Molly:
It was the Thursday after I visited Baker Street that I met Sherlock, and to be frank, I wasn't too pleased to see him.
All I had wanted was a little help and I was professional about it. How dare I even think that Sherlock Holmes would want to help a...a colleague,when it was just a simple case that did not involve mysterious circumstances or megalomaniacs or polished women lying on a morgue slab. There were no international conspiracies, no crazy followers and no murders or crimes.
Just a man to find? How boring.
My initial anger had cooled down by now, but I felt the irritation flare up when I saw him sat on my couch when I returned from work. I ignored him altogether until I had had a shower and made a cup of tea. Placing a mug in front of him, I went and sat back on my chair, tucking my feet underneath me.
"Molly I should apologise for -"
"Sherlock, stop." I had no patience left for false pacifications and was too tired to put up with whatever he was up to. "I have asked Greg to look into the matter, as I should've –oh for God's sake Lestrade… as I should've done in the first place."
"Waste of time Molly, he won't find him."
"That's a bit arrogant, even for you. He just has to find an address."
"He will find the address but he will not find Piero."
I must've gone pale; I definitely remember missing a heartbeat. But he remained seated, his tea mug ignored, his steady gaze boring into mine.
"From your face I can see that it hasn't surprised you much." He paused, as if deciding something. "I am sorry."
It wasn't the biggest surprise. To be honest, I had been expecting a similar news from Greg's search. I had specifically asked him to check out Swiss clinics though I didn't have much hope of him getting through Swiss secrecy. I didn't know what I had expected to feel, but at that moment I felt just numb.
Sherlock didn't seem to have any such conflicting thoughts. He stood up and removed an enveloped from his jacket…my envelope.
"I misjudged your intentions. Maybe I reacted a little harshly, 'like a prick' as John so eloquently put it. But there was definitely no need for this." He slapped the envelope on my side table, nodded once and left.
I sat there staring at my now tepid tea. Another life gone, another smile lost to the world.
Another person I saw through the moment I met him, but this time I had been too late.
I had tried to get Piero to talk, maybe get him to lose some of the burden he seemed to carry on his shoulders. But the light in his eyes was dimming and that last evening I could see that he believed he had no choice. I could only hope his loved ones had received some closure. I felt sad for him and mourned the loss of a human being.
As to why he chose to spend those three days in Venice with me, I was still in the dark.
Sherlock:
I left her flat, leaving her to grieve alone. Maybe I should've stayed back, but then I wouldn't have helped matters in any way. And I desperately need to clear my head.
I had felt a bit discombobulated at her outburst, back at Baker Street. She had never brought up the many times she has helped me out, and not always without risk to herself. It made me feel weirdly disturbed. Was this it? Was this going to turn into another of those 'I helped you so now you have to help me' scenarios? Was this where Molly Hooper turned normal?
The thought had plagued me the entire evening after she had left when in fact I should've been able to just brush it away. But it had gnawed on my nerves in a way that had me finally grab my phone and observe the photo of the man in that gondola.
I ignored the effort it took to look away from the face of his companion, whose smile lit up her eyes in a way I hadn't seen in person in quite some time. Gleaming whatever information I could from the photo, I set to work. It would involve raising some international contacts I made during my years 'prancing in the alps', as Mycroft so poetically calls my time destroying Moriarty's web. (He so deserved the hot soup Uncle Larry accidentlydumped in his lap.) Luckily for Molly, she had caught me in a dry spell of cases.
(Note to the London criminal class: bloody pull your socks up!)
And as expected, it was easy, too easy; Piero Valente Camerino was no mystery and certainly not a psychopath trying to get close to Molly in order to get to me. The man was a teacher, had a decent job and a big family, was popular amongst his friends and had a perfectly good, perfectly normal life.
If you ignore the illness, that is.
From what I deciphered, Piero had just become tired. Tired of fighting, tired of treatments that were now failing, tired of the third time the cancer showed up. He was forty three years old, and he was done. He had booked himself into a clinic in Zurich and had met Molly a week before. He should've looked sicker in the photographs; after all the cancer was malignant this time.
And yet.
His smiles were genuine; he was actually having a good time. In retrospect, he looked like a man enjoying what he knew would be his last treat. His sister had said that the week before he left for Zurich Piero had been calm, peaceful. There were no nerves, no second thoughts. There was none of the melancholic air that he had displayed just a few days ago.
Ok. So case closed. Man found…or rather, information about missing man found. It didn't even require me getting up from my chair.
Boring!
Maybe I should do a Donovan, as Mary calls the NSY officer's erroneous deduction. Maybe I should set up a crime so I can solve it and th-oh great!What perfect timing Mummy! Now I have to take them to this...Cursed Child? What? Are they seriously-. Oh wait, its a play. A single text can accommodate all information Mummy. Heavens, their choice in plays seems to be plummeting each year…they really want to see a story about annoying or down-on-luck children? People!
