Chapter 5
She fell back onto her back and covered her face with her hands. Sherlock thought for a moment that it was out of embarrassment, but then thought that it could be out of frustration, anger, and sadness. He could tell just by the way she said it and the way she looked at him that she was a little bit ashamed of herself as well. While he agreed that she probably should have been able to identify the victim during the autopsy, he believed that she was on no condition to hear that. He didn't know why he didn't say anything to her when he would have anyone else, but something inside of him did stop him from making a total ass of himself.
For a moment, he felt something he didn't quite recognise. He thoroughly believed that he was feeling sympathy for the lass. He wasn't sure, however, as it was a completely foreign emotion. He wasn't sure if he liked the emotion or not. He was leaning towards no, but he really didn't have a choice. Unsure of what to do next, he took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She pulled her hand from his and sat back up.
"I should have known. I should have recognized her," She said.
"Was she a close friend?" Sherlock asked cautiously.
"Not particularly. Met up with her and a few other people occasionally at the pub."
"Well, then it's… understandable that you were unable to recognise her."
"You would have known. You would have caught it."
"Are you trying to compare yourself to me?"
"I think with this it's more like contrasting," she smirked maniacally.
He cupped her cheek with his hand and looked into her eyes and said, "You don't have to prove yourself to me, Molly Hooper."
"I'm not proving myself to you," she said getting up and walking to the doorway, "I'm proving myself to me."
She walked out of her bedroom and into the kitchen feeling a little more frustrated than she typically did after a discussion with Sherlock. Part of it this time, though, was that she didn't know that she would be waking up to the intelligent git rather than the careful doctor. But, a large part of it was that when she talked to John, there was a possibility that he wasn't listening or paying close enough attention whereas with Sherlock she knew that he was taking in every single word that was said, storing it in that bloody mind palace of his.
She went to the cupboard that she kept her glasses in and got one out. She yelled back to Sherlock, assuming he was still in her bedroom, to see if he wanted something to drink and was surprised when he answered from right behind her with a negative response. She shrugged and left the glass count at one getting out a bottle of whiskey from another cabinet. She started to unscrew the bottle, but Sherlock grabbed her arm and stopped her. She turned around to face him, staring into his omniscient pale blue eyes. Just as she was about to say something, there was a knock on her door.
"Would you do me a favour, Sherlock, and get the door?" she said with a look in her eyes that was rare for her, daring him to not do as she asked.
He begrudgingly obeyed her, not wishing for the fury hidden behind her eyes to become a reality – let alone one leashed upon him. When he finally turned away from her to get the door, she poured herself a glass of whiskey, gingerly taking a large swig. She heard a voice that she recognised coming from the doorway speaking back to Sherlock as she finished the glass. Not paying much attention to what was going on at the other end of her flat, she opted to skip the glass and drink straight from the bottle, something she hadn't done in quite some time, but had done before nonetheless.
"Molly, you have company," Sherlock said returning back to the small kitchen with Detective Inspector Lestrade.
"Oh, um, hello Greg," she said, slowly setting down the bottle.
"Mike told me you were out today and would be for some time, so I thought I would stop by and make sure everything's okay…" he said. It must have been at just that moment that he started truly paying attention to Molly and noted that her hand and her arms were covered with gauze and such as he asked, "What the bloody hell happened?"
"Nothing," she replied sheepishly. "It's really not the big of a deal, I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You look a little… ghostly."
"Seriously, I'm good. You can go now. I'll be back to work soon. Had some time and I chose to take a few days off, no big deal."
"Really? Because as I recall, you don't particularly fancy hard liquor," he challenged.
"And as I recall, you don't particularly keep tabs on me. Nor have you even really seen me drink since we're only work colleagues at best."
The two men looked at each other, with a look that Molly didn't recognise. She couldn't put her finger on their expression, but she was confident she had won that fight. She glanced at Greg and then at the door, silently telling him to leave, but he didn't. It was clear that Sherlock wasn't going to interfere either, making her feel more trapped than she already did. She wasn't sure why she felt like this though. It's not like she felt guilty or embarrassed for what she did. Maybe it was because all the people who she felt were trapping her were trying to fix her when she wasn't broken to begin with. She also knew that if she told the wrong person, or slipped up in front of the wrong person, she wouldn't be "recovering" from her flat, but from a hospital or rehab. And Greg was that wrong person to slip up to.
"Was there something else you needed Detective Inspector? Or did you come here simply to pester me about my supposed drinking habits?" she asked with a smile.
He stepped closer to her and whispered into her ear, "I can't help if you don't tell me what happened."
"Don't worry, officer. Nothing illegal happened."
"If nothing illegal happened then why can't you just tell me?" the grey –haired man asked.
"I burned myself on the range. There. I didn't want to tell you because it's embarrassing. Nothing illegal, just clumsiness. I'm fine, but taking a few days to let them heal."
Lestrade looked at her, studying her. For a moment, she feared she would get caught in her lie. He could ask for proof, but he decided not to, much to her relief. He wished her well and finally waltzed out the door. She was so glad that Greg was a dunce and didn't catch her lie as it was quite a terrible one. She didn't know why she didn't just say that Toby was being a cat and scratched her. After all, that is the lie she tried to spin on Sherlock, and it was a much better one than saying she had gotten burned.
"Yes, nothing illegal about lying to Scotland Yard," Sherlock said as the door closed behind the Detective.
"We both know he's incompetent enough to not catch the lie. Plus, you don't exactly have the best record when it comes to them, so if you could quit being a hypocrite, that'd be great."
"I'm not trying to be a hypocrite-,"
"You never try to be one, it's just who you are, Sherlock," she turned, put the whiskey away, and left towards the bathroom.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To take a damn shower, which I'm pretty sure I can do on my own."
"Drowning in self-confidence now, are we?"
"Fuck you!" she yelled as she slammed and locked the bathroom door.
Sherlock knew that if he went over and possibly said anything else, nothing would get better and everything could only go downhill from there. For once, he recognised when to shut the hell up and let the situation be. Who knew, maybe giving her some space and time to straighten out her thoughts would be just what she needed. He heard the water start to run and took that as a good sign, moving to the couch and opting to think more on the situation at hand in regards to Molly.
He still wasn't sure that he knew how to help her, how to take care of her. Hell, he barely knew how to take care of himself. He knew that she didn't want to talk about, well, anything, but he also acknowledged that she needed to. She needed to let all of her struggles out to perhaps get a grasp on them or even figure out exactly what they were. But, above all, he knew she didn't trust him enough to tell her anything. Anything truthful anyways.
As she stood in the shower, letting the scorching hot water run down her body, that's exactly what she thought too. She shouldn't trust Sherlock, yet a part of her wanted to tell him anything to alleviate her anguish. Hell, she opened up a little for John and she didn't even see him as often as she saw Sherlock. Lately, she had even been trying to teach Sherlock how to interact with actual human beings. Granted, it wasn't going too well, but still. Maybe, just maybe, she could bring herself to just tell him what she had told John.
Her thoughts eventually slowed and she started to notice how painful the water was against her injuries. As much as she appreciated not having racing thoughts, she didn't appreciate the stinging cuts so much. Each drop of water was hell on her now uncovered cuts and scars. She quickly turned off the water after noticing the pain, muttering fuck under her breath as she got out of the shower and wrapped her towel around her naked body. Each step she took hurt the cut on her leg.
She sighed and wiped the steam off of the mirror over the sink. Even she knew that she looked tired. She had bags under eyes and her face was sort of sunken rather than its "normally" happy, perked-up form. Her skin was a sickening and ghostly tint of white. Her eyes were paler than normal and seemed to have no life to them. She tried to see if she could get them back to how they would typically look by thinking of things that make her happy, but not only could she not liven up her eyes, she couldn't even think of anything that made her happy. She had the urge to punch the mirror again, but found the strength to restrain herself. One bad hand and one broken mirror was enough for one week.
With the towel wrapped around her, she proceeded to leave the bathroom, hopefully without running into Sherlock. She cracked the door open to see if Sherlock was watching the door or anything, but couldn't see him in the immediate view of the loo. She carefully, silently, walked out of the bathroom still cautious and paranoid of Sherlock's whereabouts, so she looked around again. What she saw almost elated her for the first time in what seemed like forever. She saw Sherlock on the couch in the lounge, his back towards her, bonding with Toby. She cracked a small, half grin then continued into her bedroom.
Going towards the wardrobe, she noticed there was still shards of shattered glass on the floor from the night prior. She rolled her eyes at the scene and more so the foolishness that had happened. She still didn't understand why she did it or the inadmissible desire she had to do it, she just knew that in that moment she had to do it. She still went into her wardrobe, however, being diligent about stepping around the glass. She got out some clean, old, tattered university sweatpants and a camisole before going back out to join Sherlock.
Seeing Sherlock sprawled put on her sofa with Toby on his stomach filled her with a feeling she couldn't quite place. But, before she could even stand there for long enough to figure it out, Sherlock noticed her presence.
"So are you ready to talk about what just happened?" he asked her.
"Well, I have a feeling I don't really have an option," she replied as she sat in a chair.
"No, I suppose not. Why did you lie to Greg? Out of all of us, I would have thought that you would trust him more. He certainly has a better capability of helping, so why not tell him the truth? Are you ashamed?"
She took in his words and thought about what he was asking. "No, I wouldn't say that I'm ashamed of what I did. Far from, actually. I lied to him because my job is on the line with something like this. I could get suspended. And as for Greg helping me, you of all people should know that he would just try to put me in some hospital."
"Do you not trust him as a friend?" Sherlock inquired further.
"Well, seeming as though we aren't friends, I can't exactly trust him as one, can I?"
"…I suppose not."
Molly got out of her chair, the conversation over to her. She began to make her way towards the door, putting on a pair of flats and a jacket.
"Where could you possibly be going?"
"It's only six-thirty, so literally anywhere," she said, walking out the door.
She made several rounds wandering her block and the surrounding ones before deciding where she felt she had to go. She walked the familiar path she took nearly every day, with the exception of today, obviously. As she walked to St. Barts, she felt the creepy sensation of someone following her, or at the very least watching her. When she looked around, however, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.
She made her way to the hospital in the in the chilled, late November air. The leaves on the ground crunched against the weight of her step. There was a light drizzle, which didn't surprise her. Nothing could really surprise her right now. A dog could drive a car next to her, and she still wouldn't be surprised. She didn't know why, but it was like she just simply couldn't be bothered to feel even surprise.
Arriving at St. Bart's, she went immediately down to the morgue. One of her superiors saw her attempting to sneak down a corridor and tried to talk to her. She asked her what she was doing her since she took the next few days off. Molly didn't answer her, simply walking by her, but her supervisor was quite persistent. Molly managed to come up with a half-assed excuse, saying that she was here to pick up something she forgot when she left the other night.
When she arrived at the lab, she dismissed the current person on duty. She couldn't even remember his name, though she had talked to him a few times prior. Telling him to take a break and that she would come get him when she was finished, he thanked her and walked out the door.
She pulled Kiera out of the freezer and put her body on the table for further, more thorough examination. She started by pulling out a few strands of Kiera's hair and putting it under the microscope. It was clear now, even without the lab report, that she had ingested a significant amount of bleach. How could she have missed that earlier? How could she have been so careless? She knew she hadn't exactly been on her a-game earlier, but, Jesus, this was so evident a blind man could see it!
As she turned the microscope off, she once again felt the eerie feeling of someone watching her, but now she knew why and who. Nobody else would care about her presence at the moment.
"Sherlock, I don't know where you are hiding, but I do know you're here so you can just be here. I'm not leaving though," she announced.
"How'd you know? I thought I had made myself scarce."
"You're the only one stupid enough to be around me right now, Sherlock. That's how. You're the only one to think that I'd show up here."
As she pulled some papers from Kiera's file, she noticed someone had written something on a post-it note on one of the papers: Noticed something in the mouth of Jane Doe. Didn't want to mess with your corpse, but you should check it out. –Nicholas.
That was the lad's name! Nicholas! She noted to thank him later, but for now she had to find whatever it was in her mouth that was out of the ordinary. She pulled the magnifier over Kiera's propped-open mouth and grabbed a pair of tweezers. Nothing was in the bottom jaw nor the top jaw. She did, however, notice something white-ish in the back of the throat. She pulled it out gently and revealed a small piece of rolled up paper.
She unrolled the paper to reveal a note.
You're next, Molls. Or maybe another friend first. Haven't decided yet. Times almost up, dearie. –T.
"Sherlock, come look at this," she said in a confused voice.
She handed him the note and his blue eyes scanned over the words, his face contorting in a way that was a cross between fear, confusion, and protection.
"We should get you somewhere safe, Molly. Somewhere they won't find you."
"You've got to be kidding me," she exclaimed. "We don't even know who it is or what they are capable of or anything. We know nothing."
"Exactly. How do you not understand that? Are you not scared?"
"Honestly? No, I'm really not. And, no, it's not some sort of death wish. Or at least I don't think so. I'd just rather figure this out than hide like a scared little girl," she admitted.
Sherlock stared at her as if he couldn't comprehend what she had just said, and he didn't. He didn't understand how she wasn't scared. Someone had just threatened her life and she showed not one sign of fear. No sweat, her voice wasn't shaking, her body wasn't shaking, nothing.
She seemed to pick up on his confusion and told him, "It's not because I'm crazy or insane. I just can't have another death on me, okay? I'm not going to let someone else die in my place."
"We don't even know who this is. How can I possibly protect you from an unknown enemy and yourself at the same time?"
"Firstly, I didn't ask for you to help me. I didn't ask for you to protect me. Secondly, maybe you don't know who this is, but I'm pretty sure I do. I think it's Tom, Sherlock."
Thinking about it, it made sense to Sherlock. If Molly knew Kiera then it was very likely that Tom did too. They had probably all gone out together. And it was obviously someone that knew Molly and wanted to harm her. Also, the way they phrased it: "another friend." It insinuated that it was a friend of his too and since the two were engaged for quite some time they would definitely have joint friends. And after the engagement being called off, he was bound to have some resentment towards his pathologist.
"Very good, Molly," he tried complimenting her deduction, but she wasn't paying him any attention. She was too busy staring at Kiera's corpse quite intensely. "Molly, stop. It's not going to help you."
"Doesn't matter," she said, not moving.
Sherlock pulled on her arm to get her away from the table, turning her to him in the process. She was biting down on her lip, with a look in her eyes that screamed pain. That's when he remembered why he was even with her in the first place.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You never do," she sighed.
"But you do. Why?" he asked. Sure, it probably wasn't a good time to bring this up, but she was in a more vulnerable state to reveal the truth, so he took the opportunity.
"Why? Why do you all of a sudden care about me, care about what I do?"
"I honestly don't know. I just know that I can't lose you, Molly Hooper. So, please, tell me. Tell me anything really. I just want to help you."
She thought about that for a few minutes. Sherlock Holmes not knowing something? That has never happened before, which means that whatever it was that was confusing was not something logical or observational. That meant that it had to be emotional, something he was experiencing, some sort of feeling. That sort of scared Molly in a way. Yes, she had and did like him very much, but she didn't know how she would feel if he reciprocated those feelings considering she had never thought it to be a possibility.
Finally she said, "Part of the reason as to why I do what I do is that I knew I wouldn't get caught. I knew nobody would notice. And, I don't see you unless you're on a case and need lab access, so I didn't think much about you catching on. If I had, I obviously would have been more careful. But, unfortunately, you have to go sticking your nose into other people's business."
"You truly think that nobody would have noticed? That nobody would have cared? Don't you?"
"Well it was going as planned for months until you showed up," she defended herself.
Sherlock was shocked at how long this had gone on. Even further, he was shocked that nobody had noticed anything. He knew people were stupid and unobservant, but honestly you didn't have to be a detective to figure it out, to pick up on her odd behaviour and changing attitudes. But, then again, she never really got close to many people so they probably never had the chance.
That's when he did something neither of them would have expected. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. Every fibre of her being told her to kiss him back, but she knew better in her mind. She knew that if she let this happen, she would end up getting hurt because that's what he did. He hurt her.
After a moment, she stepped back and said, "Don't."
Sherlock looked at her, confused. Wasn't that what she wanted since day one? He knew she was infatuated with him, so why was she rejecting it. It didn't make sense to him, but he respected her wishes.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have done that. I just thought…"
"Well you thought wrong. This isn't what I need right now. I don't need you complicating things for me and I sure as hell don't need you using me. Actually, you have nothing to use me for! I give you access to the lab, to equipment, to literally everything you need. What else could you possibly want?"
"You," he replied without hesitation.
"I don't even have me, Sherlock."
There was a long pause between the two of them. Neither of them had anything left to say, and they were left in an awkward, uncomfortable silence. They were both trying to calm their own individual storms within. Molly was confused and enraged by the action because of all the opportunities he has had with her, now is the time he chooses? And for Sherlock, he didn't exactly understand the situation and was trying to figure it out. He thought he had done what he was supposed to in order to show Molly his feelings and affection.
"We should get going," Molly spoke up after several odd minutes, putting away Kiera's corpse.
Molly went to get Nicholas, and Sherlock followed her out to the street. They walked in dead silence through the streets of London. And, even though Sherlock was walking with her, she still had the weird feeling of being watched. On her way here, she had assumed it was Sherlock (or at least she did once she figured out he was at the morgue with her), but now she wasn't so sure.
"Had you followed me to the morgue earlier?" she asked, shocking him out of whatever trance he was in.
"No, I had just assumed that you were heading there so I went straight there. Why?"
"I just…" she trailed.
"Molly," Sherlock said in a warning tone.
"On the way to St. Bart's, I had the weird feeling of someone watching me, following me. I had assumed it was you, but now… could it actually be Tom?"
"It's very possible. Let's just get you to your flat, you'll be safer there than in the open." Or at least that what he thought…
