Author: Howlynn
Realm: Sherlock
Story Title: A Statue in the Temple of Mendacity.
Summary: Molly counts. She Promised to help him. But, the reality of saving Sherlock ends up leading to places she never expected. Sherlock needs her again, but this time she must save John.
Character/Relationships: John and Molly would never have noticed each other if he were not dead. The thing is, Molly knows he isn't and she never expected things to get this complicated.
I Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Molly made her way to the door but not before being stopped by four people for friendly less-than-sober goodbyes. By the time she was out in the night air and checked her phone, John Watson had disappeared. Baker Street was only four blocks away, and another six would take her to 221. It is early and the foot traffic was still on the busy side. She began walking.
By the time she arrives the lights were down upstairs. She stands on the street looking up for a long time. Finally she knocks on the front door. She hears movement, like someone coming down the stairs. John opens the door and looks startled. Molly didn't say a word, she steps in the door.
"You left and you didn't exactly explain these tickets. Why would you by me tickets?"
"For you and your new boyfriend. Simple?"
"Maybe. If I had one. So two is a waste."
"But you said someone kissed you and you wouldn't kiss me?"
"I usually go out with someone before I kiss them. Or at least get properly asked. He was sort of an exception. He gave me a pity kiss. You didn't ask me out, so I have no reason to kiss you."
John furrowed his brows and blinked several times. "Oh umm." He looked up the stairs and back at her.
Molly went up to the flat door and John stood in the entryway, completely flummoxed. She grinned and looked back at him. "I thought we were planning to get cabbaged?"
"Oh. Right. Um. Scotch is all I have about then, so if you'd prefer. We could go…" He said mindlessly walking up the stairs. He stops at the door and his shoulders slump. "Not what it looks like."
Molly picks up the piece of paper on the coffee table and reads it out loud as if reading a poem to the class. Her voice is steady but more in shock than because she is capable of dealing with the situation.
Everyone knew this day was coming. It is nobody's fault and nothing could have been done to prevent it, not any more. Knowing him, he has set the afterlife into pure chaos. He functions better with me by his side so this is just me taking my logical place. I belong with him and I'm only wasting my time and everyone else's trying to sift through these ashes. If he was a fake, this is what I deserve. If he wasn't, then this is where I belong. Either answer you want to fill in is fine. It's all fine.
You all proclaim that you want to see me happy. Well, I am sorry, but this is me happy. I have been set down in a strange landscape without a map and I am just lost. I want to go home. I know where it is, but everyone seems to feel I have no right to choose. I must do the normal thing, the average thing. I must wander in the dark and live tortured every day, longing for home, because that is what you're supposed to say.
I've always been a bit stubborn and I just have no fear of it because whatever is there or isn't there doesn't matter. He's there. I will take any imagined or never fathomed answer without complaint. Even if all that happens is that I wink out never to exist again. That frankly feels like a gift in comparison to one single hour here.
Were we a couple? I have no idea. I love him. I never kissed him or even spoke of my feelings. It has come to be known to me that the man died for me. I don't think I have to ask any more if the feelings were returned. He died for me. Now I am going to do the same thing for him and I am not depressed or delusional in this decision. Of course I am gutted in sorrow, but I'm not a stupid man, I know this seems like the actions of an irrational fool. Blame that if you will then, but don't blame anyone else and certainly not yourselves.
All I am…
The letter ends and Molly stands silently. She tosses the letter back on the table. She crosses her arms and takes a deep breath before she speaks. "How is this not what it looks like then? Looks a lot like goodbye…to me. Gun on the table, note, insulin, barbiturates, morphine you plan ahead, I will give you that."
"There are sterile pack scalpels too. Slit my jugular before I shoot myself, right here." John says pointing at the back of his head. He grins and actually chuckles uncomfortably.
"You think it's funny?"
"God yes. You should see your face."
"Well, I will really be chuckling when I see yours neatly folded as I fire up my Stryker saw." Molly pulls out her phone takes a picture of his letter and begins texting.
"What are you doing?" John demands.
"MMph? Texting Mycroft and…" John takes her phone and throws it up in the air, as he grabs his gun, cocks it and fires. The phone explodes and the pieces land with a clatter. Molly screams involuntarily.
"Did you send the texts? Never mind. Why would you tell the truth to the man with a gun in his hand? This isn't anyone's business, Molly. It isn't your's either. Should I be expecting company? If so, I suggest you leave, unless you want to watch. It is my security blanket. Note isn't finished. Not finished! There are dangerous people on this block. This is part of my escape kit, by whatever method I deem necessary. If you have labeled me, I'm afraid you have forced my hand. Mycroft won't do to me what he did to Sherlock. I won't be.."
"You shot my phone." She squeaked.
John is quickly packing away all the items and he grins and says, "Phone had it coming."
Molly looks down in his duffle bag and tilts her head. "What is all of this? How many people are you going to kill?"
"Uhem. Or save. Doctor first, the assassin part is just a sideline." He is moving around the flat tucking things into the bag then sets it by the window in Sherlock's room. "So it's been 13 minutes. Either Mycroft is getting slow or you didn't actually send that text?"