Sherlock's mind raced as he exited the aquarium into the street, the sun just finished setting. It could've been a normal evening. But the next time the sun rose over the world, one person would be gone from it. Mycroft was dead. The two had never got along, but his final act had been saving his brother's life. Why? Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the storm of emotions that were threatening to take over him. It was all his fault, for getting Mycroft involved in the case. It should've been him.
Suddenly he looked up. He couldn't go back there, to John and Mary. He needed to talk with someone else. Someone who had always been there for him, even if he hadn't been there for her. He needed to see Molly.
ooOoo
"And the three little pigs lived happily ever after." Molly repeated, closing the book. "That's all for tonight, Rosie." Baby Rosie giggled as she reached for a new toy. Molly's phone started ringing.
"John?" She asked, picking it up. "What's up?"
"Mycroft's dead." John answered on the other end, sadness in his voice. "He was shot, trying to save Sherlock."
"What?" Molly gasped. "Well, where's Sherlock? Where's Mary? Are they okay?"
"I'm here," Mary replied, taking the phone. "We don't know where Sherlock is. He just walked out of there."
Molly thought. If she was Sherlock and had just lost someone dear to him, where would he go?
Then it hit her. "I know exactly where he went."
ooOoo
The darkness of the lab seemed to press in on him from all directions, the only light being the reflections of the glass cylinders and microscopes. He had given up on trying to find Molly, for she was obviously not here, so he settled for sitting down instead.
He was crouched underneath a table in the corner of the room, curled up with his coat over his face. Hours seemed to go by, he soon lost track of time. There were no tears yet, just the overwhelming sensation of grief, loss, and confusion. Sherlock debated escaping back into Victorian London, but resisted the urge. Mycroft had worked so hard to keep him clean, he wasn't about to lose all that. It was the least he could do.
His parents woud've been notified by now. That they had just lost a son, and their other one was AWOL. And what about his sister?
There was a girl, Sherlock realized with a start, but he didn't know—couldn't remember what she looked like. A pair of pink boots, a child singing...it was all very confusing. Redbeard was his dog, what did that have anything to do with a sister? And what was Sherrinford?
Just then, the door opened. Sherlock cringed, afraid it was one of the cleaning staff. He just wanted to hide here forever, left alone.
"Sherlock?" It wasn't a janitor. The voice belonged to Molly Hooper. "Are you in here? Can you hear me?"
"I'm here." Sherlock replied. He was surprised at how steady his voice was. "Under the table." He saw Molly's brown tennis shoes come closer. She crouched down, and Sherlock was grateful he could see her face.
"I'm so, so sorry, Sherlock." she said, sliding under the table with him and giving him a hug.
"Don't tell John where I went," he pleaded, "I can't go back to Baker Street...not yet."
Molly nodded. "I haven't yet." Sherlock seemed satisfied with that, for he was silent. They sat there for awhile, just staring out at the dark window, leaning onto each other. At some point they both fell asleep, Molly resting her head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock took his coat off and covered the both of them. He didn't mind, it was the least he could do for all she had done for him.
The next morning, Molly woke up, alone. Sherlock's coat was still over her and he had folded up a lab jacket as a pillow. Even though he was gone, a strange sense of calm had descended over Molly. He was Sherlock, after all, and if there was one thing that Molly knew about him it would be that he always had a plan. No doubt he was on his way to console his parents, or at least reunite with John.
There was a note taped to the underside of the table. Molly leaned forward, rubbing her eyes. It was very short, just a couple of choppy sentences: Talked with John. Going to see parents now. Thank you. SH
Molly smiled. Sherlock rarely thanked anyone. He must've been in a better mood. Stretching, she stood up and grabbed her purse, and walked out of the hospital into sunny London.
Author Note:
Personally, the scene where Mary died was one of my least favorite ones. She was super badass and a brand-new mom, so it was super unlucky. Thankfully, one of the best parts about writing fan fiction is that you can really make anything that you want happen. Mary and Sherlock were both too good to die, so I decided to get a little more creative (Sorry Mycroft). Hope you liked it!
-Irene xx