Author: Howlynn
Realm: Sherlock
Story Title: A Statue in the Temple of Mendacity. Part two
Summary: John is safe and sound with Sherlock. What happens if he isn't? What if things don't go as planned, and of course, they never do.
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. Welcome back to Part two, If you thought the first part was complicated, well you are in for a bit more. Please keep your hands inside the compartment at all times.
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 felt like she was under water, her reactions were mumbled and not her own. She didn't protest against Sherlock's mouth consuming her. John is dead. Their John is dead. In the darkness, Molly felt safe and nothing else felt quite tangible to her. His lips were the only reality and everything else is distant. In her mind, even time has stopped. She met his hunger and wilted to sensation.
She is guided backwards and her mind is not sure if she is falling but she feels a ledge and he pushed her, urging her to move backwards and then lifted her and she did fall onto something that felt like a bare mattress. He moved on top of her and her shirt was up and her eyes still can't find a crack of light to focus her vision. Her eyes closed and the dark didn't matter because her sight stopped fighting for a pinpoint of radiance.
By touch alone she has removed his shirt and he still hasn't said a word. Her cloths were flying piece by piece into the darkness and his followed. She opened to him and he nestled to her, hard and needful.
"Please. I need a light. I want to see you," she whispered and it sounded louder than she'd meant it to.
"No light. Pretend I'm him," he said softly, "You don't want me, but I need you. Please, Molly."
"Wait, no. I want to see you. You're not him. Don't do that to me." She pressed her fingers to his chest backing up her words.
Molly heard the sigh and there was some fumbling. Suddenly there was a tiny square of brilliance and Sherlock looked blue. "Better?" His phone screen provided the only luminance.
"Yes. Better," she said, paying no attention to the surroundings, only looking in his blood-shot, black-streaked in this strange light, eyes. "Slow down."
He nodded. "Molly? Even in the light?"
"Of course. Yes. God, yes," she said with a tender smile and a nod.
He growled again and with enough force to move her six inches, he impaled her on his flesh. She cried out in surprise and a little pain, but this unquenched desire she's had forever is swiftly washed in grief and urgency. Molly wrapped her legs around him and encouraged his manic lust. It was not gentle or sweet or a fantasy. Instead it was greedy and nearly silent and edges on violence, yet the thought of him for so many years brought her to the brink and she doesn't fight it. She smiled and then she stopped breathing and closed her eyes, shuddering beneath him, and when she finally breathes it came out with an animalistic energy she can't contain.
Sherlock was set off by her sounds. He holds still, quaking and twitching and his eyes are wide and unfocused as finally a single sigh escaped him and he collapsed on top of her. This has taken less than five minutes and she is exhausted from the power of it.
He quaked in a different way and his voice was broken and rasping in rhythm to the convulsions in his abdomen, "God, what did I do?"
Molly froze. If he started saying he regretted this while he's still… she's going to punch him in the face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I swear I sent him back to you," Sherlock said.
"Oh." She reached up and cradled his head and he slid to the side and rolled on his back. His face turned red. Molly leaned over and kissed him, little pecks of comfort on eyelids, cheeks and temples.
The phone screen goes black and as Molly fumbles for it, to light it up again, there is a scream. Technically she knows it could have only come from Sherlock, but it sounded like a soul ripping from flesh.
"Sherlock. Oh God, don't go crazy in the… the dark." She grasp for the button that will again light up the phone screen. Molly can't seem to find the correct button and worries that it is dead.
"Leave it. The dark is better," Sherlock said in his normal voice, now as starling as the scream. "We need to talk and I think the dark is better. Need to hear what you have to say, no deducing. Just your words."
"Ok. You are done screaming right, because that almost gave me a heart attack," she said carefully.
"Yes. Now, tell me why. You told him. After all I said to you. You told him."
She rolls back over and her head sinks to his chest. "I lied to you. I didn't mean to, but I didn't want to believe it at first either. But every day, I knew he was worse than I wanted to pretend. I did try to tell you, and when I was away, I didn't trust myself to see. I didn't know how to tell you. He wasn't well, Sherlock. He was a long way from it. I was trying to put plasters on stab wounds. He was bleeding out that night. I was fooling myself. I don't know what it was about the violin. But he was worse than I'd ever seen him, and I have seen some bad things."
"Then it was my fault. You should have told me all of it. You took on things I never asked you to do. You told me bits, but not the entire picture. I should have paid attention. I almost hated him. I was so mad at him. He pulled a gun on you." His chest heaves under her head.
"Yeah, it was unloaded," she tells him quickly.
"Did you know that?"
"No. Not at that moment. I told him, because I could see his mind working and it was not going to figure out anything that would end well. He was so distant. I thought it would help. He did scare me but the gun was not loaded. I wasn't in any real danger. I didn't know he had the clip in his pocket."
"Then it wasn't unloaded. Physically it was, but not in your mind. I have seen him kill. Molly, I should never have asked this of you. I should have done so many things differently. You have lost something. I ruined you, but I knew that long ago. I am always right." His hands roam up to her neck and he blindly caresses her cheek.
Molly is unsure what to say and whispered,"I did it for me. I loved him. I loved him too much…to face that he was being so honest about it. He made jokes about it. Killing himself...I get what he meant now, but it wasn't real when he said those things. I was afraid at first, but I really, sort of, got used to it or something. He told me this would happen, that first time you asked me to go over there. I wanted to change that. I thought I could love him enough to keep him alive. "
"Me too," Sherlock whispered back.
"I know," she soothed.
"But he didn't…know. He'll never know that I felt that for him. I said it, but not like he did. Not letting him see it. I lied to him. I wanted him to be safe. He kissed me and told me he loved me. I rejected him. It killed him. He could live with me dead, but not with knowing I did it all on purpose. We are both to blame here. I sent him away and I killed my John. We killed him. We murdered him. It didn't have to be. You shouldn't have told him. That was the moment you betrayed me."
Molly cleared her throat, "He was so happy. He wanted to go. It would have been better. Why didn't you just take him with you? What happened between you?"
"Did you see what was texted back and forth?"
"Some of it."
"I… have never been so angry with him. He threatened you, to draw me out. It was so much like standing on that roof, with no choice. I told him he wasn't necessary to me. I told him he was a fool to leave you when I could never love him like you do."
"Sherlock. That was an awful thing…"
"No. It's true. You care. You always care. I'm not like you. I am broken and I use people. Using people isn't the same. All this time, I knew how you felt…and I used it." His voice is slow and peaceful, as if he's accepted that he is some sort of monster.
"And you cared. I know you do." She moved her head, nuzzling him.
"Not like you deserve. Not like he deserved. I left him there, on the floor. I slipped away, and I kissed him...but he didn't know. I hurt everything that cares for me. I always have. I ruin everyone. It's what I do. I took you and I made you a liar, and a sneaky, cunning thing full of desperation and deceit. "
"But, you don't understand. I could have stopped. Sherlock, don't you get the big picture? I could have just, moved on. I tried a few times, you know? " She punctuates her words with a kiss on his chest.
"Why didn't you. Why did you care? I have nothing to give anyone and most people see that at once. You never stopped. From that first day, you never made fun of me. You slowly sunk to my moral cesspit and now you have lost. Everything you were is gone. " He rolls slightly; she can feel his breath on her face and him stirring again against her thigh.
"Because at the time, nobody else loved you. Greg cared, but you didn't really have anyone else. You hadn't moved to Baker Street yet. You had a thousand acquaintances from the Queen herself to Stinky-Sam living in the sewers, but nobody…loved you. It broke my heart."
"It didn't bother me. I didn't care," he said without inflection.
Molly shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "That's not true. The first time we met, you told me everyone hated you. You wouldn't have admitted that if you hadn't noticed it. You wouldn't have noticed it if it didn't bother you. I loved you. All these years later, I still do. Until you met John and Miss Adler, I wasn't sure you could love. But that didn't matter. You were still worth loving."
"I was a junkie. Still am. If we are being truthful. You are an idiot, to love something like me. I've never given you anything but hurt feelings and trouble. Though I have obviously rubbed off on you in some small way. That is not a complimentary statement. You betrayed me. I don't suppose it matters much which one of us actually affected him in the end. He died because we both pulled his last triggers. He is dead and we killed him." He doesn't let her argue, but kissed her again.
This time, it was slow and languid. Sherlock's hands were gentle to the point of reticence. Molly doesn't mind, she lets him set the pace and in this pure cloak of night, adored him. Her fingertips memorized his form and her tongue tasted his skin. The world is beyond this ebony wall of mutual grief, pushed away for this moment and as blind as her eyes are this second. Nothing matters out there right now. She was entombed with sensation, and they found their dark joy, a tiny reprieve from the gloom of regret.
They don't sleep afterward, but each dozes with their own thoughts for a time. It was warm against him though the chill of air swirls around them, trying to escort them into compliant wakefulness.
"What is this place?" Molly asked, finally admitting the cold air has beaten her will to sleep.
"Nothing but an old bolt-hole of mine. This delivery truck and I are old friends. I keep it here. Have for years. Comes in handy from time to time. Great place to shoot up. Never brought anyone here. It was my secret of last resort. I am giving you a key to this place, just in case you ever need it. I leave London in a few hours. I will never come back. This is goodbye."
"No. You said that before." Molly squeezed his hand and pressed it to her lips.
"I meant it then too, but I should have just gone. None of this would have happened if I had done what I intended. I was delayed," he muttered the last part seductively then his lips brush her temple and ear.
"I think you should tell me all of it. I know you haven't. I deserve the truth. You said more than you told me. What happened to John?" Molly scooted closer to him turning to face him, even though she can't see his expression.
"Yes, I did. But I think we both played our part in it, don't you? Now it's time for us to pay the price. Keep your wits, my dear. You will need them. "
"What do you mean?"
"I am off to pay for my sins." He said and without preamble sits up and somehow began dressing.
She felt the delivery van move to his weight suddenly being absent and unexpectedly there is light all around. She looked around, confused and he was buttoning his trousers. He was smiling but it isn't the smile of a man who just had a shag. Sherlock looks at her as if he could kill her and anyone else who he felt like playing with. He had the same look of pure surety and truth as Jim carried in his eyes. The clarity of a serial killer, she'd heard Sherlock call it.
"What sins? Tell me, Sherlock. What happened. I can see you were in a fight. Was it with John?"
He grins aloofly. "You saved me and then betrayed me. I am doing that as well. You are a mirror. I am betraying you but giving you a small escape." He rattled the keys in his hand and holds them out to her. "The van won't run, without some mechanical intervention. Battery is dead, tyres are flat. The petrol has probably tarred up the carburetor. Don't count on her to get you anywhere, but close the doors and light a candle and she's a warm enough place to sleep. You might bring a quilt or two and some food. You can survive here for weeks and it will drive Mycroft insane. If you are careful."
"I don't understand? What do you mean when you said that you're betraying me? What are you talking about?" Her eyes squint against the harsh light and her hand shielded her eyes from the abrupt glare.
"I mean, you are my flash-bang. Mycroft will think you did it on purpose. He will focus on the wrong thing in his rage and miss the important parts. Beware of my brother. I am giving you a fighting chance. Here is a bolt hole, and now for the betrayal. I love you too, but we killed John Watson together and the crime won't go unpunished. I'm sorry Molly. Mycroft has to be kept out of this, this time. I know what he will try to do to you. I insured it. How you handle it is up to you, but I have faith that you will keep him well entertained for me."
Molly hasn't even thought to scramble for clothing. She stares at him as if she's gone deaf and mute. "You…I…" is all she squeezes out.
His eyes blazed and he grinned at her expectantly. His rapid movement stopped once he shrugged his rumpled blazer on. "You should stop caring about me. Caring was never an advantage. I don't know if you can out fox my brother for long. It doesn't matter. It's the price of betraying me. This place, he's never found it. It gives you a sporting chance. I leave you to whatever fate you make for yourself."
He tosses the keys at her. "I know about you and Jim. I've always known. I knew about John too. You lied to me. You knew it would hurt me and took him to your bed anyway. I tried not to hate you for it. I told myself fairytales. Caring about you blinded me. I will always care, but love and hate grow on the same stem, Molly. Love is a game for fools and I knew better, but it is the same as being a junky, isn't it? It stops feeling good and becomes a burden. It makes us crave and scurry around to keep it. When it stops there are no cures because your brain has rewired. It becomes everything. You gave me everything and then snatched it away. John and Molly loved Sherlock. You can love dangerous things. You always do. But, dangerous things are dangerous. You can love an Adder. Snakes are beautiful creatures, but they still are capable of biting the hand that snatches them to safety from a fall. Hard lesson, but a valuable one."
"You're teaching me a lesson? You blame me?" She can't fathom how this encounter has changed so quickly. "You want to punish me, for John's death? Jesus, you have to be kidding me here. Don't be a coward, Sherlock. I won't play this kind of game. I won't. You made me wait all this time. And the reasons were horrible, but we were here…and…what was this? What did you think we were doing here?"
"I would have stopped if you had asked me too. Call it my last gasp of sentiment. I always wondered. Jim knew your face and I only imagined. I saw it when you were with John. Call it jealousy. Call it whatever you have to, to make yourself understand that I have the ability to destroy everything I touch. This, me handing you a place to hide, is sentiment. I am handing you a bit of time, nothing more. Mycroft will be hunting you and that works in my favor. What my brother will do to you if you don't wish to play, well that…Molly Hooper. That? Is justice."
"Sherlock, you are not making any sense at all. I haven't done anything but try to be your friend. He knows that. Mycroft will not just forget about finding you and go off on some goose chase seeking revenge. I don't matter, " Molly explains urgently, trying to figure out what has gone wrong in this exchange. She can't grasp how he has made these decisions much less what he hopes to gain. Mycroft is angry with her, but she will simply explain that Sherlock has set this up hoping to distract his brother and it will accomplish nothing.
"Oh, yes. You will reason with him? At this time, I'm afraid your status has changed. My brother has few weaknesses, few faults. He makes his living by never being vulnerable to his enemies. The thing is, I know things that others are not privy to. I know how to make even my brother…dance," He said and then smiled with a gleeful malevolence.
Molly is uncertain what to say. Her head shakes and her hands bring wadded clothing to her chest in a useless gesture to shield herself from his gaze. "You can't be angry at John for threatening me and turn around and set me up to be destroyed, maybe tortured by your own brother. That's crazy, Sherlock. You just need to calm down and we can –"
Sherlock's voice is thunderous and his face twists into rage, " John loved us and we failed him. We failed him and I will see that his death serves a purpose. He died for nothing. Do you understand? Nothing. Nothing but our failure! We failed him. You failed him. I failed him. And I swear on my worthless soul that the world will burn for it. I will burn for it. Mycroft, you, everyone will burn, who failed John Watson. He was better than us all."
Molly's eyes are wide and fearful. She has never seen Sherlock act like this. Her own voice is soft and timidly gentle, "So burning the world is what you think he would want? You think it is some sort of justice, for John?"
Sherlock laughs in exasperation. He takes several deep breaths and calms himself as if she had almost fooled him. He paces then stops and picks something up off the floor, examines it and stuffs it in his pocket. He steps back to the van and his face is amused and haughty again.
His chin lifts and he speaks in his superior purr of taunting snobbery, " You don't need to instruct me on justice, Molly. Justice is a roll of the dice at best. There is no justice. You and I, are guilty. Now roll your dice and I am off to roll mine. Farewell, Dr. Hooper." From his pocket he draws two small green dice and shakes them in his fist. "Seven come eleven." He rolled them and smirks. "Snake eyes. Now, I think we can say, we are done shooting the crap." He said with feigned disappointment.
"Sherlock. Wait. Please. Sherlock!" she screamed as he turned his back and walked out the door. It closed with a slam of finality.
Molly sat in total shock. It all hit her and she flung herself backward on the mattress and wailed like a soul was ripping from her flesh.
She looked around and shook her head at how perfectly horrible this had become. "Oh, John. John, what happened? I don't even know what happened!" She shrieked to the empty garage.
I do know that you are probably confused. The next chapter will be up quickly, shedding light on some of the mess. The rat was our hint from the great ones – now it is my hint to you. We are about to meet a very interesting Rat.