Molly's knees were shaking; she'd been crouched in her hiding spot for too long. She felt optimistic that maybe this meant Sherlock wasn't going to go through with his mad plan to jump off the building. He'd explained how it was supposed to work, but she wasn't convinced. Molly was just starting to wonder how long she was supposed to wait, when she heard the screams. She looked up to see something black fluttering down from the roof. It fell like a stone, crashing into the truck Molly had been watching. Molly watched in horror as Sherlock rolled off the truck, covered in blood. She jumped up and ran inside, the plan had been put in action, and she needed to do her part. She dashed to the entrance and waited to collect the body. The gurney came soon after her, bearing Sherlock. Something wasn't right; there was too much blood, far too much blood. One of the emergency doctors was shouting something at her, but Molly wasn't paying attention. She grabbed the gurney and shoved it towards the morgue, ignoring the protests behind her.
Once safe in the morgue, Molly locked the doors, and then turned back to the gurney. Sherlock had been rather vague about how he was going to survive the fall. She checked his pulse, it was weaker than she would like. He had definitely hit his head; too much of the blood was his own, not the fake stuff they had made last night. As Molly completed this cursory examination, she saw something that filled her with dread. Sherlock's death, the black mist that surrounded him was moving. It was trying to force its self into his body. Molly had been around many dead bodies, but had never seen someone die. She realized that Sherlock was dying.
Panicked, she put her hands on his chest. The Marquis had once off-handedly mentioned that sometimes Deathseers had the ability to heal. Unfortunately, he hadn't explained how to do it. Molly bit her lip and focused on Sherlock. She could see his death worming its way inside him. She concentrated on the tendrils of blackness that were invading his body. With great effort, she found she was able to force them away. Now she could see the damage inside him, Molly shoved the black away from the parts that were broken. Somehow she could feel the bleeding slowing down. Sherlock's death was re-forming outside his body, where it belonged.
Molly nearly collapsed from the effort. Her lip was bleeding and she was light-headed. Sherlock seemed stable now, but her work wasn't done. She ran over to the paperwork she had prepared the night before. She rifled through the documents, checking if everything was filed in. Then she heard rustling noises behind her. Sherlock was beginning to stir now. Molly ran back to him and feeling foolish, whispered "Are you alright?"
Sherlock stared at her blankly, eyes unfocused. Molly patted his shoulder and murmured "You're in the morgue, you jumped off the roof, remember? You hit your head, just try to rest for a minute." He still didn't react, and Molly turned back to the desk. She scribbled away on more faked documents when suddenly, Sherlock spoke.
"Why didn't you let me die?" he asked hoarsely.
"What! That's not the plan! Sherlock, we spent all night trying to perfect this plan for you to fake your death, not kill you! Damn it, I'm not going to let you die, that's why!" Molly shrieked.
Sherlock just looked at her, and then rolled over so he was facing away from Molly. Then he spoke again, "It's all fake Molly, none of it is real. I don't know what is real. I can't think, it doesn't make sense."
"What do you mean? What happened on the roof?" Molly asked.
"Jim. He told me the truth, everything is fake, my brother did it all. They always thought I'd end up like father, schizophrenic. Mycroft was there, he was going to send me away, where they took our father…"
Sherlock's whole body was shaking now. Molly threw another blanket on him, smoothing it down, praying he didn't go into shock. She tried to take a calming breath, and then leaned close to him, noses nearly touching. She was running out of ideas.
"Damn it Sherlock, stop it right now! From now on, just listen to me and shut up! Look at me! You asked me to save your life and that's what I am going to do. Jim is a psychotic liar, he's not telling the truth! Don't believe him! Just lie down here while I finish everything and trust me, okay?" Molly was close to shouting, or hysterics. She glared at Sherlock till he finally nodded his head.
"Good, that's good, please just rest, I'm almost finished and then we can leave, I promise everything will work out" Molly sighed. Sherlock lay down, closed his eyes and was still. Molly dashed back to her desk. She finished filling out the fake death certificate and threw it in outgoing paperwork. She attached the advance orders Sherlock had on file at the hospital, directing his body to be cremated immediately.
Next, she ran to the cold storage, where the body of an unidentified man had been waiting to be claimed for nearly a year. The man had died of a drug overdose last New Year's Eve. He was close enough in stature to Sherlock, as long as no one at the crematory opened the box, it should work as a substitute. Molly had already put the sheet-wrapped body in the cardboard box to be transported last night. She attached all the proper labels and paperwork. Sherlock hadn't moved since Molly had shouted at him. She needed to move the body to the delivery area, but was petrified at the thought of leaving Sherlock alone. Quietly, she crept back over to Sherlock.
"I have to take the body down to the loading dock. Will you be okay here by yourself? Please, please, please don't move, just wait, it'll take me a little bit of time, just stay here, please" begged Molly. Sherlock didn't open his eyes, but once more nodded, barely. Molly sighed and then rushed back to the other gurney.
Molly had made this trip nearly every day. She had escorted many bodies from the morgue to the delivery area to waiting crematory staff or undertakers. Never before had the journey been so harrowing. She tried to ease round the corner to the elevators and nearly crashed into John Watson. Molly shrieked, both from surprise at seeing anyone there and at having to face Sherlock's best friend. John was equally startled. He looked at the box and read the label there. He paled and shook slightly. "Oh my god, Molly, oh god, is that him? He's really…. I mean I thought maybe…." John breathed.
Molly burst into tears. Sherlock had explained that if he had to fake his death, the only way for it to work was if John Watson believed it. Molly thought it was incredibly cruel, but agreed. Now that she was face to face with Sherlock's best friend and his grief, she hated herself for agreeing. John straightened himself, and then wrapped her up in a hug. He murmured something in her ear, but Molly could only hear her own sobs. She pulled away and choked out, "I'm so sorry John, I'm so so sorry."
He gently patted her shoulder. Then he asked, "You're sure then?"
Molly started sobbing harder and could only nod her head.
John looked down for a second. He wiped his eyes and then stood up straight again. He took a deep breath and whispered, "Thank you Molly, thank you for taking care of him." He pulled Molly close for another powerful embrace. They both clung to each other for a moment. Molly slowly pulled away, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
She looked into John's eyes, then said, "I'm so sorry, I have to go, good bye John." She grabbed the gurney and walked as quickly as she could away from Sherlock's devastated friend. She cried some more in the elevator. When the elevator stopped, she paused to collect herself, and then briskly pushed the gurney down the hall. The loading dock was in view. She was a little relieved that Robert wasn't on duty. He'd been picking up bodies to deliver to the crematory for years and always liked to talk to Molly. She didn't think she could stand having to talk to anyone else. It was the new driver today; Molly still couldn't remember his name. They traded paperwork silently. Molly could see the driver's eyebrows rise as he read the name of the body he was delivering. He signed the last page, handed her the carbon copy and got into the truck with a quick wave. Molly watched the fake body of Sherlock Holmes drive away and then ran back to the morgue. It was time to get the real Sherlock out of the building and figure out what to do next.
Molly dragged Sherlock from the morgue by sheer force of will. He was still dazed. Molly supposed that jumping off a building, even when part of an elaborate scheme to save one's life, would be disorienting. More troublesome, Sherlock seemed lost, like he had given up. Molly refused to give up. She didn't know what the hell had happened on that rooftop, but she believed in Sherlock and always would. She pulled Sherlock to the lowest level of the car park where she had parked her car late last night. Sherlock stood next to the car and looked at her blankly. With a grunt, Molly threw open the car door and shoved Sherlock in the backseat. "Stay down" she hissed. He obeyed and she jumped in the front seat. She backed out of the parking space and drove off. Molly knew Sherlock wouldn't be safe in London Above as long as Jim was still around, roaming free. Somehow, she knew that Jim Moriarty was even more dangerous than anyone previously realized. It was time for Molly to call in her favor from the Marquis de Carabas.
First, they stopped at her flat. Once more, Molly had to force Sherlock to move. She hauled him out of the backseat of her car and pushed him up the steps into her flat. As soon as they were safe in her flat, she sat him down on an armchair. She knelt directly in front of him. "Sherlock, look at me, please" she pleaded. He slowly lifted his head and finally made eye contact with her. She nearly sighed with relief. This was the first major reaction she had gotten from him since he stopped talking. "Sherlock, we are still in danger. I know this sounds insane, but I'm certain Jim has some abilities that you don't know about. Um … please try and believe me, but I think he can see death, because I can see it too, that's why I'm so sure" she said in a rush.
Sherlock's eyes blinked quickly. He lurched backwards, away from her. He started to look angry. "You too Molly? Do you think I'm a fraud, or is Mycroft paying you off too? And now you're mocking me with some sort of nonsensical make-believe?" he growled. Sherlock tried to leap up from the chair, but Molly shoved him back down, stunning him.
"Please, Sherlock, I'm not trying to mock you, I'm trying to save our lives. Jim will figure out soon that you didn't die, he'll come for us, we need to go somewhere safe. I know this sounds ridiculous, but you have to believe me. There's another London, we can escape there, and try to sort this all out" Molly begged. Tears were falling now; she was terrified that Sherlock would bolt from her flat. He dropped his head into his hands. Molly waited for a long minute, till he began to laugh. It was a mirthless laugh, the laugh of someone without hope. When he raised his head, Molly was alarmed to see tears in his eyes. Then he spoke, "Alright, fine, let's go then, I'm disgraced and dead, what else is left?" He laughed again and then curled up in the chair, a tight ball of misery.
"Just stay here, don't move, alright, I'm going to gather some things and as soon as we can, we'll leave" Molly whispered. She slowly backed away from Sherlock, watching to see if he moved. When she was satisfied that he wasn't about to do anything rash, she turned and ran to her bedroom. She rummaged around in her closet till she found some duffel bags. One was pink and had flowers and smiley faces on it, but it would have to do. She found her sturdiest shoes and stuffed them inside. More clothes followed, along with some toiletries and a few other odds and ends. On the floor of the closet she found her emergency first aid kit and stuffed that inside. She ran to the linen closet and threw some bottles of medicine in the bag. Candles, matches and a flashlight finished off that bag. The other bag was filled with some blankets, raingear, and batteries. Molly threw in some energy bars and bottles of water for good measure.
Finally, she opened the jewelry box her father had given her when she was a little girl. The tiny ballerina still spun, the music slowing to a dirge. Molly slid her little finger underneath the ballerina. The coin was still there, along with some clumps of dust. She pulled the coin toward her, picked it up and tucked it into her pocket. Next, Molly took out what little decent jewelry she had. The Marquis had once told her that there was no money in London Below, transactions were conducted by bartering goods. She hoped her meager jewelry would help them obtain anything else they needed. Before closing the bag, she stuffed a picture of her dad inside. It was the only truly personal item she couldn't bear to leave behind.
Sherlock hadn't stirred. Molly looked outside, it was nearing evening. She thought it best that they wait till dark to summon the Marquis. She turned the television on and immediately regretted it. Every channel was full of breathless reports of the disgraced fraud detective. Sherlock snapped to attention, sitting up, mesmerized by the chatter of the news. Molly tried to turn it off, but Sherlock gave her a dark look and whispered "leave it." Molly couldn't bear to watch it and fled to her kitchen. She tried to eat some leftovers, but couldn't stomach anything. After a while she made some coffee and brought some Sherlock. He accepted it wordlessly, still focused on the television. Molly was somewhat comforted by the fact that he actually drank the coffee. After sitting in silence like that for nearly an hour, he spoke again in a whisper, "Everything was a lie Molly. Jim told me, I know now, my brother, he paid them all, to keep me busy and amused. I don't know what to believe. I should have died Molly, it would be better that way." He looked up at her, eyes blank. "You should have let me die."
Molly was furious. "No, absolutely not, no, damn it! Don't you dare believe him, you know he's wrong, I don't know how he did it, but Jim is the one who is fake! You are brilliant and I know it. Don't you dare give up, we are going to fix this! Get up! We're leaving!"
Sherlock looked both startled and impressed by her outburst. He slowly nodded his head. Molly grabbed his hand and dragged him from the chair. She thrust one of the bags into his hands then picked up the other one. She looked out the front door, when she was satisfied it was safe she seized Sherlock by the hand again and ran downstairs. This time he got into the car by himself, which made Molly feel a little more hopeful. She jumped in the driver's seat and left her flat without a backwards glance. She drove carefully to the Embankment. Even though it had been years since their last meeting, Molly still knew exactly where she had last seen the Marquis. It was fully dark now. They left the car and Molly tossed her keys on the car seat. Sherlock was taken aback by this. He gave Molly a questioning look. "I told you," she said, "We're not coming back here, I won't need it anymore." The look Sherlock gave her clearly told Molly that he thought she was insane. Molly was just glad he had decided to stick with her. After they climbed over the barrier by the river, Molly pricked her finger with a pin. She rubbed her blood on the coin, and then threw it as far into the river as she could.
Deep in London Below, the Marquis de Carabas was currently reclining on a lovely 19th century settee in the study of the House without Doors. The affair with the Angel Islington had wrapped up about four weeks ago and the Marquis was still healing. The Lady Door had graciously insisted that he recuperate at her home and given his diminished condition, he was content to stay put for once. He had recently gotten his coat back and was quite pleased. He felt as though he might be back to himself soon. His peaceful reverie was interrupted by a sudden, shrill sound. Door looked up at him from the desk, equally surprised. At first, he had no idea what the noise was. He felt about in the many pockets of his coat till he found a small coin. The coin was glowing red and producing the offending noise. Why the coin was behaving in such a fashion was not readily apparent. Then his memories of the girl Molly and her blasted favor came rushing back. The Marquis groaned. He swore to himself that never again would he dispense any more favors. It was far better to be owed favors then to owe them. He silently debated ignoring the summons, but to no avail. Molly had earned her favor; she had helped him hide his life away successfully. He had to answer the summons. He stood up stiffly, still feeling each and every cut that Croup and Vandemar had given him. Muttering darkly, he stomped over to Door to ask her to let him out into London Above
Molly and Sherlock had been sitting next to the river for nearly forty five minutes. Sherlock had closed his eyes and leaned back against the stone work. He was pondering throwing himself in the river, but reasoned that Molly would probably attempt to save him, she was foolish like that. Molly was twisting her hair around her fingers. She kept looking at her watch, fretting over the time. Perhaps the Marquis had forgotten his deal. Maybe he lost the coin or worse, his life. Molly was sure she was on the verge of a full blown anxiety attack when a familiar voice drawled from above her, "Why Molly, whatever are you doing down there in the muck?" It was the Marquis, dressed as ever in a ridiculous array of fashions. Molly noticed a new addition to his look, a strange high collar that completely covered his neck.
Molly jumped to her feet and furiously whispered "I'm waiting for some mad bastard to come and repay his favor!"
The Marquis smiled, he had forgotten how amusing Molly could be. With his usual cat-like grace, he leapt over the barrier, landing softly in front of her. "Dear Molly, we meet again, have you started to go insane, or just seen the appeal of living underground?" he purred. He turned around to look at her from all angles, licking his lips. At this moment, he noticed Sherlock, who was still sitting next to the wall, staring at him. "What the hell is this?" the Marquis hissed at Molly.
Molly took a deep breath, "This is Sherlock, he's my friend and he's coming with me" she said.
"Our bargain was just for you, no hangers on allowed." De Carabas sniffed. "Honestly Molly, I thought we had something special and now you show up with some overgrown elf and expect me to bring him along on our merry way? I think not."
Sherlock leapt to his feet. He still wore his long black coat, stained with blood though it was. He walked toward them angrily. Molly had the strange sensation of being bookended. She was standing in between two of the most beautiful men she had ever seen, one dark, the other pale. It was remarkable how they both wore the most marvelous coats, she mused. No one else could ever pull such a look off. On anyone else, those long black coats would seem silly, but each man looked magnificent in his. She was shaken out of this thought by the realization that both men were now glaring at her. Sherlock spoke first. "Who is this, Molly? Some circus friend of yours?" he spat.
Now the Marquis looked murderous. "Molly, I only came because I owe my life to you, I'll take only you, now hurry up" he warned.
Molly looked closer at the Marquis. In her initial happiness to see him, she hadn't looked at him very carefully. Now she noticed. The Marquis was without a death. He was in fact, already dead. Molly's eyes grew wide and she reached out for him. "Oh my god, you did it, didn't you? That egg, you actually used it, you've died, you're dead" she stuttered. Molly reached out and touched his hand. Instantly she was flooded with visions of how the Marquis had died. She saw every terrible wound being inflicted, every cut and gash. She saw the glee with which Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar had wielded their weapons. Molly had seen many dead bodies that had suffered horrendous injuries, but never had she seen such torture imposed. She was overwhelmed by the horror that the Marquis had undergone and dropped to her knees, dry heaving and crying. Sherlock was soon at her side, an arm wrapped around her and scowling at the Marquis. Molly was so shocked by Sherlock's concern that she stopped crying almost immediately.
"What did you do to her?" demanded Sherlock.
The Marquis said nothing at first, merely glanced down and adjusted his coat. He ignored Sherlock and knelt down next to Molly. "I'm sorry you had to see that Molly. You're right; I had to use the egg we created. It's a lovely story really, I'll tell you all about it when we're safe and sound, now please, let's leave" he said. He pulled Molly back to her feet, carefully covering his hand with his sleeve.
Molly sniffed one last time and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I have to bring Sherlock with me, I'll owe you another favor if that's what it takes" she said. She hugged herself and shivered.
She watched for a moment as the Marquis began to pace. Sherlock was still holding her other arm. Molly slipped her hand down inside his hand and waited. The Marquis looked back at the two of them. Molly obviously cared quite a lot for this man. Her power was very weak, had she used it to heal him? The Marquis idly wondered if this man understood what Molly was giving him. Finally the Marquis huffed and sighed "Alright, fine bring him along, Sherlock is it? Odd sort of a name for an odd sort of a creature, I suppose. You haven't brought any other lost foundlings, have you Molly? I really can't guarantee his safety, you know. I've enough to worry about with you as it is." The Marquis reached somewhere deep in his coat and found a pair of black leather gloves. He gracefully pulled them on and extended his hand once more to Molly. She took the Marquis' hand, and then looked back at Sherlock. He looked more afraid than he had the night before. Molly gave him what was meant to be a reassuring squeeze and held his hand firmly. She and Sherlock followed the Marquis as he strode through a large wooden door that hadn't been there previously.