THE WAR INSIDE MY HEAD

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11.

Sherlock stepped out of the house, his phone out as he typed his plans to Mycroft. But just as he stepped onto the street, a taxi stopped before him. Sherlock's face brought on an expression of disgust as the window winded down. "Not you again," he exclaimed exasperatedly.

Irene just chewed her gum irritably and indicated for him to hop in. He shook his head in return, looking away as he pretended not to see the Woman's desperation. "There is no time, Mr. Holmes. Get. In." she hissed.

Sherlock sighed heavily before ducking into the backseat of the taxi.

Irene sped away with a smirk on her face as she noticed the curtain on the fourth floor swish as if someone had been there. It was sweet…Holmes had someone. She always thought it would be John. Then again John didn't know about the man in her backseat. She couldn't be bothered to care about that regardless, time was running out.

They needed to get there quickly.

"What is so urgent, Woman?" Sherlock asked impatiently. He could feel an irrational anger rising in him.

"You're a day too late," Irene spoke coldly.

"What?"

"The network is in uncontrollable chaos by now, and they are all over the place. So scattered that I know for a fact that even your dear brother is sweating bullets. Bringing them all down needs undivided time and effort, Mr. Holmes. Or else you can never go back to your friends." Irene slowed down at the last part so that he gets the hint.

Sherlock quickly changed back to the calculating demeanor that so many found unsettling. There was no time to be concerned with other matters. It was time to finish this for all of their sakes. He understood what The Woman was saying. He nodded to her in the mirror, she just punched the acceleration and ignored him.

.

.

.

Molly did not see him for another ten months. She did not hear from him; and she never contacted him, because he never left a note. She held on to an irrational amount of hope that he would be back, nevertheless, and she would wait for him no matter the length of time. She did not date anyone since, despite her mother and sister's relentless protests. She could not love another man, for her heart has been chained to Sherlock Holmes and she will forever be bound to him.

Sherlock had gone out of his way to not turn into any information about any of his friends or Molly Hooper. His brother had tried several times to broach the subject of any of his friends and he would immediately leave where they were at and go on a walk. Mycroft didn't understand why he was being this way. He was protecting all of these ordinary people and yet he didn't want to know how they were without him.

It took him to an almost conversation between him and The Woman and an oblivious Sherlock Holmes that it became clear; sentiment. He truly cared for them…though it was the young pathologist who seemed to trigger something almost unforgiving in his brother's eyes. He had only seen it ever once but then it was gone just as he was when it was all completed.

Mycroft held a breath when he learned about Molly. He then walk up to his brother with a 'we-need-to-talk' tone. "Sherlock."

"Mycroft." Sherlock mimic his brother in the most irritating tone he found.

"Sherlo-"

"Yes, I know what you are going to say. I have not even contacted her for ten months, twelve days, seven hours and two minutes. Now spare me the sentiment lecture." He shot him a look of anguish, then walk away from the pair in the room.

Mycroft was speechless, utterly surprised by him.

It would be now if anytime that Sherlock would want a smoke. He had been good about not finding the nicotine he so craved. It ruined his brain cells and he couldn't afford to get sidetracked by things like that.

He had put a lock on the door that held any sort of destructive memory or person. His friends were a part of that. He cared, and that was a problem that he had to put behind while he was doing his work. Now, as he sat perched on a balcony in a city that he knew very little about or wished to stay in, he found himself missing home.

Not just London but the small knitted circle of people who he craved to see. All of them were special.

"I need to go back." He thought as he closed his eyes and drifted into that locked door.

John appeared first, his figure with a cane, now that his tremor is back. He wore the same expression as he did when he visited his grave. It was heartbreakingly upsetting as he stared at the broken soul in his eyes. Sherlock dismissed that face when it got too much for him to handle. Then came Mrs. Hudson, the mother he never had. He then recalled how Lestrade looked at him when he tried to arrest him. The reluctance and pain, as he tried his best to believe Sherlock. He shook the thought away.

Sherlock attempted to move on to the last person but a certain nearby presence outside of his mind was unnerving him and as long as he could be truthful about it, he didn't need to remember anything about Molly Hooper. He had seen more of her in the past ten months than any time he actually spent with her in closed quarters during those near two days.

"Why are you still lurking around here?" He tilted his head slightly as he waited for her to come from the shadows.

"Wow, Mr. Holmes, that's rich coming from you. You watched me sleep on your bed and I can't watch you reminisce your pathologist?" Irene bitched aloud to the restless man. Sherlock just tilted to face her for a moment, then turned away from the Woman's almost-concerned eyes. He had no energy or strength to deal with her possible questionings at this point. Not when his heart is pricking with the pain of not being able to see Molly.

"You miss her, don't you?"

Sherlock didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he had one weakness right now. After all that's what she enjoyed toying with when it came to anyone. He still wasn't sure what she was doing here…helping him but he allowed himself to say one thing.

"Obviously."

It sounded rough and strangled at the same time. He hated admitting anything that could make he seem like the ordinary people he loved. It made him feel human. Which he was realizing he was…more so every minute of every hour of every day.

Irene simply nodded. There is no known way to console the elusive man before her, well, except bringing him her.

She left the room and went back to the elder Holmes downstairs. She nodded curtly to Mycroft, as if to tell him that his brother is indeed in love and in pain. Mycroft stood cold and icy, not bulging even an inch to try to console his brother.

Irene shrugged. 'I guess this is how the Holmes' household is,' she thought to herself.

Irene pulled out her phone beginning to text when Mycroft held his hand out to stop her. He pulled out his own, "Anthea. Things are fine for the moment. I need you to activate the recovery plan now. It seems to be the only logical choice at the moment. Yes…Have a good night, dear." He tried not to pay attention to the dominatrix who was smirking at his word of choice to his assistant. She didn't need to know anything at all.

"You're a good brother." She mumbled as she went up towards her room.

Mycroft let out a sigh as he saw his brother jump down from the perch he was sitting on and begun to pace. Mycroft slumped down into a chair and watched him. He wasn't going to do much of anything, but he still felt like he needed to keep a close eye on him.

Molly laid in her bed. She couldn't sleep no matter what she did. She lost count of how many times she had insomnia, all she knew was that this sleeplessness only occur after Sherlock left more than ten months ago. She chuckled bitterly at the cliché that when you can't sleep, it is because someone is thinking or dreaming about you. As much as she doubts its truth, it seemed like the only logical explanation to her current situation. Molly sighed, and then shut her eyes to try to get some rest.

The sound of an annoyingly loud beeping jolted her awake and she slowly reached over to press snooze on the alarm clock that usually sat on her nightstand only to come empty handed and then to notice that there were several other noises besides a beeping. It was good that she always kept a watch nearby just in case she was without electricity one night or forgot to set her alarm on either her mobile or on the clock that sat next to her bed. She became alert as she heard the creaking of the roof above her, she had half the instinct to roll over onto the other side of the room and off her bed when it decided to cave in. She could still hear the ringing.

"Molly. Molly Hooper, are you okay?" It was a familiar voice, her neighbor - Mr. Thompson. Molly looked around at the car that was flashing red lights through her window (how had it fit?) and the pipeline that had caved in with the roof spurting water all over the room. She found herself responding to Mr. Thompson who seemed to be very concerned right now.

"Yes, my bedroom is flooding and a damn right mess however." She later could register the sound of her alarm going off from her mobile which was fizzing out somewhere near her drenched bed. She sighed. What a morning. Was it wrong for her to want to go back to bed, she was still very tired.

She rolled out of her bed and left her apartment in a hurry. She kept in mind to bring along her diary and Toby, then silently laughed at her choice of belongings to carry along to safety. Her diary had been filled with depressing entries after a certain detective's departure but it was the only thing related to him that she could hold on to.

She sighed at her complete uselessness in her current situation, she couldn't even contact anyone with her spoiled phone. What was she to do now?

She headed straight for Bart's on foot since her wallet was still in that flooded room. She had her cat, but she couldn't just leave him there. She would find another place for them soon if she could. She needed to get into some dry clothes. She always kept an extra set in her office in case of emergencies. She would label this an emergency. She also had an emergency debit card which she frequently refilled with money that she kept there as well. Bart's was her home away from home, it made absolute sense. She set Toby down in her office (locked the door), and changed into the shirt and pants she had there. They were more loose than stylish but she honestly didn't care much about that. She would need to figure something out for the night later. She could work today.

The phone rang in her office before she could slip on the flats that she kept under her desk. She reached for it, "Doctor Molly Hooper, St. Bartholomew's Morgue. What can I help you with?"

She smiled slightly though no one could see her.

"Yes, Miss Hooper. Anthea, speaking. You do remember me? ("Yes, of course.") I think you should come down out the back and get in the car. You've had a bit of a chaotic morning, how about some tea?"

Molly begun to answer when the line went dead. She took in a deep breath, as she slipped on the grey cardigan that she left folded over her chair for when it was a bit chilly inside and picked up Toby in her arms. She doubted this was a courteous call.

She tucked all her current belongings into her emergency backpack and headed downstairs. Toby was meowing grumpily to the strange London air as she stepped out into the streets. She giggled a little at that, then stopped her laughter when Anthea looked up from her Blackberry. She did not say anything, she just ushered her into the back of the black car and followed suit, staying awfully engrossed in her phone the entire time. Molly shrugged to herself, trying not to expect anything at all.

Molly sat there in silence not sure what she was expecting for her when she stepped out of this car which she had been in a few times. She'd be able to count them on her hands if she really felt like it. Right now, she didn't want to think about anything. Not how she was going to live or where exactly, or how she was going to pay for things after the however much she had invested in her emergency card was done for.

She did think of something. She thought of her consulting detective because when things were looking so very grim, she sought him out. Not literally - that wasn't possible but she could close her eyes and he would be there.

When the car came to a halt and the door opened at her side she was brought back to the reality and she stepped out into the light when her little feline in her arms. She stood before a building; it wasn't a very nice looking one. More of a warehouse. She turned to Anthea who had stopped fiddling with her phone for just this instance.

"Follow me." She said, with a smile. Molly followed Anthea into the warehouse.

The entire place gave her the spook and chills. She took a quick glance at the place around her. An abandoned warehouse, a chair in the middle of nowhere, Mycroft, boxes and crates, wait.

Mycroft?

She shot him a puzzled look, and held Toby closer to her as he purred uncomfortably. He isn't reacting well to Mycroft's unnerving smile. 'Well, that makes two of us,' she thought to herself.

"Miss - Doctor Hooper, please sit." He said gesturing to the chair that was placed a few feet in front of him.

Molly just looked at him, petting Toby who if he was a dog she was sure he would end up barking loudly. Instead the feline seemed to be hissing at the man in the suit. Molly was wary about this whole thing but sat down, slowly.

"You weren't involved in the flood in my bedroom, were you?" She asked timidly as Mycroft looked over to Anthea who was standing barely inside the room texting on her handheld.

"No, that was an unfortunate accident. It did give me a bit of incentive as to bringing you here. It made it much easier."

Molly didn't even hesitate in her follow through in asking, "And why am I here, exactly?"

Mycroft flaunted his creepy smile and cleared his throat a bit, making her pull Toby in tighter as he hissed even more. She began to scratch the few spots that could ease the feline's nerves, her eyes fixated on Mycroft the entire time.

"It has come to my attention that you have a bigger impact on my brother than I have thought you might."

Molly narrowed her eyes at that comment; her hand stopped the stroking as she spoke, "What are you talking about? We never even spoken to each other for-"

"He asked you to help him fake his death. You've talked to him more than anyone since his demise. For some reason, my brother who I know is alive has it wrapped it around his massive brain that without you near him he doesn't understand what he is supposed to do. You've broken him; destroyed him."

"I've done no such thing." Molly interrupted. "I've done what most people can't do because they don't try with him. I've only loved him. You all think of him with a foggy lens and don't try to understand why he is the way he is. Though, I am sure you know more about it than I do but it still doesn't answer the question. What is it you want with me? Do you need my help, Mycroft?"

Mycroft pursed his lips at the bold pathologist before him. She sure showed a lot more courage than anyone he had ever brought into the warehouse. Surely the cat helped a bit, since it wouldn't stop hissing. He flipped through his phone at the images Anthea sent him earlier, her leaving her apartment with nothing but her cat and her diary.

"I suppose you keep a diary to remind you of my brother," he said as he showed her the photos, "I need to know this. What do you want from him?"

Molly sat there staring at the photographs as Mycroft flicked through them. She heard him ask the question but she was still a bit caught off guard of the idea of someone watching her even if he was technically the brother of the man she loved. Molly focused on the question, chewing her lip in thought. There were several things she could say to him. Several hundred possibilities that made it obvious where her affections lay but she knew that Mycroft already knew that she loved his brother. He needed a reason to not allow her to see him. He didn't understand her or what her brother might have seen in her. That's why the truth was so easy to spill from her lips.

"Nothing."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows in mock surprise and said, "Really? Not money? Or revenge? I know how he treated you, you have every reason not to... Care for him."

Molly glared at the taller man with her most ferocious pair of eyes. She was utterly insulted by his spoken intentions that she was THAT type of person.

She shook her head slowly and disgustedly, then said, "Shame on you, Mycroft."

Mycroft's eyes begin to waver at the tenacity in Molly's expression. He silently smiled to himself at that.

"He's your brother. You have such little faith in the people he trusts or those who trust him. I wouldn't dare subject myself to any of that. I know what kind of person I am. I'm not going to hurt him. All I've ever done is help. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Molly blinked back the tears at the notion that not only had Sherlock been harmed this way before but seemingly so was his brother. She let out a sigh as she stood up.

"He was trying to see if you're like me, Doctor Hooper."

Molly didn't have to look up to see who was standing in the shadows. She had never spoken to her but somehow she just knew. She looked over at the sultry looking woman in black.

"I could never be like you. I have a heart."

Irene's mouth fell open for a moment; then closed moments later. She had a point; she really doesn't have a heart.

"Told you, Mr. Holmes. This one's a feisty one," the Woman spoke with much admiration.

"Yes I can tell," Mycroft added with equal amount of approval.

Molly glared up at the both of them, at the same time catching a glimpse of Anthea's mild recognition of her. She began to grow confuse at the situation.

What have they been talking about her behind her back in the past months?

Instead of asking, because really, it hurt to even want to ask what had been talked about when she wasn't around. She asked again because this was all starting to overwhelm her a bit. It was turning out to be one hellish day and she'd hope that at some point she'd get a break from all of this.

"Are we done here?"

Mycroft looked to be about to tell her something when a new voice interceded.

"Yes, I believe you are."