Checkmate
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Molly is bitter when she pulls on the stark white lab coat.
There's hardly a soul in her area of the hospital. Not even a cold, dead corpse to keep her preoccupied. Nothing but rampant thoughts and endless anxiety. Being alone on Christmas was painful. More so than ever before.
If anything, the pathologist busies herself with arranging paper work. Remedying misplaced test results in their designated folder. If only she could remedy Sherlock's misplaced heart back into his chest.
No. Not again. She wasn't supposed to be thinking about him. Not like this.
Sherlock had made it rather clear at what was going on inside him. Everything yet nothing—towards her.
Divorce was out of the question. At least, in this point of time and when their marriage was very much in it's early stages. Hardly an anniversary or a honeymoon. Hardly anything to be called a marriage or even a decent 'union'. Her parents' gain was Molly's unsatisfactory demise, and ultimately untimely death from a broken heart. How romantic.
"You could always just... walk away quietly." Molly's own familiar voice rang out in her office. Vocalizing for all to hear the most intimate thoughts that came tumbling about. "Not a divorce but a separation."
That idea sounded almost logic. It sounded perfect. It sounded—peaceful.
They both needed time to themselves. Sherlock couldn't do what he needed to do with her there. He had pointed that out clearly enough. What about Molly? What about her? Being with Sherlock probably confused her more than being without him. Without Sherlock, Molly needn't think nor try. Molly lived well enough without Sherlock.
However, that thought scared her even more. There would be that familiar void.
Molly had to push her chair back, pull her ponytail free, and rub her temples. This was ridiculous. She sounded like some pathetic underage tart suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. No, she was a grown woman well into her twenties! Molly could make choices because she had them!
"Would he win if I separated from him for awhile? Would he take that as me giving up? Would he ever try to understand? Does it matter?" Molly had given up the work that laid out on her desk now. There wasn't anything else for her to do except find some solution to this sham of a marriage.
"Stupid girl. He's already won. You never had a chance." a familiar voice had said behind the pathologist, and she was quick enough to jump, and turn to see who was addressing her. Molly's breathing caught in her throat and her hands went up to cover her mouth.
He came in like some beautiful, shining blonde angel. Her friend Hamish. With an understanding smile on his face, and his long arms wide open. "It was obvious by the self loathing you were emitting. But... you're wrong, you know."
Molly just shook her head as tears began to blur her vision. The familiar male came up to hug her in his cold dark, wool long coat, and cashmere scarf. "I've missed you too." Hamish said in that sweet voice of his.
"You're horrible at saying good-byes." Molly cried a little then as she hugged him back. Hamish could only smile gently at her from above.
"So? What do you think?" Hamish's voice lowered into that of a soft coo. "This being my Christmas miracle and all?"
Molly's giggle was muffled from her face being pressed into his soft scarf. She could have wished many times again for his miracles. They brought a warmth to her little heart. It was a brief hug as she pulled away to dry her eyes of the left over tears. But somewhere in the expanse of emotion, and the time between them. Hamish's happy expression dropped considerably low, and she yearned to see that familiar warmth on her male friend's face one again.
"I-I have to tell you something, Molly. And I ask that you give me a chance to explain myself." Hamish pulled further away now—almost twice arm's length away from her. The distance somewhat biting an even bigger chunk of that happiness out of her chest. "There's a reason I came back."
"Please, just tell me what's going on then." Molly gently pleaded with Hamish. She would have offered to sit, but that logic seemed silly. "I'm listening,"
"It was never chance; meeting you from the beginning. I've been meaning to tell you, but it was never the right moment until now." Hamish looked down and then back up at Molly. "I bet now you think I'm going to confess that I've been deeply in love with you, and that I've been stalking you from the start. What with that worried look you're giving me." the chuckle that followed, and the shake of the male's head reassured her that it wasn't anything like that. Not in the least. Nevertheless, Molly kept her mouth shut as she listened to him, though her eyebrows furrowed slightly together.
"If I may speak freely, Molly. I remember when you've told me many times that you just couldn't understand your husband. Many times you've implied that you didn't matter in the least... but that's not true. I know that." Hamish rubbed his cheek coyly as if he were a school boy confessing his love. He seemed so shy and awkward. "He wouldn't have had me protect you if that were the case."
Molly stared blankly at her friend. Unsure of how to vocalize her confusion and interest.
"Those poor souls lining up at your door." Hamish sighed, "Every single one. From the single stab wound of a robbery, to the stroke of that 30-something year old male, and finally down to the supposedly spousal abuse that young woman endured."
"Hamish?" Molly edged on, not liking where things were going. "What are you trying to say?"
"He was harvesting organs, Molly. Will was harvesting human beings. All of them. After your ex-boss had retired, he left you to fix all the loose ends. Safe to say, they weren't too keen on an employee making off with their fortune." Hamish's demeanor seemed to change in that instant. From what seemed like a harmless man explaining his life issues, quickly turned into that of some sort of black cat slinking around Molly as if she were prey. "You would have been in a body bag, just as well. You were collateral damage. Or at least—you could have been."
The pathologist must have been gaping and sputtering out of sheer shock and bewilderment. There had to be no way! But—there was truth in the matter he spoke of; there just had to be. Well, how was she supposed to question him now?
"Will was in the center of it?" the words came out in a shaky whisper. "Unbelievable."
Hamish seemed agitated from the situation, because his once warm leather gloves, began to dance and come alive within his hands as he toyed with them.
"It was a simple fix, Molly." the blond continued as if he hadn't heard the pathologist. "I came in due to your husband's concern and request. I protected you from potential harm. All the while he worked the case with the police—" Hamish hadn't gotten in another word before Molly had started to interject.
There seemed to be more to the picture than her friend let on. There was a slight assumption that maybe Hamish had taken on more than just a 'request' from Sherlock. What with the man's passionate portrayal of a savior coming to the dire need of a damsel... it made things sound as if Hamish was hinting to a secret attraction that Molly was unaware of.
"So? What are you saying, Hamish? Because it almost sounds as if there was more to you protecting me other than by request. Was there...? Something more, I mean?" Molly interrupted the male's explanation, and said what came to mind. The female momentarily pondered on the idea that maybe Hamish's 'lessons' of casual, but subtle flirting had an underlying meaning.
"Never mind that." Hamish quickly tried to regain control of the conversation. "All that matters is that they've taken him in, charged him for the suited crimes, and he's off the wanted list. You're safe now."
"Never mind that?! You sound as if you're about to confess something big other than what you've confessed just momentarily! Something tells me you didn't come back to say your last farewell. Did you, Hamish?" As she finished the end of her sentence, Molly's voice became softer, and more reluctant to the conversation.
The look on Hamish's face was unreadable for a split second. There was a trace of confusion yet guilt mixed in somewhere. His eyes squinted as he looked at her, then down to the floor, unsure of how to continue now. Was he ashamed? Was he taken aback by her reaction to him? Why did he look so—out of place? Had Hamish assumed the role of protector, only to be faced with a sort of connection that Molly had been oblivious to?
Molly was torn because she didn't understand what was going on with the human being in front of her. Had Hamish misunderstood something between them?
A trickle of fear inched itself into her heart. If whatever intimacy they had shared, had been seen by unknown eyes, then—Molly would have done a wrong towards the Holmes and Hooper name. She would be the mar on both families; the scandal. The tabloids would make money off of her in mere seconds.
"That's not it—that's not what was meant to happen." Hamish commented harshly, but it seemed more for himself than her. Before long one thing led to another, Hamish was quick to grab onto the pathologist's shoulders, and shake her till those doe like eyes peered up at him. Molly needed to know that this was real and this was happening.
"I've trusted you." his eyebrows furrowed. "And you've always counted. Always." his voice changed—deeper now, and oh so familiar like—
"Sherlock?"
The detective slowly backed up; Molly sized him up for what he was now. Suddenly, the coat and scarf became all too familiar with her, and she bit her tongue. Those blue eyes never strayed from hers, and his apologetic expression never left his face or softened as he spoke, "When it came to you, I couldn't trust anyone, but myself."
Saying that Molly was 'speechless' was merely putting it lightly. Though it was easy enough to tell that the word 'betrayal' was barely scratching the surface.
"I'd do it all over, Molly." Sherlock's hands came up to pull at his face. "Wear any disguise at any given day." Slowly Molly saw her one true friend transform into her—husband. Her Sherlock. "Everything. All this time. The intimacy. I felt it. Not Hamish, Molly. Me—Sherlock."
Should she scream? Should she run far and deep into the forest? Should she cry? Should she be relieved? Should she feel betrayed? Molly Holmes was at an utter loss of what to do.
"M-molly..." Sherlock not only pulled away the remnants of Hamish, but moved further from his wife. "I didn't become Hamish to deceive or to mock you. Hamish wasn't meant to be a malicious person. He was meant to be everything I couldn't be."
So what? Sherlock lied behind a falsehood, and made his own wife pine for something she could never have? He made her almost have a heart attack to think that all this time she really had somehow cheated on him with a man who was more so decent to her than her own parents or husband? Oh, yes, everything made sense. Sherlock could play his games. Sherlock could do what he wanted without repercussion. Sherlock could do what he wanted without the ultimate thought to others. Sherlock could very bloody well lead her with a leash without Molly ever knowing. Was all his lying supposed to make her happy? Well, she didn't see rainbows and puppies falling from the sky.
Sherlock kept on playing his games; while Molly fit well into her role as a sweet doting '50s housewife.
There was going to be a consequence. There had to be. Because this time—Sherlock couldn't win.
"I'm not mad, and I don't hate you for what you've done. But end this right here and now. Let's start over and just say what I know you feel." she raised her voice, and took a step towards him. "Say it or I'll walk out of this hospital." her threat was real as it was honest.
Sherlock bit his tongue, and made a low painful groan as he turned his head. He couldn't fathom the vocalization. He forgot how to speak and how to form normal words. He hesitated.
"Say it or so help me, Sherlock!" Molly exclaimed loudly this time. "Say it or so help me I will walk out of your life!"
Still, Sherlock persisted in his hesitation, and Molly's confidence began to falter. Her sweet face began to turn cold, and it seemed that her heart had finally took its last plunge into the darkness. It was then that Molly's eyes began to water and glossed over with unshed tears.
"See? I never did count." Sweet smiles accompanied by free falling tears were probably the most dangerous things to ever be faced with. "You're such a liar, Sherlock." Molly forced a choked laugh out. Saying good-bye couldn't be such a severe thing. She had to leave Sherlock with something to remember her by.
Her feet were fast to walk past her husband, but they were their fastest when it came to escaping. "I was wrong a-about o-one thing." Molly had paused her hand at the door knob. "You didn't lie about not needing my love. You've done well without it so far."
Even now he couldn't face her. His back would always be what she would see when she'd turn to look. Sherlock didn't belong to her; he never did. He was making that rather obvious.
Molly stepped out into the hallway as the door slowly began to close.
This was their last farewell—
"I love you." his voice stopped her; the door finally closed shut.
Sherlock had lost.
Molly smiled genuinely this time.