Notes: I finally made it and finished this chapter. Hope you enjoy it. :)
Oh and something I wanted to point out as well: I get really confused over comma placement in English, since in German we really put commas EVERYWHERE and I'm never really sure when and where to put commas in English. I just decided I will kind of stick to the German rules, so don't marvel if there's a comma that doesn't necessarily have to be there. :D_
The next days came and went without any mentionable occurences or significant changes – she was still trying to forget the night when she had to autopsy the twins and luckily it emerged that the other missing boy was found only a few hours later at a bus stop by two patrolling policemen, apparently he had ran away after a fight with his parents and was unharmed - and at no notice the week of John's wedding broached with Molly still not knowing who could accompany her. Mary wanted to know why she hasn't asked Sherlock yet they'd „be a gorgeous couple" but Molly only rejected cordially, frantically trying to ignore John's intuitive look.
Molly called Val to ask for advice but got an invitation for a spontaneous lunch and some coffee instead. Grateful for every kind of distraction she could get, Molly immediately accepted.
They met in a café which they had used to visit frequently in the past. After listening to Molly's monologue Val offered Molly to ask a certain Tom – most likely a friend of Tony since the pathologist's never heard of him before – if he would like to accompany her, and with a cheeky grin she added: „He broke up with his ex girlfriend not that long ago. She cheated on him. I'm pretty sure he's searching for some kind of distraction as well." Molly smiled slightly. She didn't want to be someone's distraction. She pictured herself offering him some help and comfort, growing attached to him, only to find out that he didn't feel the same. That she was only a part of his life as a pastime - but she would never mean anything. She wouldn't count. Once again.
„Molly..." Val said with a low voice as if she didn't want anybody in the café to listen to their conversation. „If you don't get your ass up and actually meet people, talk to others, I'm afraid you'll never find what you're looking for." Ah. She's been reading her mind again like she always used to.
Molly looked up from her caffè latte. „What if I myself don't even know... w-what I'm looking for?" , she answered hesitantly.
Val gave Molly her best I'm-not-taking-any-of-that-shit-today look and continued: „I don't even know what you're waiting for, honey! Look at you. Remember that time in senior classes when people were referring to you as the school's wallflower?" Molly nodded. „Well that time's lying far behind you. You've changed!" Valerie affirmed her with such a definiteness that made clear she wouldn't tolerate any contradiction. Molly nodded again but didn't give any answer even though she knew Val was waiting for her to say something.
„What if I'm neither a wallflower any longer but I'm still not a particularly beautiful flower either?"
Val shook her head in disbelief. „Listen to me, Mols: Real flowers grow more slowly than weed. Give it some time."
„Okay then", Molly began with a croaky voice filled with despair. „Why haven't I found someone yet? Why am I always the last one to achieve something?"
Val looked at her implacably.
„How long exactly do I still have to wait until finally someone has the graciousness to let me become a part of their life?" The last part came out harsher than intended. She tried to repress the tears her eyes were filling with.
Val rolled her eyes. „Maybe if you'd just step into the sunlight instead of hiding in the shadows someone could finally cast an eye at you." She smiled lovingly and reached for Molly's face to wipe away the single tear that was rolling down her cheek. All of a sudden her face took on a more serious expression. „And please stop crying – you do know very well I'm not good at comforting people." Molly snorted with laughter and Valerie joined in.
Even though Val was attempting to raise topics that would distract Molly from her deep sadness, both of them could feel the cold atmosphere throughout their whole conversation.
When they finally left the restaurant and their company parted at the next tube station, Valerie turned around a last time. „Mols? What about Tom now?"
Molly shook her head. „Not interested." But surrender has never been an option to her best friend.
„You sure?"
„Pretty sure." the young pathologist endorsed with emphasis. Val shrugged.
„Tell me when you change your mind."
Molly only smirked at that, fairly certain she wouldn't do so. While Val went to take the stairs down to the underground, Molly headed toward the exact opposite direction.
„Oh Molly and one more thing - " Val cat-called at her. She turned around. „No more flower metaphors, yeah?" Molly showed her broadest grin.
„Promise!" She yelled back but wasn't quite sure if Valerie heard her. She turned around again to go home and get ready for a night shift in the morgue, when with a terrifyingly loud clap of thunder the sky darkened and it started pouring. Not that as well, she thought and ran through the emptying streets of London.
It was already past midnight when the rhythmic knocking of heavy rain drops at the windows stopped and the lab filled with an almost uncomfortable silence. Since Molly didn't have much to do this night, she decided to use the time she had now for the hated reporting and archiving, as well as rearranging some old documents and files.
Loaded with five bulging document files, Molly rushed through the empty halls of St. Bart's. Since her small office that rather reminded of a converted broom closet than an actual bureau (that's why she never spent much time in there) was locked, Molly searched for a way to put down her pile of work for a minute, without leaving them on the dirty floor, and dig the keys up from her trouser pocket. When she looked down to her feet she noticed tiny puddles on the floor as if someone's brought a drenched umbrella in there and all the rain droplets that have gathered on the surface have slowly dripped to the ground. The puddles drew a path to the morgue that Molly's left not a couple of minutes ago, right before she headed to the archive.
While incessantly watching the doors that led to the mortuary, she somehow managed to unlock her office and entered, only to drop the files on the next best table and then return to the morgue.
It doesn't make any sense, I'm alone here ...well, except for Adrian but he's for sure taking a nap, as always during his night shifts.
Who else would have access to St. Bart's in the middle of the night? Nobody who wasn't supposed to be here ever came in by this time, thanks to the night guard at the main entrance.
...except for Sherlock.
But what could he possibly be doing here? Molly hasn't heard of any case, that would be worth his attention, and hasn't autopsied any corpse he would want to have a look at for scientific reasons...and when she'd told him she wouldn't let him see the corpses of the dead twins out of respect for their family, he didn't quite understand why she was so affected. Their debate ended in harsh words that hurt Molly more than Sherlock. But surely he wouldn't be trying to sneak about in St. Bart's only to do what Molly told him not to do. Besides, the twins weren't here any longer, to Molly's great relief because she still had a hard time dealing with the dead eyes that followed her everywhere at night. Solid labouring in the morgue during her night shift with two dead children, locked away in a cold storage, who somewhat haunted her mind? Fat chance!
Molly dashed to the mortuary and had her mouth already wide open to hold a speech on morality and respect, when she recognised the person standing next to the autopsy table. And it wasn't Sherlock. So she shut her mouth again, only to open it once more, speechless and baffled.
„Good evening, Doctor Hooper" the tall man said, carefully studying her face.
After a few seconds of inappropriate staring, Molly's mind reminded her that she was expected to give an answer to that, but she couldn't quite focus, so the only thing she brought out was his name.
„Mycroft?" she asked, still slightly deranged. „I-I didn't... expect you to..."
„I know-", he interrupted her. His face didn't express what the tone in his voice suggested: A little annoyance, as if she was too slow for his wanting. Molly felt her cheeks heating and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She tried to think of any rational reasons for his visit. She hadn't seen him since the day Sherlock faked his death. Mycroft was also the one to identify the dead man they found as a certain Jim Moriarty. Molly remembered exactly what it felt like, seeing him – her ex-almost-boyfriend how she called him privately – the one who was responsible for so many bad things that had happened to Sherlock, John and other innocent persons. And things that could have happened. He, who had killed people. And she'd almost slept with him. He's been the last man she'd dated, not only because for a long time she was still infatuated with Sherlock, but also because she realised how little she was able to properly judge people. And that was a weakness that she could not afford. Not when she literally played a part in the life of Sherlock Holmes, even if it was only a small part. Kind of like a minor role in a play. Always there, not of importance for the main plot until she could be of use – either for the good or the bad guy.
„I am here, Doctor Hooper, because I would like to perceive the autopsy report on the case of the dead twins.", the elder Holmes said, retracting Molly from her thoughts.
Molly blinked twice. Has she heard right? „The autopsy report?", she repeated disbelieving.
Mycroft didn't answer. His blue eyes pierced her. „Yes, as I have said", he confirmed, stressing each word as if he was talking to a nit. Molly knew there was more than that. He wouldn't have made all the way to St. Bart's himself when he clearly had more important things to do and more considerable appointments with persons of high position. Did he truly believe he could convince her of everything he said, without her questioning his statements? Well if so, he most definetly was mistaken.
Molly thought about it for a while. As far as she understood what Sherlock had told her a long time ago – Mycroft was an important man in the british government. And John, listening to their conversation, had tossed in that he was dangerous and had warned her urgently to stay away from him. And when she thought back of Sherlock's fake suicide and how Mycroft had handled everything, how he'd almost meticulously organized every detail, from the fake witnesses to the fake ambulance, that was when she realised how powerful he was.
Her father had always quoted Edward Abbey, one of his favourite authors.
„Power is always dangerous. Power attracts the worst and corrupts the best."
Molly trusted Sherlock, and she trusted John. She didn't ask any further questions and accepted their warnings. It was not like she was afraid of Mycroft Holmes, since she didn't believe that Sherlock's older brother would want to do her any harm, she didn't judge him as a bad person. Though she did not expect him to be a good person either. It might be a prejudice she held against politicians, yet the pathologist couldn't imagine a single political leader and his assistants to be other than manipulative.
Adding one thought to another, she drew the conclusion that he had other reasons to come to her. The authopsy was clearly a pretence.
No. She knew Sherlock all too well and she could see the resemblance. Mycroft's behaviour, especially the dark glint in his eyes as he looked at her from across the room reminded her of Sherlock. The only difference there was, was that Mycroft knew how to charm people, how to beguile others so they thought that his intentions were clear to them. Sherlock wasn't interested in manipulating others if they told him what he wanted to know. Mycroft whereas wanted to maintain a certain kind of superiority without giving away his thoughts, as Sherlock always did. Mycroft didn't have to impress people with his mind, he did so with his pure presence.
Molly straightened her shoulders and looked at him intensely. She wasn't a means to an end.
„Well clearly you could have gotten the autopsy report without personally showing up here...I mean – you surely have enough contacts and underlings to that for you. You don't need me to get them."
Now it was him who couldn't quite process what he's just been told, the young pathologist was able to read the surprised look on his face before the government official quickly remembered to maintain a blank expression. He knew he had completely underestimated her and would've not expected her to be this resolute. But Molly wasn't finished yet. She had had a bad day – no, she had had a range of bad days.
And you better not mess with Molly when she's in a really bad mood. „ And I'm afraid I cannot hand them to you. They're confidential. You should know that." With that she swirled around and held the door open, looking at Mycroft, who didn't move or say a thing.
„Good night, Mr. Holmes.", she said firmly. He tilted his head slightly and smirked, to Molly's astonishment.
„I see, I was mistaken to believe you would not question my actions and request. I formally apologise for my discourtesy." He watched her accurately and studied her reactions. She was unsure what to think of him. She couldn't assess his next steps, what gave him an edge.
„But the truth is, I am not here because of the reports, as your clearly figured out yourself." Molly waited, unsure what was coming next. Mycroft chose his next words carefully.
„I am here to make a more... personal request." Molly furrowed her brow.
„And what would that be?" she asked, half curious, half hesitant.