Small Commercial for Neverwhere
Several reviewers have mentioned that they were unfamiliar with Neverwhere. It is a great story that exists in multiple forms. It was first made a miniseries for the BBC (created/written by the amazing Neil Gaiman) , then Neil Gaiman wrote the novel version (my personal favorite) there is also a graphic novel version and recently, BBC radio did a version with Benedict Cumberbatch as Islington. If you like dark/urban fantasy, Neverwhere is one of the best. I highly recommend it.
Sherlock paced, circling the room faster and faster. He hated these emotions, but there was no denying it, he was scared. He was afraid of his strange new world, but more so, afraid that he had just permanently damaged whatever sort of a relationship he and Molly Hooper have. He begged her to help him and in repayment he gave her only more cruelty. He behaved awfully, Grandmother would be appalled. She had always insisted he be a gentleman. Sherlock thought about picking the lock, dashing into the bedroom and pleading with her for her forgiveness. He decided against it. Molly would likely only be angered at this intrusion and he still had some shred of arrogant pride to protect. He studied the bookshelves. He picked up scrolls and books, sneezing at the clouds of disturbed dust. After exploring a little while longer, he finally stomped back to the armchairs by the fireplace. He sat down and waited, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Molly would have to come out sooner or later.
Molly allowed the warmth and stillness of the water to soothe her. She felt her tears and humiliation leave her. Now she was angry. She had been angry with Sherlock before, but this time it was different. He had told her she counted, and asked her to do the impossible. She had done the impossible. She had saved him and all she received was more agony. She had given up her entire life to protect him. Molly couldn't remember if he had even thanked her at all for her part in his crazy plan. She had saved his damn life and he couldn't even be bothered to thank her. A small voice in the back of her mind tried to remind her of the concern he had shown for her back on the banks of Thames, and of him carrying her through London Below. This same small voice attempted to remind Molly that Sherlock was likely still in shock and confused. Molly told the small voice to shut the hell up as she stood up from the bathtub and began to dry herself off.
As soon as Door returned to the entry hall, she marched over to the still prone Marquis de Carabas. She poked him. "Start talking, I mean it, you've never really told me what the hell happened when you left me and Richard. What on earth did that woman do that earned her such a huge favor?" demanded Door.
The Marquis stretched his long arms and legs. "I told you all you need to know, I went to have a chat with the gentlemen who killed your family, they told me things, I ran, they caught me and killed me, quite painfully I might add, and after a truly lovely insiders tour of the sewers, my body was brought to the Floating Market by the Sewer Folk. Old Bailey bought my corpse, broke an egg and brought my life back to my body, which was in considerable disrepair. As soon as I was able, I rushed off to find you and Richard, which lead to an exciting series of events at the end of Down Street, culminating in you sending an angel and two monsters to a strange faraway place, and then everyone taking a nap" he yawned loudly after finishing this tale. Then he stood and stretched once more before speaking again.
"As to Molly, I encountered her years ago when I was taking an ill-advised stroll through London Above. I told you, she's the one who helped me create that egg I hid my life in. She's a Deathseer. It's a specialized sort of skill; one has to be born with the talent to do so. I recognized that she had that kind of talent, and was likely bound to end up down here or a suicide. So I helped her discover her talent, and might have along the way coached her to make the egg for me. I offered to bring her here then, but she was unwilling. However, she proved craftier than I gave her credit, and she demanded I offer her token that would summon me to return if she decided at a later date to make a permanent change of address. She bade me come to collect her and so I did, the man she brought along, well that was a surprise," frowned the Marquis.
Door cocked her head, "Now what? You aren't going to just abandon her are you?" she asked.
The Marquis had walked away from her. Door couldn't see his face as he replied. "Humph, I brought her here safely didn't I? And I even made sure her overly tall companion made it in one piece, though I ought to have found something vicious to feed him to." He paused and walked a little farther away before continuing. "I did mention that my body is healing at a miserably slow pace, and she may be able to help speed that up, Deathseer's can heal sometimes. She was training to be a doctor, she may have some useful skills that will allow her to make her own way. If she can heal me, I'll owe her once more. I'll help her get set up then. That man is on his own, he's nothing to me."
Door frowned. "Must you always be so mercenary? What if she can't fix you? Would you really just leave her to stumble around on her own then?" she asked.
"Of course. You know what I am, I do nothing without there being some profit to myself" he replied, sniffing.
Door shook her head. She didn't believe him, not really, not anymore. After everything they had suffered together, she felt that perhaps he wasn't as much a monster as he liked to claim. She still didn't trust him entirely, but after someone has saved your life, it's hard not to see the good they try to hide. She sighed, then asked, "Fine, what about dinner? Do you feel up to eating?"
The Marquis glanced down, embarrassed, then nodded.
Door smiled, "Good, then I'm gonna go and check on the kitchens, I'll meet you back here in an hour and we can go get our guests."
After she finished her bath, Molly dried off and braided her hair. It was a relief to smell of lavender and lemons instead of muck and death. She wrapped herself in a huge fluffy robe and then walked into the bedroom and to the wardrobe stuffed with clothes. She began to pull out items, making two piles, one of maybes and the other of no-way-in-hell. With a sudden pang, she was reminded of long ago evenings with Rebecca, playing at dress-up before parties. Molly pushed that thought out of her head. She had a new reality to focus on. There were many clothes, there seemed to be no end of items slipping from the wardrobe. All different sizes, textures, styles and fads were represented. Molly tried on a department's store worth of garments before making her final decision, a long red dress. It had long sleeves and a low neckline. The bodice was fitted close to her body, but the skirts were full and flowing. The dress was also adorned with intricate black beading that shimmered when light struck it. All in all, it was a very un-Molly sort of dress.
Molly dug through her bag, looking for the jewelry she had brought to trade. She found her silver necklace with a round locket. The front of the locket had a carved black stone. She had seen it once in an antique shop, the owner said it was a mourning piece. Inside the locket was an old photo of a young couple. Molly had left the photo there as a memorial to the forgotten former owner. She put it around her neck and was pleased by how it looked. As she spun around to see herself in the mirror, she heard the sound of the door in the sitting room opening.
Door and the Marquis had just returned to the guest suite. Sherlock had been napping, but leapt up as they entered. They each noticed that Sherlock was alone. The atmosphere in the room was odd. The Marquis instantly read the situation. Something had happened between the two guests, and it hadn't been pleasant. Finally, an opportunity to have some fun, thought the Marquis. Before Door could even open her mouth to speak, one of the bedroom doors opened, and out streamed Molly. The Marquis was pleased to see that she had changed into something much more flattering. She really did have an atrocious sense of style. Now she looked attractive and feminine. Molly was so focused on walking toward Door and the Marquis, that she missed the shocked look on Sherlock's face. The Marquis, as was his nature, missed nothing. He grinned and reached out a gloved hand to Molly, bowing elegantly as she approached. "Why Molly, how fetching you are. I do hope you didn't dress just for my pleasure," he flattered.
Both Molly and Sherlock seemed to flush a bit at this flirtation. The Marquis was delighted by Sherlock's evident irritation. Molly smiled brightly at the Marquis and took his hand. "Do you like it? I couldn't resist, thank you so much for allowing me to borrow it, Lady Door." Molly said.
Door smiled back at her, puzzled at the weird atmosphere in the room. "You're welcome, of course, um, well, let's go eat, and anyway, you really don't have to bother with the whole Lady thing, honestly, just call me Door," she said. Door took Molly's hand in her left hand, and the Marquis quickly maneuvered around to take Molly's other hand. Door stretched out her other hand to Sherlock, who slowly came over to take it. With that, Door reached out and touched the door, and brought them all to the dining room.
A girl in a long white gown stands in front of a large wooden table that is heavily laden with dishes and food. It is Door, daughter of Portico on her 10th birthday. She is wearing flowers in her hair and they itch dreadfully. She wrinkles her nose in frustration. She tries to scratch the itch without ruining her elaborate hairstyle. A door on the side of the room opens and in races a smaller boy. He is shouting and pointing back at the woman who follows him. She carries a massive cake….
Like the rest of the house, the dining room was a relic from a past age. A massive table dominated the center of the room. Twelve chairs surrounded the table. It was set with heavy silver candelabras, an assortment of steaming serving bowls and fine porcelain plates. Door led her dining companions to their seats and began to pour wine into crystal goblets. Soup had been served, and Molly instantly began to eat. It had been far too long since she had actually eaten anything and she was starving. The soup was delicious, filled with chunks of tender meat. Fresh, warm rolls accompanied the meal and Molly broke one open to dip in her soup, not caring if it was proper. The Marquis sat next to her. He leaned back in his chair and insolently tipped the chair back, resting his massive black boots on the table top. He smiled at Molly as he raised his goblet and drank. Door and Sherlock sat across from him. Door was also enthusiastically eating her soup. Sherlock hadn't touched anything. Molly took a draught of wine and was about to ask a question when suddenly Door made a strange strangled sound.
Everyone froze and looked at Door. She was staring at the Marquis with a look of embarrassment, and then quickly looked away. Molly and Sherlock turned their gaze to the Marquis. He was still drinking from his goblet and hadn't noticed her. He slowly noticed everyone was staring at him and slammed the goblet down. "What? What the hell is wrong?" he growled.
Molly realized what Door was staring at. The snowy-white high lace collar the Marquis wore was becoming stained with red wine. Reflexively, she put her hand to her neck. The Marquis narrowed his eyes at her, and then reached up to touch his own neck. As his hand touched his neck, he nearly lost his balance, almost tipping his chair completely over. He thrashed about, usual elegance forgotten, but then managed to right himself and place his feet on the floor. He jumped from his seat and yanked the collar from around his neck. Everyone at the table winced as the ragged gash across his throat was exposed. "Shit! Damn it!" he exclaimed before angrily stomping out of the room.
Molly stood, intending to follow him, but was stopped by Door. "Wait, just leave him Molly, give him some time" Door explained. Both Sherlock and Molly were staring at her, so she continued on.
"Um, well, not too long ago, I needed some help, because, uh, my family was killed and I was in a lot of danger." She stopped for a second, needing a moment to collect herself before resuming her story.
"Anyway, the Marquis, he already owed my family a favor, so he helped me, and well, he went to these murderous bastards to find out what the hell was going on because he had that egg. He knew they would kill him, and they did. But a friend brought his life back with that egg. He was able to help me, and it all ended okay, but, um, his body is still sort of a mess." Door took a deep breath and twisted her napkin.
"He's still having some problems, mostly um, with liquids" she finished.
Molly was horrified. She tried to stand again, but her legs shook uncontrollably. "Oh my god, Door, when I touched him, I could see what happened to him. It was brutal," Molly said. She swallowed, and then looked at her hands.
"Door, I think I can help him, um I guess he mentioned that I'm a Deathseer, I might be able to heal him. I mean I already did it once today, it's worth a try, right?" Molly asked.
Sherlock jerked his head. Since Door and the Marquis had returned to the sitting room, he had said nothing, remaining focused on how he could beg for Molly's forgiveness. With a jolt, he realized that the person Molly had healed earlier was him. He shrank even further back into himself, mortified. He risked a glance at Molly. She was focused on Door, who was thinking. Finally, Door said, "We can go and try it later, he'll be mad if we go now. Let's just finish up eating, shall we?"
Molly nodded her head and resumed eating. Sherlock stared at her. He desperately wished she would look back at him, but she avoided any eye contact with him. More courses were served, and Molly and Door talked some more, but Sherlock ignored everything but Molly. He wished he could pull her away, somewhere private and plead for her forgiveness, not that he was worthy of it. He knew that he could not afford to lose her. Her concern for the Marquis frightened him. The prospect of facing his future in this strange underground world without her was too horrible to contemplate. The two women finished eating and began to stand. They started to walk away, toward the doorway that the Marquis had vanished through. Sherlock knew they were talking, but heard nothing. He dashed forward and grabbed Molly's hand. He breathed her name, "Molly." Before he could continue, she whirled around and slapped him.
"Don't you dare touch me, ever! We are finished!" she hissed. She stalked away as he stumbled backwards into the table. Molly vanished into the hallway with a swirl of her red skirts.