For whatever reason, Sherlock stopped bothering Molly and she actually got a good bit of rest. When she awoke, she felt ready to start working on the big problems. Or at least figure out what all the problems they faced were. There certainly were a lot of them. They needed to figure out if Jim Moriarty was a Deathseer and if he had any connection to London Below. That of course opened up a whole new box of problems, such as how to stop Jim Moriarty if he has some sort of malevolent magic on his side? And there was always the pressing concern, even if we can defeat him, how do we get back to our normal lives?
Those were just some of the big problems. The little ones were far more numerous and just as troubling. Questions like, will Door let us stay here indefinitely, because where will we live otherwise? What are we going to eat? Does London Below have any openings for a slightly used pathologist? What about a condescending consulting detective, need any of those? Will the Marquis and Sherlock end up killing each other? How in the hell will I convince Sherlock that he doesn't need his violin? There was certainly a lot to ponder. Molly decided to get dressed in something sensible and seek out breakfast or at the very least tea before devoting any more time thinking.
Sherlock was sitting in his usual thinking pose in an armchair when Molly left the bedroom. He had apparently gone through the contents of the other bedroom's wardrobe and chosen new clothing. Currently he was wearing loose black trousers and a simple white linen shirt. He looked a bit like a pirate on his day off. Molly was dismayed that he still looked, well, delicious. He glanced up at Molly then gestured toward the fireplace. "The kettle's just boiled, fix the tea … please."
Molly found the rest of the tea supplies on a table near the fireplace and set about preparing two cups of tea. She already knew how Sherlock took his tea, thanks to years of being bossed around in her own morgue. When everything was ready, she handed him his tea and then sat down in the other chair with hers. They sat and drank in silence. Molly tried to think of something to talk about, but gave up. Sherlock usually just sneered at her attempts at conversation anyway. Surprisingly, it was Sherlock who began to speak first. "I have devoted some thought to procuring my violin. If, as you say, we do not exist to regular Londoners, it will be no trouble to simply enter my flat and remove some of my possessions. We can take care of it when I am finished interviewing Door" he stated.
"Oh, um, maybe, I guess. You seem to have accepted what I was trying to tell you about London Below yesterday, that's good" Molly stammered.
"I have had some time to consider the facts of the situation and come to the inevitable conclusion that things are just as you say. I admit I did consider some more fanciful explanations, such as my truly being deceased, or possibly severely brain injured."
"Really?" Molly giggled "That must have been … interesting, what was that like?"
Sherlock smiled, warming to his topic. "I have long considered the notion of life after death to be a mere relict of prehistoric ignorance. However, I had to concede that after jumping off the roof, I have experienced numerous inexplicable incidents. I had to consider that a supernatural explanation such as heaven was a possibility. Of course, I rejected that this is heaven, should I ever enter paradise, I expect my violin and phone to be more readily accessible. The presence of the Marquis and numerous other irritants suggests this is hell. However, I also rejected that notion, mainly due to your presence."
Molly was startled by this. "Huh?" she asked.
"Molly. Why would you be in hell? I reasoned that your being here suggested that at worse, this could be a sort of purgatory, perhaps with you serving as my Beatrice. However, I still refuse to accept the concept of life after death without further data. I have chosen instead to accept the fact that the simplest explanation is often best, and things are exactly as you first described them to me" explained Sherlock.
Molly could feel herself blush. Damn it, why did Sherlock always do that to her? She was saved from speaking by the appearance of Door.
"Morning, or, um actually it's afternoon, but anyway, I'm hungry, do you two want to come join me?" yawned Door.
Molly leapt up from her seat and rushed over to Door. Sherlock followed at a bit more leisurely pace. "While I have minimal interest in eating, I would like to learn more about the disappearance of your sister in order to set about locating her" said Sherlock.
Door nodded, then took Molly and Sherlock's hand, then reached out to touch the door of the guest suite.
The entry hall is filled with people, all in bright and brilliant dress. A small quartet of musicians is playing a lively tune and many couples are dancing. Standing in a corner, the Marquis de Carabas is sipping wine from a crystal goblet. Some of the couples that dance past him grimace when they notice him watching. He merely smiles.
"So, I don't think I told you this, but from this entry way, you can reach some of the rooms without needing me to actually be there. Um, my grandfather set it up so openers can make certain rooms connect or be closed off. Right now from here you can just walk into the dining room and the back courtyard," Door explained.
She continued, "I brought some stuff for breakfast in here, it's a little less stuffy than the dining room."
They sat down at one of the tables in the room. There were several small round tables and one long banqueting table in the entry hall. There were also assorted chairs and sofas in conversational groupings. When Molly sat down, she noticed the Marquis lying on one of the more ornate settees. She wondered if he was going to eat, but then remembered the incident at last night's meal and decided not to ask. Door liberally buttered some rolls and ate them. Sherlock actually poured himself some coffee and ate some of the fruit from Molly's plate when he thought she wasn't looking. Door and Sherlock began discussing her family's murders. The details were gruesome. Molly wandered away to speak with the Marquis. As she approached, he greeted her without opening his eyes. "And how was your evening, dear Molly? It would have been far better had you spent it with me instead of your gangly acquaintance" he drawled.
Molly rolled her eyes as the Marquis languidly sat up. "And a good morning to you too. Actually I was hoping you'd let me see your wounds and let me try to heal them."
The Marquis stared at her for a moment, thinking, head tilted. He looked back towards where Sherlock and Door were still deep in discussion. Finally, he nodded, and unwrapped the lace he had bound around his neck. Molly tried not to wince; it was an awful gash across his neck. She reached out to touch it, but stopped, waiting for permission. The Marquis sighed and nodded again. Molly tilted his head back and examined the cut. It was long, nearly from ear to ear. And it was deep. Somehow his vocal cords had not been seriously damaged, a minor miracle. Molly could see some evidence of healing, but it was plain that there was a long way to go. This sort of injury was one the body rarely got a chance to heal. Molly thought that the best option was likely to suture the gash, and then try to heal it using her Deathseer ability. Hopefully that would actually heal the injury quickly and without a truly horrible scar. Molly knew there were more injuries. She had seen them inflicted in her visions. She took a deep breath first. "Um, I know there are more wounds, may I see them also?" she whispered.
The Marquis kept his face blank as he nodded then removed his shirt. Once more, Molly tried, as best she could, to also keep her face expressionless. His entire chest was covered with a multitude of cuts. It was obvious that many weapons had been used to create the variety of wounds. Each gash was different. A strange dark part of Molly's mind thought that his chest would be a wonderful teaching tool for demonstrating how various weapons created different looking wounds. Pathologists and forensic scientists in training could learn a lot. Years in the morgue had gifted Molly with quite a dark sense of humor sometimes. She studied each wound carefully and decided that most needed suturing. She wondered if she had enough thread. She was a little worried about infection, but there wasn't much she could do about that beyond washing up. She made eye contact with the Marquis before beginning to speak again.
"Okay, um, well it's a lot, but I would like to try stitching your wounds, then trying to heal you. What do you think?" she asked nervously, rubbing her hands.
The Marquis sighed and nodded his head. Molly looked around, Door was just returning to the entry hall. She handed something to Sherlock, then noticed Molly looking at her and came over. Molly quietly explained her plan and told Door what she needed. Door nodded and the two women left to seek out the needed supplies.
The Marquis looked across the room and studied Sherlock. He was still mostly a mystery to the Marquis. It was clear that Sherlock had also raided the wardrobes, but his ensemble was far too plain for the Marquis' taste. What was the point of dressing if one didn't do it with flair? The Marquis was a little curious about the whereabouts of the other man's coat. It was a very nice coat, though the Marquis was sure it didn't have quite the same properties that his did. Sherlock looked up and noticed the Marquis staring. Both men scowled and turned away from each other. It was nearly a half an hour before Door and Molly returned. Molly immediately approached the Marquis.
"So, I've asked Door and I think that this room will actually be the best for this, it has the best light" Molly said. She took the Marquis by the hand and led him to the long banqueting table.
"If you just lie down on this, it will be easier for me to stitch you up. Um, this will hurt; do you want anything for pain? Door said she might have some stuff that would help….." Molly said.
"No, thank you." With that, the Marquis elegantly slid onto the table and lay down after making a pillow out of his shirt. Molly set about organizing her supplies. She carefully washed her hands in a basin, and then began washing off the Marquis' chest. She couldn't help but notice that Marquis had a rather nice chest. Since he previously always wore his massive coat, it had been difficult to determine what his actual body was like. In fact it was pleasingly muscled and broad. Molly realized she had been staring when the Marquis smirked and said "Admiring the view?"
She felt the blush creeping across her face and frowned. She smacked him lightly on his arm. Damn him and his ceaseless flirting. The Marquis chuckled softly. Molly threaded her needles and began with the gash at his neck. She went slowly. She wasn't used to giving stiches to bodies that still breathed. She made each stitch neat and carefully, like always. The neck didn't take long and she moved on to the chest wounds. This was trickier. Every wound was different and required an individual approach. Molly concentrated on the task at hand, Sherlock and Door's voices reduced to murmurs. After several hours, she was finished.
Molly took a quick break, eating and drinking something before returning to the Marquis. He had chosen to remain lying on the table, eyes closed. Molly approached him. "Okay, I need to put my hands on you, and well, … it worked when I had to do it to Sherlock. I really am trying my best" she said, voice starting to waver.
The Marquis, eyes still closed, muttered, "Molly, you can't make it any worse."
She closed her eyes, and then placed her hands on his chest. The whole time she had been sewing his wounds shut, she had struggled to keep her sense of death at bay. She needed to keep it suppressed; otherwise she would start seeing the torture and death he had suffered. Now she opened herself up, and allowed her sense of death to return fully. Molly gasped as it rushed through her. Her hands felt warm. She concentrated on the Marquis, pushing away the torturous visions and seeking out his death. The blackness of his death was curled inside him. Molly began to focus on shoving the blackness away. It fought back, clinging to his wounds. Molly tried harder. Sweat was pouring down her face and arms, but she didn't notice it. She was panting with the effort. Slowly, she felt the tide begin to turn, the blackness was giving way, reforming on the outside of his body. With one last deep breath, she gave a final push. She opened her eyes to see the Marquis looking at her with astonishment. She smiled at him. Then her eyes rolled back and she passed out cold.
Sherlock had been on the other side of the room for much of the time Molly was working on the Marquis. He was trying to keep a close eye on them without being obvious. He wasn't sure why, but every time he saw the two of them together, he began to grind his teeth. He would have liked to lock the damnable Marquis in the little courtyard and leave him there forever. He was irritated by how fond Molly seemed to be of him. Honestly, why did she have such an attraction to the criminally insane?
Sherlock had been questioning Door for most of the morning. Primarily about the killing of her family and her subsequent failed attempts to locate her sister. He was also interested in how traveling from one room to another caused memories to be revealed. They had discovered, somewhat to both of their surprise, that Sherlock was able to access these memories by touching the walls. No one had ever been able to do that previously. Primarily he was able to see memories related to the slaughter of Portico and his family. Door reasoned that the House without Doors was equally eager to locate its lost inhabitant, and thus willing to offer what help it could.
Sherlock had been reviewing the memories the House had shared when he saw Molly faint. He ran towards her, but of course, the Marquis was able to smoothly rise from the table and catch her in one motion. Once Molly was in his arms, the Marquis carried her over to a nearby sofa and gently laid her down. He had dragged a chair next to her and was already seated by the time Sherlock made it to Molly's side. Sherlock scowled and demanded "What have you done to her now?"
The Marquis ignored him, and lightly stroked Molly's hand. He quickly examined his injuries. Most of them were in fact, now nearly healed. Door came close behind Sherlock and gasped when she saw the Marquis.
"Temple and Arch! De Carabas, how in the hell? Your throat!" she exclaimed.
Molly was stirring a little now. Her eyes fluttered and she looked up with confusion. She focused on Sherlock first. "W-Where am I? Sherlock?"
The Marquis answered her, "You're here with me, in the House without Doors. You did it Molly."
Molly looked at the Marquis, and then tried to sit up. She moved too quickly and closed her eyes and fell back again, moaning. "I did? It worked?" she asked weakly.
The Marquis wiped the sweat from her forehead and whispered "Yes." Molly smiled, and then moaned again, clutching her head.
Door glanced at Sherlock and noticed the annoyed look on his face. He quickly composed a blank look on his face, and then walked away, back toward the walls. Door noticed that Molly was watching him go. Door sighed and looked back toward Molly. She was trying to sit up again, a bit slower this time. Once she was sitting up, she closed her eyes for a moment, and then began examining the Marquis more closely. Her mouth opened in wonder as she checked every wound. Some of the smaller ones had healed completely. The larger wounds had improved greatly. Molly couldn't believe how successful she had been. His death now resembled most other people's, albeit still a little strange. She beamed at the Marquis and Door. The she tried to stand, but nearly passed out again.
"Molly, you need to rest, what you have done is amazing, your power is remarkable" said the Marquis, kissing her sweetly on the lips. Molly felt dizzy all over again.
Sherlock loomed over them. "Yes, I think a rest is exactly what she needs" he snapped, enunciating each word precisely. Before Molly could protest, Sherlock scooped her up from the sofa and marched back towards the painting of the guest suite. "Door, if you would be so kind," he asked.
"Sherlock! Wait, I still need to check his stitches! I'm fine" protested Molly. She weakly kicked her legs, trying to get down from Sherlock's grasp.
Sherlock ignored her, and just looked pointedly at Door. She shrugged and came over to the pair, grabbing Sherlock's elbow and leading them back to their rooms.
A man is seated at the desk in the guest suite. He is reading through papers, turning them angrily. He shoves some off the table then rests his head in his hands. A woman is seated in an armchair by the fireplace. She hears him sigh and walks over to him. She whispers something in his ear and kisses his cheek softly. He smiles back at her.
As soon as they reached the guest suite, Sherlock marched toward Molly's bedroom. Door followed. Molly continued to protest, to no avail. Sherlock sat Molly down on her bed and turned and left without saying anything, slamming the door as he left. Door looked questioningly at Molly, who groaned and fell back on the bed.
"So, um, he's your friend, right?" asked Door.
Molly grabbed a pillow and covered her head, groaning again. She answered from underneath the pillow. "Sort of, barely, Sherlock doesn't have friends, at least that's what he claims" she explained.
"Yeah, he told me something similar last night. But … um, I'm pretty sure he's gonna punch the Marquis if he kisses you again," said Door.
Molly groaned once more. Door removed the pillow from her face and looked at Molly with raised eyebrows. "Okay, I've had the biggest, stupidest crush of all time on Sherlock and more than once he's made it clear he has no interest. He doesn't have relationships, or feelings for that matter. I mean I know he does have emotions, but it would likely take severe torture to force him admit it" Molly said.
"Ah. Well, the Marquis can be torturous when he wants to be, perhaps their forced interaction will bring something out in your friend," giggled Door.
Molly smiled and then tried to stand. She needed Door's help to get fully upright. "Okay, well I guess I better rest, given that I can't stand on my own. Could you help me take my shoes off? I don't think I can do it without fainting again," Molly asked.
Door helped Molly change into the nightgown. After Molly was safely in bed, Door left the room. She thought that Sherlock would be waiting for her in the sitting room, but he was nowhere to be seen. The door to the other bedroom was now closed. Door shrugged and then returned to the entry hall.
The Marquis had redressed and was sitting at the table calmly drinking a cup of tea. He had left off the lace collar her had worn to hide his slit throat. Door sat down across from him and poured herself a cup. "So, that was … interesting … How do you feel?" asked Door.
"Much better actually, thank you for asking" answered the Marquis primly. He picked up a small tea cake and nibbled it.
"So … now what?" asked Door.
The Marquis finished his tea cake and took a sip of tea. He delicately brushed crumbs from his mouth and carefully replaced his tea cup. "Right now I intend to finish my tea. Beyond that I have no firm plans," answered the Marquis.
Door decided to try a different approach. She steeled herself before asking, "So what's going on between you and Molly?"
The Marquis raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Going on? We have had an ongoing business relationship. She has repaid my assistance by helping to accelerate the healing of my wounds. Perhaps in the future we will resume negotiations and conduct another transaction."
"Don't be so obtuse. You know what I mean, you kissed her. What's that all about? I mean, I sort of assumed you weren't interested in, um …." Door made some vague gestures as she searched for the right words.
The Marquis snorted. "Women? Now who's being obtuse? I am not interested in relationships with individuals of any gender. However, I do occasionally experience the need for … release, not to mention pleasure." He held the tea cup in his hand, delicately spinning it while studying it.
"Well don't you go getting any ideas about Molly. She's too innocent and she doesn't need any of your particular brand of depravity. Besides, she's in love with Sherlock, so just behave yourself!" scolded Door.
"Humph. Since when do I behave myself, on your orders or anyone else's'? I grow weary of your company, excuse me, I wish to seek amusement elsewhere." The Marquis stood and marched away, heading towards one of the exits. Door watched as he let himself out, back into London Below.