CHAPTER FIVE
"Hey, Greg, you all right?" John asked later that night. He accompanied Greg in walking Molly home that night, sensing the stress his friend was putting himself under.
Greg shook his head, burying his hands in his pockets. "It's Molly."
"Of course it is." John muttered, shooting a Look at him.
Greg opened his mouth to comment, but instantly thought better of it. "This guy…he's gone around the police before. I can't shake the feeling we're not doing enough. She's not safe."
"Can she defend herself?" John asked after a moment of silence.
"What?"
"Can she throw a punch?"
Greg considered. "Don't think so. Never seen her try."
"Well, I could show her a few things," John offered. "We could meet up – the three of us – and I could offer her a few lessons."
"You can fight?"
John sighed slightly, a bit perturbed. "I was in the army, Greg."
"As a doctor."
"But I still knew some basic fighting!"
Greg held up his hands in defeat. He considered this option. Though a far cry from a pacifist, he did not particularly enjoy the idea of fighting. Part of the reason he became a detective, after all, was the use of brain over brawn, even if he wasn't particularly gifted in either area. The image of tiny Molly Hooper in an alleyway trying to roundhouse kick Goliath made him want to cringe.
However, if Molly would ever have to use it, it would be best of she had some idea of what she was doing.
Then, he nodded.
"Yeah," He said. "That's a really good idea."
221B appeared very different from the way it was a year ago. At least, that's what Molly figured, staring at the empty space – chairs pushed against the wall, the smiley face with bullet holes faded substantially. The kitchen was, oddly enough, clean. Mrs Hudson fixed it up nicely, apparently, but just couldn't bring herself to rent it out again. Molly stood there, in the centre of the floor, feeling very out of place.
She hardly believed it when Greg picked her up that morning, telling her they had a bit of a field trip in store. She believed it even less when he told her they were going to Baker Street. And the least believable aspect of that conversation proved to be when he explained that John was going to teach her how to defend herself.
It had been an awkward entrance. Greg had quickly sat down next to the window, and began staring into his hands. John looked around the place, longingly, and then cleared his throat to turn to the subject at hand.
"All right," John said, shaking his head free of painful memories 221B Baker Street evoked. "The most sensitive parts of the body are the eyes, nose, throat, ears, stomach, knees, and groin. If you have quick access to any of those places, hit there first."
Molly turned a funny shade of green, as she nodded slowly. "All right then."
John stood beside her, taking her arm, and guiding it towards him, using her flattened hand to pantomime pushing up on his nose. "You can break his nose pretty easily with that. Use your thumbs to gauge his eyes, if you can. Clap his ears. But, your elbows, knees, and head will do the most damage. I'd say go with a knee to the groin, if you can."
Shaking her head, Molly held her arms out. "I can't do this. I've never hit anybody in my life."
"Molly," John said, softly. "This man will kill you. You'll be surprised what you can do in that moment before death. But, you're small. Adrenaline might not be enough—you'll need some basic technique."
Molly sighed shakily, nodding. "Yeah. Okay. Let's do this."
She was rather atrocious at self-defense. John easily believed she never hit anybody before. Her jabs were weak, slow, and, all together would do no damage if the situation called for it. She reminded him, vaguely, of a sickly lamb out in the field, just waiting for the wolves to attack.
"All right, all right," John said after fifteen minutes of rather pathetic practice jabs. "Let's try something else."
In one swift moment, John moved towards her, and before Molly knew what happened, one arm snaked around her neck while the other looped under her arm, wrapped up in a tense hold. He was not choking her, but holding strong as Molly started to squirm.
John shook his head, "Okay. Calm down, first off."
Molly stood still.
"Good." John nodded. "This hold, if someone pushes, can knock you unconscious in a few moments. I'm going to walk you through how to get out, and you have to try to break free, all right?"
He told her to move her head to face his elbow, then to widen her legs, bend her knees, and to grab his forearm.
She followed his instructions, gripping hard as she could.
"Good," John nodded. "Now knock me off balance with your bum and throw me to the ground."
Molly blinked. "Sorry…what?"
John sighed, repeated himself, and catching Molly's confused look in the mirror, simply said, "At least try."
She sighed. Thrusting her hips backwards, trying to knock John out of the way. She tried to use her full weight to her advantage, pushing backwards with force that could have easily knocked herself off her feet.
John hardly budged a centimeter.
Greg and John exchanged a look.
Shaking his head, John let Molly go, causing her to fall to the ground with a rather loud thud. He shook his head morosely. "This is gonna take some work."
As easy as it would be to just yell in her frustration, Molly tried to suppress the anger welling in her chest. All she wanted to do was go to Tesco without an escort. Then again, any I.D or cards she had would still be void. Still, she managed to pull enough money from between sofa cushions to buy Toby a few cans of food.
She waited, leaning against the front door, picking lint off her light green jumper. Lights in her flat barely made shadows recognisable with the curtains drawn as tightly as she had taken to keeping them. It was getting late to go out for cat food, but apparently she had to wait for nine at night for a police escort.
They were just doing their best, and Molly knew that. She felt positively awful for her impatience – they were just trying to keep her alive, after all. But, she never felt in any danger – any at all, perhaps that's what made the whole constant-police-watch ordeal a bit hard to swallow.
From inside her pocket, she felt her mobile begin to vibrate, and quickly pulled it out. She unlocked it, and blinked at the screen. Her text alert blinked back at her. It was from Greg. Well, certainly, he was the only one concerned enough to take her on such banal errands, she shook her head slowly, a smile forming on her lips as she read the single word on the screen, to let her know to open the door. Toby.
With this confirmation, she quickly twisted the doorknob, and allowed it to swing open, pulling it in towards her, just as Greg was about to knock, judging by the way his fist was in the air.
"Ready?" Molly said, cheerfully as possible.
Greg nodded, shifting from one foot to the other. "You know," He said as they began to shuffle down the stairs. "You really ought to wait for me to knock before you open the door."
Molly sighed. "Oh, I knew it was you, anyway. What does it hurt?"
As they began to walk down the street, they found themselves at a slight loss for words.
He walked by her side, glancing around himself, perhaps trying to see if anything was amiss. Molly walked on the other, her arms folded under each other, mostly looking at her feet.
In fact, her head drooped down so far, that she didn't notice when the Pelican turned from green to red and continued walking.
Greg immediately reached out, taking her arm in his hand, and pulled her back onto the curb.
"You all right?" He asked instantly, only beginning to notice the flushing in her cheeks. From the cold. Of course. His hands suddenly felt warm against her jumper.
"No—I mean, yes. Yeah. Of course." Molly said, stuttering and tripping over all her words, realising his other hand somehow wound up on her waist, feeling the heat creep up her neck and spread over her face.
"Greg? Is that you?" A high-pitched voice sounded from a few meters behind them.
"Abby!" He dropped Molly immediately and spun around to greet the pretty face behind them.
The pretty face simply raised a plucked eyebrow, and twitched her head towards Molly curiously. "Who's this?"
"Right," Greg said, suddenly up in arms. "Abby, this is Molly Hooper. Molly, this is Abigail Harris."
The women exchanged an awkward handshake, keeping their eyes glued on Greg the whole time.
"So, Abigail," Molly said after a moment of silence. "Do you work at the Yard?"
Abigail Harris stepped back, surprised. "No. Greg and I…we're…we were dating."
Molly's entire face turned beet red in an instant. "Oh, God! I am so sorry!"
Just as Molly uttered her apologies, Greg cocked his head. "Were?"
Abigail nodded. "Can I talk with you privately for a moment?"
Greg opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn't very well leave Molly alone, now could he?
Molly, however, nudged him forward. "I'm fine," she said, her voice low. "Public street, remember?"
He sighed, and then took Abigail a few steps away.
The moment they were away from Molly's earshot, Abigail turned to him, with a rather apathetic shrug. "I think you're done getting over it, Greg."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your wife. I think you've moved on quite brilliantly."
"Oh, Abby, it's not like that, it's—"
"Fine. It's fine." Abigail smiled slightly. "You've moved on to somebody you actually care about – and that's fine. She's cute, anyway. Doesn't seem like your type, but what the hell do I know about that?" She shook her head. "Anyway. I think we both knew that we were just passing the time. So we didn't have to be alone. It was fun. But there was no substance, and you know it."
Greg stared at her for a moment, trying to find the words that evaded him so cruelly. Eventually, he said, "I feel like that's a speech I would've gotten about thirty years ago."
"Probably. But you did know how to bring out the randy teenager in me." Abigail laughed, the voice ringing in the air. "Well, good-bye, Greg."
With this, Abigail Harris exited Gregory Lestrade's life, as abruptly as she entered. She couldn't help but feel some pang of remorse, or jealousy, that she was so easily replaced. Yet, she put on a happy face as she returned into the crowd to stand with her new client – a young man who found himself facing vandalism in his new flat.
"Ready to go back to the office?" Abigail said.
The young man blinked at her with intelligent green eyes. "What happened over there with your beau?"
She scoffed. "You make it sound so romantic."
Shrugging, he simply said, "It can be. Being with my girl makes me feel like I'm in some sort of romance novel."
"Lucky girl," Abigail shook her head.
"What happened?" He pushed.
"It's nothing really," Abigail continued shaking her head. "We're both adults – I can handle it."
"What happened?"
"It looks like he's been seeing someone else – someone much younger. It's not really a problem, you know? We weren't exclusive or anything. But still, kind of hurts, you know?"
He nodded solemnly as they began to cross the road. "So what's the slut's name anyway?"
"Molly," Abigail said. "Molly Hooper."
"Odd name," He commented, looking somewhat white as the scent bloody meat wafted in the air from the butcher's shop. "Whenever I hear the name Molly I think of cats…you know, mollies and toms. Just makes me picture 'em."
Abigail allowed the corners of her mouth to turn up until they reached the front of her law office. Upon pressing the doors open, a new air of professionalism reached her. "Well, that was a lovely tea break, but shall we continue our meeting?"
If not for Greg, Molly realised, she would have been alone on Christmas. Somehow, the holidays made loneliness more depressing than normal.
Before her father died, she always left London and shared the Yuletide season with her family. After that, she spent most Christmases with little more than a half-used carton of eggnog and a completely drowned bottle of rum.
Of course, in comparison to the year before, the idea of drunken solitude was preferable.
Still, for the second year in a row, she had a place to go for Christmas. Of course, she would have been much more comfortable if she knew where exactly that was.
She shook her head, clutching onto the carpet bag in her lap as though it was a lifeline. "Remind me again why I'm coming to your family Christmas?"
Greg cracked a skewed smile, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them. "Because the rest of the team wanted to have their normal holidays, and since we haven't found any immediate threat over you, there's no reason to keep them or bother the people already working over Christmas. But…"
He faded, smile slowly going with it.
"But?" Molly prompted.
"But I don't see how your being alone on Christmas would make you any safer." He said, then, paused, making his tone airier. "Besides, it's nice to get away from London every once in a while. Fresh air and all that."
The drive to Dorset filled with jokes and chatting. Their laughs filled all negative space in the car. Molly found herself profoundly surprised in the ease of it all.
Ease quickly turned to dread, however, once Greg pulled into a long winding driveway. Molly childishly shut her eyes until she heard the car stop, suddenly aware of dark chuckling transfusing to her side from the driver's seat.
Abruptly opening the door into the snow, Molly found herself almost stumbling around, unused to the strange footing snow left a person in. She flushed, but recovered quickly.
Greg, noting this, kept his snickering to a minimum, and waited patiently for Molly to recover her footing over the snow. They walked slowly up to the door, stumbling over icy patches.
Arriving at the doorstep, Greg stopped for a minute. "Fair warning, Molly," He said. "In more than one way, my family's a bit…big."
Shortly upon ringing the doorbell, a stout wrinkled woman in glasses and a jumper covered in reindeer answered the door.
"Happy Christmas, Mum," Greg said happily, taking the woman into an embrace.
The woman chuckled happily, and upon noticing Molly, shot her son a sly glance. "Well, hullo there, dear! Oh, goodness, it's freezing out here, isn't it? Come along inside, both of you. We've just sat down for supper."
"Oh? Starting the drinking early this year then," Greg muttered under his breath, as he ushered Molly through the threshold.
Molly couldn't help but smile at the house. It was almost the quintessential home for the mothering type. Photographs of children in every stage of life lined the walls, garland draped over the stairs and walls, and the smell of baking cinnamon wafted through the air.
A young child climbed the stairs adjacent to them, looking over her shoulder. Her face split into a broad smile almost instantaneously. "Uncle Greg!" She shouted, balancing a large supper plate on the banister and sliding down it to greet her uncle.
"Happy Christmas, Pippa," Greg said, scooping up the small girl into an embrace.
The little girl grinned. "Did you get my last email?"
"'Course I did!" He smiled, letting the girl down.
"Aren't cats just so funny?"
"Sure." He nodded. "I think your supper's getting cold. Why don't you run into the playroom for your Christmas party with your cousins? Can't have an empty stomach at a party – against the law."
Pippa smiled. "You're lying, Uncle Greg."
"Yeah." He nodded cheerfully. "But it is getting cold."
Nodding, the little girl gave her uncle one last hug and dashed up the stairs, through the door to the playroom in seconds.
He turned back about, surprised to find Molly staring at him, head slightly tilted to the side, a funny look splattered across her face.
"What?"
She blinked, shaking her head. "Didn't know you were so good with kids."
From upstairs, Pippa's voice yelled through the house. "Uncle Greg's here!"
Another small voice chirped quite a bit louder, "I hate Uncle Greg!"
"Spoke too soon," Greg said dryly, gesturing for them to follow his mother.
"Everyone," Mrs Lestrade said cheerily, leading them into a large den, "Guess who just showed up!"
The sheer volume of the chorus greeting them shocked Molly, and she took a step back, before following through the door.
The room instantly quieted, everyone across from her entirely befuddled. Molly wanted to sink in through the walls, having a hard time reading the expressions displayed in front of her. Some people looked amused, some confused, some sly, and some she just couldn't tell.
Greg put a hand on her shoulder. "Everybody, this is Molly."
She gave a quick wave to the company who, still confusedly, reciprocated the greeting over their mashed potatoes.
A twiggy woman with artificially full lips stood up. "Greg, you didn't tell us you were bringing a guest."
Greg rolled his eyes. "It was kind of a…last minute thing."
"Either way," The woman said patronisingly. "We didn't get anything for her."
Molly shook her head. "Oh. I'm fine. I don't…need anything."
"Either way," The woman said. "It's Christmas, and he should've given us more warning. We didn't even know he was dating again."
"Oh, it's not –"
"I'm Johanna." The woman cut her off. "Greg's baby sister. You can call me Jo, if you want."
Johanna then looped her arm under Molly's and proceeded to take the liberty of introducing their new guest to everyone in the room. Molly wasn't able to remember exactly everyone, the number was a bit too large, but she could attach a name to a few.
Greg had two brothers, two sisters, and a whole hoard of cousins. She couldn't keep them all straight, and was somewhat afraid to try.
One thing Molly found somewhat odd, however, was that when Johanna introduced her to people, she tacked on their occupation. As this happened, she thought she saw Greg roll his eyes. Professors, surgeons, and administrators filled the room. It was a rather impressive group of people.
After introductions were through, they fixed plates full of turkey, cooked vegetables and potatoes, and Molly settled beside Greg on an overfull sofa. He shot her a glance at her, and she smiled, wondering why he looked so uncomfortable.
"So Greg," One of his brothers said, reclining on the armchair with a beer bottle between his knees. "I think this's been the shortest time you've spend between serious relationships, isn't it? Impressive. And, speaking of impressive, what is she? Twenty years younger?"
Greg rolled his eyes, thinking his brother's jests a bit juvenile. Then again, that's how it always went with his overly-competitive family. The only difference was that, this time, he was the target. Best to grin and bear it.
"I told you," he grumbled. "We're not dating."
"Oh come off it, Greg," Jo smiled. "It's a family party. Isn't there some unwritten rule about how family functions show that you're serious with this person?"
Greg paused, a very different scene flashing behind his eyes. I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him, too. He remembered standing haplessly in 221B while Sherlock tore into Molly, humiliating her over a gift meant for him. More than anything, he'd felt uncomfortable and sorry for her. At the time, he hardly knew her, but thought she ought to have known better than to try and evoke sappy feelings from the consulting detective – but he still thought it was a rotten thing for Holmes to do.
He shook himself back to his family as his brother weighed in again. "How long had you been dating your ex before you brought her to Christmas?"
One of his cousins joined the teasing. "I think it was a little over a year."
"Oy," His older sister slapped the cousin lightly. "It's rude to talk about his ex-wife in front of his girlfriend."
Molly looked into her hands, shifting uncomfortably.
"I have to say, Greg," Jo chimed. "We were getting awfully worried about you."
To this, Greg drew his brows together. "Okay. I'll bite. Why?"
"Well, I didn't mean anything by it. I just meant that we were concerned by the way things were going for you, is all."
"Jo, what are you talking about?"
She shrugged, spearing broccoli inattentively with a fork. "You know, with the divorce and your career almost going up in smoke. We were all worried. But, we're all glad to see how things have turned about."
Molly looked over to Greg who gave a disconcerted grunt before drowning his glass of wine.
"Might as well have lost it," He muttered quietly enough for only Molly to hear. "Never stands up anyway."
In this moment, a freckly set of twins appeared in the door, heading directly to Jo. "The little'uns are wondering when we'll give gifts," one said.
Mrs Lestrade heard the conversation, and stood in her chair. "Well, then. Let's clean up then and get started."
By the time gift giving was through, Greg was ready to head back to London. Unfortunately, that was a luxury reserved for the morning. He settled in on the softest bit of carpet he could find in the basement, as Molly made a makeshift bed from the sofa.
"Erm," He said after a moment. "Sorry about all that at dinner."
Molly shook her head. "It's fine. It was nice, actually."
"Nice?"
"Sure. I haven't seen a real, big family in a long time."
"You don't have one, then?" Greg asked, settling on his side.
Molly shook her head, and explained. Not having any siblings and lack of closeness to cousins seriously limited any sort of family functions. Large extended Christmases, Easters, or New Years ended when her father died, at least as far as she knew. Everyone went on with their own lives in her family – they didn't regale stories of their own lives, and they certainly never teased each other like this. Whenever they gathered together, it only reminded them they were surrounded by strangers. So, they just stopped.
"Do you like it better that way?"
"It's lonely." Molly frowned, pressing her lips together. "But it works for us, I suppose."
The basement fell into a deep silence, heavy in the air, nothing but the muffled thumping of overly eager nieces and nephews overhead.
Awkwardly, they both settled under their blankets. Lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling.
Molly's eyes darted around in the dim room. She heard Greg sigh.
"Your family's different than I'd expect," She muttered after a moment.
Greg propped himself up on his elbows. "How do you mean?"
Molly flushed. "Well…I didn't mean…it's only…they're really ambitious, is all."
Greg lifted a brow. "Competitive, you mean."
"It didn't seem that bad."
"It really is. Everyone's just trying to out-do each other." He shook his head. "It sums up why I only come down about once a year."
Molly sat up on the sofa. "You're not like that – you don't just try to outdo everyone."
"There's never been much point to it," He admitted, looking around, more at the carpet than anywhere else.
Molly nodded, prompting him to continue.
Swiping a hand through his hair, Greg sighed. "I don't know. It's hard to measure up to a sister with a PhD, and a neurosurgeon brother- let alone the rest of them."
"You're a senior officer for Scotland Yard." Molly said after a beat. "You help people. You're dedicated and smart."
"Smart." Greg repeated, not believing it.
Molly frowned. "You're good at your job."
"I was good at it, I don't think I'd need Sherlock as much as I did – and do. He at least knew exactly how stupid I am—wasn't afraid to say it, either. How I can be absolute rubbish."
Molly shook her head with an aggravated sigh. "Sherlock Holmes doesn't understand what's really important."
Greg looked up towards her. In the dimness of the room, she looked farther away, the shadows casting shapes across her face. A solemn look in her eyes pierced through him completely. Something contracted in his stomach.
"Thanks," His voice was nearly inaudible.