Hi!
Hope everyone is still reading and enjoying my story!
It's Molly POV today, so yay! lol
No Jim though, sadly, he'll be in the next chapter though so don't worry...
The security office of St. Bartholomew's hospital was on the first floor.
And it was just Molly's (bad) luck that the same security guard that she had embarrassed herself in front of a couple weeks ago, seeming crazy when she frantically insisted that a body from the morgue had gone missing.
"May I help you, ma'am?" the guard asked, already skeptical when he opened the door for Molly's knock.
He sat back down in his swiveling chair.
Attached to the walls were several screens that displayed different areas of the hospital in black and white.
"Um…actually…" Molly began, stepping into the room (which was much more state-of-the-art than she had expected it to be) for the first time instead of waiting for the guard to come outside, "…that's the security feed, isn't it?"
She pointed to the screens, specifically the one in which she could see a live feed of the morgue.
"Yes." The security guard nodded, shrugging, "Why?"
"Well I was wondering…" Molly continued and the guard continued to look at her skeptically, "…if I could, maybe, um, well, see some of the footage…from a few days ago…you record, right?"
"We do." The guard affirmed, "But we're not allowed to just release that footage to anyone."
"I'm not just anyone!" Molly protested, "…I work here!"
"I'm aware of that, ma'am." The guard said, "But you'd need to be a police officer. And you'd need to have a warrant."
Years before, Molly never would have even contemplated asking someone (especially someone she barely knew) to break the law for her.
She wasn't sure if it was her desire to do the right thing, her fear of being caught and punished for wrong-doing (and the shame…), or just her own lack of bravery to ever rebel or take a risk.
But when Sherlock started asking her to illegally donate body-parts and even bodies to him for his experiments and she found herself, despite those three things, unable to refuse, Molly realized it (breaking rules) was easier than she thought, and got easier still with each time.
And if she could do it for Sherlock, certainly she could (should) do it for herself…
"I know a police officer…" Molly stated, "I could get him…"
(It was a bluff. The last thing she wanted to do was get Lestrade involved in this.)
"Then get him." The guard replied, "And get a warrant. What do you want to see the tapes for, anyway?"
"I just…" Molly trailed off.
What was she gonna do?
Explain that she wanted to collect video evidence that Jim Moriarty had visited her in the morgue multiple times, during which he had alluded to various crimes that he had previously committed?
Well, actually that would be a good explanation…
…If it weren't for the fact that then Molly would then need a good explanation as to why she didn't report these incidents to the police in the first place.
The security guard looked Molly up and down, suspiciously, waiting for her answer.
"I wanted proof I wasn't imagining things." She declared, deciding to just go with it, "I want proof I'm not crazy."
"This is about that body in the drawer you thought went missing, isn't it?" the guard inquired.
"Yes." Molly nodded quickly, "Yes it. You didn't believe me. But I know I didn't put that body back. Play the footage and we can see what really happened."
The guard thought about it for a long moment while Molly waited in nervous anticipation, eyes darting to the screens to see the current goings-on of the hospital.
"…fine." The security guard finally acquiesced.
He turned to his computer, which was connected somehow (wirelessly? That's surprisingly advanced for such an old hospital…) to the screens.
He clicked away at the keyboard and asked, "What day was that again?"
"November, sometime…" Molly answered, "I don't remember the exact date. Around the twentieth or so, maybe…"
November twenty-third.
Molly knew exactly what day it was that Jim Moriarty had, for the first time, come as himself to the morgue.
And it had been for her, too, not for Sherlock.
A fact which surprised and unsettled Molly when she considered this and so no…
…Jim had done it for himself.
Cruel, selfish…that's better.
(Not sweetly sick or strangely sweet. No definitely not.)
Either way, it was burned into her memory.
(Along with every other encounter she had had with the consulting criminal.)
"The twenty-third, ma'am." The security guard decided, "It was the November twenty-third, two thousand eleven. I remember. I'll pull up the footage…"
He continued to click away at his keyboard as grayscale images changed on the screens.
Molly stepped closer, to stand behind the guard and get a better view.
"Here it is…" the guard said, "Lemme just fast forward it…"
The video of November 23, 2011 sped double-time before Molly's eyes as she watched the screen that displayed the morgue.
Molly watched herself walk into the morgue, begin work, take a break, and then return to work…
….but when it came time for Jim Moriarty to sneak in, move the body on the table into a pose, and then sneak out….
…the tape was blank.
Molly and the security guard stared at a black screen.
"What?" Molly exclaimed, "Why's it gone black? Where is it…?"
"I don't know, ma'am." the guard shrugged, "Damn thing must be broken…"
Their reflections in the dark screen looked equally shocked.
The guard attempted to fix the damn thing by pushing different keys but no matter what he tried the events of November twenty-third would not reply on the screen.
All the other days (and even areas of the hospital, and times in the morgue) that had nothing to do with Jim Moriarty were successfully on record, just as they should have been.
"Check Christmas Eve." Molly requested abruptly, "Midnight."
"December twenty-fifth, twelve A.M." The security guard agreed, as he typed.
Once again, the fast-forwarding images of people milling around the morgue (Sherlock among them) faded to black just when Jim was set to appear.
"What is going on here…" Molly muttered to herself.
"Malfunction, I guess…" the security guard shrugged again, glancing at the black screen, then at Molly and then back at the screen, "What were you expecting to see…on the twenty-fifth, I mean?"
"…nothing." Molly sighed, and then added, "Sorry to waste your time. Thank you, have a nice day."
Taking one last look at the darkened screen, Molly turned and left the security office.
Duh…of course Moriarty would delete any evidence of his existence…!
Molly cursed herself for being so stupid.
She couldn't believe she actually thought she would get video footage of Jim Moriarty from hospital security cameras.
Of course, he was more careful than that.
Of course, he was smarter than that.
Smarter than her and she was so stupid.
Despite being frustrated and embarrassed, Molly made sure none of that aggression transferred from within her mind to the amount of force she used as she examined the corpse of a teenaged boy.
It took delicate precision to complete a post-mortem exam.
(And always being the cautious, feeble one, Molly was perfect for the job.)
According to the file (and Lestrade), this seventeen year old, Caucasian male was found dead in a guest room of the hotel where he worked ever since dropping out of school in order to help pay his family's expenses since his father had abandoned them.
With the stress of debt and family, Molly understood why an overwhelmed adolescent would turn to drugs.
(She, herself, had never tried any kind of illegal drug (or even smoked a cigarette). Mostly it was because she didn't have the kind of friends who did in school (or that many friends at all) but also because she always been afraid that it would go horribly wrong (like in the case of this victim).)
It was just so sad and so now the lab was running the test to see which drug and how much had killed this kid and it would be ready within the hour.
Now all Molly had to do was stitch-up the corpse in time for the boy's mother to come in and officially identify the body.
(So far she had just been notified by police via phone when they had gotten her number off of contact information from the hotel.)
Donovan was going to take care of that (since Molly didn't do people very well and would be little help to a grieving mother) and would be here with the mother in about twenty minutes.
(The best Molly could do for the mother was find out what killed her son…and omit the details of anal tearing and penetration from her report.)
Thoughts of the police brought Molly back to the security footage.
Just what if she had gotten a hold of Moriarty on video?
What then?
It's not like she could just bring that to the police and he would be instantly arrested.
The authorities were already looking for him; they already had him on far worse crimes that moving a body in the morgue from a table to a drawer.
Molly knew this.
So why did she want the video evidence so badly….?
For herself?
To prove to herself that this all had actually happened, that Jim had actually paid attention, deliberate, specific attention, to her?
To prove she wasn't crazy…?
No.
No.
No.
That would be crazy.
"Uh…who are you?"
"…Molly Hooper. I work at the morgue…at St. Bart's. Detective Donovan asked me to bring this here to you…You're Anderson, right…?
"…Yeah…"
"Well, um, here, then. It's the drug test from the boy found at the hotel."
"Thanks. You know, I do have a first name. And a rank. Even though nobody seems to know it. It's—"
"I'm so sorry, but I have to go now. Do you know where Detective Inspector Lestrade is?"
"He's in the interrogation room again. He's still talking to that bloke who says Moriarty beat him up and mugged him Christmas morning."
"What?"
"Oh, right…you don't work here. You wouldn't have heard. There's this drug dealer who turned himself in yesterday begging for police protection from that Moriarty criminal who went after Holmes stole his drug stash from him. It's a right funny story actually-"
"I have to go. I'm sorry. I have to go."
"…damn it. That was that girl who's got the crush on Holmes...I wasn't supposed to tell her that…"
Why would Moriarty have robbed a drug dealer?
There was no way…
This had to be some kind of trick…
Molly's head ached from thinking so hard, trying to figure out why Moriarty (allegedly) stole drugs from a drug dealer.
Sherlock would have known immediately, of course, but according to Lestrade and John Watson's blog, Sherlock wasn't available at the moment.
Depressed over a dead woman who wasn't even really dead…
No.
No time for jealousy.
Think positive!
Think like Sherlock Holmes and solve this thing…
…then maybe Sherlock would finally appreciate Molly Hooper.
But no.
Molly couldn't think of anything.
She was too stupid.
All she could do was her job.
Sherlock, or Lestrade or even Moriarty would do the rest.
Molly could pick up the pieces of the puzzle off of the floor, polish them and then put them into neat and tidy little rows.
She could never put the whole picture together.
But that wasn't her job anyway, now was it?
So why was Molly here, in the lobby of the kind of luxury hotel she could never afford, telling the smiling lady at the front desk that she was from Scotland Yard and here to continue their investigation into the death of a child?
"I'll need to see the security footage from yesterday." She told the receptionist.
Yes, of course, Detective Donovan. Right this way, Detective Donovan, follow me. The security office is just down this hall, first door on your left. Have a nice day, Detective Donovan.
As a detective (Detective Donovan) with all authority of Scotland Yard and the British Government Molly felt no obligation to awkwardly smile in return to the receptionist.
This was a serious matter, after all.
(And besides, Donovan didn't really smile all that often. At least not when Molly was around to see.)
Once the lady from the front desk had gone back to the front desk and could no longer see Molly, Molly knocked on the door to the hotel security office.
"Come in." someone called and so she did.
"…hello…" Molly giggled, leaning back against the door as she closed it behind her.
The uniformed guard, younger and more muscular than the one at the hospital (probably because this expensive hotel had the budget to afford a better one) looked Molly up and down, confused but less suspicious than the other guard had been.
Molly wasn't wearing her white labcoat.
She had pulled out a red top and a black skirt she hadn't worn in years and even put on her lipstick.
She wasn't stupid.
She could fool a receptionist into thinking she was a police officer, but a security guard would (most hopefully) recognize a fake.
And so Molly wasn't going to even bother to try with that ruse.
Instead she had another one.
"Can I help you, miss…?" the guard asked, standing up to greet her like a gentleman.
"I got lost." Molly grinned and then giggled again.
She was trying to seem drunk (which she was, actually, since she had had a few drinks at the hotel bar (way overpriced) to get up the courage for this (and the receptionist hadn't noticed her 'drinking on the job').
"Oh." The security guard replied and saw that Molly was still smiling at him.
They just kind of looked at each other for a few moments before Molly suddenly pointed.
"Oh…wow!" she exclaimed, "What's that model?"
She was pointing at the screens on the wall, displaying different locations of the hotel in black and white.
It was surprising almost exactly like the security system at the hotel, same colors (silverish-light gray), same shape (square, of course)…
…and even the same logo.
"It's a PICA 7s." the guard stated proudly, but Molly could tell he was surprised that she had even thought to ask about a security system's 'model'.
"I know a bit about computers…and stuff." Molly explained, still giggling, "I've got an ex-boyfriend who's an IT guy."
"Oh, cool." The security guard accepted, nodding and finally returning Molly's smile, "Did he work with security?"
"…um…no…" Molly answered, scratching her ankle with her other foot, and watching herself do it, "…but he knew about them, though. Told me a lot. Talked about computers all the time. I think he mentioned 'pie-kah seven-s' before, actually…"
"He did?" the guard inquired excitedly, "It's the newest model, came out last year, and the best of all the security systems. Where does your ex work? Do they have it there?"
"….Let's not talk about my ex-boyfriend…" Molly suggested, leaving the safety of leaning against the door and approaching the security guard.
"…What would you like to talk about then…miss?" the security guard asked.
He sat back down in his swivel chair (leather unlike the one that the security guard in the hospital had) hopefully, as if he was expecting Molly sit down on his lap.
"Well…" Molly began, close to him but definitely not as close as he would have liked, "…we could talk about your PICA, then. You seem to like that. How about you show me some footage…"
"I don't understand…I don't understand why it's all gone black…"
The security guard was sitting in his chair, typing at his keyboard, staring at the darkened screen and shaking his head.
"There's no reason….there's no way it could have broken already…it's brand new…we've got a warranty…"
"Are you sure it's not just a computer error, or something?" Molly asked, standing behind him.
"I'm sure." The guard declared, "PICA's good. It's always reliable. Even the government uses it. All the cameras you see on the streets and at all the government buildings, it's all PICA. It's the best damn security tech you can get. So there's no reason why it would randomly be erased…"
The guard, defeatedly, exited the archive function of the system and spun around in his chair to face Molly.
Molly saw the video feed return to current date and time from the black screen that should have shown whatever happened to the teenage employee that ended with him overdosed on drugs and naked on a bed in a hotel room.
Room 221.The same number as Sherlock's address (minus the b) which Molly was embarrassed to have memorized but found oddly coincidental under this circumstance.
Just like how it was coincidental that the hospital and the hotel both had the same security system and both had footage mysteriously replaced by a black screen.
What else, Molly wondered, did these two scenarios have in common?
Before she could further contemplate that a familiar figure caught her eye from one of the security screens.
Lestrade.
He was here! In the lobby!
Molly had to get out of the hotel quick, before Lestrade spotter her and the jig was up.
She couldn't even imagine how she would explain what she was doing here, impersonating a police officer and flirting with a security guard in order to see video footage of yesterday.
"I'm so sorry…" Molly apologized, trying not to sound flustered, "But I've just realized…I have to go…"
"Oh…" the security guard responded, looking almost sad, "…where? Why?"
Then Molly realized that if she wanted to get out of the security office quickly she should probably actually look flustered as if she had just remembered she was late to a meeting or something and had to hurry.
"I've got a meeting." Molly told him, worriedly, "I'm already late!"
"Oh, well you should probably go then." The guard acquiesced, "Is it in the hotel…?"
"…um…no…" Molly answered and then wished she had said 'yes'.
"Then what were you even doing here in the first place?" the security guard asked, narrowing his eyes and raising an eyebrow in confusion.
Now he was suspicious.
"I told you," Molly saved herself, "I got lost…"
She smiled and he couldn't help but smile as well.
"Well I hope you find your way." He joked, and then added "I'll be here if you ever need my help…"
"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Molly said, smiling as she turned and hurried out of the room.
The security guard stood again to watch her go.
Molly even thought he called out what his name was 'by the way' and that it was 'nice to meet' her.
And years before… before Sherlock, before Moriarty… Molly never, ever would have run (and yes, she had now broken into a run in order to avoid Lestrade) away from that.
It was a tad bit out of her way, but not so far as to be unjustifiable, passing by Sherlock's flat on her way home.
Besides, she had been invited there before and it's not like checking up on a friend one knows to be 'not feeling well' could really be unjustifiable at all.
As Molly approached the building, she saw a fancy-looking black towncar with its engine still running waiting on the edge of the road, just by the sidewalk in front of 221.
The windows were tinted and so Molly couldn't see who was inside but she thought it was odd that someone rich enough to ride in a vehicle like that would be visiting Baker Street.
It wasn't for Sherlock (or John Watson either, most likely), Molly reasoned because she knew Sherlock took taxis.
Maybe it was a prospective client…
She knew Sherlock could have been able to tell exactly who it was and what they wanted from the same information Molly was staring at but Molly was not Sherlock.
No, she was just checking on him.
Just a friend and just checking on him.
Molly walked towards the door to 221, opening the door (instead of knocking because she doubted Sherlock would answer to a knock anyway) and stepping inside.
She could see the stairs in front of her…
…and she could hear the voices.
"It plainly states in the text message, Sherlock, that you wanted to 'get high'. There is no other reasonable definition, by any dictionary of the English language, to what that person, whoever it is, meant by 'get high'. So don't try to tell me—"
Molly didn't recognize the voice.
It sounded reserved, calm and yet very angry at Sherlock.
"It was a wrong number, then." Sherlock's voice interrupted.
"No. You and I both know—"
"Shut up, Mycroft. You obviously don't know anything-"
"I think I do, Sherlock, I think I do. I know that you happen to be suffering from an sickness of ill-advised sentiment at the moment and I know all too well that when you experience these sorts of…episodes, you tend to self medicat—
Suddenly, violin music.
Well not exactly music…
…more like very loud, very intentional screeching rivaled only by the sound of fingernails on chalkboard.
"Sherlock would you stop that!" the first voice attempted to shout over the noise.
"I'm sorry!" Sherlock's voice called, violin still scratching, "Can't hear you!"
"Hey, Sherlock, what's going on in here? What is that awful noise-Mycroft, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, hello, Doctor Watson."
The 'music' stopped.
"Mycroft, give that back! You'll break it!"
"Maybe that would be for the best, given the sound of your playing…"
"What are you two fighting about this time?" John's voice asked, sighing.
"Mycroft stole my violin and invaded my privacy."
"…What…?"
"Sherlock attempted to purchase illegal narcotics."
"What?"
"I did not!"
"You did too, Sherlock. I have a copy of the text message right here—"
"You have no right to hack my phone and violate my right to priv-"
"Government, remember?"
"Sherlock is that true? Did you try to get drugs?"
"Oh, you too now, John? Why can't you all just stay out of my affairs and leave me alone-"
"Because I live with you."
"Because I'm your brother."
"Excuse me, ma'am."
Molly felt a hand on her shoulder as she was spun around to face a young woman with brown hair in business attire, including a sleek smart phone.
"…uh, yes?" Molly asked.
"You need to leave." The woman instructed.
"W-what?" Molly stammered.
"Leave 221 Baker Street." The woman specified, "Immediately. Now. Go!"
And then Molly felt herself being ushered out of the building and back onto the street.
She could hear no more of the interesting conversation occurring between Sherlock, John and…Mycroft, was it? Sherlock's brother.
The guy from the morgue the other night?
Yes, that was probably him.
Molly continued to be pushed until she was far enough away from the premises she had been kicked out of by this mysterious woman that the mysterious woman decided to let her go.
"Why?" Molly turned around and asked her.
"Don't ask." The woman dismissed, already looking back down at her phone rather than at Molly "And don't come back here uninvited."
Molly watched her strut away in her heels, looking so glamorous and high class and stuck up.
(Just like the girls who used to tease her in primary school.)
Who was she?
Just like so many things, Molly decided, she would never know…
Walking home from Sherlock's, Molly found herself taking the same long, dangerous (as Jim had described it) way she had Christmas Eve.
Passing by certain alleyways and side-streets she remembered them being listed as the sites the three bodies had been discovered, throats slit.
Molly had barely been able to hold her composure as she conducted their post-mortems.
She knew the men's deaths were her fault…
Even if they had (allegedly) attempted to mug her, that didn't mean they had deserved to die.
It was just so sad…
The worst part was, since Moriarty was their killer, they would probably never have any justice.
There was no physical evidence that he did it and despite the security cameras Molly could see (all of which had full view of the murder scenes) all the footage of that night had been conveniently and coincidentally deleted (according to Lestrade's report).
Molly knew that justice wasn't her job and yet…
She wanted to make things right.
And plus, the puzzle pieces were all here, right in front of her.
Even better, Molly knew exactly what the picture was supposed to look like.
How hard should it be to put it together…?
Very hard, when the picture was of Jim Moriarty.
Very, very hard…
But Molly wasn't stupid.
She was going to do it.
Sorry if Molly was OOC but I felt it was time for some character development.
She can't be a timid little mouse forever, now can she...?
(Besides, she was drunk! XD)
PICA is a fictional company, by the way.
The 7s bit was a play on Iphone 4s and Windows 7 too lol.
And I know there was a lot of blah, blah, blah about security cameras and footage...
This will all be relevent.
Please review!