Hi guys! I'm back! So, I know you all must hate me after that horrible cliffhanger and sorry if you guys went mad waiting for what happens next. First, I would like to thank those who followed my story. At first, it was around 10 and now, 30+! Wow! Second, I would like to thank those who reviewed, it inspires me to write and since I try to give what my reviewers requested... well... Just keep on reading *smug grin*. So, this is chapter 4 and I hope this makes up for the awful things I did. So, enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the plot and any character you're unfamiliar with. Oh, and just imagine Robert Blake as Cillian Murphy or something.
John was practically running through Bart's only t stop at the sight of Mary outside the emergency room -arms crossed tightly and eyes red and puffy. Earlier that day, he received a text from her.
John, come to Bart's now. Its Molly. -M
As soon as he read it, he quickly left Baker Street, not caring if Sherlock would be upset to find him missing after promising him his help to solve a case.
"Mary." He said, wrapping his arms around her as she sobbed.
"Oh John," she sobbed on his shoulder. "H-Her accident. T-The doctors said they have no choice but to remove him. John, what if h-he doesn't-"
"Mary, don't think like that. He'll survive," He said, resting his chin on the top of her head as his wife sobbed. "He has to."
The next few hours were hell for the couple; hours of sitting down, pacing, falling asleep only to be jolted awake from the screams of their friend in the emergency room, and of course, waiting. It was a torture for them to hear their friend's screams of agony.
Until it stopped.
"John-" Mary started, but John gave her a look saying to stop whatever she's supposed to say. The doors of the emergency room opened and the couple bolted up from their seats. The doctor, who looked like he was in his mid thirties, looked disheveled. Blood shot eyes, tired face, and a few splashes of blood on his lab coat.
"Are you relatives of Molly Hooper?"
"Um. We're friends; John and Mary Watson." He introduced.
"Mr. Watson, I'm Dr. Robert Blake. I'm also a close friend of Molly's." He said, his eyes downcast.
"How is she?" John asked.
"Broken ribs, a few bruises here and there, including a part of her forehead. She's unconscious for the mean time and she's being transferred to a room for confinement."
"And the baby?" Mary asked, her grip on John's arm tightening, but he didn't seem to mind. Robert looked at them, telling him about Molly's child.
John entered Molly's room. It was a small one and there she was; sweet, sweet Molly, who now looked so tired and different. Her face was filled with cuts and bruises, she was hooked up to an I.V. and an oxygen tank. Her closed eyes fluttered open and she saw John standing there. She smiled weakly at him and he returned a sad one.
"I know. I look like shit." She said, laughing a bit. John took a nearby chair and placed it beside Molly's bed.
"How are you feeling Molls?" He asked.
"Just like how I look. But, at least I'm alive," She said as she smiled. "John, where's my son? I'd like to see him." She said, her tired eyes filling up with hope. How can John tell her? He held her hand, not looking at her eyes.
"John, where is my son?"
"Molls," He started, his grip on her hand tightening a bit. "M-Molls, he never made it." He finally looked at her, straight in the eyes and that hope slowly draining from her eyes.
"John, tell me you're joking."
"Molls, h-his lungs weren't fully developed and he was injured from the crash. He never made it." It was times like this in the army that John didn't mind. He used to tell soldiers that they have no chance of ever walking properly or they'll never hold on to anything ever again and he won't break one bit. But this was different. This was telling a friend that she doesn't have a son anymore.
It broke John to see her like that. These weren't the heart-broken sobs he heard from her whenever they talk about her son's father. It was the cry of pain. The cry of misery. It was when you feel all the hope and happiness are ripped out from your heart, leaving you with nothing except for that one wish to die to end all the pain.
"J-John... C-Can you give me a few moments alone? Please?" She said, her head in her hands, avoiding his gaze. He patted Molly in the back before leaving the room, only to hear the bed rattling, her fists slamming on the mattress and her heart-broken screams. Robert was going to go in when John stopped him.
"No, Dr. Blake. She's had enough for today."
The following day, John and Mary went back to the hospital. Both of them decided to to take intervals of staying with Molly. They also decided to tell Mrs. Hudson about what happened to Molly. They didn't bother telling Sherlock anymore since it was clear that he's uninterested. As they entered Molly's room, they frowned at her state. Her hair was a mess, those lost, sad eyes looking at the window and gone was that mousy -yet sweet and kind- pathologist that the couple grew to know.
"Hi Molls," Mary greeted, sitting beside her. Molly just gave her a small smile in return. "How are you?"
"Grieving." She replied grimly as she looked away, her smile gone and her lips pressed into a thin line. As much as she tried to smile, it keeps on faltering. Her eyes started to become watery and she released a heavy sigh.
Mary held her hand.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
It broke Mary's heart to see Molly cry.
"Mary, its all my fault," She sobbed into her hands. "I-If I had been careful... I-If I loved it m-more... This wouldn't have happened."
"Molly, it was an accident. These things happen."
"I know, but... I failed to protect him, Mary. Oh God, I'm so sorry." She said, curling up and crying as Mary looked at John sadly. He sighed and stormed out of the room. He can't take it anymore. He has to do something about Molly or else grief will eat her up. He's starting with the father.
"Excuse me, but do you happen to know where Dr. Robert Blake is?" He asked the receptionist and she blushed at the name. She pointed at Robert passing by. "Oh, thanks." He said as he went after the doctor.
"Dr. Blake!"
"Mr. Watson, please call me Robert." He said, giving him a small smile.
"And please, call me John."
"So, John, what can I do for you?" He said, placing down the clipboard he was examining.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you busy? 'Cause if you are, I could always come back and-"
"Oh, no. This?" He asked, holding up the clipboard. "These are just Molly's vitals. So, what can I do for you?"
"Um... I was wondering... Have you ran a blood analysis on Molly's son?"
"Yes, we already did. But, unfortunately, it wasn't me. Why?"
"Oh. Well... If its not any trouble, may I see the results?"
"Oh, sure thing. I can look for it. I'll tell you once I find it."
"If it's not too personal, may I ask why?" He asked, his voice low.
"Um... Molly never told me who the father was. And I'm certain that she won't tell me anymore."
About half an hour later, John received a text.
Need you for a case. Come to Baker Street now. -SH
He replied.
No. Needed at Bart's -JW
"Who was that?" Molly asked as she pushed her food around her plate.
"No one. Its just Sherlock. Apparently, he needed me at a case."
"You should go see him," She said, dropping her fork. She lost her appetite even more. "He's obviously been busy for the past months."
"Molly, I'm so sorry about Sherlock. I know you liked him... a lot, but he's Sherlock. I'm sorry."
"No, its alright. Not your fault."
Then, another text.
Baker Street. Case. Needed. NOW -SH
For once, Sherlock, no. Like what I said, I'm needed here at Bart's. -JW
I'm going there now. -SH
"Oh... Well, it looks like you'll be having that visit from Sherlock after all." He said, he expected Molly to be at least a bit happy about it, but all he saw there was pure, venomous hate.
"Well, tell him to go screw himself. I don't want to see him." Then, a knock on the door came. John opened it to see Robert standing there, holding a clipboard, yet looking unsure of whatever it is.
"John, I have the results," He said, quietly. John went back inside to tell Molly that he'll be back, and went outside to speak with Robert. "John, I don't know how to tell you this, but..."
"But what? Just tell me who the father is."
Robert looked nervous and unsure as he handed the clipboard.
"I compared the blood analysis of Molly's son to any result similar to his in our database and... Its a 65% match."
As John listened, he flipped the paper on top of it to see the similar result. His eyes were blown wide.
"No... It can't be. Are you sure this is the right file?"
"Yes. At first, I couldn't believe it, but I triple checked it, and the results matched to Sherlock Holmes."
And as if on cue...
"JOHN!"
John didn't even know what to say or feel. He stood there, clutching the clipboard. He was dumbfounded. He was right there in front of his face all along! How could he miss it?! Sherlock Holmes screwed someone. Not to mention Molly Hooper. Out of all the people, him?! He would understand if the bastard was a drunkard but... Not him. Suddenly, he remembered those nights where in her won't be there whenever she needs a shoulder to cry on. Those times where in she needed him, the father, who appeared to be his best friend. Suddenly, he felt so angry at him. How could he be so cold to his son? His own son, abandoned by his father, and now, he's dead.
"You... SELFISH BASTARD!" He said, wrapping his hands around Sherlock's neck and pinning him to the wall. "You fucking prick! You MORON!" He shouted. He felt arms pulling him away from Sherlock, who now was gulping for air.
"What the bloody hell was that for?!" He exclaimed. John managed to shake loose the arms that held him as he punched Sherlock at the right side of his jaw, causing the consulting detective to stumble back, only to fall on his back as John tackled him and started punching him. He then again felt the hands pulling him away from Sherlock.
"OH MY GOD! HOW CAN YOU BE SO IGNORANT?!" He shouted as he squirmed away from the security guards.
"John, what the hell has gotten into you?!"
"Sherlock, you had a child! A goddamn, fucking child with Molly and you pretended that they never existed!
"John, I can't I-"
"Oh my God! You fix this, Sherlock. I've been doing your responsibilities all this time, and I won't be the one who would be fixing Molly after what you've done to her!" He said as he stormed out of the hallway.
"Sherlock?" Mary asked as she came running down the hallway. When she reached him, his nose was bloodied up, his jaw was bruised and he was crumpled on the floor. "Oh, good Lord! What happened?!" She asked as she helped him sit up and lean against the wall. She asked again what happened, but he was emotionally and physically injured to answer. John was right. He was a moron. He let go of the one thing that he always wanted. He wanted the child even more, now he thought of it. At first, the idea scared him. He didn't even know what to do, that's why he sent the money to support her. He shut her out and he kept on telling himself that it was for the best.
Until he grew to realize, it was not.
He missed going to Bart's, missed the morgue, missed the lab, but most of all, he missed her. Her smile, her voice, her eyes, everything about her. And he can't bring himself to face her, after doing something horrible. Then John's stories came. The stories of Molly's pregnancy, how she'll have weird cravings, how she'll be happy in a second and then be stark raging mad on the next. Sherlock would pretend to be uninterested, for the sake of the secrecy of his parenthood, but when John leaves, he starts thinking about her. About the family that he had. Could have had, if he wasn't scared. Of how happy he'd be if he wasn't afraid to love them. Then the pictures of the sonogram came. John "accidentally" left the pictures. When he saw his growing son in the womb of the woman that he loved -still loves, he felt himself break at the thought that because of him, he can never have them back. As much as he wants to, he can't. And that's when he felt it; the overwhelming tightening at his chest, causing his breath to hitch up his throat and tears to escape from his eyes. Sherlock Holmes was heartbroken.
"So, care to tell me what my husband was rambling about?" Mary asked as she sat beside the consulting detective, who now has an ice pack pressed to his jaw. He sighed as he looked down, expecting another blow on the other jaw.
"I'm the father of the child." He said, shutting his eyes, preparing for another strong punch on his jaw.
But it never came.
Like John, Mary didn't know what to feel at this moment. Yes, she should be angry. Hell, she should be stark raging mad! She should be tearing off those curly locks off his head, scratch him, punch him, ensure that he'll never have kids again, if you know what I mean. But she also felt sad for him. She was sad that he never got to experience the things a father would if his wife was pregnant. She was sad that he never got to feel the baby's first kicks. But most of all, she was sad that he will probably never experience those anymore.
Not with Molly, at least.
"I know what you're going to say," Sherlock said, sighing as he did. He stared blankly at the wall. He was an idiot. "You're going to say that I'm an ungrateful bastard for just leaving Molly alone like that. I know that. But believe me when I say this: I did it because I love them. And it hurts. I don't want to feel that I'm not giving them enough love. That I cannot love them. I'd have them hurt now rather than giving them hope and destroying it afterwards. Do you understand, Mary? I love them. I'm just scared of giving it to them." He said, finally looking at Mary, only to see her sad eyes.
Mary never thought that she would see Sherlock on the verge of crying. Now that she understood and she saw the pain in his eyes, she didn't want to tell him anymore; but she has too.
"Its a pity that you love both of them."
"Why?"
"Molly is the reason why we're here. She had a car 's alive, but injured."
"A-And my son?" Sherlock asked. The word was new to him, but he realized that he liked the way it sounds; his son. But it was lost when Mary shook her head. It broke Mary's heart to see him like that; brows creased from pain and tears escaping his eyes. He almost looked like a child who's parents was snatched away from him. As he hid his face in his hands, Mary hugged him, hoping that both of her friends can be fixed. But after such events, she knew that they will never be the same.
That's it for chapter 4! The feels of this chapter! I know what you're going to say. I'm a mean person. But, hey! You guys got what you wanted; Sherlock got hit! So, please leave a review! Please tell me what you think about the story. I'd like to thank FanficGirl10, Bucky5, and MonsterPrincess for their reviews! I love them! I hope you don't hate me enough to not leave a review. Although, I'm not sure when my next update will be, and I will apologize in advance if it takes me a long time to update, but I promise that things would be better... after a few rough chapters. Again, thanks for reading my story!
~Gabrielle