Give His Heart a Break.
Authors Note: First thing I would like to say is, thank-you to those who have reviewed. I really like to know everyone's thoughts on how I am doing and what they would like to be improved. However, I haven't got much response for this story, so far. So, I'm taking that as a sign people don't like it. Right now, I am going to continue writing because I do have quite a few people who have put this on story alert. But, after this chapter I am going to wait until I get more reviews to post the next. I'll still be writing every day, you just may not get the next chapter for a couple of days. I am sorry but I just want to make sure this story is wanted. Without further ado here is the next chapter!
Disclaimer: I owned this once… yeah, it was a good dream.
Chapter Three: She's Procreating Beautiful.
Molly returned home five hours later.
Three hours later than she had stated.
When she walked in to the living room the stale odour of death followed her and the look on her face made her look like she could have been one of the bodies she had been cutting up.
"Solved?" He didn't look up from Molly's laptop.
She'd scold him for using it later.
It was the seventh time she'd change her password on it.
She really needed to stop being so obvious.
"No." She grumbled and threw herself down on the couch next to him.
He spoke nothing, waiting for her to continue.
"There was no need for me to even go in. I did four autopsies only to discover that all four had passed from natural causes."
He looked up from the laptop and to her.
"Case solved."
She shook her head.
"Not exactly; it's unnatural for all of these natural causes to have taken place at once, in the same car. It's like they just dropped dead and crashed. None of them had records of ever having problems to do with the causes. Someone made it happen."
Interesting.
"What were the causes?"
Molly looked towards him and sighed.
She really wasn't interested in re-living the horrific day right now.
Couldn't they do this later?
"Heart attack, kidney failure, stroke, and cancer."
"Hm. Very interesting. It's exciting!"
Sherlock jumped up, nearly dropping her laptop as he did, and began pacing the width of her living room.
This was obviously four planned deaths.
The cancer death: someone had must have administrated it in to the deceased's body. For them to not have noticed it must have been a terminal form that was already too far gone.
Perhaps, they had all done it themselves.
He'd need to find out their names.
He needed to find out about them and what they had been doing before their death and where they had been going.
It was all so peculiar!
Oh, he felt alive!
He hadn't had a case in for so long.
Here laid the perfect one for him to play with.
"You tidied up."
He didn't stop pacing; he was too busy looking at this from every possible angle.
"Hm?"
"Thank-you for actually listening this time. I was dreading the thought of having to tidy it myself. Now, I can go and get ready for John."
He paused in his pacing.
His mind silenced.
John?
"The date." His voice cold.
"Yes, the date."
Molly stood up from the couch, smiling.
She may have felt as if a piece of her had gone and died while she had been working today but the thought of seeing John, and seeing John in a romantic sense, shocked her back to life.
"He arrives at eight?"
Molly was on too much of a high to notice the ever present coldness in Sherlock's tone.
"Eight o'clock sharp!"
Molly looked to Sherlock.
She didn't notice the change in his posture.
She didn't notice the blank look in his eyes.
Heck, she hadn't even thought anything of the fact he had stopped pacing.
"I am going to go and get ready now."
She smiled.
He glared.
She paid no mind to it; this was Sherlock being Sherlock.
He was probably irritated that she was distracting him from the case she had presented him with.
She left the living room and made her way to her bedroom.
He said nothing.
Once Molly had left, Sherlock began to pace again.
This time his thoughts were anywhere but the case.
He tried to stay in control.
He tried to push the thoughts from his mind.
It was like something had taken him over.
He couldn't figure out what it was.
He didn't like whatever it was.
He wanted whatever it was to stop.
It did.
It stopped two hours later.
He was still pacing, but when it stopped so did his movements.
His eyes locked on the form in the doorway.
When had she become so… so… beautiful?
He frowned inwardly.
Beautiful?
No one was beautiful.
Sherlock Holmes did not use the word beautiful.
Beauty was a concept the mind made up for males to woo females in order for them to procreate.
Sherlock Holmes certainly did not want to procreate with Molly Hooper.
He did not wish to procreate, at all.
But if he did, Molly Hooper would be a splendid candidate.
In his head, he groaned at the thought.
No matter how much he tried, he was still a human male and every now and then his male needs presented themselves.
They had during secondary school.
They had during university.
They had when he'd met The Woman.
And now, they were taking over again as he stared at Molly Hooper.
Her hair was pinned up with two stray curls cascading around her face. She had obviously curled her hair. Her eyes were coloured with a dark brown that faded out at the edges to give them a smoky feel. Her lips were painted a deep shade of red and looked more inviting that he had ever thought possible. Her neck she had left necklace bare, which was a good thing, he thought, as it made him want to take her in to his arms and suckle on the tender skin just below her ear.
He scolded himself then.
He was Sherlock Holmes.
He did not give in to his… desires.
His eyes then trailed down to her daring neckline. The dress was black lace and dipped low in between her breasts. They didn't appear to be as small as he had once believed. The dress fell just above her knees and he noted that she did not seem to be wearing any type of tights, black or nude.
Why would she not be wearing any tights during this weather?
Was she trying to get John to notice her legs?
Why would she want John to notice her legs?
Why would she want John to notice her at all?
It was simply ridiculous.
They were both being stupid.
They had no reason to be going on a date tonight, no reason at all.
His eyes made the final move down to her feet where she wore a pair of black heels with a platform sole and a thick heel. The shoes had gold studs covering the back and all the way down the heel; they didn't seem to be Molly at all.
Ha!
She was putting on a show for John!
This wasn't really her!
Why would she be putting on a show for John?
Was she trying to get John to sleep with her?
Did she think this showed him a daring side to her?
He chuckled inside his head.
How pathetic!
She was Molly Hooper, St. Bart's Pathologist.
If anyone believed she had a daring side to her, they were idiots.
"How do I look?"
His eyes snapped up to hers.
He glowered at her.
"Your hair looks over done. John will be able to tell you curled it and see that you're putting far too much effort in. I'm assuming with your eyes you were going for a sultry look but it looks more like a two-year-olds work. The red lipstick is too obvious. John will see that you're clearly trying to draw his eyes to your lips. The neckline of your dress makes you look like a common prostitute. You could have at least worn a necklace to make yourself appear less exposed. You don't have the breasts to pull off that neckline, either. Its winter, Molly. You're not wearing tights. Even the lowest IQ man would understand that you're trying to entice him with sex. The shoes; you look like what I suspect you did when you were sixteen. You're trying to make John believe you've got a wild side. It doesn't suit you, Molly. You obviously do not have a wild side. In all, you look desperate; you smell desperate, and John is going to notice that."
Molly just stood there.
It felt as if ice cold water had just been thrown over her head.
She felt numb.
She stared at him, willing herself not to cry.
"How dare you, Sherlock." She whispered.
He stared at her.
"How dare you put me down like that!" She hissed at him.
"Why can't you ever just say something nice? Even if you don't mean it, say it! It's what normal people do."
"You want me to lie to you."
"Yes."
"You look beautiful, Molly."
It was the truth, after all.
She didn't reply.
There was a knock at her door.
She narrowed her eyes on him and he took the hint.
He left the room and made his way to the bathroom, to hide.
He listened to the clicking of her heels as she went to the front door and opened it.
"Come in, John."
She sounded happy, considering.
"Molly… wow… you look pretty… no wait… more than pretty… you look bloody stunning!"
"Thank-you, John."
Sherlock could picture her in his mind right now.
Her teeth were probably sinking in to her bottom lip.
She was probably fidgeting with her hands.
Her eyes were probably glancing down at the floor, coyly.
He didn't like it.
He didn't like it one bit.
He didn't know why he didn't like it.
All he knew was, he didn't like her acting this way around John.
"Are you ready to go?"
She looked behind her and to the bathroom door, he could tell.
She most likely nodded her head and grabbed her coat.
"I'm ready."
He came out of the bathroom once he was sure they were out of her street.
He lent against the bathroom door and frowned to himself, a noticeable frown if anyone had been around.
For what felt like the hundredth time today, Sherlock Holmes was confused.
Authors Note: I like this chapter. I hope you all like it, too. Its seven pages long in word! Longest chapter I've wrote so far. Anyways, like I stated at the beginning I won't be posting anything for a while until I get more reviews for this story. So please, please let me know your thoughts on it so far! Thank-you.
Petal.