One Hour Later
Sherlock sat at his desk with Molly's laptop open before him. She had left it there days ago when he had her over to help with an experiment. He hadn't told her where it was nor, obviously, asked for permission to use it. He had just finished his latest search for the possible origin of the words written on Mrs. Hudsons wall when his door creaked open. He looked up to see the woman bustle in with a tray in her hands. She knew he didn't eat while on a case so he couldn't fathom why she always insisted on bringing him food.
Sherlock looked over to her and voiced the very question. Her only response was a warm smile and a knowing look. He didn't quite understand her reasoning behind that until he heard another set of footsteps coming up the stairs to his flat. They were light and timid, clearly they belonged to Molly. He looked guiltily to her laptop and benignly to Mrs. Hudson who made a quick retreat, letting Molly in as she left.
Molly nervously pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and looked up at Sherlock. He was still seated at his desk, unsure of what to do. "Um, I came over to… wait? Is that my laptop?" She moved quickly towards the desk, Sherlock could feel his breath catch in his throat. "Sherlock," even when she said his name in that annoyed voice it still made his heart race, maybe even more so. "I've been looking for this all week. Why didn't you tell me that it was here?"
He looked down at his hands, poised over the keyboard, and tried to come up with an explanation that wouldn't cause Molly to become flustered. In all honesty he had not told her because he was hoping it would cause her to return to the flat. He knew eventually she would remember she had left it here and she would need to visit him again. Could he tell her that? Most likely but what would she do in return? He didn't want to risk upsetting whatever it was that was happening between them. Sherlock Holmes was truly a coward when it came to Molly Hooper.
Instead he decided that instead of answering he would tell her what he discovered. "I've just been searching those words you transliterated." Molly moved closer coming to stand behind him, bending forward to look at the screen. He forced himself to focus on the screen and not on the faint hint of vanilla wafting off of Molly.
She read the screen quickly and scrunched up her face in thought. "So, they are reenacting a myth?" She didn't sound too certain. "Why would they do that? It doesn't make any sense."
Sherlock grabbed the pad of paper he had been taking notes on and held it above his shoulder for Molly to grab. Their fingers grazed each other lightly and he could feel the skin tingle where they touched. Molly of course didn't react at all. She was already engrossed in all of his notes. He had already cast every character based on the information and the roles they play. Molly was reading through the character list when a frown marred her features. "I'm sorry Sherlock but can you explain this to me?"
He turned his body to face her and patiently waited for her question. Normally he would have brushed off such a request and asked the dolt who voiced it to either be silent or leave. However, he felt inclined to do nearly everything that Molly asked of him, even humour inane questions that had obvious answers. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and looked up to him. "I just don't understand. Why would John be the oracle and not Perseus? Doesn't it make more sense for him to be your saviour than me?" He had anticipated that question and had already formulated multiple responses.
He chose the one closest to the truth without revealing too much of his heart. "In the myth, Andromeda and Perseus fall in love. He saves her, is enraptured by her beauty, and whisks her away to be his bride. I hardly think John will be whisking me away." He smirked at her and she giggled. Wonderful. As long as she was giggling she wouldn't be too worried about the fact that she has to, at some point in the not too distant future, save him.
She looked down at the paper again, another question fresh on her tongue. "In the myth Hades and Poseidon send a monster to ravage the land. We haven't been ravaged have we?" She looked at him, concerned at what that could entail for the people of London.
"No, I believe they are waiting for me to figure this out before they truly begin the reenactment. They wouldn't want their Andromeda to misinterpret the signs." He sighed and looked away. "One can only hope that they don't hurt anyone because of me." He whispered the last confession, hoping both that Molly would and wouldn't hear him.
A hand found its way into his curly hair and was gently massaging his scalp. He leaned into it slightly and brought his arms around her waist. Molly knew that comfort was not something that Sherlock commonly needed but when he did she was willing to offer. He pressed his face into her abdomen, drinking in her warmth, pushing out the worries of the word, if only for a moment. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and just held him there. Both were oblivious to the world.
After a few moments of silent companionship Molly pulled away slightly, feeling a little uncomfortable with the prolonged contact. Sherlock looked up at her with a quizzical expression. Molly continued running her hand through his curls as she spoke again.
"Sherlock, if people do start to get hurt. Well …. how are we going to 'sacrifice' you?" She let out a frustrated puff of air. "Furthermore, how am I going to save you? I'm not a soldier like John, or important like Mycroft. Lestrade has a gun, I don't have anything. When I'm in trouble I turn to you." Her voice grew progressively quieter as she continued her confession.
Sherlock tightened his grip on her waist and held her gaze. He cleared his throat, fighting down something that felt strangely like a swelling of tears. "Molly," his voice came out softly, "when I'm in trouble I turn to you." He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. She smiled down at him and he gave her a rare smile in return. His next words were filled with the same confidence he had used when they had planned out his fake death. "Molly, this is what I think they have planned and this is how we are going to beat them."
Four Days Later
Molly stood in the morgue looking over the body of a young woman with two gunshot wounds to her chest. She clicked on the recorder and began her preliminary examination. "Female patient, twenty-four years of age. Blonde hair, muscular build. Two entry wounds to the left Sternocostal Head of Pectoralis Major Muscle." She rolled her left shoulder off of the table to check her left shoulder blade. "No exit wounds. Hands show no sign of defensive measures, fingernail scrapings will be collected and sent to lab." She looked up at the sound of the door opening. She smiled slightly to Sherlock as he silently approached. She turned back to her observations. Sherlock always enjoyed watching her work. "Small bruise to the back of the right Lateral Gastrocnemius, coloring shows that it is at least two days old. No other external trauma. Liver temperature indicates patient died around 10pm yesterday night. More findings when I begin my internal examination."
Molly switched off the recorder as she got her tray ready for the autopsy. "Do you need anything before I begin?" She asked Sherlock. He shook his head and once more looked at the body on the table. Molly followed his gaze. "Jane Doe 247-8. No identification and no missing person's report." Molly furrowed her brow. "It always makes me sad when people come into my morgue without a name. Doesn't anyone miss her?" She whispered the last part.
Sherlock stepped forward, invading her personal space. "I'm sure someone misses her. We'll find out who she is and why someone would do this to her." He reached out a tentative hand and she watched with wide eyes. He moved his hand away and looked around in uncharacteristic nervousness, as though worried about being observed. "I'm going to make coffee, can I get you a cup?"
He had never offered before so she just silently nodded her head and watched him leave the morgue. He returned twenty minutes later with two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. Molly had just finished removing Jane Doe's rib cage when he entered. She continued on recording her findings. "Internal trauma consistent with GSW. Perforated and collapsed left lung, torn liver, and blood in the abdominal cavity. Right bronchi has been torn from the lung sack. Bullet 1, topmost GSW, is lodged in the left scapula, Bullet 2, leftmost GSW, is lodged in the fourth Thoracic Vertebrae. Both projectiles have been removed for further analysis. Lungs contain bursted avioli and advanced petechial hemorrhage in the eyes indicate a lack of oxygen. Cause of death: suffocation." She clicked off the recorder and looked over to where Sherlock sat at the microscope already looking at the samples she had retrieved for him. She looked up at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was already half past eight, she had spent two hours on that autopsy. Her coffee was no doubt cold and unpalatable. As she approached her neglected coffee and the detective beside it she noticed steam coming up from the cup.
Sherlock didn't look up from the microscope when he addressed her curiosity. "You were busy and clearly wouldn't have time to stop for a coffee break so I drank yours and got you a fresh cup when you started to close up Jane Doe." He adjusted the microscope but still didn't look up from the slide. Molly thanked him and silently sat on the stool next to him. She warmed her hands on the mug and sipped the hot liquid, relishing the caffeine and the fact that Sherlock knew exactly how she liked her coffee.
"What are you looking at?" Sherlock pushed away from the microscope at her questioning and gestured for her to look. She peered through and took in the shape and coloring of what appeared to be skin follicles. "Skin? Was this in the trace I took from her hair?" Sherlock nodded. "It isn't human or any other species I recognize immediately. Reptilian maybe?" Sherlock nodded again. He reached past her, just brushing her arm.
He flipped open her file and pointed to the printout he had just added. "Snake skin to be exact. She appears to have had snakes in her hair." Molly furrowed her brow in confusion. Sherlock could almost see the wheels turning in her head.
Molly grabbed his arm suddenly and turned a startled expression upon him. "Wait, Sherlock. In the myth you think we're in, Perseus slays the gorgon Medusa before rescuing Andromeda. Is she our Medusa?" He had already been thinking about this and he could see no other explanation. That means that the mysterious deaths that had been showing up and the random shooting in which, luckily, no one had died would soon be at an end. This also meant that
he would be "sacrificed" soon and that Molly would have to save him. "Yes Molly. I think this is our Medusa. I think this little story is just about finished."
The Next Morning
John Watson stood in his flat sipping tea. The last week had been one of the most stressful weeks in his entire acquaintance with Sherlock Holmes. Even during the time when he was "dead" at least Sherlock hadn't been running around manic and uncontrollable. For a man who claimed to be a high-functioning sociopath, he held on to guilt with a death grip. Sherlock took the death of every person rolled into Molly's morgue as a personal failing. Even if the person wasn't a victim of the Cetus Sebastian Moran. Two days ago he nearly cried over the body of an elderly man that had died of natural causes at home. The stress was getting to John but at least he had Mary and Rebecca. Sherlock went home to an empty flat every night.
The sound of a parcel being left on his front stoop caught John's attention and pulled him from his place of pondering. A red package with a black bow was awaiting him on the other side of his door. No name or address were found and John cautiously took the package under his arm and went immediately to St. Bart's. The parcel was x-rayed and deemed safe to open. John slid the ribbon off and pulled the flaps open revealing within a letter. It was written on creamy stationery. It was addressed to "The Oracle" so Sherlock had John read it aloud to everyone.
"Okay." John furrowed his brow but did as Sherlock said. "'From whence you fell so shall you now ascend. The sacrifice shall be chained among the rocks and left for the beast.' Well that was weird. What do you want to do Sherlock?" John looked up to see that his friend had left and that Molly looked absolutely stricken. John knew immediately that Sherlock had already gone to meet his fate. "That insufferable git. I assume he told you to ask us not to follow."
Molly nodded and hiccupped back tears. "He's sorry John but we've already talked about this. It's best to just let this little myth play itself out. Your part has been played. Now it's my turn." She sounded confident but John could see the fear in her eyes. He pulled her into a tight hug. She sighed but quickly pulled back. "John I need to ask for a favor."
One Hour Later
It was a rather sad turn of events that led to Molly Hooper standing on the roof of St. Bart's with a gun pointed at her. It, however, wasn't very surprising considering it was Sherlock Holmes she was connected to and it was Sherlock Holmes who got her into this mess in the first place. She couldn't really blame him, not that she ever did, he hadn't exactly asked to be held hostage. She suppressed the urge to rethink her life decisions once again as she tuned back into what the man holding the gun was saying. He really was droning on, but then again, they always do don't they? The cynical voice in her head sounded just like Sherlock and she wasn't sure if that was an entirely healthy development.
"You cannot stop me!" The raspy voice of her would-be killer hysterically yelled. She forced herself not to roll her eyes at that particular gem of insanity and instead asked the one question that kept popping up. How had this all started? Ah yes, hurbis. Wonderful thing that.
"Miss Adler assured me that your deaths would be at my discretion. Insulting her was your biggest mistake." He spit out the words and pushed the gun into the side of Sherlock's head. Sherlock wasn't looking too good. He was pale, bloody nosed, and already had two gloriously painful looking black eyes. "Your brother started all of this and your housekeeper didn't help matters."
Molly reached slowly behind herself and pulled her little surprise from her waistband. It was good that Moran was distracted and apparently mentally unstable. It gave her just the right amount of time to act out her and Sherlock's plan. It was simple to be honest but, in their experience at least, it was the simplest plans that worked the best. Molly whipped the gun around and took aim. Moran barely registered the gun in her hand before a bullet slammed into his right leg causing him to cry out in pain. He fell to the ground hard and took Sherlock with him. Moran's gun fell from his grip and landed just out of reach. Molly sent a silent thank you to her father for the shooting lessons when she was ten and to Greg for keeping them up-to-date. Sherlock was quickly secured and Moran was taken into custody. Everything seemed to settle and fall back into place.
Two Months Later
Molly stood outside of the door to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock had invited her here earlier in the day and hadn't told her why. he simply said to arrive at seven in the evening and to dress nice but casual. Molly did as she was told and now couldn't really understand why she was here. The door flew open and Sherlock ushered her in. What lay before her was wholly unexpected. The nicest meal and table setting that Molly had ever seen was displayed before her and the food smelled amazing. She sat down in the chair that Sherlock pulled out for her and they ate in companionable silence. Finally the suspense was too much for her and, after a delicious meal of braised chicken and tiramisu for dessert, she asked him why she was there. His only answer was to pull her from her seat and begin to dance with her to music that seemingly came from nowhere.
It was at the end of this magical night that Sherlock kissed Molly on the cheek and whispered in her ear. "I told you Perseus whisks Andromeda off of her feet. You, Molly Hooper, most certainly have done so to me."
The End