It was weeks before Ingress would speak, or even attempt to communicate in the least. She was silent the whole time the train bore her away from her captor. She did not react when her sister carried her into her home. Her face was devoid of any emotion for long time. Door brought her food, starting with her favorite chocolate cake. Ingress ate slowly and neatly. When she could eat no more, she stopped. She drank if a cup was given to her. She allowed her sister to bathe and clothe her. For the first weeks of her return, she was little more than a doll that breathed.
There were some things she did not allow. When Door tried to take her outside of the House without Doors, Ingress fought wildly till she was brought back inside her home. Door tried to bring people to see her sister, but Ingress would attack them with nails and teeth. However, she was accepting of Molly and Sherlock. Ingress would allow Molly to help Door bathe her and care for her. If Door needed to leave, Ingress was content to stay with Molly and Sherlock. She even permitted both of them to carry her. Door was devastated; she feared that she had lost her little sister just as surely as if they had never found her. Molly tried to reassure her.
"She's been through a lot, but kids are resilient, she knows you love her," said Molly. She knew her words sounded hollow, but didn't know what else to say or do.
Door didn't answer, just glumly ate another slice of chocolate cake. It had been appearing in the kitchens nightly. Sherlock was in the entry hall, playing his violin. Ingress was fascinated by his playing. She stared at him while he played, her face expressionless. It made Sherlock nervous. Children in general made him uneasy. They were far too unpredictable, it made them difficult to deduce. Children were pure chaos, anathema to his ordered mind. He was not heartless, merely afraid of something so unfamiliar. He had had few opportunities to play with other children when he was a child. Mycroft had been his primary playmate, till he grew weary of his baby brother's demands and abandoned him for school and friends. Sherlock was still at heart a show-off though. He secretly did enjoy the little girl's attention, especially since she was silent and demanded nothing of him. If all children were like this, perhaps he could grow to like them.
Molly drifted toward the entry hall and the music. She smiled at Ingress, who sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. Sherlock was turned away from them, but Molly knew he was acutely aware of his audience. Molly sat down on a comfortable armchair and was pleasantly surprised when Ingress stood up and climbed up on her lap. The little girl snuggled down underneath Molly's arms. Molly was almost afraid to breathe. Ingress was perched like a little bird and Molly feared she would startle and disappear.
Sherlock was playing a sweet melody, something soft like a lullaby. With a bit more of a flourish than was strictly necessary, he finished the piece. As the last notes died away, another soft sound could be heard. He spun back toward his audience. Ingress was lightly clapping, a small smile on her face. Molly's face lit up at the little girl's reaction. As Sherlock looked at their brightly shining faces, he was nearly overcome by the feelings that rushed through him. He had to turn back away from them. Door had returned to the entry hall before he had finished playing. He saw her now, crying tears of happiness. It was hopeless; he gave in and smiled back at her.
Door scooped her sister up in her arms, hugging her closely. Door whispered to her sister, but Ingress remained silent. The sisters left, back towards their own quarters. Molly suddenly felt shy. Despite his best efforts, she had plainly seen the emotion on Sherlock's face. She knew he was also delighted that the little girl had finally responded to something. But this moment was too fragile, she was afraid to move or breathe, for fear it would shatter. So she waited and watched.
Sherlock had set his violin down and walked away, pacing again, head sunk to his chest. He was worried about the ongoing breakdown of his ability to avoid emotional responses. He had always enjoyed showing off. While he hated the thought of performing for crowds, he did secretly enjoy the responses of his friends when he played for them. Ingress's reaction had seemed to break something inside him, that and the look of joy on Molly's face. He didn't know what to do. As his confusion built, he felt himself become more agitated. He hoped Molly didn't say something saccharine, he didn't think he would be able to control himself from lashing out. Mercifully, Molly stood and returned to the guest suite without saying a word.
The sitting room is empty, save a large orange cat napping in front of the dying embers of the fire. A mouse creeps out of a crack in the wall. It runs to the desk, where a tray of food has been left. The mouse climbs the leg of the desk and snatches a crumb. Now bolder, it grabs a bigger piece of bread. Without warning, the cat has leapt on the desk. With a swipe of its paw, it captures the mouse.
Molly yawned. It was late. She went to her bedroom and changed into a nightgown. She thought about going to sleep, but felt too excited. She walked into the sitting room to find a book. It was four weeks since Sherlock had jumped from the roof of St. Bart's, three weeks since the rescue of Ingress. The Underside was starting to feel like home. Sherlock definitely was much happier now that he had his violin. He was still determined to cobble together a phone. Bits and pieces of cell phones were scattered across the sitting room. He had also begun some experiments, although he was disappointed in the lack of proper scientific equipment. Molly was careful not to disturb his projects as she searched for a new book. She had noticed that books seemed to appear and disappear from the shelves. It was unlikely that Sherlock was reading them, he had sneered at her fondness for fiction. She found a copy of Jane Eyre underneath some boxes of rock samples. She curled up in the armchair and started to read.
Molly heard Sherlock return to the guest suite just as Jane was being released from her imprisonment in the Red Room. Molly could hear him return his violin to its case. He moved over toward the shelves next, probably checking on his experiments, thought Molly. He walked toward the fireplace, stopping to stare at the flames. He fiddled with the kettle for a moment. "Tea?" he asked.
Molly closed her book, and then stood up and stretched. She reached for the kettle, "Sure," she said.
He waved her away. "I'll make it" he stated. He carried the kettle into the other room to fill it with water.
Molly couldn't remember ever seeing Sherlock do something so domestic. Obviously he must know how, he is a genius, she thought. And he must have been able to fend for himself before John Watson came along. Still, it was startling and hard to comprehend, sort of like the Queen making herself a sandwich. It stood to reason that she was capable of doing such a thing, but one could never quite picture it happening. For a split second, Molly envisioned Sherlock wearing one of the Queen's hats. She could clearly picture the annoyed look on his face as he wore the pastel and feathered headgear. She was still giggling when Sherlock returned. He gave her a look, and then resumed fussing with the kettle. "I do hope that you haven't been trying to make jokes, Molly" he complained.
This just made Molly laugh harder, the image of Sherlock in a pastel picture hat even more firmly stuck in her head. She was starting to snort, which made Sherlock scowl at her even more. Something about the grumpy look on his face reminded her of his terrifying brother, Mycroft. Which of course led to her picturing Mycroft wearing one of the Queen's frocks, along with his umbrella being carried by a corgi. Molly was now gasping for air, clutching her sides. Sherlock was starting to look worried, as though he feared she was losing her mind. "What on earth is so funny?" he asked petulantly.
"You're the detective, you figure it out!" howled Molly. She giggled once more then stopped with a hiccup. The tea kettle began to whistle and diverted Sherlock's attention. He busied himself with fixing two cups of tea. He handed Molly hers with a frown.
"Well?" he asked, looking stern.
"Well what?"
"I am still waiting for you to explain this sudden outbreak of hysteria," he huffed. He looked wounded, quite annoyed with himself at being unable to deduce Molly's laughter. He sat down, stirring some sugar into his tea.
Molly just laughed some more, blushing a bit. Like hell she would tell him. "Oh Sherlock, you are just going to have to wonder" she told him with a smirk. "Thank you for the tea, by the way" she continued.
Sherlock frowned at her and drank his tea. Molly smiled at him and finished her cup. She stood and picked up her book. "Well, goodnight," she said. Still in a giddy mood, she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on the top of his head. Sherlock winced and jumped backwards in his chair. Molly felt the blood drain from her face. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm ….I'm …" she babbled. She ran into her bedroom and locked the door.
Sherlock sighed to himself and dropped his head in his hands. Why the hell had Molly done that? He had been conducting himself very well lately. There had been no heartless deductions or manipulative flattery. And now this. He had been delving into his mind palace, trying to figure out why Molly had begun giggling. He had no idea what she had found so funny and it had been vexing him quite a bit. It should have been readily apparent. When John started to chuckle so, he could usually deduce what was so amusing. Not knowing was driving him crazy. He had been deep in thought when she suddenly felt the urge to kiss him. He had been startled and flinched. People didn't touch him, not willingly, not lovingly. It wasn't that the notion of Molly giving him a kiss was so awful as to make him jump. It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one. Maybe it was even sort of nice. Wait, had he really just thought that? There had to be something in this weird London Below that was affecting his thought processes. It was the only logical explanation. He was losing control. He leapt out of his chair and stormed into his own bedroom.
Molly had buried herself deep under the covers in her bed. She was completely mortified and there was no one to blame but herself. There was no excuse. She hadn't even been drunk! Sherlock had been fulfilling his promise, in the past weeks; she had noticed him holding his tongue. Especially considering all of the strange and stressful situations he had been in, he had been behaving himself quite well. Molly had tried to tell him that she noticed his efforts and appreciated them. Sherlock had just brushed her off with an irritated quip, clearly uncomfortable. Overall, things between them were good, more relaxed. And now, she had done the unthinkable, she had kissed him. It was just a quick peck on the top of his head. She had given Ingress such small signs of affection without thinking, but well, Sherlock was Sherlock. Molly whimpered as she thought of Sherlock wincing at her touch. Maybe she would suffocate under the blankets and put herself out of her misery.
In the other bedroom, Sherlock was also cocooning himself in a mound of blankets. It had been about three days since he had last actually laid down in bed to sleep. There had been quick naps here and there, but his body was finally demanding proper rest. He fell asleep quickly, curled up on his side. As he slept, he dreamed. He rarely remembered his dreams, but this time he did. In his dream, he was chasing a woman up a flight of stairs. As he reached the top, he realized that it was The Woman. Irene Adler stood in her bedroom, naked, wielding a riding crop. Just as she had in reality, she stuck him with a needle filled with drugs. His dream-self fell to the floor, unable to move but still quite alert. Irene was laughing at him, and then she turned to the door. Molly stood in the doorway, wearing the long old-fashioned night gown she had been wearing in the guest suite. Irene took Molly by the hand, and they began to waltz. But then it wasn't Irene, it was the awful Marquis dancing with Molly. Sherlock tried to shout, but in his dream he was paralyzed. The pair spun around and around. Molly was laughing. They stopped, but now the Marquis was a giant cat, still clothed in the Marquis' bizarre ensemble. Molly took the riding crop off her dancing partner and began walking towards Sherlock. She stopped right in front of him, smiling mischievously and tapping the crop on the palm of her hand. That was when Sherlock had woken up. Now that he was fully awake, he realized that he had a new problem. For the first time in over a year, he had an erection.
He groaned, but not from pleasure. He thought he had eradicated those unwelcome feelings. Like all humans, he had suffered the hormones and lusts of adolescence. Attending an all-boys school made finding a willing female partner difficult for even the more popular lads. For a well-known freak and deviant like Sherlock, there were no willing partners of any sort. He was too strange, too gangly and awkward. His peers let him know he would never find friends or romance. And he had believed them. Besides, friends and lovers required time and energy to maintain. He was not interested in either sort of relationship. His mind required stimulation, not his genitals. He had devoted himself to suppressing such desires. By the age of 18, he no longer experienced such uncontrollable physiological urges. The affair with Irene Adler had eroded his control. There was a brief moment when he had been desperately attracted to her. He thought about giving in to his base desires, but was able to resist. He was glad that he did, in the end she was cruel and would have shattered him. He had re-learned his lesson. He had buried those thoughts and feelings. He had felt certain he would not be plagued by such urges in the future.
And yet, here he was, faced with undeniable evidence to the contrary. But this time, it was not The Woman who had provoked such a response. It had been Molly. Damn! Just thinking her name had made the offending organ twitch. He needed to stop this before it progressed. He did not want to have to deal with it as most men would. It was too unpleasant, too intimate and frankly, sticky. He emptied his mind. He thought of math problems, calculating pi, counting prime numbers in French, anything dry and mathematical. After some time, he became aware that the problem was gone. He sat up, feeling shaky. He debated bathing, but chose not to, far too much touching. He dressed quickly and strode into the sitting room. Molly was not there. The door to her room was open. He peered inside, she was not there either. He left the guest suite and went to the entry hall.
Stillness. The entry hall is empty. A man enters. He is holding a knife which drips blood. He pauses for a moment and licks the blood from the blade with a quick flicker of his tongue. He hums happily as he cleans the blade. Another, larger man enters. He is carrying a small motionless child over his shoulder. The men leave and the room is still once more.
Sherlock knew that the vision he had just seen was of the abduction of Ingress. The entry hall currently looked alarmingly similar to how it appeared in the last vision. It was empty. Sherlock wasn't even certain of what he was doing there. Who was he looking for anyway? He needed to leave the house. He walked to the painting of Portico's study. Hopefully Door was there. He knocked on the painting, and then waited. After a brief moment, Door appeared.
"Oh, Sherlock, hello" she said.
He suddenly wasn't sure why he had summoned her. Panicked, he affixed an arrogant glare on his face; it was how he felt most at ease after all. "Door, I would like to leave" he stated.
"Oh, alright, um, give me a moment please," she asked. He nodded and Door disappeared back into her father's study. Sherlock waited till she returned. When she did, they walked to the exit together.
Door had been taking Sherlock for walks to familiarize him with the Underside. She was enormously grateful to him. She credited him with finding her lost sister. When she told Sherlock this, he had modestly insisted that sheer luck had more to do with finding Ingress than he had. Molly had been stunned when he admitted this. Sherlock the show-off was well known to her, she had never seen him be humble about anything. Door was still thankful. She was certain that they never would have found Ingress if he hadn't foolishly sought out Serpentine. Door wanted to help him become familiar with his new home and gladly took him exploring once she realized that Ingress was happy to stay behind with Molly. They walked through brick tunnels in silence. Finally, Door spoke, "So, did you have anywhere you wanted to go?"
"Not particularly" he answered. He kept his hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground.
Door chewed on her lip. She had promised that she would speak with him, might as well get it over with. "Well, um, Molly and I were talking. She thought you might want to find your own place, and I can help. I think I can find a flat or building that was lost and make it so you could live there, it shouldn't take too long and then you could move" she began.
Sherlock glanced at her. It was obvious that Molly had told her everything about their last awkward encounter. He cursed women and their inability to shut up. He stopped and raised his eyebrows as he looked at Door. "I am sorry if my presence in your home has become a burden" he said flatly.
"Oh, no, it's not that, um I think Molly just thought you would want to be on your own, you know, like you said, you prefer to be alone. We just thought maybe you were tired of being cooped up with us…." She trailed off, looking away from him.
Sherlock sighed. He rubbed his hands through his hair. At this moment, he truly had no idea what he wanted. Mostly he wanted his old life back, the flat in Baker Street and chasing criminals with John. But, life in the Underside was starting to grow on him. And he would be lying if he said that he wanted to go back to always being alone, John had cured him of that. The notion of separating from Molly was … unpleasant. And difficult as it was to admit, he sort of liked living with Door and Ingress too. They had almost formed an odd little family, which was the only sort of a family he could ever belong to. He lowered his head. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked Door.
"Um, no, I mean, it's fine if you want to leave, you don't have to stay, but, no I don't want you to leave," she answered.
While she spoke, he turned away from her. "And Molly, does she want me to leave?" he whispered.
Door paused. "Well, I mean, you'd have to ask her, but I don't think she wants you to go. She just thought you might want to be alone."
"I would like to speak with her" he paused, uncertain. "That is, if she wants to."
"Okay, well let's just head back then," said Door. They turned back and returned in silence to the House without Doors.