I apologise for the delay dears, I've been very busy. This update is shorter than usual but another will follow soon, I promise. As always, thank you for the lovely reviews.
Adrianna Xx
Molly lay on John's bed and shivered. John had wrapped her in his duvet and tenderly, if incompetently, tried to dry her hair. He had gone to wake Lady Ravensdale, leaving Sherlock investigating the ruins of the sitting room with strict instruction to keep an eye on Molly.
Molly pulled the duvet around her and curled up smaller.
"What's happening to me?" She whispered.
Sherlock appeared in the doorway.
"What?"
Molly raised her head.
"Nothing. I... I don't know what's happening to me."
"You had a nightmare." said Sherlock dismissively.
"But how did all the chairs get... Everywhere? Why am I wet?"
Sherlock hesitated a moment before entering the room and sitting in the armchair opposit the bed.
"Tell me what you dreamed about." he said, steepling his fingers under his chin. Molly shut her eyes.
"I can't remember."
"Yes you can. You spoke, in your sleep. Do you remember that?"
Molly shook her head without opening her eyes. Sherlock sighed exasperatedly.
"Think." He ordered.
Molly remembered.
She had been in a room in the house that she had never seen before, but it was familiar somehow. How did she even know it was in this house? She just... Did. She knew that room like a childhood home, and she had no idea why. It was... A low, windowless room, it had a bed and a table with a chair... There was a girl there, standing by the table, leaning on it with one hand. A nightdress. She was wearing a nightdress. She had stared at Molly with empty eyes as her belly began to swell. Like that film of the fox rotting in stop motion, its body seething with maggots, seeming to breathe... Molly watched the girl. Pregnant. Three months, four, five, six. The girl stayed silent, staring, and on the seventh month blood began to pour from her eyes. Eight. The girl had stepped forward, jerkily, her hands, palm up, raised to Molly. She had remembered thinking 'it's a dream, don't be frightened, just a dream, that's all' when the girl pitched forward silently and fell... Into her? Then the walls exploded with water, and suddenly Molly was standing in the converted stables but it was still just stables and she was-
"NO!"
Molly screamed and thrashed against the hands that were holding her shoulders and shaking her, hard.
"Molly! Molly, for god's sake!"
Her eyes snapped open to see Sherlock's face above her, showing the closest semblance of concern that he was capable of.
"What do you remember?" he asked urgently.
Molly took deep breaths, trying to calm the frantic fluttering of her heart. Her fingers were digging into Sherlock's arms, hard, but he didn't seem to notice. She relaxed her grip and sat back against the pillows.
"I was in a room..." she began.
777
John approached the door of the main house. Dawn was beginning to break on the horizon and the grass beneath his feet was wet with dew. He climbed the stone steps and rang the doorbell. The sound echoed through the house, and John was surprised to hear footsteps approaching the door almost immediately. He had expected to see the maid, but the door creaked open to reveal Lady Ravensdale, fully dressed and wide awake.
"Come in." she said. "Something happened, didn't it?"
777
"I'm glad it was you who came to me, and not him," Lady Ravensdale said when John was installed in an armchair by the fire. She handed him a mug of tea. John took it gratefully.
"I wanted to speak with you instead of him because, quite frankly, it's pointless."
John sighed.
"Yes, I've heard that before alright."
"What happened to you all tonight..." There was real concern in Lady Ravensdales eyes, "While not unheard of here, is rare. I would advise you to leave."
She settled back into her armchair and picked up her tea.
"But I can tell that you will not."
John's brow furrowed.
"How do you know what happened?"
Lady Ravensdale looked at him directly for a long time. The ticking of a clock filled the room. Eventually she spoke.
"I heard a noise from the stables. The house has been particularly tempestuous tonight. I imagine it moved the furniture. Is the girl alright? Marion told me she is susceptible."
"Hold on..." John took a comforting gulp of tea. "I'm afraid I'm not entirely certain what you're talking about. Marion said... What?"
"Marion is a seer. A witch. She can observe things that are not quite of this plane."
"Right." John looked despondently into his mug. "Right. And you said the house was..."
"Tempestuous. Unsettled. It was clear that something would happen tonight." Lady Ravensdale leaned forward suddenly and took John's hand.
"This house feeds off lust, fear and isolation." She said quietly. "It will discover things in a person that they thought long hidden, or lost, or forgotten with purpose. It seeks weakness and exploits it."
John stared at her, open mouthed. Despite himself, a shiver clawed its way up his spine.
Lady Ravensdale sat back and cracked a wry smile.
"You must think me mad. You are welcome here as long as you wish. You can take my advice, or leave it. Even though you don't believe that there is anything paranormal behind tonights occurrence, I had to warn you. Or at the very least try."
"It's not that I don't..." John searched for the words. "I know that what happened can be explained. It must. I'm a doctor, a medical doctor, I don't believe in anything otherworldly at all but... But I've never seen anything quite like this." he finished lamely.
"You will find your beliefs held in question further if you choose to stay here." Lady Ravensdale stood up to stoke the fire. "I will prepare the guest rooms in the East wing for you all at least. It may be marginally safer there. And please..." She turned to face John and took his hand again.
"Please keep an eye on the girl."
777
Molly finished recounting her dream and looked up at Sherlock. He was sitting next to her on the bed, but angled away from her slightly, his body language communicating discomfort.
She held his gaze, though it almost hurt to do it. His eyes were grey then green then blue, the colour always changed in the light but the gaze itself was constant, icy needles, a hint of derision. Steady. That look... God. He was staring, but keeping his distance. He thought she was crazy, and it disgusted him. Damn him. She wouldn't drop her eyes. Molly lifted her chin in defiance, but she couldn't stop her lower lip from trembling, so she bit down on it hard in reprimand. She saw Sherlock's eyes dart to her mouth, then back, and something shifted in his face.
"I am not insane." Molly said firmly.
A painful silence passed between them, broken gratefully by the sound of the front door opening.
"John!" Sherlock practically shouted, leaping off the bed. He collided with John at the doorway.
"Sherlock, Jesus! Did something happen?" John reeled back against the doorframe and Sherlock grabbed him by the lapels to stop him from falling.
"No, not a thing!" Sherlock answered brightly. "Any developments with Lady Ravensdale?"
"Yes, ahm... Sort of." John looked over at Molly. "You alright?"
Molly shrugged. "Same."
"You'll be happy to hear this, Dorothy's got some new rooms set up for us, up at the main house."
"First name terms," Sherlock muttered. "Cosy."
"That is unless..." John went to sit on the bed, "Unless you want to leave. We can drive you to the village to catch a bus. It would be perfectly understandable if you didn't want to stay."
"No." Said Molly firmly.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I want to see this out to the end."
777
The new rooms in the East wing were far less modern than the stables. They had a dusty opulence to them, full of beautiful things left to disrepair. All three had gigantic four poster beds. Molly set her bag down on hers and opened the sash window to let in some air. The morning chill had disappeared to be replaced by an oppressive dead heat.
She had wanted to go home, more than anything. But there was no way she would let Sherlock think her a coward. She remembered the look he had given her, of lofty concern but something else too. He had seemed so uncomfortable around her.
Molly opened her bag and pulled out the lightest dress she had brought. A white cotton wisp of a thing, she pulled it on over her head and sighed with relief as the cool fabric caressed her skin. Better. Slightly.
Maybe he fears insanity, she mused as she gathered her hair back into a plait. He puts so much emphasis on the mind, he values his own so highly, maybe the slightest hint of madness unhinges him.
Was she going crazy? A nightmare could be dismissed as just that, a bad dream, that's all...
What about the disorder of the room though? The heavy chesterfields tossed like dollhouse furniture, the mahogany table thrown so hard that the thick dense wood had split – how could that be explained away? An incredibly localised earthquake? A sort of anti-neutron bomb that left people unscathed but could only affect... Chesterfields? It seemed as though they were all trying not to acknowledge it. It was too much, too strange to be excused...