Molly looked out her peephole and saw Anthea dressed smartly as usual staring down at her cell. She slid the chain aside and opened the door.
"Um, hello, what brings you here?"
Anthea produced a file from behind her back. "Morning, Dr. Hooper! Sherlock said you wanted to look at these medical records. The ones that Sherrinford monkeyed with, that is."
Molly felt a pang in her heart. She was one part disappointed and another part relieved Sherlock had not brought the files himself. She stepped aside and allowed Anthea to enter.
She did not even know how she would greet Sherlock if he did show up so maybe she was leaning towards relief. The day before she had taken her pregnancy test and then verified the results at Bart's. Sherlock would know the instant he saw her face what she had learned. She couldn't predict whether he would be relieved or disappointed. She didn't even know herself what she thought. She was still trying to come to terms with everything.
"Um, thank-you, I guess. I hope it's not an inconvenience but I wanted to contribute."
Anthea smiled. "Of course, Dr. Hooper. At this point, anything you could help with would be much appreciated. We still aren't sure what he's been doing. Anyways, in here you'll see hundreds of requisitions that have been tampered with from all over the country. Our team has highlighted the changes. Well, the ones they managed to figure out in any event. It's bizarre. His modus operandi seemed to include some phantom finding of a disease in the pathological work that then led to an unwarranted treatment. Some of these people died pretty horribly, just like the Leeds brothers, but none of them appear to be connected so we're not sure why he targeted the people he did."
Molly let out a breath. "Okay, well, I will do my best. Erm, would you care for tea or something?"
Anthea shook her head. "I just wanted to pop by quickly to drop these off. I have to get going, unfortunately, but thank-you."
"Of course, I appreciate you making the trip."
After Anthea had made her apologies and left, Molly sat down to her kitchen table and started pouring over the files.
For hours she combed through the files and discovered that Sherrinford had an obsession with blood. He found ways to manipulate the requisitions so that technicians performed unnecessary ESR tests, full blood counts, freelite assays, albumin levels and so on. Then he appeared to change the results on the subsequent reports sent to the patient's doctors. The falsified tests pointed towards ailments like cirrhosis of the liver, osteoporosis, and bladder infections just to name a few. Almost all of the affected people ended up receiving medications they didn't need. It was like he was . . . experimenting.
Molly scratched her head. Why would he do that? She squeezed the bridge of her nose.
"Blood, blood, blood . . ."
A cloud of facts and figures swirled about her head. She groaned and looked out her window to the outside. A gorgeous blue sky beckoned. She needed to get out, go for a walk and clear her head. There were far too many thoughts in her brain vying for her attention.
Daniel looked up as something flickered out of the corner of his eye. Sunshine backlit the small outline of a female making her way towards him down the alley. He immediately recognized the slight figure of Ms. Molly Hooper as she strode with both purpose and trepidation at the same time. He recognized the way she walked a mile away. He smiled until it pulled at every corner of his face. He hadn't seen her all that much in the last few weeks but she'd been home every night for the past couple days and in that time he realized how much he missed the way she fretted over him. He couldn't remember the last time anyone really cared whether he lived or died.
"Hu-llo, Miss," he called as enough light reflected enough around them to finally illuminate her face. "What brings you back here?"
She smiled nervously. "I wanted to see how you were getting on."
Daniel shrugged. "Not so bad now that the nights are gettin' warmer."
Her brow furrowed. "I do not understand why you insist on staying out here like a vagrant. Why won't you at least consider that bed I found you at St. Harrow's? It's a nice place, really."
Daniel cast his eyes down. He didn't like lying to her. He wasn't in such a bad way, truth be told. His grandmother could take him in at any time and would if he showed up on her doorstep. However, he hated being a burden or worse, a disappointment. Besides, Mr. Holmes made sure he always had a bit of coin, a mobile he needn't remember to top up the minutes on and dragged him out of the nastier flop houses whenever he fell off the wagon. He owed that odd duck his life, he figured, so Daniel would do whatever needed to protect the man's lady.
"Not my bag, Ma'am."
Ms. Hooper huffed out a breath and crossed her arms.
"Why do men insist on being so pigheaded?" She mumbled.
He laughed. "'Cause we're pigs."
She sighed and gave him a motherly look of disapproval. "Well then, here, piglet."
She held out her hand. In it was what looked like a debit card. He took it and turned it over.
"Ah, nah, what's this?"
"It's a coffee card for that 24 hour place down the way. It's tied to an account of mine. I'll put a few quid on it every now and then. I want you to go there and get yourself a cuppa and hang out when it gets cold."
He frowned and tried to shove it back into her hand. She stepped away with her palms up.
"No, I insist. It's either you take it or I give it to the next college kid I see."
Daniel wasn't used to getting something for nothing. At least with Mr. Holmes, he earned his keep.
"Whatcha want then?" He asked.
She smiled sadly. "I know you use. I've dealt with drug addicts before. I don't want anything, erm, except . . ."
Daniel held his breath. There was always something.
Ms. Hooper wrinkled her nose as she thought. "Just try for me, every once in a while, to skip the fix and have a cup of coffee instead. If you can do that one time, you can do it more than once and then maybe one day, you won't shoot up at all."
Daniel swallowed. The devil on his back chuckled (as if he could be so easily dislodged). She was silly to think that would help, really, but he appreciated her sentiment.
He smirked. "Alright. I'll try."
Her lips curved into that sad smile again. He had to look away because her eyes spoke volumes. He changed his mind, she wasn't so silly. She knew it was pretty much futile to shake off his demon just as he did.
"Have a good day then."
"You too, Miss."
"I'd say see you later, but I really don't want that. One day, I hope to pass by here and discover you've gone and I can imagine you're somewhere warm and safe."
He nodded. "I'll do what I can to please ya, Miss."
Daniel watched her walk back down the shadowed alleyway and into the streaming sunshine. She paused at the sidewalk juncture and looked up the street. A plume of vapors from an exhaust vent swirled up behind her and caught the sun to the effect she looked like she had a pair of bright, white wings. Without even thinking, he retrieved his mobile and snapped a picture.
He attached the picture to a text and sent it off to his patron.
Just been visited by an angel. – D
Sherlock felt a buzz in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and with a couple of quick gestures, opened the picture message sent from Daniel.
Molly. His pathologist. He skimmed a thumb over the form on the screen. He did not like feeling this way, as if he was sputtering for air after having slipped under the surface of a deep, dark lake. How many times had she forgiven him for being . . . well, him? He had taken her generosity for granted as if it were an infinite resource and never really believed there was anything he could do to push her too far. This time felt different though, like she'd been a bit of parchment that had caught fire and burned up between his fingers.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth and curled his fingers into his palms so forcefully that his nails almost pierced his flesh. Every time he even approached the thought that this might be it, that she might be lost forever, his brain threatened to implode. He couldn't fathom his life sans Molly. She lived in the periphery of his vision at all times. She haunted the rooms of his mind palace as a poltergeist (constantly moving things, infuriating!). She had attached herself to his conscience like a tumor that's malignancy threatened to spread. If he attempted to delete her, there would be so many gaps in his grey matter that people would think he was suffering from Alzheimer's.
He dragged himself up from his chair. He stood a moment and wallowed in the yawning silence of his flat. With shaking hands, he strode to his hallway and plucked his Belstaff from a hook on the wall. When he slouched into his trench coat, it felt heavier than usual. He wrapped his scarf around his neck but it constricted his throat. He tugged it loose. With a large inhalation of air, he practiced his composure and attempted to gather courage.
Memories spun around him. His fall from Bart's. His narrow escape from Mary's bullet. His near exile after Magnussen's death. None of those events felt as daunting nor as terrifying as what he was about to do - throw himself on Molly's mercy and beg her forgiveness.
Sherlock tilted his chin once. "I can do this."
Then he opened the door. Instead of an empty hall, unnaturally blue eyes shone back at him.
"Greetings, little brother, how are you this fine day?" Sherrinford Holmes asked in a syrupy voice.
Sherlock glanced from his brother's sickly smile to a shiny object in his hand and felt his stomach drop. Sherrinford waved a small caliber handgun around.
He looked at it and then back to Sherlock. "Oh, I know, I know. It's not very creative but I don't have the energy to fight you. Let's go, shall we? I'm double parked."