did not seem to care that she was hurt. A sob bubbled up in her throat. Then she fled.
"Well, that was rather badly done, Holmes," Watson sighed as he stooped to assist the geriatric butler cleaning up the ravaged desserts.
Sherlock glowered down at his friend. "Oh, do shut up, Watson. No one asked your opinion!"
Dr. Stamford clicked his tongue to Sherlock's right. "I apologize, Mr. Holmes, there is no excuse for her behavior."
Sherlock rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on.
"I disagree, Doctor, I think she has every excuse," he murmured as he plunked into his seat.
He drew in a breath. Another pang knifed through his skull. He closed his eyes a moment to scrub his mind of the visage of Miss Hooper's despaired expression but the impression persisted. He had not wanted to harm his examiner's reputation when he had urged Watson to include her in his story. Rather, he sought to garner her some commendation for her work and hoped she might be flattered enough to forgive him for his transgressions. Also, and selfishly perhaps, there had been something satisfying in immortalizing their connection in print. Though exactly why, he could not say. He had not anticipated that she would be turfed from her school. Pain lanced his psyche once more. He hissed. He could not see a way to immediately correct the situation. The way forward was a mystery.
"Holmes," Watson interrupted his reverie, "does this mean she is not coming with us to the morgue?"
Sherlock's head twitched. He had forgotten about their original quest. He glanced up at Dr. Stamford.
"Do not look at me, my boy," the stout doctor chuckled as he plopped into his seat. "I am not the one you must placate."
Dr. Stamford reached over to his decanter of brandy on a silver tray and splashed a bit more into his tumbler. He wagged the bottle at Sherlock, who passed with a flick of his fingers.
"No thank you, we are leaving shortly."
Stamford repeated the gesticulation for Watson with a broad smile and a wink.
"Yeah, sure, why not?" Watson said with a shrug as he helped Gomery up from the floor. "I think I have time for one more."
He took the crystal decanter from Dr. Stamford, tipped a few ounces into his glass and sat back into the well-worn settee. Sherlock glared at him.
"I just said we are leaving soon."
Watson nodded as he knocked back a slug of the sparkling brown spirit. "Yes, I heard. Not soon enough to finish this drink, I would wager. Actually, probably not before a second serving, if I really think about it. In fact, I might be right sauced before you convince Miss Hooper to answer her door."
Stamford hooted a laugh. His cheeks were already well on their way to becoming the same shade of crimson as his waistcoat. Sherlock glanced warily at the household's patriarch.
"S-Surely you would not approve of my setting foot outside your niece's bedroom door, Dr. Stamford," he swallowed. "It would not be proper."
Stamford smirked and tipped his glass at him. "To be sure, Mr. Holmes, to be sure . . . but as you said yourself – you do not have any designs on my pretty niece and I believed you when you said it, I surely did. Besides, I have a keen ear. Very little escapes me."
John Watson snickered and snorted a laugh. He then hid behind his glass but Sherlock could see his mustache dancing in amusement. With a huff, the detective launched himself to his feet. His face felt inexplicably warm.
"I will return before you swill the last of that rotgut, Watson," he grumbled.
Stamford's amused voice followed him from the parlor while Watson stifled another chuckle. "Take a right at the top of the stairs, Mr. Holmes, third door in. Oh, and best of luck."