THE WAR INSIDE MY HEAD
13.
"You probably are curious about Wiggins. He was one of the few people left in my homeless network that know that I'm alive and are willing to help. I had him track two of the last remnants of Moriarty's criminal network here in London. It ends where it began…or so it seems. The note has the location of where the next big move is. The time is a little tricky. It is supposed to take place in the next couple days, so we have to move fast in order to end this."
"I'm coming with you." She tells him but the look in his eyes tells her otherwise.
Sherlock cocked his head, and then continued, "No, you don't want to. You never had."
Molly gulped a lump in her throat and nodded slightly. He was right. She never wanted to be involved, not after knowing the dangers from John's blog. She then asked in a feeble tone, "What should I do then?"
Sherlock gave her a tight smile, squeezed her hand and said, "I have no clue."
Molly smiled at him. "Admitting that you are clueless on the matter, how interesting." She winked at him before letting out a sigh. "I could go visit John. Just so I'm around someone familiar?" She questioned to see if he approved with that idea.
"You still have work to go back to today. I'll see about that option while you're working then we'll figure out what the next step is at least…for you. Hopefully this won't take an incredible amount of time. You'll be safe at Barts for now." He nodded to himself more than anything.
Sleep came faster than Molly could hope for that night. She woke up in the warm, protective embrace of Sherlock sleeping behind her. His arms around her waist felt less boney than before, leading Molly to believe that he had been better in the company of Mycroft. But the bruises on his skin told her otherwise, wrenching her heart as she ran her hand gently on his arm. The skin was rough and thick, like the murder victims she handled in the morgue before. She stared at his fingers and sighed. Gone were the fingertips calloused by the violin. All that is left on them are cuts on the skin and chipped fingernails.
Sherlock kissed her shoulders as she fell deep in thought to the life he led for the past ten months. She flinched lightly at the touch, startled more than scared. He narrowed his brows at her reaction, then felt her hand untangling from his. He tilted his head back in realization, and then loosened his grasp on her waist.
She turned around in retaliation, trying to force his arm back around her. But he got out of bed instead. He paused at the window, looking out at the vastness of the plains. Molly stared at him. She could feel guilt overriding her soul at the sight of his back against her. She sat up on the bed, her hands gripping onto each other as she whispered an apology to him.
"I have specifically asked you to forget."
"W-What?"
"I've asked you to promise that you will not associate me with images of me being like…" his voice dropped from the calm façade to an almost aggravated tone, "how I was with Moran."
Molly looked down in shame. Her knuckles were turning white from her anxiety towards the situation. She was afraid, so afraid that he could turn into what he had before. She was even more terrified at what she might do in defense. They were each other's monster who are barely holding their ground on the brink of evil.
"I'm sorry."
"I don't want your apology, I need you to forget."
"I'm sorry I can't. I'm sorry I lied."
Sherlock turned around to face her. She was frightened, her body withered into a protective position as she pulled her knees tighter into her chest. His eyes screamed of pain as he glanced upon her. He suddenly felt so ashamed of what he had done.
His heart began to pound as the various faces of the men and women he had killed to disassemble the network flashed across his mind. Their last expression on their face before he finished them off. Sherlock swore he had never seen hatred so naked before. And those faces haunted him more than it should.
Because what comes after their dying faces is Molly's unbearably disappointed face. Accompanied with the idea of her leaving after learning how much of a monster he is, how much evil he is capable of. That thought taunted him each time he recalled how he had killed over 100 men and women in the past three years and put her in danger in more than one occasion. She was the only thing keeping him sane, he cannot afford to lose her.
Seeing her flinch at his touch drove him crazy. Having her break her promise of disassociating him with what he is most afraid of becoming is killing him. He tossed her a shameful look, then left the room.
Molly gripped onto the sheets as he closed the door. Her heart was pounding but she could not quite figure out why. She has always loved him, and the idea of him around the country fighting evil never quite impacted her to such an extent before. Maybe she never quite thought things through until actual wounds are displayed before her. She took a deep breath and stood up. That's when she heard a voice behind her.
"Jesus, Doctor Hooper, I did not bring him to you to set him in worst a state than before."
Molly jumped around to find Irene sitting on the window still with her eyes narrowed with judgment. Her maroon coat was wavering in the wind as she slipped into the room. She was barefooted, making Molly wonder how her nails remained perfect despite climbing a brick wall up into the room.
"Doctor Hooper, my eyes are up here."
Molly flickered her gaze up nervously, and then stuttered out, "M-Molly. You can just call me Molly."
Irene just gave her an acknowledging smile, making her even more uncomfortable than she already was.
"How long have you been there?" She pointed to the window still as she bit her lower lip.
"Seconds before he left," said the Dominatrix matter-of-factly. She waltzed her way to the bed gracefully, then sat down on the huge bed, dangling her legs. She oozes so much effortless sex appeal that it made Molly blush at her confidence, something she never felt comfortable with herself. Molly stood rooted to where she was standing, unsure of what to say next or whether she should sit next to Irene. Irene looked at her for a moment, then rolled her eyes.
"Let's get all your questions and doubts straightened out. It was a skill that I climbed up here without a scratch, not magic. Should you sit next to me? No, not really. We aren't that close yet. But do come closer, I don't want to shout and attract his attention. Why did I say he was in a worst state just now? Well, if you were to look up and see the way he was looking at you, you see how genuinely hurt he was. And one thing I know about Sherlock is that when it comes to you, Molly, he never hides anything. For some reason, he trusts you more than he trusts anything or anyone. So that was a 100% pain in those beautiful peepers. You missed a show right there, honey."
Molly just blinked blankly at her response to her unasked questions in her head. She took a second to take in the information then turned around to break away from the other woman's unmoving gaze upon her. She gulped at the idea of Sherlock trusting her, along with the recollection of what she did earlier that had apparently hurt him deeply. She turned back to face Irene, her gaze was almost as unnerving as Mycroft when she doesn't speak.
"Why are you here?"
Irene stare at her blankly for a split second with an expression Molly could hardly register. Her mouth then split into her signature smirk as she unfolds her arms to push herself off the bed. She took Molly's hand and flashed her a false innocence in her eyes, though she did look undeniably adorable. She pulled her closer to her, her nose almost touching hers. Molly could smell her, though she could not register the scent exuding from the Woman before her. It was intoxicating, almost too much for her, so she tried to back away.
But Irene pulled her into an embrace and locked her in her arms before she could move. She whispered to her ear as Molly began to struggle in her arms.
"I need your help."
"…Help? For… wh-"
The scent overpowered her senses and Molly blacked out before she could finish her sentence.