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.
This chapter is very long, but it is the end of book one and I didn't wish to split it. Thank you for reading and reviewing. This story is now considered finished. Book two will be linked for your continued reading without having to search. Some people will only read stories once they are done and I understand that frustration. Book two will continue the story at this URL. I know that isn't the way everyone does it, but if you have read this far, I imagine that is not going to surprise you much.
Molly sat on the dark bench, under a tree as the man next to her held her life in the balance of his sanity. Life around her moved along oblivious to her danger. Cabs and people rushing home from dates, pubs and late shifts, didn't notice the lovers in the shadows behind the hedges. They were nothing unusual, except for the cold oiled metal settled under her chin.
"I don't know where he is. He could be on his way to Paris or Switzerland. He could be at Mycroft's or anywhere. You don't need the gun. I didn't have to tell you anything, John. Why would I tell you all of this and hold back anything that could help us. God, this is so stupid." Molly is trembling but in anger more than fear. This is not her fault and she's the one having to smooth it all over. "Could you please turn Mr. Hyde off now and put that away?"
"You contact him somehow. Tell me!"
"Yes. He prefers to text. There is no cache storage on texts." She ventures a glance at him, but his eyes frighten her and she quickly looks away.
"Then text him. Get him here, now!" his teeth are gritted and she can tell he's reaching the end of a small amount of patience. His voice is low except for the slight buzz his clenched jaw creates.
"I can text him. But it doesn't mean he will come. I have no way of making him come here," she practically moaned in dejection. "He said, he wasn't coming back."
"Molly, please. Don't play with me. I don't want this. But, I will see him. Tonight. I will. Do? You understand?"
She would give anything not to have to argue with him right now, but she is a little terrified that Sherlock meant he would no longer speak to her at all. Her phone has been silent since he left. "John, I am trying to tell you—"
"Here, is where you need to understand, we are. I could just lose my mind, any second." He clicks his tongue twice and tilts his head like a pendulum. Then his eyes lock back on her face, too close and too intense for the reasonable voice in her ear. "I didn't have to. You could have stopped this from getting to this point. You lied. To get us to this place, all of you lied. This is what you wanted. You and I, we were going to be honest. Remember? The things I told you, were private, Molly. I really loved you. God, you're a cool little liar. Almost as good as him. Can't or won't? Whatever you promised him. Doesn't matter, with this gun in my hand. So don't play me like you could play with the man I was an hour ago. That guy you knew then, is gone. I will never trust a soul on this planet again. Why would I believe you can't find him now? Now, I want to see him and that is all I am asking for. Tell me where he is."
"If what I did was so wrong, then shoot. If you want him to die, just shoot me. You aren't the only one who has been miserable. Just dead? That looks pretty tame compared to destroying everyone's trust to keep him alive and living every day terrified this would be the day he bled to death in some horrid place and I would never ever know what happened or where he was. Every cadaver I have ever seen has had his face in my imagination. Because I knew any of them could be him. I had to prepare myself every day, to go to work. If he died here, in London, and his name was William Smith or Fredrick Graham, I wouldn't know until I unzipped the bag. Some days, when we were busy, my heart stopped and I prayed every single time I had to check someone in. If you want my help, put that away before someone sees you." Molly hasn't looked at him the whole time she spoke. Her eyes are fixed on a streetlight. It is probably from Regent's College, School of Psychotherapy and Counseling, and it is the only thing that she is holding onto. She has dared him to shoot her and if he does, a stupid streetlight from a place meant to help this sort of thing, will be the last thing she sees.
John lowers the gun, and slowly his grip on her relaxes, but he is still holding it. He wants to make sure she doesn't run away. "You still had hope. It was something you took from me. You could have told me."
Molly sighs. She turns her head toward him, and her eyes stream tears every time she blinks. "I wish it had been you. I wish it hadn't been me. But before you judge me, what would you have done? Wouldn't you have lied to me, to save him? We weren't even friends then, not really. I mean we knew each other, but he was the link. A few lies, or would you rather he be putrefying under that headstone right now? You said once that I knew the after effects and you were going to show me the process. I can give you a detailed description of what he would look like at this stage if he were in a sealed coffin for fourteen months. It is a very interesting description and even expensive ones sometimes leak, so that can add some details that even you might find offensive. No matter what you think of me, I don't regret that he's not doing those things. I would like to keep him not doing those things and I wanted to keep you not doing those things. If you are going to shoot me, bloody well get it over with. If you don't want to help him, then kindly take your hands off me so I can go throw myself on Mycroft's mercy."
She thinks it has worked. She has shocked him and brought him back from that edge again. She breathes slowly and deeply, watching the shadows move in the park. The wind gusts from time to time but it is a lovely weeknight in London and the hot summer air is growing chill.
The rain is coming and the wind feels icy in the September night as if all the heat and warmth is leaching out of the city while they sit here on this bench. The day had been so warm and it feels like she let the last day of summer slip through her fingers. If they were on a busier section or it was a little earlier, there would still be pedestrians. It is odd they have been here for so long without a single lost tourist wandering by. Not even a drunk has stumbled near them.
The traffic on Outer Circle and York Bridge is light. The student housing behind them is dark. A placid waterway is just in front of them. It's a narrow branch from the boating lake that stretches out and narrows here. They had come here often during the summer. It is too black to see the water now, but she could smell it, green and earthy. Just over two roads on Marylebone, she can hear the chaos of city life. She feels far away and detached from it all as she waits here in the shadows with her latest foray into poor luck in love.
He sighs softly, shakes his head and seems to decide to chance taking his arm away from her. She smiles a little, thinking he must be raging through countless mental barriers right now, trying to find faith in something. It must feel like torture to discover everything you trust and most of what you believe is a lie. She glances at him.
John smoothly lowers his Browning and tucks it back in his waistband, fussing with it and making sure the outline is concealed, just so, in the small of his back. Molly shakes her head and sighs. She leans forward as if she's ill then wipes her face and sits back up, refusing to look at him.
"I will never understand how you could…not tell me." His voice is so sad and hollow. "Does he hate me? What did I do, that he could hate me that much?"
"He doesn't hate you. He loves you more than his own life. He came back to London, searching for us. He said he's made a terrible mistake. He said they would figure it out and he kissed me, goodbye. He was so hurt by the ring but I'm not sure he was unhappy. You may think he just faked his death, but you need to think of the big picture here. He still gave up his life, John. He's still breathing. But imagine if the world thought you were dead, and you weren't."
"Can't be worse than the world thinking you're alive, when you aren't." John looked around as if he might pop out of the bushes. He leans forward, elbows on knees and face buried in his hands.
Molly reaches out toward him, but her hand doesn't quite reach, she hesitates, then with a deep breath and a scoot forward she lays her hand on his shoulder. "He didn't know. He didn't know this would happen. You never actually dated each other. You told everyone you weren't gay. He had no idea it would get so bad. He sort of expected your girlfriends to, distract you."
" I didn't have any girlfriends to be distracted with. Probably something about that in Mycroft's report."
"Maybe one." She mentions dryly.
"Okay. If you say so. The Holmes best plan. Kind of a terrible one, in retrospect."
"Thank you. Very nice. You can be such a bloody git." She glares at him.
"Not new information, Molly."
"You always told everyone that you weren't gay. How could he have known?" She asks.
John sighs, "Well, I'm not."
She looks at him, "Then what are you. I always wondered, just didn't bother me enough to ask."
"I'm nothing. I love who I love. Doesn't need a label."
"Fine. So have you loved a man before?" She asks with a shrug.
His lips shoot out as he chews the inside of his cheek. "Loved, yes. Had sex with, not really."
"How does that work, the not really?"
"Is this what we are going to talk about? Right now?" He asks her incredulously.
"Sherlock seemed to be making you cross. What would you like to talk about?" she counters sarcastically.
" The thing is, when did he know that it was not a survivable situation for me? That it was so bad? Did you keep it from him? Did Mycroft lie to him and say I was turning Baker Street into the party spot of London? Has he known all along? And he was fine with letting me rot. One word, and this would have all been done."
"Really? One word you say? Like it is now? You are all better." She can't help but grin, but she does an impression of a hiccup trying to get her giggle under control.
"Well, now I'm not." He says belligerently, face not pleased at her response.
"So, when would it have been okay? An hour? When we were still hoping he wouldn't end up with some fatal impact damage we didn't anticipate?"
"I'm a doctor!"
"So am I," Molly says fiercely.
John sucks his breath in at how angry she got. "Yes. You are. But, who was the best option?"
"The one of us who wasn't concussed, I should imagine. He was nearly hysterical. Well for him…"
"Which means catatonic."
"Yes. He hadn't expected to have to use this. He thought he'd win. But he thought Jim was going to make a mistake. Mycroft confirmed snipers. There wasn't just one. They were all over. Tracking you like locusts. Baker Street was a pretty busy place, considering you practically did nothing. You had, Mycroft's guys tripping over Jim's guys and Sherlock's homeless people were watching out for you. Some of them helped too. They were protecting you as best they could, by keeping a low profile and watching you and who else might be following you. There were the reporters and they had seconds trying to bump into you and get a quick comment of any kind. There were looky-loos. Greg assigned people on the street to deal with crowd control and jump in should a riot start. You weren't even staying there, but they all were."
"I'm sure Speedie's appreciated the extra traffic," John said with dead-pan charm, his reliable, off-beat sense of humor appearing with all its customary predictability.
"After the funeral? A few weeks? I called and called. Mycroft hounded Lestrade."
"Came himself. Mycroft was in my hotel room one morning. Like to have gotten himself shot. That would have made total pants of my special-class firearms certificate."
"So would shooting your fiancé in the head in the park," she scolds.
The doctor looks at his hands and then up at the streetlight. He began to speak twice but couldn't seem to figure out what to say. "We aren't in the park. Park's closed. I would not have shot you. I figured he'd come running to your rescue. Hoped he wouldn't show up guns blazing." He grins and speaks distinctly just in case he is near. "He's a terrible shot."
" Looks like the park to me. It's the foot-path. So. You going to help him?" she asks, hesitant but determined to keep talking until the answer is yes.
"He's not here. I haven't a clue how to find him. He's covered his trail for over a year. Take me months just to track him down. Doesn't sound like we have that kind of time. He won't come for me. He doesn't want my help. Facts seem to be getting in the way of me helping him." His voice is calm, but his head is bobbing around searching the darkness.
"What are you looking for?"
"Our tails seem to have dropped out of sight. Completely." He stands as if to stretch and uses the opportunity to look around. "They would not drop us. Not after getting a caning for losing us on our holiday adventure. I imagine Mycroft was livid. Hate to be in their job right now. They are bollocks in elusiveness. Been playing the innocent befuddled twat with them for more than a year now. Our holiday escape showed my hand, but it was probably blamed on their incompetence. They picked us up on the cab ride to your flat. Now they have backed off. They are either dead or its orders. Something's up."
"We have been here a little bit." Molly could use a trip to the facilities herself after all this.
"But all three? Two on me and one on you?" He is watching now with singular attention.
"Shift change? Breaks? He has a whole satellite, " she offers helpfully.
"Yes, Sherlock hacked it. Not exactly Google. Could be." He focuses skyward and moves three steps over, deeper in the shadows. " I was surprised he didn't find us faster. You said Sherlock made a mistake. And you said, you text him?" He shuffles through subjects with military precision.
Molly nods and reaches in her purse for her phone.
John watches her as if he expects her to run, or refuse. When she just sits there fiddling with her phone uncomfortably, he says, "Ask him if he took his violin."
[Did you take the violin?]
It is almost five minutes before her phone beeps. John spends most of it moving strangely, eyes searching, focus never returning directly to her face, edging around the tree and even stood on the bench for a moment to see over the hedges into the street. He's more alert and watchful than she's ever seen him.
She has noticed this quirk of his before, the way his eyes dart away from people as he speaks. She had always assumed it was a nervous habit, like the way she obsessively scrapes under her fingernails when she doesn't feel comfortable, but now she realizes it is more. John no longer wears the uniform, but he never stopped being a soldier any more than he stopped being a doctor just because he wasn't technically currently employed as one.
"Are London's bad men coming?" she asks, dropping into their silly relaxed banter and teasing him that she has caught on to his purpose.
"Hope they don't, because they will find that I am here. They better bring a lot of friends."
"What if they do? Is there a specific count to watch out for, just so I know if I should be afraid?"
He looks down at her, brow covered in wrinkles from his raised eyebrow. "Eight hand to hand, but I have thirteen rounds, so unless one happens to be over seven foot tall, I think we are safe at the moment."
Finally the phone's LED flashes that she has a text. "It's from him." She reads it out loud.
[It is mine.]
"Tell him that I am upset. Out of my mind with grief." He nods to her to do it.
[He's upset. He's out of his mind with worry. It's like he thinks he let you die all over again. Please let me tell him?]
"Nice." John says with a smile reading over her shoulder.
The reply is returned in moments.
[I told you if you did, it would get him killed. There is no discussion here. Work your magic. He won't care about its absence long. He doesn't even know how to play it.]
"Bastard. Tell him it is my sentimental attachment. Tell him…that you are afraid of me right now. A little truth can be a good thing." He flops down on the bench again, satisfied with whatever he saw or didn't see.
[I am afraid that only you can fix this. He is scaring me. Please come.]
[Then leave and no.]
Molly looked at John. He shook his head. "Ok? Tell him I have my gun, then don't answer him back."
[He has his gun. What should I do?]
[I assume you have your clothes on. Take them off. Distract him.]
Molly handed John the phone. He cursed. He looked around and handed it back to her.. "That didn't work. He's not expecting to hear from you now. He's going to think we're having a shag. I need to make him think it's life or death. Should have gone with a kidnapping or something. Damn him."
Molly grins and types rapidly. [That won't work. He took me on a walk. He has suddenly decided only you would steal the skull. That means I had to know. Mycroft's people have left us. I think he's crazy. It doesn't matter, he is crazy.]
[What is happening?]
Molly doesn't respond. John smiles as the next texts come in.
[Please answer.]
[Are you injured?]
[I don't have time for this. Answer me.]
[I am not actually worried, you know.]
[Not working. You're probably shagging.]
Molly grins at John, "Watch this."
[If I don't produce you in the next two hours, he is going to kill me and then himself. If he sees Mycroft's bunch or anyone from The Yard, he's says we will know much sooner if you are on the other side. Then he won't wait, so whatever you do, don't call people who will just make it end sooner. Maybe I can think of something. He wants you to come here. You have me located? He's hiding us from the satellite, but you have your nanny-cam I bet. If not, it means you are probably on a plane by now. I'm sorry if you are and if this is the happy ending to your hero. All my love forever, no matter what.] She hands John the phone. "Do you think that might work? Only hit send if you think it will work."
John reads it several times. He nods. "Molly, you are brilliant. I'm not going to shoot you. It was a bluff." He hits send.
She didn't mean to say anything but it popped out, "Second time. I don't think it was. You forgot the thirty-day rule."
John doesn't speak for a while. He seems very interested in the breeze stirring the new leaves. He chuckles and takes a deep breath. "You forgot the truth. He's actually alive, isn't he? I just sent him a text. Sherlock is alive."
She nods. "Evidently he is at the moment. Whether he's still in London or not, who knows. I'm so sorry, John."
"Yeah, me too. Not that he's alive, by the way. No matter what, I'm glad of it. I mean, you saved him and saved me, too. He put you up to what exactly?… asking me to dinner, at the least. Tell me about the rest of it? Don't have any need to lie to me anymore."
"Yes. The dinner. The clothes too, but I told him I wasn't going any farther than flirting. I was supposed to introduce you to some nurses from the hospital. I put him off on that, because I didn't want to give you up. Told him…it was because they couldn't handle you. I know you won't believe me and that none of it matters anymore. But the rest was just me." She shrugs and peeks at him, sucking her lips between her teeth and biting down.
"Why? You were very aware of how I felt about him. I don't understand you at all. Why did you let me keep going? I asked you to marry me and you said I would change my mind, but yes for now?" He doesn't sound angry now, but he does still sound lost.
"It doesn't matter. I just sort of wanted to pretend, because it was a nice thought. I really did fall in love with you. I really would say yes if we just met and it was normal. Even though I knew it would never matter, unless something horrible happened, and then I wouldn't be lying anymore and maybe it would keep me from having my heart broken forever. If I had someone to watch over and love, a way to keep doing what he asked of me, but so much more, then maybe it wouldn't kill me to have done so many horrible things for nothing."
Her phone beeped. [Give him your phone. John, this is between us, let Molly go.]
[You won't come if I do. I don't even matter to you.]
[This isn't who you are. This is wrong. Let me do what I must and just forget all of this. You were very happy a few hours ago. Don't throw that away on a stupid gesture. Marry her, be happy. Please, John.]
[You have no idea who I am now. Come find out. Or I will put your untouchable little museum piece in the ground]
"Who is in his grave? I have seen you there." He asks as he types.
Molly sighs and says, "Jim."
"That's just what I thought. So you and he, really were…"Johns eyes grow wide in horror but he doesn't look away from the phone.
"Hard to explain. He…he may have actually liked me, as a person. Like a friend. He was never mean to me. He asked me to bring him Daffodils, and I do. Nobody else does. I really was gentle with him, when he came to me. He was smiling, you know. He was happy to go. He had never been happy here." Molly speaks slowly as if speaking of a person John had never met.
John does a double take and gives a noncommittal shrug, "Okay, that's…good. Creepy as hell, but good. Settles my bathtub question on the relative dynamics of the mental health issues, between the two of us. You should get a trophy. Not just a little one, but huge… tastefully huge, maybe a plaque, bit of engraving."
Molly rolls her eyes. "Says the gold medalist for the Hyde event of mental health."
He laughs, "True, but I'm still an amateur. You, my dear, are in the pro-leagues."
John has been carrying on a conversation with Sherlock this whole time. She leans over to see what he's typing now.
"Pay no attention to what I type. He's a stubborn demanding dick, that's all. I am not going to do any of this," he explained to her in his calming matter-of-fact way.
[I think she will be happy being buried right on top of Jim, under your fucking lie of a name. To think I cried for Moriarty, thinking it was you, you bloody sod. You going to let her die? I won't make it easy on her.]
[What do you think this will accomplish? If you are this angry, why do you even want to see me?]
[I am coming with you, of course.]
[No. You are not.]
[There is only one way you get to choose that option. Donate my body to science, maybe you can nick my head for a few experiments. Of course, if you can't be bothered to stop me, you ought to let me know ahead of time so I will know to blow out my heart instead. Actually, that would be more a' propos.]
[I know you are angry, but this is not the answer. Stop this. For me.]
[For you? You don't get to ask me that ever again, Sherlock. Really? Just let you disappear? I will just hang out and drink tea, because you think I am such a worthless coward? I see. I like my plan better. You see, the option is to die by your side, where I want to be, or die here, tonight – alone, knowing you never cared, wanted to be shut of me, didn't trust me, didn't need me. I don't want to live another day knowing that.]
[You know none of that is true.]
[ I could join the other side instead – want to face off and play? It would be your chance to finish the poor bastard you spent a year torturing. I bet they could always use a crack shot, maybe I will apply for the job. Just for personal satisfaction, I don't need the money.]
[John, this isn't funny. I would let you win. How can you doubt me like this?]
[Prove it. Take me with you.]
[You love her. You are bluffing.]
[All over town there are posters. I believe in… I guess you think you believe in me too. Are you sure? You thought you knew me a year ago. You thought I wouldn't believe. Fifty-fifty chance. Here's my move. I have never lied to you. For you, a hundred times, but never to you. I love you. Whatever you decide, I needed to say that. If I never have the chance to say it to your face, then so be it, it's off my heart.]
There is no response.
John hands Molly the phone. "Doesn't sound much like he's coming, Molls." His voice is rasp and gravel.
The wind picks up a little and the sky clouds over, threatening and rumbling with cloud-to-cloud lightning. John kept his arm around Molly but it was just to help hold off the chill and reassure her that everything would be fine.
John sighs, looking at his watch. The deadline is fifteen minutes away. "When the deadline comes, Molly, I want you to take a cab home."
"What are you going to do?" she whispers, suddenly fearful again.
"I don't have a clue, but I don't want you here," he said looking straight ahead.
"That sounds pretty horrible. I could go with you."
His head swivels toward her as if she just said a Texan had just been appointed Prime Minister. "What? No. Hell no. Are you completely insane?"
"Yes." She flashes her eyes at him, dark with fear yet somehow shining with her humor, too.
"You are the barmiest woman I have ever met. You know that, right?" He enquires sincerely; hoping she understands him and appreciates that he is a bit in awe of her. "I wasn't going to shoot you. Never would have happened."
She leans over and bumps him, "Yes, you were."
"I wasn't."
"There's still time," she says and her cheeks round just before she flashes a full toothy smile at the fact she is aware that has two meanings.
He shrugs and shakes his head. He leans in as if to kiss her. His head snaps up, "Do you hear that?"
Her phone beeps. [Tell him to give you his gun and follow the sound of the violin, if convenient.]
John smiles. He stands and drops the heavy weapon in her lap. He kisses her on the forehead and cups her cheek in his warm hand. "Don't wait up. See you soon." He reaches in his pocket and pulls out something. "Oh, and you might be needing these. Gun's not much use without the clip."
She looks down at the Browning. "You threatened me with an unloaded gun?"
"I would not shoot you. I was bluffing. He was probably watching. It's why Mycroft's men disappeared. He ordered them off," John explains, his face bearing a few lines of regret on his forehead.
"You will come back? Won't you?"
He laughs as if he is going to dismiss her. He shakes his head and takes a few steps to walk away, the violin calls in the distance. He stops and looks back. She blows him a kiss.
John marches back to her and leans down close to her face. "I meant it, too. The things I said out there on the island? I really do love you. The answer is yes, for now. You keep that ring and as long as you wear it, I will know it means, maybe we can figure this out someday. Don't wait for me, but if you're still unattached when we get back, we'll talk." His mouth closes to her and she meets him with all the hunger they ever shared.
"Come home. Both of you."
He doesn't say more, but he gives her a nod. It isn't a promise, but it is enough for her.
John turned and searched the darkness, then trotted off toward the sound of a lone violin and the silent call of violence. Molly watched him and took a deep breath. She stood and headed home for a good cry and a huge bag of Quavers. She would rent 'Paint Your Wagon' and listen to Lee Marvin sing.
She knew she would worry, but at least whatever fate they found, they would find it together. She looked down at her hand and the ring sparkled in the streetlights. She had just luckily found a cab and settled herself for the ride to her flat, when the first huge drops patter on the top of the black and lime-green Fairway.
"Twenty-six Hooper, please," she says, searching the rainy night for a tall man and an army doctor, meeting in the shadow of a doorway or dashing down a mews.
Tomorrow, London would smell fresh and the drizzle would keep the streets shiny. Molly would go to work and life would seem a little dull, but at night she would dream of the sea and someday she would stay on Bryher Island long enough to see the waves crash in Hell's Bay. The storm won't frighten her because John's blue eyes will be in the sea and Sherlock's will be in the shallows.
The end
This is the end of book one. Yes there is a Book Two which will be posted under this same URL and not as a second story. Thank you for your reviews and follows - stick this story on alert and you won't have to search. I am overwhelmed at the wonderful response and your kind comments.