Chapter Fifteen
It was a miracle. At least, that's what the doctors said. Molly's body had been battered by the taxi, and she had died from her injuries. And yet, no such internal injuries existed. She only suffered from some superficial cuts and bruises and the open fracture of her left tibia. She was considered lucky; if she hadn't "tried to get out of the way," she would have died for sure. Everyone believed she had been able to avoid major injury because of her quick reflexes. And William was content to let them think that.
Molly was currently sleeping in the hospital bed, her left foot, lower leg and knee casted. An IV saline and morphine drip was hooked up to her hand, and they had stitched the cut on her cheek. William sat in the chair next to her bed, his coat thrown over the back of it. He had been there ever since they had wheeled Molly in after getting her stitched and casted, and he was willing to wait there as long as he could.
The door of the room suddenly opened, admitting John in. William looked up at him, surprisingly relieved to see a familiar face during all this.
"Hey," said John, closing the door and stepping up to the other side of the bed. "How is she?"
"Broken leg, few bumps and bruises," William explained. "She'll be fine."
John let out a relieved sigh. "Well, close call, huh?" He chuckled a little.
William stared over at Molly, a haunted look on his face. "Too close…"
John frowned at his friend. "William?"
William took a breath and looked up at him. "She died, John."
John's eyes widened. "What?"
"Her injuries were too severe, and she died." William looked up at him sadly. "She died in my arms, John."
The tears began to come again, which puzzled him. Why would he be crying again? Molly was perfectly fine.
John frowned over at Molly. "Then how…"
"Michael brought her back," William explained. "I didn't even know we could do that. Probably just one of my brother's perks…" He trailed off, his mind working through the problem.
John took his own seat across from him. "Well, thank him for me."
"I assure you I already have," William told him.
John looked away from Molly and frowned as he looked him up and down. "You changed your clothes?"
William frowned as he glanced down at the borrowed clothing.
"I didn't know you could do that," John continued.
William looked back at him, understanding. "Greg didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?" asked John.
William sighed and brushed the hair away from his face, revealing the cut and bruise there.
John's eyes widened n concern before freezing in confusion. "You can't bleed…"
"No, I can't," smiled William, waiting for John to connect the pieces.
John's jaw dropped. "How?"
William leaned back in his seat, looking John right in the eye. "I jumped off the roof of Bart's Hospital." He gave John a cheeky smile.
John stared at him. "You jumped off the roof…and became human."
"Yes."
John stared at him a moment longer. "When was this?"
"Less than two days ago," William answered.
John's brows rose. "Two days? Where have you been?"
William gave a little shrug before glancing at Molly and back to John.
John nodded awkwardly. "Oh…" He looked over at Molly briefly before moving his gaze back to William. "So, you two are…"
"Dating, yes," said William.
"Oh…" said John. "Well, congratulations, on both parts."
"Thank you."
"What are you gonna do?" asked John. "About an identity, a home, all of that."
"We were discussing that same thing," said Molly.
William quickly leaned forward, taking her hand in his and placing the other on the side of her head. "Hey…How do you feel?"
"Better," said Molly, glancing down at the IV in her hand. "Probably the morphine."
"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts," John told her. "They'll probably take you off of it soon."
"Ooh, too bad," said Molly, causing them all to laugh. "So, what are you gonna do? Still gonna go with William Scott?"
William removed his hand from her face, but still held on to her hand with his other. "Actually, I've been thinking about that, and I've come up with an identity that I think would be quite appropriate."
"Yeah?" said John in interest.
William gave them a smile. "Sherlock Holmes."
The two of them stared at him in shock.
"You can't be serious," said John.
William shrugged. "Why not? It's perfect."
John's gaze moved down to the floor as he appeared to contemplate his friend's decision.
"William, you can't just…" began Molly, trying to find the words to explain. "Sherlock Holmes is the most famous detective in all of literature. What are you going to tell people? That it's all a coincidence?"
William gave a shrug, not having really through it through.
"Well…" said John.
They both looked up at him.
John was still staring at the floor, a resolved and somehow peaceful expression on his face. He looked up at William. "I could probably tell people that Sherlock and I are old friends, and the stories are about our adventures together."
William frowned. "And people will believe you because…"
John gave a resigned sigh. "Because I wrote them."
Molly and William could only stare at him in shock.
John glanced down at the floor as he leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. "When the whole thing started, I had just come back from Afghanistan, and I didn't want the attention, so I chose a pseudonym: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle." He finally looked up at them.
The two of them were still staring in shock, William trying to figure out how he hadn't seen it before.
"I mean, come on, Sherlock's colleague is John Watson, an army doctor," John elaborated when they didn't reply. "My therapist wanted me to keep a journal about everything that happens to me, so I inserted myself into these stories." He gave a shrug. "And it helped. I…" he smiled, "found a friend in Sherlock Holmes."
William shook his head, trying to think. Why didn't I know?
Then again, hadn't he known? Hadn't he himself concluded that he hadn't let himself figure it out in order to protect John? But it was all there: John's mysterious finances, the looks he gave William when he did something particularly Sherlock-like (like he was getting a brief glimpse of an old friend), John's thoughts of using Sherlock Holmes against him, his uneasiness when William talked of hunting the author down, John's primitive yet somewhat skilled knowledge of deduction…
"All this time…I never knew…" said Molly quietly.
When I saw how popular Sherlock became, I was reluctant to announce anything, but lately…I've been thinking about telling people," John admitted.
"So, how did you come up with this?" asked Molly.
"Well, I fashioned Sherlock Holmes after someone I knew when I was a boy," said John.
William's interest piqued at that.
"Really?" asked Molly. "So, there's a real live Sherlock Holmes out there?"
John smiled. "Yeah. My family was on vacation in Epping Forest."
William's eyes widened. He does remember…
"I came across him one day," John went on. "We spent all week cataloguing insect species and deducing animal trails." He chuckled fondly. "We even played pirates once."
William gave a chuckle at the memory, and John glanced at him, frowning a little.
"So, a grown man hung out in the forest with a little boy?" asked Molly suspiciously.
Both William and John looked sharply over at her implication.
"No, no, he—" began John. "It wasn't like that. I mean, sure, he was an adult, but…" his gaze grew distant and nostalgic, "I don't know. There was just something about him."
"So…" began William, "you came up with the character of Sherlock Holmes because of this person you met when you were a boy?"
"Yes," said John, looking back at him.
William gave him a wide smile, causing John to frown. "Then it's the perfect cover. I am Sherlock Holmes."
John's frown deepened. "What?"
"John, that man you met when you were younger…that was me," said William.
John slowly shook his head. "No, that's not…" He looked over at the other side of the room, his thoughts lost in his memories.
"I recognized you the moment I first met you, but I couldn't very well say I was the same man you knew when you were six," William explained.
John looked back at him. "But I thought we could only see angels when they wanted us to see them."
"That only applies to adults," said William. "Children are more open-minded." He smirked. "Where do you think imaginary friends come from?"
John stared for a moment before laughing. "My God…You really are Sherlock Holmes." He shook his head in amazement.
"So, that's what you're gonna go with?" asked Molly.
John shrugged. "Why not? Sherlock's friend is John Watson, they live at 221B Baker Street, and they solve crimes with Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard."
"And you think people will believe this?" said Molly. "You don't even have proof that you've been solving all those cases."
"I'll tell them I changed the client names for their protection," said John.
"What about the Yard?" suggested Molly. "Sherlock worked often with them. You don't have anyone to corroborate your story."
"I imagine Greg'll do it," said William.
John frowned. "Why? I mean, yeah, he knows about you, but why would he risk his job like that?"
"Because he knows how hard it is to build a life out of nothing," William told them. He smiled at their confused looks before plowing on. "Greg used to be an angel."
Their eyes widened with a simultaneous, "What?"
William shrugged. "It's true."
John shook his head. "It's like I don't know anyone anymore."
"Sorry," said William. "It wasn't my place to tell you."
John waved him off. "Oh, whatever." He dropped his hand back into his lap. "Any other ex-angels we should know about?"
William shook his head. "No, just us." He frowned a moment. "I just want to go back to the whole 'living at Baker Street' thing." He looked nervously up at John. "Was that an invitation? Or…were you just offering up comparisons?"
John smiled warmly. "Why not? Can't very well leave my best friend out in the cold."
William froze, staring at him. "You mean…I'm your…best friend?"
John's smile grew as he nodded. "Of course you're my best friend."
William's gaze lowered towards Molly's bed. "I've always wanted a best friend…" He smiled up at John.
"All right, enough of this bromance," Molly interjected.
John rolled his eyes at the statement, but William frowned, looking at her.
"Enough of what?" he asked.
John shook his head. "I'll explain later."
"So, this is all fine and everything, but it's going to be difficult getting used to calling you 'Sherlock,'" said Molly.
"Well, don't," said William. "Keep calling me William until you get used to it."
"And how would we explain that?" asked John.
William shrugged. "That it's my birth name, but I go by Sherlock."
"William Sherlock Holmes?" said Molly, wincing a little. "Now, that sounds like we made the whole thing up."
"How about William Sherlock Scott Holmes?" suggested John. "With Sherlock's family history, his parents seem like the type to give him two middle names."
"That works," said Molly.
"And with how popular Sherlock is, you won't have a problem starting up this detective thing," said John. "You'll have cases by the bucketload."
"Good," said William. "I'd hate to be bored."
"Well, thank you," said Molly.
William looked at her. "I meant while you're at work." He leaned forward and gave her a kiss. "You could never bore me."
Molly smiled. "Okay, that's better."
William leaned back and looked at John. "You're sure this detective work won't interfere with your residency at Bart's?"
John blinked in surprise. "You want me to be your partner?"
"Of course," said William. "What would Holmes be without Watson?"
John smiled widely. "Brilliant!"
William nodded. "Well, at least you'll have purpose in life again…something to live for."
John frowned, glancing at Molly and back at William. "Sorry?"
"You know…" William gave him a look.
John just continued to stare at him.
William fidgeted a little. "I know you don't like to talk about it."
"About what?" asked John.
William frowned a little, gesturing to his arm. "Your wrist."
John glanced down at his right wrist before pulling the sleeve back and raising it to show them. "What, this?"
William's frown deepened at the complete lack of shame or anguish John displayed as he blatantly showed off the scar. Why would John not care if other people knew…
Ah…
"You didn't try to kill yourself, did you?" said William.
John's eyes widened as he laughed a little. "What?"
"When I saw the scar, I assumed that was how Greg became your friend," William quickly explained. "He would have been the officer to respond to the call, and he kept visiting you and gave you a reason to keep going."
John fought through his laughter. "William, I was mugged!"
The pieces fell into place, and William closed his eyes in realization.
"Or, well, he tried to mug me," said John. "He had a knife, and I fought back, and that's how that happened." He gestured to the scar.
"And Greg would have visited you because he was impressed with your combat skills," William finished for him. He shook his head as he gritted his teeth. "Stupid! There's always something…"
It didn't make sense. William had seen that in him. He had seen what course John's life could have taken if someone hadn't intervened. So, why hadn't he? Is it possible that William couldn't read people as well as he thought he could?
"Besides, I was a soldier, and I have my own gun," John went on. "If I were ever going to kill myself—" He abruptly stopped, his face falling as he realized he had said too much. His expression turned painful as he lowered his head.
So, William had read him correctly. John had been that lost at some point.
"How close?" William asked softly.
John stared at the floor for the longest time that William thought he wasn't going to respond.
John raised his head and looked at them. "Barrel to my head, finger on the trigger…"
Molly's eyes narrowed in sympathy. Clearly, she had never known about this.
"But then…" A sudden smile appeared on John's face, "there was just this sudden clarity…and out of nowhere, I thought of you." He looked at William.
William frowned in confusion, about to say something.
"From when I was a boy," John clarified. "And this idea sprung into my head. My therapist wanted me to write, so…" he shrugged, "I would write. The stories weren't true, but there was one thing about them that I never made up." He looked hard at William. "You and me." He smiled. "Even to this day, whenever it's too much or I'm just bored, I think, 'If Sherlock were here right now, what would he do?'" He chuckled. "And your reactions have never failed to amuse me."
William laughed a little.
"Greg wasn't the one that saved me after I came back home," John finished, his face sobering. "You were."
William just stared at him, feeling the weight of those words.
"How touching."
Molly let out a yelp as John jumped to his feet at the voice of the man now standing behind William. Seeing that the man was dressed in the typical black, John quickly realized that he must be an angel. Molly, of course, recognized him immediately.
"It's all right," William quickly assured them. "It's my brother Michael."
John looked back at the angel, a smirk on his face. "So, this is the mysterious, 'works-for-the-government' big brother."
"Well, it's not that far off," said William. "Technically, he works for our government."
Molly frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I am Michael, the archangel," replied Michael.
John and Molly stared at him for a moment.
"Archangel?" said John. He looked at William. "Your brother…is an archangel?"
"Yep," said William, popping the p at the end.
"Does that mean you were one, too?" asked Molly.
"Only for about a day," William told them. "Then they demoted me. I was a problem child."
John laughed. "I'll bet."
"I believe it was the experimenting with his own wings that did it," said Michael disapprovingly.
John nodded as he looked down at William. "Yeah, you would do that."
"Wings, hmm?" asked Molly.
"They were horrid, overbearing things," muttered William disdainfully. "Good riddance."
"Speak for yourself," said Michael evenly as he shifted his shoulders.
John shook his head in amazement. "I gotta say, from everything William told me about you, you were just as I imagined you'd be."
Michael looked at William with a sarcastic smile. "Been bragging about me, have we?"
John chuckled. "On the contrary, he had plenty to say about your over-protectiveness and uptight rule-keeping. At my age, I didn't understand it much, but it gave me plenty of ammunition for the Sherlock and Mycroft sibling rivalry in my stories."
Michael's eyes brightened in realization. "Ah, so this is your little 'playmate.' How fortunate that you two should meet again."
William's eyes narrowed at his brother. "Yes. How very fortunate indeed."
Michael rolled his eyes. "I assure you, William, I had nothing to do with your reunion. You accomplished this all on your own."
"Yes, but you made sure it stayed that way," said William, his gaze traveling back to Molly and his hand reaching for hers. "In more ways than one."
Molly smiled as William took her hand.
"Why would you do that for me?" asked William, looking back at Michael with a questioning frown. "After all your talk of following our orders, why would you go against them to bring her back?"
Michael didn't answer for a moment, but then stated, "Repayment, brother dear."
William frowned. "For what?"
"For ridding me of the responsibility of watching your every move," Michael answered. "One can only take so much of your behavior after six thousand years."
William smiled slightly as he read the silent affection in Michael's words. "How much did they punish you?"
"A hundred years of reaping duty," Michael replied.
"Reaping?" asked John.
William glanced at him. "Collecting the dead."
John nodded in acknowledgement.
William looked back at Michael. "A hundred years, hmm?"
"Yes," muttered Michael. "The noise, the people…If I didn't love my job so much, I just might you."
"Mm…" muttered William, appearing to think it through, "it wouldn't suit you."
Michael gave the briefest of smiles. "I wish you many long, happy years, brothers mine. I'll be back for you in fifty years, give or take."
The door of the room opened, and Greg poked his head in.
"Hey, sorry to bother you," said Greg, stepping into the room. "I just wanted to check—" He came to a stop as he spotted the archangel, his expression morphing to one of surprise and reverence. "Michael."
Michael nodded at him. "Gregory."
"Wait, you know each other?" asked John.
"Of course," replied Greg. "Every angel knows Michael." His eyes widened as he paled and looked over at Molly and John.
"It's all right," said Molly. "William already told us."
"Oh," said Greg, shifting nervously on his feet. "Well, erm…I wanted to tell you —"
"It's fine, Greg," said John. "I honestly don't care."
Molly shook her head, sharing the sentiment.
"Oh…" muttered Greg. "Good…"
"But there is something we need to discuss with you," said William.
"And that is where I take my leave," said Michael, nodding at everyone in turn. "John, Molly, Gregory." He looked down at William, placing a hand on his shoulder. The next second, he was gone.
Greg sta down in a chair next to William. "All right, what did we need to talk about?"
"Sherlock Holmes," said John.
I think that was the longest scene in a story I've ever written. Okay, two more chapters to go!