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.
John has at least one bloodhound in his ancestry because he is on the trail instantly. Molly convinced him that it probably had to do with the post-mortem examination or it had to do with the small investment Sherlock had kindly left her. John insists on going. Molly deferred him, saying she didn't want Mycroft nosing around about them as a couple. He'd been the same way about Sherlock and at least he gave her the courtesy of setting an appointment a week in advance. He had allowed her to reschedule when one of his kidnappings were inconvenient and that was how they did it now.
"He just bloody kidnaps me." John grumbles.
"Well, I set my foot down with him and we have been fine ever since. I have been at this for nearly five years now. Mycroft is fine to me. He always has been. Sometimes he was nicer to me than Sherlock ever was. He even offered to let me stay in a safer flat, when Jim kept calling. I didn't, but he offered. I am a big girl, John. It's fine."
The encounter was not fine. The encounter is horrible, in fact.
"Molly Hooper," he stated as his only greeting.
She took her seat and tucked her hair behind her ears, declining his offered refreshments. "Hi. Well, here I am. You called? What did you need, Mycroft?"
Mycroft smiles and she wonders if he is a cat person, beings he seems to have all the features of Toby about to consume a still twitching mouse, head first. He sighs and his lips press into a thin line. His chin rests on his fingers with a casual posture, but his other hand taps on the arm of the leather chair and his eyes seem to find several places in the room to look other than her face. "Sentiment is a complex kettle of soup. Murky, boiling, alluring. How was the opera?"
Molly sits ramrod straight, hands carefully folded in her lap. She is well aware he is not asking about the opera alone and she doesn't wish to talk about John."It was lovely. There was no soup involved."
"Ah? Indeed? I would be much more convinced of that had I not happened to catch the late feature in which I was, how shall I say this, most intrigued by certain declarations made by Dr. Watson of a romantic nature toward your person. Your very naked and rapturous person I might add."
Molly swallows and her heart sinks. She was so tired of having to lie to Sherlock about what was taking place between she and John, but now Mycroft would use this against her. How dare he sit there and act like her privacy had no restrictions to his invasions. "You watched us have sex, in other words."
His faced pushed down in a mock frown that made her skin crawl. "I also watched a broken man force you to disrobe at gunpoint, my dear. I was most concerned. Of course we have been closely monitoring the situation. As of last week Baker Street is now on full audio as well. I thought it would be an act of consideration to make you aware of this fact."
Molly's heart drops again and she can't stop her fingers from reaching up to fiddle with her hair. "Oh God. You didn't tell Sherlock that, did you? Not about all of that, did you?"
"Good God, of course not. My brother would kill him. Did you not realize there would be a loyalty conflict if John harmed you? "
"But, that was your interpretation and yet that didn't bother you. You knew what he was seconds away from doing. Don't say you didn't see what I walked in on. You didn't care until he said he loved me?" Molly looked down at her hands. "So if he kills me or himself, it's fine, but if he cares for me, that is a problem?"
"Both are a problem, or at least have the potential? I was confused about why you went back. We were in fact on high alert for intervention. This was a nightly occurrence, by the way, and he had yet to complete the act. We were about to take control of John. It seemed warranted at that time. Then you returned. If he forced himself on you, why would you return? Obviously you find some measure of enjoyment in your activities with Dr. Watson, yet you are quite aware of my brother's feelings for him. I am not beyond bounds to suggest the doctor deeply returns those feelings. How do you imagine that will turn out for you, once he returns?"
"I imagine they will both forget I exist for the most part. It was just said in the moment, you know, things like that are said, sometimes. It isn't the end of the world if he happens to care a little for me. It's helping him. He is eating again and he's even talking about going back to work."
"Very true. I am delighted that you are such a practical woman, Molly. Sherlock is very fond of you. I know he put you up to this. The fact that you would do such a thing for my brother, knowing that at some point you would be required to step aside, has earned you a place of innumerable accolade within my own heart."
"I am sure it is a very…" She searched modifiers, discarding; shriveled, minute, withered, desiccated, cold, stony and empty, "…exclusive space."
Mycroft chuckles and rolls his eyes upward as he leans back in his chair to contemplate something above her head. Molly's eyes follow his, searching for what he could be looking at, but she realizes he's just being dramatic and he startles her when he speaks again. "With diplomacy skills like that, I can assure you that should the dead body business ever lose its mystical draw, that you need look no further than my office for meaningful employment. We have a rather remarkable benefits package, in fact, should the need for a change of scenery arise for any reason."
"Well, that is very kind, but I can't imagine that my skills would be of much use. According to Sherlock, your department rarely needs to search for a cause of death."
Mycroft looks at her, dropping his chin and wrinkling his forehead, but his eyes are truly amused with her. "Careful, Miss Hooper."
"Sorry," she says and shrugs a little looking at her shoes.
Order restored, he acts as if something has just occurred to him, but the piece of paper he examines then slides across his desk to her, says he is deliberately trying to bring the subject up, and only pretending it is chance. " I have also arranged for a token compensation package for your efforts in this matter, though I do not wish you to misconstrue my appreciation to be taken as payment for services. However, something must be recompensed for the quantity of Dr. Watson's…uhem… attentions you have been borne to seemingly endure."
Molly is furious, because what he said and what he seemed to mean were in exact opposition of each other. "I don't want that. Don't do that. This isn't some dirty little order. Not for me. Sherlock never asked me to do that." She slides the paper firmly back across his desk without looking at it.
He looks a little offended but at once recovers into a mocking sneer that is hard to misinterpret. "Didn't he?"
She glares at him across the desk and he blinks and folds his hands on the desk like a headmaster about to address a pupil whose behavior has disappointed him.
"Molly, please let me be explicitly clear here. Protect your heart from John Watson. You can't control how he feels and I do understand that. But you must not forget the ultimate goal of your endeavor and set yourself up for a crushing heartbreak. I do understand, my dear, more than you probably want me to. If things were what they seemed, this would be the romance of fairytales and little girl's dreams. But things are not what they seem, are they?"
"No." she agreed calmly. Her life is nothing but lies. She is trapped in mendacity and there is no escape. She lies to Sherlock. She lies to John. Now, she is hedging Mycroft's questions. Worst of all, she has begun to lie to herself. She is turning to stone and promising things she can't hope to see through to keep two people she loves alive. She is praying for this whole situation to end and begging that it doesn't end too soon while fearing each day it will conclude in some tragic slip that will burn them all .
"So, I do know you care, very much, for them both and there may come a time for you, in which you would like some distance. The money will be set aside whether you want it or not. I do see your distress and it isn't my intent. I honestly am simply planning for an inevitable moment. Dream things that are possible, my dear, and forsake the things that will kill you in the end. Perhaps you will treasure a new dream, at some point in your life, and my token may give you the means and freedom to find it."
"I still don't think it will be necessary, but thank you for, trying to… put it…a little nicer. I haven't told Sherlock. I haven't told him that John and I, have grown closer than I expected. Closer than he asked me to be." She can't meet his eyes, but it is left in such a way that the unspoken question of whether or not Mycroft has been sharing an X-rated video stream with his brother hangs loudly in the air.
Mycroft lets the question go unanswered as he studies her. Whatever he wanted seemed to be satisfied finally and he drops his eyes and addresses her in a more gentle tone than he had been using. "He has asked. He does know. He has known for some time. I did not go into vulgar detail, but I did mention that you were seeing to John in a way that proved a loyalty far beyond measure."
Her breath escapes noisily and she leans into her hand in humiliation. "Oh God. How did he take it? What did he say?"
"He asks that I put myself at your disposal and protect you as best I can." Mycroft says with a sympathetic tilt to his head and an almost chastised look of vulnerability.
"Thank you. Very nice. But I am not with John as some job or order. It started that way. But it isn't that now." Molly stands and paces a little, her hands hold the back of her arms protectively. "I do want what is best for them both. I want them to have a happy ending. They have both been through so much. You don't have to pay me to get me to go away, Mycroft. I thought you would know me a little by now. All this time. Everything I risk, my job, my life maybe, was for them. I don't have to be the one who wins at all cost. I know that I will have to lose. But that doesn't mean that none of this matters. It matters. John can take Sherlock and Sherlock can take John, from me. But you can't take this. It's mine. Just like helping Sherlock is mine."
"I don't understand what you mean." He says frowning but not in an angry way.
"It means nothing. But it's everything to me. It means that for a little while, I mattered. I belong to them both now. They both have my heart and that means… whatever makes them happy, not me, them…that …is what I want too. Unconditional love, doesn't have conditions. Maybe that's the part you can't understand, Mycroft. The only thing I have ever known you to love is Sherlock, and you don't offer it with an open hand, like a gift. You love him with chains and it isn't the same. So, don't make this whole thing something I'm ashamed of. I'm not ashamed. I matter. Not as much. Not everyone can see why, even me sometimes. But I do. "Molly says and walks to the door, not waiting to be officially dismissed.
She turns at the last minute and takes a deep breath, "Sherlock sees me and I see him. You know, even Jim must have seen something, because he killed all those people, and he never once threatened me. Here is another bit for your file…that you keep on me. You let Jim go. You had him and you hurt him. He had hundreds of people who he ordered around and any of them could have got him sorted. But he didn't call them. He showed up. At my flat. That was when there was a technical malfunction on my monitoring devices and you let him go and didn't worry about me. I wasn't that important, was I? I almost turned Jim away."
Mycroft has spun his chair and comes around his desk looking pale and horrified. "You foolish—"
Molly shakes her head and holds up her hand, "You're so sure. You always are. That's why you miss so much. I can't decide sometimes, what's right or wrong, but when I figure it out, I do the right thing. I don't always like it, but I do it. I didn't turn Jim away. I'm so glad that I didn't. Sometimes, everyone needs a friend. Even him. I know what you did to Jim and so do you. But, I don't think less of you. I helped him. And I have helped you. But anyway, when he left, he said one day he'd repay me. I never expected him to…not really. See Jim had all these people who were afraid of him, and he was afraid for any of them to see him, that…vulnerable and broken. He even fooled you."
"You knew what he was and you gave him sanctuary? Is that what you are saying? To me?" Mycroft is amused when he's truly furious.
Molly shrugs and rolls her eyes. "Yes. And he did pay me back. See, none of this conversation would be happening now, if I had not let him in. Because, he told me. That was how he paid me back and it worked out much better than I expected. Four people are alive right now because I made him fish and chips and treated his wounds."
"And that justifies your betrayal of my brother, in your mind, does it?"
"Just two days before Sherlock stepped off the roof, Jim called me at work, and he said he was in trouble and… he wanted to say farewell. He said he had figured out his problem and would I meet him for lunch. So, I did. He told me he was going to make Sherlock choose. He said that I needed to get over Sherlock and find someone nice and boring, like John. Isn't that funny?"
"Most amusing. Is there a point to this riveting tale?"
Molly shook her head and sighed, then swallowed and shifted her weight. Her voice was calm and she tried to be patient with him, beings he still wasn't paying attention to the right parts. " Jim told me that he was going to make it easy, because he was so tired. He said I was going to be his last good deed. He wanted me to know what a selfish, coward Sherlock is. Jim was going to prove it to me, so there would never be another moment of my life spent thinking I could love a man I didn't know. He said I was an angel and I only see the good in everyone. It isn't true, but he said he was going to show me how easy it is for angels to loose grace."
"Tell me exactly what he said." Mycroft is close and his eyes are narrow.
Molly closes her eyes and she can almost hear Jim's voice, "He said it like this, 'Either way, Sherlock falls, and my story ends. I have sent many on before me, to prepare my way. Time for new adventure. A new place to rule, because I own this hellish, boring rock now. You wouldn't let me pay you back and I won't leave any IOU's behind. Those left behind are the ones who suffer. I am going to leave you and one day, Molly Angel, you will suffer. One day, when you understand what a grand kindness I am doing. Not right now, I know, and it is Ok. You will bring me daffodils, because you know they are my favorite. They are blooming now. If you have any peace to make with him or me, this is your last chance. That is part of my gift to you, little angel hidden among the dead. You will be seeing me soon and I know you will be gentle with me. I am going to show you evil. I mean, the only difference between the genius you love and the one sitting before you, is that I admit what I am. I will be right. But you have to see it with your own eyes, and then they will be open for the rest of your life. Sherlock will let people who truly love him, die for him, when he has the power to stop it, and he will not even feel remorseful.' I knew that I couldn't stop him. But I knew how very wrong he was about your brother."
Mycroft is silent for a few heartbeats. Molly can hear Jim, going on and on about Daffodils.
"Daffodils" (1804)
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).
Mycroft reaches out tentatively as Molly recites the poem, and rests his hand on her shoulder. "Go on Molly, tell me the rest."