Sherlock Holmes was bored.
He sat in his chair at Baker Street, three patches on his arm while trying not to shoot something. He laid down on his couch, bringing his fingers to his lips and diving into his mindpalace. He was shaken out of it by the sound of John's voice.
"Why don't you just go to St. Barts, mate?" The blogger said. "Maybe Molly has some fingers you can borrow."
Sherlock jumped up and shrugged on his coat, looping on his scarf on his way.
When Sherlock arrived at the morgue, he saw in an instant that Molly was having a bad day. That was something he couldn't have at the moment. Things shot through his mindpalace. Things to say that he thought would make her feel better.
"Your eyes are red and puffy, your hair is a mess and the make-up you are currently wearing to hide the bags under your eyes is smeared by your tears." He said, looking up at her once. He was ignored. 'that is new'. He thought. Then he remembered something else.
"Miss Hooper, do stop sulking about the fact that it is the anniversary of your father death and do your job, you are acting rather unprofessional. " But Molly Hooper would not budge, which annoyed him. Sherlock was not used to being ignored.
"If you behave like this every time you have something to be emotional about, I can understand why you do not have any relations. It is highly likely that this is your high school experience all over again, isn't it?"He could feel Molly's eyes, burning in his back. He didn't look up until he heard her speak.
"Sherlock, go fuck yourself." She snapped. Sherlock was surprised. He hadn't expected that kind of a reaction. He had done her a kindness, hadn't he?
"Do not feel like you can speak to me in that way, miss Hooper." He said, his voice dangerously low, knowing that that would shut the pathologist up. But it didn't
"It's DOCTOR Hooper to you, DOCTOR!" She yelled. This time, Sherlock was the one to have no words. He heard the morgue doors open and in no time, John Watson was standing next to him, shooting him a look that could kill.
"Bloody Hell Sherlock, what did you do this time?" He said, which confused Sherlock. He hadn't done anything. Sherlock always was an idiot when it came to emotions.
"It's fine, John. Don't worry. I'm done."He heard Molly say. What did she mean, done? His experiment wasn't even close to done and he needed the lab. He saw Molly practically running towards the door. She turned around one more time.
"Just know, Mr. Holmes, that you would still be lying somewhere in the gutter, getting off your high if it wasn't for me."
Sherlock looked at her, taken aback by her words. He had never told anyone about his previous addictions, only Mycroft knew.
"How do you know about that?" He demanded
"Can'tyou deduce it?" Molly said, turning on her heel and exiting the morgue.
Sherlock immediately went into his mindpalace, but came out blank. How did she know that? He would have to ask Mycroft.
He arrived at the Diogenes Club not long after he left Barts. He walked straight into his brothers office.
"How does she know?" He said, not quite raising his voice but the closest thing to it.
"Ah, brother dear. I expected you." Mycroft said, a small, sarcastic smile playing on his lips.
"Tell me. Now."
Mycroft sighed and stood up from his chair, walking around his desk to stand in front of his little brother.
"She always knew, Sherlock. She knows because she was there." Mycroft answered after a short silence.
"I would remember something as important as that, Brother." Sherlock exclaimed. "You were the one to send me to rehab."
"Are you sure about that? How would I get someone as stubborn as yourself into rehabilitation when it is against said persons will?"
Sherlock had to think about this. He surely was a stubborn teen, and Mycroft had a point; if he hadn't wanted to go to rehab, he wouldn't have gone.
"But how did I end up in rehab then?" He asked. He sounded like an eight year old again. The one who cried when his big brother left for boarding school, begging him to stay.
"Molly Hooper." Mycroft answered.
Sherlock didn't understand.
"But I met miss Hooper 6 years ago. I got clean over 10."
Mycroft sighed, a sound that lingered between amused and annoyed by his brothers naivety.
"You met her 13 years ago, Sherlock. You went to the same high school. You were her only friend, and you were hers, if you could call that friendship."
Then, something snapped in Sherlock's brain. All the memories came back. Molly being his chemistry partner, her pulling him out of an alley and helping him get off his high. Her calling him in tears about her father's passing and him reacting like the cold-hearted man he was. One particular conversation came in mind.
Sherlock opened his eyes and saw where he was. He was in Molly Hooper's room. He sat up, trying to ignore the headache from Hell he had. Then Molly walked in, a glass of water in her hand.
"Oh hello, you're awake." She said. Sherlock was impressed, because under other circumstances, Molly would have stuttered and blushed in his presence.
"Drink this."
Sherlock did as he was told, not taking his eyes of her. She didn't look back at him, and busied herself with filling another glass of water instead.
"I would give you painkillers, but thinking about the situation, that would probably not be a good idea." Sherlock only nodded.
They were silent for a moment, until Sherlock started speaking.
"How did you find me?" He asked her, his voice small.
"You came here. You were high as a kite, so I put you in my bed." She answered. Again, he just nodded.
"You could've died tonight, Sherlock." Molly spoke, her voice dead serious. "You were this close to an overdose."
"I know." He finally said.
"You have to stop, Sherlock. Or one day you won't be so lucky and you will die." Molly's voice was broken now, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.
"You have to stop. If you don't, I will give up on you." She said. A tear escaped from her hold and rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.
"One more time, and I'm done." With that, she left the room.
Sherlock sat on the bed for a long time after that, just letting what had happened sink in. He drank the other glass of water and dialed a number on his phone.
"Hello?" a voice said.
"Yes, Mycroft? I think it's time."
Sherlock ran out of the Diogenes Club and made his way to Molly's apartment.
She was done. Not because he had done drugs again, he hadn't, but because he had pushed her too far. His deductions that afternoon had struck a chord. Telling her off about her childhood had been too much and Sherlock now knew what she had meant with her words. Suicide.
Molly was going to kill herself and it was his fault.
Sherlock jumped into a cab and all but yelled her address to the cabbie, telling him to hurry.
He arrived at the flat. The door was locked, but he easily picked the lock. He called out her name multiple times. When she didn't react, he first checked her bedroom, searching for his pathologist. When he didn't see her there, he ran to the bathroom. He opened the door and gasped at the sight. Molly Hooper was lying on the ground, a knife plunged into her abdomen. A puddle of blood was forming around her petite frame. She looked pale, paler than himself and most of all; she wasn't moving. He dropped to his knees beside her and gathered her in his arms.
"Molly! Molly you have to stay awake. Stay with me." He begged her. He took out his phone and texted John and Lestrade as quick as he could, never letting go of her body. He felt something wet on his cheeks, thinking it was Molly's blood, he didn't give it any other thought.
"Molly, I'm sorry. Come back to me."
When the paramedics, Lestrade and John arrived, they were met by the sight of Sherlock rocking back and forth with Molly Hooper in his arms, her body pressed to his chest. They pried him away from her, bringing her to the nearest hospital as quick as possible. Sherlock never let go of her hand.
So yeah.. 2nd chapter. let me know your thoughts. good/not good. also if you want another chapter.