CHAPTER SIXTEEN
And Behold a White Horse
"And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts
And I looked and behold a pale horse
And his name that sat on him was Death
And Hell followed with him..."
There are many moments in a man's life that shape his future; his birth, his childhood, his upbringing, his first kiss, his first heartbreak, his first fear of the dark...
The moment that shaped Sherlock Holmes into the man he was was the death of his childhood pet and companion, Redbeard.
Redbeard...
A dog, long since dead, his body left in the basement of an abandoned house, his remains eaten away by time and left to rot and to turn to dust.
And yet, low and behold, there sat the same red dog from his youth.
"Out of the way, boy!" Father had barked at him, taking aim with his gun, the boy that was Sherlock Holmes standing trembling in front of the dog.
The same dog of his youth sat, panting in a smiling sort of way that only dogs do, sat proudly and obediently at the feet of the august Cardinal Magnusson.
Sherlock's gun was still aimed high and appropriately but the breath had left his body.
John was unaware of the dog's significance.
In his eyes it was just a dog, a pet of the Cardinal's.
But to Sherlock it moved mountains.
"Welcome, Sherlock and John." Cardinal Magnusson said politely, gesturing with his hand, the other reached down to pat the Irish Setter's head gently, making direct eye contact with Sherlock as he did so.
Sherlock gripped his gun tighter as he felt the rage swarm through him like locust.
"It has come to this, hasn't it dear boy?" Magnusson said and he clicked his tongue disappointingly and removed his hand from the dog. "Did you like my nursery?"
John took an angry step forward but Sherlock reached out, still keeping his gun high, and clasped his partner's shoulder, holding him in place firmly.
John Watson was seething.
"You call it a nursery!" John shouted, spit flying from his mouth. He was chomping at the bit to end this miserable deviant.
Magnusson simply shrugged.
"What else would I call it? A zoo?" He chuckled like an old man talking about fishing. The burn on his face wrinkled and stretched with his every word.
"Do you like him, Sherlock?" Magnusson asked looking down at the dog.
Sherlock swallowed and when he didn't answer the old added, "He's so obedient. The children love him."
"Why did you have the Watchers killed?" Sherlock demanded.
Magnusson looked surprised, genuinely surprised.
"I thought that case was closed. What would I have to do with it?" Magnusson asked innocently.
"I had a tip. A big boss sent a wake-up call." Sherlock said, practically showing his hand. He was too emotional, too attached and too invested in the horrors he had just seen.
But Magnusson shook his head.
"Your brother told me it was closed therefore I believed it was. I have no idea what you're talking about, dear boy." Magnusson said in an eerily fatherly tone.
"You're under arrest." John said, using authority he didn't have in a place that was considered by many to be hallowed ground.
Magnusson actually laughed but that didn't surprise Sherlock however it did enrage John even more.
"Under arrest," Magnusson mocked. "He's so funny. You must really like him to have kept him so long." The implication was interpreted just fine by both men.
"But... but the woman-"
"Sherlock I did not invite you here to have you interrogate me with your silly cases," Magnusson cut in sharply but elegantly. "No, I invited you here because I have a gift for you."
Sherlock slowly shook his head, baffled.
"A... what?" Sherlock asked.
"A gift. You do still like dogs, correct?" Magnusson gesturing once more to the Irish Setter at his side.
Sherlock's eyes went from the dog to Magnusson.
"For what?" Sherlock asked carefully.
"Must there be something in return required?"
"Yes. You would never give anything for free. There's always a price."
Magnusson sighed and nodded.
"Yes. You're right." Magnusson said and he stood and reached for a small remote control and with one clicked Molly's face appeared on half of the television screens behind the Cardinal. Sherlock gasped and stepped closer without realizing it.
John's hand went to cover his mouth without his permission. Both men revealing their sentiment before they could stop themselves.
Molly was sitting in the corner of a dark room, the video feed was green which meant it was set to night vision, which meant Molly was alone in the dark.
Sherlock's heart clenched.
She's afraid of the dark, Sherlock thought.
With another click of the remote Janine's image illuminated the other half of the screens.
"Jesus." John let out.
"I want to play a game." Magnusson said smirking. "Oh, your faces are delicious."
"What game?" Sherlock demanded, not skipping a beat.
"Shoot the dog or one of them dies-"
"I assume I won't know which one of them you plan to kill first."
"Absolutely not." Magnusson said. "That wouldn't be any fun."
Sherlock took another step towards where the dog sat and took aim at it's head.
It's just a dog, he told himself. It's just a damn dog!
But his hands still shook, his heart still pounded in his chest. He could almost feel Magnusson breathing on him.
"Sherlock do it." John said impatiently.
"You can't do it for him either, John," Magnusson said, saying his name as if he knew him and it made John's skin crawl. "That would be cheating."
Sherlock licked his dry lips, his throat equally dry.
"It's just a damn dog, boy!" Sherlock's father had shouted at him.
Sherlock could still feel Mycroft pulling him away and forcing Sherlock to face him, pulling him closer and kneeling in front of him. Sherlock tried to turn to look as his father raised his gun.
"Keep your eyes fixed on me." Mycroft had said with tears in his eyes and gently, brotherly, kindly, mercifully, Mycroft had covered Sherlock's ears with the palms of his hands.
There had been no time to leave the room, both boys caught up in the moment, too afraid to move. Wanting to run, wanting to hide and yet being unable to do either.
It's just a dog... Sherlock reminded himself.
But his brain kept telling him it wasn't just a dog. It was Redbeard, he had Redbeard back, his lost childhood incarnate.
It's not the same dog, he heard Mycroft's voice remind him.
"I do love this," Magnusson said brutally. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Sherlock, please," he heard John say.
"Go on Sherlock, or suffer the little women-"
The gun went off and the dog dropped to the floor and soon after so did Sherlock, on his knees, leaving the gun somewhere beside him, cradling the dead dog.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sherlock muttered into its soft fur.
It smelt like a dog, as all dogs smell the same. It felt like Redbeard... even the collar looked similar.
"Onto the next game." Magnusson said as if Sherlock hadn't just shot a dog in his chamber. The Cardinal walked away, Sherlock did not know where, but he soon felt John beside him.
"Soldiers, Sherlock," John reminded him. Sherlock released the dog, it's eyes still open, still trusting him...
John helped Sherlock to stand, giving him back his gun.
Janine was in a room filled with light and she paced back and forth, occasionally knocking on her cell door but having no answer. She looked scared, like a frightened animal.
"Time to choose, Sherlock," Magnusson said, taking a seat behind his desk and splaying his hands on the wooden davenport.
"Molly or Janine?" John questioned but Magnusson shook his head.
"No. The wife, the lover or..." Magnusson paused for effect but Sherlock had already deduced what he would say next.
"The children."
John wanted to throw up.
"How many?" John asked.
"All of them. There are more where they came from. Each one of their rooms is hooked up with deadly gas. With one press of a button I can kill all of them. Or... spare them." Magnusson explained, evilly.
Sherlock ran a hand over his face.
"Come, come, Sherlock it's a game!" Magnusson joked, smiling in a way no man with a beating heart should when talking about murdering children.
"This isn't a game," Sherlock said dangerously. "This is vivisection."
Magnusson shrugged.
"Call it what you will. I'm having a lovely time. Too bad Molly isn't younger," Magnusson said looking to Molly's little frame in the dark. "But she's just the right age for others I know."
Sherlock's hand itched to shoot Magnusson; he craved the death of this man more than he had ever wanted to end a life before.
"I'll not partake in this filthy web of shit any longer." Sherlock hissed strongly.
"Then they all die." Magnusson said simply.
"Sherlock..." John's voice broke through the madness that was beginning to encompass his companion.
"I... I can't, John." Sherlock said looking into the Captain's eyes.
"Name who you save, Sherlock." Magnusson cut in but Sherlock refused to look away from his... not his partner, his friend.
Sherlock felt a tear fall from his eye and he looked to the television screens once more and slowly, on shaking legs and unsteady knees moved forward.
There she was, his girl. His Molly Hooper. His soul-mate, his heart, his darling little paramour. His everything and his nothing.
The beginning and end... the middle. The what could be and what should have been.
Every single moment in time they had spent together and every single moment he had planned for them flashed behind his eyelids in a flurry of overwhelming grief.
Sherlock placed his hand on one of the screens, closing his eyes and yearning that beyond distance, beyond time, beyond measure that she could feel him.
One last touch, one last smile... selfishly he did not think of Janine. This was his moment with Molly. His time to belong to only her. Sherlock never owned Molly... she had stolen him. The little thief in the night, the pickpocket of his heart.
He had taken so much from her; her father, her innocence, her love, her devotion... and what had he given her?
"I think you've made your choice." Magnusson said and Sherlock heard movement.
"No. I haven't." Sherlock said and John snapped his head to him.
Sherlock broke apart inside as he let go of the television screen and walked to the one that contained Janine's image.
The woman who had only wished that he love her and he never could. He hadn't even tried because he hadn't desired to love anyone. He had ruined her life and turned her into a suicidal manic depressive.
Janine deserved to be happy.
At least with Molly they had had their little bit of heaven, their moments of joy and tenderness. What had he given Janine? Sadness, isolation, anxiety, dejection...
Everything she had never deserved.
"Why don't you ask your wife?" Mrs. Harrison's words rushed back to him.
What about the children? His mind rang to him. He groaned and placed a hand over his stomach, fearing he might lose it at any moment.
"Ooh, I knew this would be good." Magnusson said rubbing his hands together, his cheeks flushing red with excitement.
"Can I speak to them?" Sherlock asked and Magnusson thought on it for a moment or two. "Please, if this might be the last time I speak to them I would like to say goodbye."
"Very well. But not in private. Who would you like first?" Magnusson asked.
Molly would be more painful and he would rather continue to prolong that pain.
"My wife." Sherlock replied weakly.
With the remote Magnusson clicked a button and gave him the go-ahead.
"Janine?" Sherlock said, staring at the television screens.
On the screen Janine jumped at the sound of his voice and seemed to try and find the source.
"Sherlock! Where am I? What's happening?" Janine asked fearfully, her eyes watering.
"It's alright. I can't explain what's happening. But I need to tell you something." Sherlock explained, trying to sound calm.
"Yes?" Janine asked innocently.
"I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasted your life." Sherlock said honestly.
Janine visibly stiffened.
"Why are you saying this? You're my husband, I love you and-"
"No! Janine, no, stop! You don't love me. Please, this is the only time we can tell the truth." Sherlock said to her passionately.
For once he had wanted to have an honest conversation with his wife. He heard Janine sigh and she sniffled.
"I don't love you." Janine said to him and released a heavy breath again as if a weight had been lifted.
"I know. I'm sorry I couldn't love you." Sherlock said to her kindly. He thought he saw her smile sadly.
"You're a good man, Sherlock," Janine said kindly. "I wish I could have been what you wanted."
Sherlock inhaled a shaky breath and nodded though she couldn't see him.
"When can I come home?" Janine asked him.
"Soon. I can't explain. I promise you'll be okay." He said, regretting it the moment the words left his lying mouth.
"That's enough." Magnusson said clicking the same button on the remote. Sherlock gritted his teeth so hard he thought he felt them shift.
"Now, for the really interesting one." Magnusson said greedily and eagerly pressed a button and Sherlock approached the screens with Molly, still huddled in a corner with her head bowed on her forearms.
"Molly?" Sherlock whispered, standing so close to the monitors that his eyes began to burn and he could see his breath on the glass. He watched Molly's head slowly lift and she looked all around her but she didn't stand.
"This is a trick." He heard her say and he shook his head wishing she could see him.
"No, no, Molly it's not it's me." He pleaded.
Molly didn't answer, simply lowered her head back into her arms.
"Where are you?" She whispered sadly.
Sherlock wanted to hold her, he wanted to save her.
"Somewhere not with you." He said morosely to her and she lifted her head once more.
"Will you come for me?" She asked.
"Not now."
"Why am I here?"
"Because I'm an idiot."
Molly chuckled surprisingly but it didn't last long.
"Yes, yes you are." She reminded him and he laughed too.
"Molly, I..."
"Yes?"
"I... I want you to know that I-"
"I was untrue!" She blurted out and he closed his mouth, briefly looking back at John who returned the look. His eyes apologizing once more, he looked back to Molly.
"It was Captain Watson. I'm so sorry, Mr. Holmes. It's been killing me. Because I care so much for you and I don't deserve-"
"I forgive you." Sherlock told her, running his index finger over her small frame on the screen.
I can smell her even still, he thought.
"Can I see you?" Molly asked him hopefully.
"No. I don't know when we can." He told her honestly, wishing he were alone.
"This... is this a goodbye?" She stammered, her throat clogging with tears.
"Molly... I've wanted to say something for a long time. You once asked me if I... if I... loved you," he paused as he saw her standing, as if she were trying to find him in the darkness. "Molly, I have loved you since the moment I saw you."
The words tumbled out of his mouth, pouring over every second of their time together like rain over wet ink, washing it away and blending it with the water.
"I love you. I love you." He repeated. He could see her chest rising and falling rapidly and she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.
"Tell her, Sherlock," Magnusson pressed.
"Who's that?" Molly asked, obviously hearing the Cardinal's voice over the speaker.
Sherlock knew what Magnusson was referring to and he begged with his eyes that he not be made to tell her.
"Do it, Sherlock." Magnusson ordered, a look of awful glee in his old pale eyes.
"Molly. There's more. And you'll hate me." Sherlock told her and she shook her head.
"No. No, I love you, I do I love you so much. I could never hate you."
"I wish I could believe that. But I know better than anyone human nature." He said gloomily.
"Please, you can tell me anything." She promised, a look of sweet hope on her face.
"Tell me you love me one more time." He begged.
"I love you, Sherlock Holmes." She said, saying his first name for the first time.
"I love you, Molly Hooper. I'm so sorry, Molly, I... I killed your father." He said and he knew the moment he said it he lost her.
Forever, the sweet cottage by the sea, the imaginary garden he had made for her, the sand beneath their feet and the sun above their heads, disappeared.
Sherlock's knees finally gave out on him but even on his knees he could see her in the screens and she too had fallen, gripping her stomach as her body was wracked with uncontrollable sobs.
"No, no, no, no..." She whimpered over and over again.
"Molly, I'm sorry."
Magnusson clicked the button again.
"Beautiful, absolutely stunning," Magnusson said clapping his hands.
John wanted to go to his friend, but no matter what he did there was nothing that could ease this pain.
John felt Sherlock dying inside, felt him breaking apart with no way of being put back together again, collapsing like a dying star.
Not even Rayburn Holmes could fix this.
"Alas, it is time to choose. Wife, lover or children, Sherlock?" Magnusson said standing before Sherlock.
John brushed past the Cardinal and helped Sherlock to his feet, pulling him away, creating some distance between them at this monster.
"What if we just shoot you?" John said threateningly.
"Guards will come, the children will be gassed and a man will go to each cell that holds Mrs. Holmes and Molly Hooper and will end their lives." Magnusson said with a sigh, feigning sadness.
John nodded and looked to Sherlock, looking him in the eyes again. Sherlock was utterly defeated. A man broken beyond repair. He looked like a little boy.
But there was something in those eyes, a knowing look, a look he had seen before.
A look that said, "trust me".
It was now or never, run and hide or stand and fight.
Soldiers, John thought.
John chuckled for a moment and looked at Magnusson.
"What?" The Cardinal questioned.
"Your face." John said continuing to laugh.
"What about it?" Magnusson demanded.
"That must have hurt like a bitch." John said in gesturing to the burn.
"Yes, yes it did."
"Yeah, well, too bad you won't feel this." John said raising his gun and pulling the trigger.
Magnusson dropped dead to the ground, his brain painting the monitors behind him.
"Took you long enough to catch on." Sherlock said and he took in another shaking breath.
It hadn't all been a performance after all.
Sherlock had really hurt Molly but it all needed to be said. And after all she needed to be far away from him. What better way than confessing the greatest evil he had inflicted upon her?
"When did you disable them?" John asked.
Magnusson should never have let Sherlock so close to his desk while John distracted him with his questioning.
It gave Sherlock time to find the security switch on the Cardinal's desk that controlled the cameras. Sherlock deduced Magnusson turned off the cameras when he had children in his office so he could never be blackmailed.
It was smart, but Sherlock Holmes was smarter.
"How long before his guards check on him?" John asked his friend.
"Who knows, depends on how long he's usually with one of them." He said disgustedly.
"One less monster in the world." John commented.
Sherlock removed a small radio and sent a coded message to Mycroft, who was already on his way, under the guise of a social call to the Cardinal, as a rescue.
And Sherlock and John posed the Cardinal's suicide.
When Mycroft arrived he carried with him a search warrant; he found the children, Sherlock and John had already left. Mycroft sent his own coded message that Molly and Janine were put on his ship and would be returned home safely.
"Have you been in contact with Mycroft this whole time?" John asked on their way back.
Sherlock nodded.
"Of course. He's the only one I could trust. I contacted him after I woke. We had an... interesting conversation." Sherlock told him.
John gaped at him.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" John asked him.
"I guess I forgot." Sherlock said simply.
"You forgot?"
"Yu-p."
John sighed and leaned back against the wall of the ship taking them home.
"You're an asshole." John said.
"I know."
John eventually fell asleep. However Sherlock remained awake. He couldn't stop thinking about Molly. Now that everything had been laid between himself and Janine he felt they could remain married but at least be honest with each other. An honest marriage would be better than a silent one.
But Molly... he had destroyed her. She would never love him again. He would find her a new position, better pay, maybe she could retire early.
No, she should never work again... Astrid 1 maybe, she could still have a garden.
He would not return to his old life as a Watcher.
With the death of the Cardinal and the rise of his brother into power things were going to change. Sherlock and Mycroft shared that view at least, that the world needed changing.
However that didn't mean there wouldn't be people standing in their way and his elder brother would need someone to help him.
But until then... he needed to deal with the Molly Hooper situation. He couldn't leave things how they were. He needed to apologize until she forced him to stop, until she slapped him and called him a bastard.
It didn't matter. He couldn't leave it, he needed to finish it in a better way.
They deserved their moment of being alone together, of him begging her on his hands and knees like a coward that he couldn't live without her. That moment needed to happen.
But was he brave enough to allow it?
Mycroft sent him a message telling him the children were being looked after by doctors and many of Magnusson's advisors who lived on the Aquitaine had been arrested.
At least there were some victories. A little justice in the world.
X
"He thought it was Magnusson?" Anton Hooper said taking a drink of water.
Mycroft nodded and sat down at his desk.
It had been weeks since Magnusson's "suicide" and it was the first moment the elder Holmes was able to speak with his partner in crime.
"Yes," Mycroft said with an exasperated sigh. "So much paper work."
The older man chuckled a little and took another sip, crossing a leg over the other.
"Don't pretend you're not enjoying your new position, old friend." Anton said smiling and raising his glass to Mycroft who shrugged humbly.
"Oh, it's nothing," Mycroft said, feigning humbleness. "How is Astrid 1?"
"Beautiful and uneventful." The man said with a shrug.
"Yes, but you've come back. Not that I'm complaining. Your message to Sherlock was delivered quite well.
Anton Hooper leaned forward, placing his glass of water on the mahogany desk.
"Delivered but not yet received." Anton said seriously.
"You grew tired of waiting, I presume?"
"You gave me little choice." Anton countered.
Mycroft sighed and nodded in defeat.
It was true; for years Anton had been pressuring Mycroft into telling Sherlock the truth but the elder Holmes had refused to budge.
And so Anton had taken matters into his own hands especially when his spies informed him that his own daughter was on Sherlock's radar. It didn't help that Sherlock had been turned into the perfect spy himself without even knowing it.
Rayburn had supplied much of the video footage taken from Sherlock's memory banks; however the younger, half-blooded Holmes had been kind enough to omit the "intimate moments" between Sherlock and the former Watcher's daughter.
Despite Rayburn's voyeurism, he was loyal and even he did have his limits.
As long as his mother was safe nothing else mattered to Rayburn.
"It all worked out in the end." Mycroft said, sounding relieved and tired.
New positions of power were rarely easy to acclimate to and even for someone as brilliant as Mycroft Holmes he too was only human after all.
Anthea continued to try and make him jealous and he never showed that it worked quite efficiently. She never tired of dangling her latest conquest under his nose hoping that it would get his attention. But Mycroft had no time for his personal life. He had bigger fish to fry and sadly his frying pan was getting quite crowded.
Making peace with the rebels had been in the making for years, hence the cease fire. Their representative was a simple man who chose neutrality above all other things.
Even Anton had been intelligent enough to make sure he was in the right place at the right time when a Watcher was murdered in front of him.
"Have you spoken to her?" Mycroft dared ask.
The subject of his daughter was a precarious one.
The elder Holmes had always intended to keep the girl safe and for a while he had hoped that with his bionic brother that was the most secure place for her... until Sherlock couldn't keep his greedy hands to himself.
Anton grimaced but a little, a look of shame, not towards her, but of himself changed his features ever so slightly, his guard down from living a civilian life too long.
Mycroft nearly grinned, finding the older man as noble as ever.
"Too much time has passed," Anton said sadly. "She is safe."
"You'll be living on the same planet, Anton, you might want to make your presents known. I suppose congratulations are in order." Mycroft said, almost dismally.
Anton clenched his jaw and let the Watcher facade fall away. With Mycroft he could always be honest.
"I am disappointed to say the least. But I love her, she is my blood." Anton said in a subdued passion.
"Perhaps you should rethink your choice to let her continue to think you're dead. She needs you now, more than ever."
X
Molly Hooper had been given a residence on Astrid 1 and she didn't know why.
A man called Mycroft Holmes, who informed her that he was quite powerful and important, arranged everything. But Molly was alone save for a few individuals that worked for Mr. Holmes.
The shared family name made her queasy every time she heard it. And knowing this man was a relation to her former employer made her feel like she was a stone's throw away from Sherlock Holmes himself.
"Mr. Holmes said that" or "Mr. Holmes says this" haunted her daily. She had to keep to herself that every time the name "Holmes" was spoken it killed her, she had to muffle her sobs when she excused herself for a blessed moment alone.
Molly was getting used to the dome on Astrid 1. The sickness was overwhelming at times and the ground didn't feel the same as on earth no matter how hard the engineers had attempted to create the illusion of home.
How long ago it seemed now that she had daydreamed of living on a place like this with the man she had loved... still loved.
But now he was so far down there, on that little blue marble, and she was so high above him.
Who's haunting who? She thought staring up at the purple and blue sky.
The accommodations were beyond what Molly Hooper had ever had in her entire life. She did not think she was worthy of such luxury.
Two bedrooms, one for herself and another for visitors... but who would be visiting her when she had no family and no lover?
A bathroom smaller but just as grand as Mrs. Holmes' had been, the bed so big she thought she might get lost. Molly didn't think she deserved any of it and yet here it was, at her feet, for her to do with as she wished.
The thing that ate away at Molly slowly and surely over time was the fact she had servants. She!
A nobody with no prestigious family name or high status, had others caring for her every need; not that she had many to begin with.
A maid, as she herself had once been, and a cook.
It wasn't an enormous household like the one she had come from and yet it was too much. Everything, all of it, every last fiber was too much.
I don't belong here, she kept thinking to herself but not voicing it to anyone. Why should I live in affluence when I did nothing to deserve it? When others more pitiful than I should live in deplorable conditions as I float high above it all...
Molly would wake in the middle of the night reaching for a lover that wasn't there. She would wake panting from nightmares of being trapped in that terrible dungeon, abyss, vault... hell. When rescue had come it was not her father or Mr. Holmes.
It had been a man in armor and a face mask. She didn't know who he had been. He had reached down with arms like wings and carried her to safety.
Molly both daydreamed for Mr. Holmes to appear like a phantom outside her door and cringed at the idea of him coming to her.
The man had taken everything from her. Father, home, love, virtue... what else? What was left of her that he would want from her now?
Nothing, you're used up. There's nothing he could possibly desire from you... her mind told her.
Molly distracted herself with books and the Network. The whole world was going through a reformation. She figured out for herself why she would be spirited away to a safe haven during such a time. Astrid 1 was neutral ground, a collective of intellectuals and freethinkers.
There was no war or bloodshed. There was no only peace and quiet for those who wanted it. That didn't mean it was easy to get in. A heavy screening and vetting process awaited anyone wanting to find a haven on Astrid 1.
But there had been no screening or vetting of Molly Hooper. Papers were drawn up and signed and two days later she was in her new home.
There were community gardens and lectures and Molly attended them, however they did make her anxious. And yet she was persistent not to let her fear take over. She would be free of it one day but as of today she would have to fight through it.
One did not simply "get over" everything that had happened.
Like losing a limb, she equated it to. Like fighting a prize fighter with both arms tied behind her back.
From her new home she watched on the Network as the world evolved. The rebels and the government made peace. But there were internal battles to win. Some members of the old government fought back and once more a rebellion rose up.
Molly saw it only as an endless cycle, no one would win. This government and that would fall to be replaced by something exactly the same but with a new name and a new leader.
One leader would promise freedom and another tyranny.
Molly Hooper was tired of both sides. Slowly and over a short period of time she grew used to Astrid 1. She made a couple friends but never dared tell them much about herself.
What would they say if they knew I had been a maid? She thought frantically to herself. There was even a young man about her age that seemed to enjoy spending time with her, his name was Tom. He taught her many things and opened her mind to new ideas and thoughts that had never occurred to her.
And yet she felt like she didn't belong. The ground was a good illusion but the planet didn't spin the same way, the air tasted like a crude recreation of the air she had known her whole life.
The rain wasn't even real rain. It was water, purified by filters, but scheduled. There were no surprises on Astrid 1 and yet Molly grew accustomed to that too.
Drinking her morning tea she thanked her maid as the girl departed. Memories of standing in that girl's same shoes flooded her mind which inevitably lead to Mrs. Holmes and more grievously, Mr. Holmes.
To distract herself she wondered what Mrs. Holmes was doing, if she was well, if she ever ended her life, if she ever got her baby...
Mr. Holmes... Sir.
"Damn it." Molly bit back a sob.
How can one be so relieved and unhappy all at once?
Worst of all Molly felt abandoned. Taken away from everything she had ever known, spat into space like a dirty little secret.
There was a knock and she pushed herself to her feet, waddling a little to the door, her belly only slightly swollen. She sighed deeply. The pregnancy was unexpected to say the least, another good reason Mycroft Holmes had whisked her away after the doctors examined her after she was rescued from her prison.
Now she stood at three and a half months pregnant.
Molly wondered who could be at the door but reminded herself she had so few visitors, it was most likely Tom with a new tablet. She yawned a little, wiped back her routine morning tears and opened the door.
"Hello, Smiling Star."
AN: So sorry there hasn't been an update in awhile! Moving, working full time and feeling like crap does that to you lol Check out Timecop1983 on YouTube, that's the playlist that's been getting me through this! Thank you for the reviews and sticking with me, you're all wonderful!