Disclaimer: I make no claim to the characters of Sherlock and Molly. No Copyright infringement intended
Rating T
Status: In progress
Chapter 1
Sometimes God finds you in the wilderness. It isn't that you particularly want to be found. In fact, you are thinking you are quite clever to hide out in the open with little vegetation to shelter your person. You wander a very long time and never really know where you are going. Oh yes, it seems that you have chartered a course through arid terrain, and it looks like it was well planned, but you have no bloody clue how it will all turn out.
Aspen treated her life like nothing mattered. She went through all the routines that normal people indulge in like college, family and career, but it was all play-acting. She had a cold indifference to the actual process and spent her days in a monotone voice over inside her head that made her existence seem slightly more real. All social interaction was downright uncomfortable, and she learned to fake enjoyment of events such as parties, dinners and church services. All the while, she was living out an entirely different life inside her head. People would call her an introvert, but she knew it was something far worse. She did not really understand her predicament until one evening while watching Sherlock, a BBC mini-drama, and then she knew. She lacked the capacity for love and human connection just as Sherlock did. For Sherlock, that all got in the way of cold deduction; feelings clouded the truth. She knew she was certainly not a sociopath, brilliant, or even clever. However, she did find herself assessing every situation and making broad speculations as to the characters and settings in her path. So the day that stopped was perhaps her real birth-an awakening to colors and sounds and actual feelings.
The pain shot through his leg like a million fire ants trying to dig their way out of his tendons. His slate colored khakis darkened as the blood drenched through the thick layer and spread upward toward his thigh. He could see the smoldering remains of the other vehicle. The royal blue SUV rested on its side looking like a crumpled bag. No one could have survived that crash. The logging truck sat on the shoulder seemingly unharmed, and if Sam had not witnessed the destruction it had rendered, he would of thought it was just pulled over to help. He tried to move, but the pain intensified until he was on the verge of passing out. Help would arrive soon; they were only one mile from town. He had been returning from The Home Depot with a new sink for the cabin and noticed the log truck in his rear-view mirror as he was inspecting the state of his overgrown chestnut hair and thinking he needed a trim soon. The rest was just a blur as the truck came crashing behind pushing him into the median and then hitting the SUV head on.
"Hey, are you hurt?" came a shout from behind. "Holy shit, Cassie, call 911. Mister, help will be here soon, don't move." The look in the man's eyes told Sam that it was far worse than his leg bleeding. He tried to turn his head to look in the mirror but could not manage the slightest movement without waves of searing pain throughout his entire body. Just as he could not imagine one more minute of this hell he blissfully sank into unconsciousness.
Molly peered into the microscope looking up every few minutes and writing a few notations on the yellow legal pad. Her mousy long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The door to the lab swung open with a flourish. She could hear the swish of his coat and the tell of his steps but did not look up to acknowledge Sherlock as she normally did. Her pulse quickened as he came closer and stood directly behind her. He wanted something from her. He always wanted something from her, and she was always willing to provide it. A pathologist was a handy person to befriend when one needed a dead body for research.
"Hello Molly," came the low whisper. It was not his typical greeting. She felt a warm hand rest on her shoulder. Startled, she swiftly turned and looked up at the man she knew she could never have but would always want. He was covered in blood.
Aspen awoke screaming. Sherlock's bloody face was still imprinted in her mind. She smelled the stringent aroma of the lab and looked around to find Molly. All she saw were the cold white walls of a hospital room. Balloons and flowers littered the windowsill.
"Aspen, Aspen, you are alright, it was just a dream." A young girl hovered into view, her pale blue scrubs brushing the side of the hospital bed.
"I have to find Molly. Sherlock does not give a crap about her, and I think she might be in danger."
"Aspen, Sherlock is a television show; you were just having a nightmare. Do you want me to call your son?"
"I have no son," Aspen blurted as she scanned the room for signs of Molly. "I have no son!" she screamed. "Molly, Molly!" Aspen's voice shrieked throughout the corridor and soon white lab coats blurred into view and injected something into her IV line. As she struggled to stay conscious, she could hear the tell of his shoes on the tiled flooring.
Authors Note: This is my first fanfic, so please be gentle. I will be tying the storylines together, but for now, please be patient.