This has actually been done for a day, so I apologize that it took a little longer than I thought to update. But hey! It's only been 5 days since chapter 9 so...I'd say we're doing pretty well huh? ;D I actually found that this was an easy chapter to write and so was able to crank it out pretty fast. I've been looking forward to this chapter, for reasons that will probably become clear after you read it. There's some references to the show in this chapter too, though not in the exact same context of course. Hopefully you like reading it as much as I liked writing it. Off you go! ;)
"You wish there was going to be dancing?" John asked as the carriage moved along the bumpy road.
"Yes, if only to offer some sort of distraction. I don't want to converse with these people. They will only end up speaking of stupid things."
"Is anything other than crime and experiments stupid?" John laughed.
"Most things," Sherlock muttered while looking out the window.
"Perhaps dogs are an acceptable topic of conversation now?"
"Perhaps. In fact, come to think of it, I'd have preferred staying home with Redbeard to an evening at the Hawkins'."
"Maybe Janine is more fascinated by crime and mystery than you know! You should try talking to her about some of your cases," John offered.
"Don't be ridiculous! I can already deduce she wouldn't be interested!" Sherlock said wearily.
John dropped the subject. Clearly Sherlock had already made up his mind that this was not a crowd of people he wanted to be around. John knew exactly where, and with whom, he would be more comfortable, but he decided against starting another battle. Instead, he changed the topic of conversation to something more personal.
"Holmes, I would like for you to know that I plan on proposing marriage to Miss Morstan very soon."
Sherlock looked at him with a teasing eyebrow raised. "You've done all the required thinking then?"
"I do hope I have," John chuckled. "I hope she can believe that I will happily take her as she is. And I still wish you would have told me everything when I'd first come to Seaborne!" he added with a finger pointed at his friend.
"Watson, if I had done that, all that would have been accomplished is that Mary would be angry with me in addition to believing it best she remain unmarried."
"Things at least could have progressed a bit faster!" John countered.
"It's barely been two months since you've met her! What, were you hoping to be married already?" he frowned.
"Well I would certainly like to be, naturally."
"Honestly," he said in a superior tone. "I cannot see why everyone must always rush marriage along."
John turned slowly to look at him again, with eyes wide and brows raised high. "You cannot see that? Well...perhaps I'll explain it to you one day, once you're a bit older."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do keep your details to yourself, Dr. Watson."
"Yes, well, let's not get away from the actual topic at hand. If all goes well, I do hope to be getting married soon. I should hope we would have your blessing."
"The union doesn't require my blessing."
John pursed his lip. "That's true, I suppose. But I'd like to have it. She's your cousin, and I'm your closest friend."
Sherlock inhaled and exhaled slowly before replying. "Well then, you have it. And perhaps if your professional reputation is sadly tarnished by your new wife's past problems, you'll simply become all the more available to help me with cases." He grinned happily.
John shook his head and laughed. "I'm so pleased you've decided to look for the positive side of this possible marriage! Charming, as always, that you've discovered how it will most likely benefit you."
"I do try to remain consistent, Watson." He gave his friend a self-satisfied smile.
They arrived at the Hawkins' estate not long after that. It definitely turned out to be a small dinner party; only a few other guests besides the household of Seaborne. And, not surprisingly to Sherlock, there weren't any other unmarried ladies included in the group. The Hawkins were certainly doing their best to make sure Sherlock wasn't unnecessarily distracted.
By the time dinner was over, Sherlock was already tiring of the company. He felt vaguely sorry for Janine as well. It was becoming clear that she could see his disinterest, but obviously her parents were still in favor of cultivating a relationship. As they all left the dining room, Sherlock walked with Janine, since he found her to be at least no less unappealing than the rest of the party.
"I would very much like it if we could be friends, Mr. Holmes," Janine said suddenly, making him look at her in a little shock.
"Would you?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.
"Yes, of course. It seems that perhaps that is all we'll ever be," she said with a sideways glance at him, and laughed a little. "Or perhaps I'll be fortunate enough to be a client someday."
Sherlock gave her a quick smile. "Have you any mysteries that need solving then, Miss Hawkins?"
"I'll let you know," she said as they stopped in the hallway where the party was separating be gender. "If much more time passes, and I remain unmarried, I'll have to ask you to solve the mystery of why I've become an old maid. Or perhaps that's the one sort of mystery you are not qualified to solve."
"Mm, not exactly my area. If that is where your mystery lies, I would direct you to someone very different, perhaps a friend of mine in London. I happen to know a woman who seems an expert in the art of attracting the attentions of men."
"Do you? How fascinating. I suppose she is married?"
"No indeed, she is not. But that is not for lack of offers. Incidentally, I believe she was to be visiting before the end of the summer, as a guest of my brother's wife. She is not a favorite of my mother's, but I'm sure we will all live through it somehow." Sherlock smirked.
"I shall look forward to meeting her. She's a favorite of yours then?" Janine smiled slyly.
Sherlock tilted his head at Janine. "I don't have those sorts of favorites, Miss Hawkins."
"Oh, Mr. Holmes, there's no need to lie...especially not to yourself." She laughed a little as she went passed him and followed the rest of the ladies into another room.
Sherlock walked away as well, following the men into the library to continue the evening enduring tedious conversation about money and politics.
"Bees, you say?" Lord Hawkins asked in the most diplomatic tone he could muster.
"That's right, bees. It's something to keep me occupied." Then he added under his breath, "Can't cut up body parts all the time now can I?"
"I'm sorry?" the man said, frowning.
"Uh, Mr. Holmes recently got a dog, isn't that right?" John quickly cut in, trying to steer the conversation in a more socially acceptable direction.
"Oh, excellent! What breed?"
"Irish setter," Sherlock answered. He was just about to tell a detailed account of the pride he felt when little Redbeard killed a rodent in his lab, thus affording him the opportunity to study the internal organs of the creature...but that was when the door to the library opened and the Hawkins' butler appeared.
"Forgive me sir, but there's a man here looking for Dr. Watson," the butler said to Mr. Hawkins.
John stood immediately, making his excuses and leaving the room. Sherlock waited silently for John to return while the rest of the men voiced their concerns and hopes that it wasn't anything serious. When John walked back in the room, Sherlock jumped up almost before he started speaking.
"It was Dr. Hooper's man. The poor man rode to Seaborne first, only to discover I wasn't there. Miss Hooper sent for me...it doesn't sound good," John said to Sherlock in a low voice. "I need to take the carriage. Can you go back to Seaborne with the rest of them?"
"Sherlock can get home with us," Mycroft spoke up from nearby.
"Absolutely not," Sherlock frowned at both men. "I'm coming with you, Watson."
"I'm sure Dr. Watson doesn't need your assistance, brother," Mycroft chimed in again.
"Yes, I am sure he doesn't," Sherlock answered, advancing toward the door with John. "But I am going all the same. Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Hawkins. Mycroft, do inform the rest of the family that we will likely be quite late. Good evening."
The two men were out the door in a flash, leaving Mycroft to fend for himself...and to speculate as to why Sherlock had insisted on going along. It didn't give him the best of feelings...
The carriage came to a stop outside of the Hooper's home and John looked at Sherlock sternly before moving from his seat.
"This is a serious business, Holmes. A man may die tonight. Do not get in the way, and do not take this lightly. This is not a production for your amusement, do you understand?"
"Save your breath, Watson. I'm not here for amusement...and I'm not here for you." Sherlock's expression was dead serious.
John nodded. "That's exactly what I was hoping...let's go."
The housekeeper let them in and ushered them upstairs.
"Miss Hooper didn't want to send for you. Took us most of today to convince her!" Mrs. Hart said, her voice quivering. "I don't think she wanted to believe that this was it. The poor dear kept hoping he was having a bad spell. She knows enough to realize that isn't what's happening, but she just didn't want to believe it."
When they walked into the bedroom where the man lay, Sherlock immediately recognized the sound in the room as that of the "death rattle." Dr. Hooper's breathing was shallow and gargling, and it added to the evidence that the man had little time left in this world. His eyes were closed and he seemed barely conscious. Sherlock wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved to see this. Did he want the chance to speak to this man one more time? Was there really anything left to say? He honestly didn't know.
Molly sat beside the bed, clutching at one of her father's hands, but when she heard the men enter the room, she turned to look up at them and Sherlock saw the red rimmed tired brown eyes.
Molly got up from where she sat and advanced a little toward John. "I- I'm sorry to send for you. It's just, I don't think he's getting better tonight and- and I wasn't sure what else to do so...perhaps you should have a look at him and..." Molly's voice trailed off and her face started to crumple, so she covered it with her hands.
John reached out and touched her shoulder as he spoke softly. "Miss Hooper, try to rest a bit. I'm sure you've been taking care of him for quite some time now, and you've done wonderfully. I'll take a look, and let you know what I think. Why don't you have a seat downstairs? Mrs. Hart, would you put the kettle on and get Miss Hooper some tea?" John said to the housekeeper who was still standing at the doorway. She nodded and ran off downstairs.
"Holmes, take her downstairs," John added to Sherlock as he passed by Molly to get to where Dr. Hooper lay.
Sherlock didn't say anything, but simply exited the room along with Molly and followed her down the stairs. They went into the dimly lit sitting room and waited for Mrs. Hart to bring the tea that John had requested.
Molly practically collapsed onto the couch while letting out a heavy sigh. She cradled her forehead in her palm, and the bits of hair that had come out of her day old braid fell over her hand and face. She looked as if she'd done little or nothing for herself in at least the past twenty four hours. Sherlock had walked over to the window of the sitting room, but he turned back to look at the woman sitting silently on the couch. When he watched her, he felt rather helpless. In that moment, he could fully admit to himself that he came here tonight for her...but he wished he knew what to do.
As if she were reading his mind across the half darkened divide of the room, she suddenly said, "You didn't have to come, Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock swallowed hard. "Yes I did," he whispered.
Molly raised her head and looked at him, and he stared back at her for a moment. Before either of them could say anything more, Mrs. Hart came in with a tray of tea. She poured some for Molly and some for Sherlock, and then left the room again with a cup for John upstairs.
Sherlock came and sat across from Molly, and he watched as her hands shook while bringing the cup to her lips. She took a sip, and then set the cup back down on the tray, as if that had been the most taxing thing she'd had to do all day.
"I don't think I really believed this day would come," she said quietly as she stared off into empty space and shook her head slowly. "This doesn't feel real...I don't want it to be real."
A moment later, John came into the room, making Molly jump from her seat. He walked over to her and gave her a small sympathetic smile before speaking.
"Miss Hooper, I think you know what I have to say," he began gently.
Molly pressed her lips together tightly and nodded, trying to keep herself together.
"It will be tonight, I'm fairly certain." John said to her, but glanced over at Sherlock, seeing how riveted his friend was as well.
"W-what do I do?" she asked with a tremor in her voice. "Tell me what I should do."
John gave her another kind smile. "There's no more work to be done, Miss Hooper. All you need to do is be with him. Go and be with your father, and do your best to be strong for him. He may not seem aware of much, but he will certainly be easier in his passing if you are with him, holding his hand."
Molly pressed her hand over her eyes and sniffed a couple of times, not saying anything. Then she removed her hand and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She seemed to put on a suit of armor in a matter of seconds. She looked back at John with a bit of renewed strength.
"Thank you, Dr. Watson. I'll go back upstairs now. I will fetch you if there is any change." She looked over her shoulder at Sherlock for a second, and then bravely made her way out of the room.
John blew out a breath as he sat down where Molly had been. He rubbed his head for a moment before looking across at Sherlock. "It's already rather late, Holmes. I don't know how long this will take. It could be minutes, it could be hours. Are you sure you'd like to stay? If you'd like to take the carriage and send it back for me-"
"Absolutely not," he said immediately. "I'm not going anywhere."
John nodded. "Right, well then, we'd better get comfortable." He laid his head against the back of the couch and shut his eyes, hoping to get a bit of rest before he was needed again.
Sherlock stayed awake for quite some time. He sat there, deep in thought, with fingers poised against his chin. He remembered all the things that the man who lay dying upstairs had said to him. He thought about how much Molly meant to her father, and that he'd rarely observed that sort of devotion in a parent. Sherlock was used to death. He saw it all the time, and he rarely found it to be distasteful. In fact it usually did little more than intrigue him. This was one of the first times that he found himself wishing he could stop it. He wanted to save her the pain...
Hours passed. Sherlock tried to sleep a couple of times, but wasn't really able to. He was mostly lost in thought and paced around the room. John went upstairs to check on things a couple of times, but he was also able to sleep a bit, and Sherlock was glad. John needed the sleep more than he did. He couldn't function as well without it.
Sherlock had just finished another round of pacing the floor, and taken a seat in a chair again, when the door swung open and a bleary eyed Molly came walking in. Sherlock jumped up from his seat again, and John's head shot up as he woke.
She looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment before seemingly forcing her lips to part. "Dr. Watson, I...I need you to check him, because I think...I think he's...can you check please? I- I just can't-" Her words were choked suddenly, and some sobs that she attempted to hold in, came out anyway.
Before John could even fully stand up, Sherlock crossed the room to Molly. He locked an arm firmly around her waist and guided her over to the couch, sitting them both down.
Sherlock looked up at John. "Just go," he commanded while gesturing to the door with his eyes. John nodded, left from the room immediately, and he could be heard quickly ascending the steps.
Sherlock had released Molly's waist the moment she'd made contact with the couch, but he stayed beside her and watched intently as she tried to hold in the noises accompanying the tears that flowed freely down her pale cheeks. She seemed to be trying not to look at him, keeping her face turned away so he couldn't see her completely. The room was silent aside from her stifled sobs.
Sherlock looked down and saw her small hand gripping the edge of the couch cushion, fingers digging into the fabric till her knuckles turned white. He couldn't recall ever before feeling compelled to offer comfort through touch. But to see her grasping at this piece of furniture simply because it was the only thing that she could grasp...it moved him.
He inched his hand over till his fingers, and finally his entire palm, covered her hand. She barely reacted, as far as he could see. Gradually, he worked his fingers underneath hers, separating them from the cushion. Once he'd gotten her hand cradled in his own though, her reaction was instantaneous. She wrapped her fingers around his hand as well, and squeezed back with a strength that he wouldn't have thought she possessed. They sat there for a moment, hands clasped tightly, both saying nothing. But when the door opened and John came through it, Molly released Sherlock's hand and stood up.
John walked forward and gazed sadly at Molly. "I'm so sorry, Miss Hooper," he said softly.
Molly's features crumpled again and she covered her mouth as she rushed from the room and back up the stairs. Sherlock started walking forward to follow her but John put a hand out, halting him.
"Let her go, Holmes. She may need another moment alone...to say goodbye."
Sherlock wordlessly complied and went back to sit on the couch with a thud. John sighed and ran his hands through his hair as he walked over to the window. "It's near dawn, I think."
Sherlock took out his watch and peered at the time, leaning closer to a nearby candle. "Yes, it's about four in the morning. What else needs to be done?" he added as he closed the watch again and placed it back inside his coat.
"The body will need to be laid out, of course. I can see to that. I'll have Mrs. Hart help, and perhaps another servant or two...I was thinking that perhaps Miss Hooper shouldn't be here on her own right now. Why don't you take her back to Seaborne? Ask Mary to look after her."
Sherlock nodded. "What about you?"
"After you get back to Seaborne and get Molly settled, send the carriage back for me. I hope to God I'll be done by then and ready to sleep for the next day or so."
Sherlock stood slowly. "I'll go fetch her. The carriage should be back for you in a couple of hours. You'd better go and tell the staff as well. I suspect Mrs. Hart is awake in the kitchen and waiting for news." He went to exit the room.
"Holmes?" John called after him, making him turn again. "Thank you...Well done tonight."
Sherlock gave him a quick nod, and left to go upstairs. John took a deep breath in anticipation of breaking the news to the rest of the house.
Sherlock walked back into the room that he'd entered some hours before, except now there was silence. Not even the sound of labored breathing greeted him. There was only cold stillness. Molly sat on the edge of the bed, holding onto her father's hand, which was likely turning cold. She didn't even turn when Sherlock came in and walked over to stand next to her. He looked down at the man's pale lifeless face, and unconsciously spared a moment to remember it as it had been...warm and animated and happy...especially when he'd spoken about his daughter. Sherlock turned his attention back to her.
"Miss Hooper, I'm going to take you back to Seaborne...do not argue."
Molly turned her face upward to look at him, and the dark circles around her still lovely eyes took him back a little.
"I'll not argue with you," she answered in a whisper. "I haven't the strength. I don't think I have the strength to do anything but breathe...and even that hurts." She looked back at her father and leaned forward to kiss his forehead before gently placing his hand back down beside him, and standing from her seat on the bed.
Molly pressed her lips together as she looked down at the man who raised her, then turned to exit the room quickly. Sherlock followed her down the stairs and through the front door. They stepped outside and for a moment, she just stood statue still, staring blankly into the still darkened sky.
"Miss Hooper?" he prompted, making her finally follow him to the carriage.
Sherlock woke the poor carriage driver and told him of the plan he and John had arranged. He helped Molly into the carriage, and then climbed in after her. The wheels began moving, and for a while, Molly's eyes stayed on her home as they began to move further away from it.
There was silence for a few minutes as they moved, and Sherlock kept his eyes out the window, in hopes of distracting himself. He wasn't sure how much more emotion he could handle in one night. This had been a bit of an overload of feeling, and there was a part of him that wished he could shut if off. That's when her voice cut through the darkness in the carriage.
"He looked sad," she whispered.
Sherlock turned from the window and looked at her. She turned to meet his gaze as well, and he could see the moisture shining around her eyes.
"A couple of days ago," she went on. "He was outside for some fresh air...that was the last time he went outside actually...I was sitting with him, talking to him, and he seemed just fine. He was cheerful, and just lovely. I asked him if he'd like some tea, and he said yes, so I went inside to tell Mrs. Hart. When I was inside, I looked out the window, and I saw him sitting there by himself...he looked sad." She looked down at her hands in her lap and Sherlock saw her lip quivering.
"He didn't want me to see," she said as her voice broke. She drew a shaky breath as she looked back up at Sherlock. "I should have asked what was worrying him. I should have talked to him about it...but I didn't. I thought I should let him alone, and not pester him. It was only later that day that he took a turn for the worse. He ended up in bed, and never got up again...and now he's gone. I'd give anything to go back in time and run to him, talk to him, and comfort him somehow! All I can see is him sitting there alone, looking so sad, like the whole world was coming down on him...and it's killing me!" Molly covered her face and doubled over as sobs began to shake her whole body. She couldn't contain them anymore, the way she had in the house.
Sherlock pressed his eyes closed for a moment, trying to will away the emotion that this scene conjured inside him. He opened his eyes, and saw that she was still unchanged.
"Miss Hooper...please," he murmured. He supposed his plea was for her to stop, but not just because he didn't know what to do. It was also because it was literally painful for him to see her like this.
Molly sat up again but kept a hand over her mouth as she tried to calm herself, with little success. "He looked so sad," she said again, but the words were muffled behind her fingers.
Sherlock couldn't handle seeing it anymore. He reached across the carriage and placed a hand on her knee. "Miss Hooper, try to take a few slow breaths." She barely seemed to register his touch or words.
Sherlock got up and moved over to her side of the carriage, sitting next to her. "Miss Hooper," he repeated, more firmly. "Look at me."
Molly continued to shake slightly as tears ran down her cheeks. Sherlock wondered if she'd have an ounce of water left in her body when all was said and done.
"Please, look at me," he said again. Finally, he reached out and wrapped his hand around hers that rested in her lap, and he wasn't quite sure why, but he used her name...
"Molly," he said in a low voice that seemed to echo against the walls of the carriage. And somehow the sound of him speaking her given name like that was what made her actually turn and face him. Her tears still fell, and she was still trying to sniff them away, but it was her name on his lips that at least began to bring her back to reality.
She swallowed hard as she stared back at him in the dim light of the carriage. His face was only inches away, and it was enough to shock her out of her crying spell for the moment.
"Miss Hooper," he said softly, returning to the standard formalities, especially after witnessing the look on her face. "Please try to calm down. Take a few deep breaths, and just relax your mind."
She did take some deep breaths, and started to calm down a bit. Though the calm that settled in only brought on intense fatigue.
"I wish he would have shared his worries with me," Molly went on, but she was more relaxed this time. "Why didn't he want me to see?" she asked sadly as she looked back into Sherlock's eyes.
The truth was that Sherlock knew. He knew what made her father sad. It was the man's fears for his daughter. Of course he hid that from her. He didn't want to worry her, and he didn't want to upset her. But from his dealings with Nicholas Hooper, Sherlock knew that nothing would have made him sadder than the simple fact that he was leaving his beloved daughter, and he would miss everything in her life that was to come...good and bad. He didn't want to leave her.
Sherlock wasn't good at this sort of thing, but again, he felt compelled to a degree that he hadn't in the past, for the purpose of easing her pain.
"Because...he loved you," Sherlock answered quietly, looking down as he slowly spoke these words. "I am no expert in the field of family bonds, but I can tell you that I have never seen a man so purely devoted to his child, in the way that your father loved you. He would have done anything for you, and your happiness. It was all he truly cared about. So of course he didn't want you to see. He was protecting you. But of course he was sad, Miss Hooper." Sherlock looked up at her again as he whispered his last words. "He simply didn't want to leave you."
Molly pressed a hand over her mouth again as a couple more tears fell. She nodded though, knowing that he was right, and allowing herself to see the beauty in her memory, instead of the pain. She sniffled a few times and Sherlock dug into his pocked to give her the handkerchief which he realized should have been offered long ago. Molly wiped her face and nose, and then let her head fall back against the seat as she let out a sigh.
Sherlock leaned against the seat as well, releasing his own long held breath. He could tell that Molly was calming down to the point where she was close to sleep, and he hoped it meant she would get some genuine rest once they arrived at Seaborne.
At that point, he also glanced downward and realized that Molly's hand was still locked tightly with his own in her small lap. He may not be one for sentiment and affection, but he couldn't in a million years imagine taking his hand back right then. In that moment, it felt a little bit like his hand belonged to her, for no other reason than that she needed it. She needed it, so it was hers. He wondered to himself if there was anything he wouldn't give her in that moment, if he thought it would take away even a piece of her pain.
That was when he felt her head drop down on his shoulder, but that didn't bother him either. He could still only think, yes, take my shoulder too, if that's what you need. He jostled them a bit as he turned his head to try and see if her eyes were closed, and that somewhat roused her from her light sleep.
She didn't wake enough to move, but he heard her mumble a "sorry" against his coat.
Sherlock smiled very slightly at the thought of Molly apologizing for anything at this moment. He turned his face toward the head on his shoulder, and spoke words into her hair that were barely even loud enough to qualify as a whisper...
"Whatever you need."
Is it bad writer etiquette to say that I almost made myself teary when writing the Sherlolly carriage scene? Well too late, I said it! So THIS is why I've been looking forward to this chapter! I really wanted to kind of work off that little bit that we hear Molly say about her dad in the actual show, and use that as a parallel. Hope you all enjoyed that! I felt like it fit pretty well. And I really enjoyed having her father in this fic since I've never written her father in anything else I've done. So I'm actually a little sad to see him go...But, the story must go on! I look forward to hearing your thoughts, and I'll see you around here and on Tumblr! ;)