Hello all, here is a new chapter that's going to focus on Molly and Mary (sorry for those who waited for the resolution of the murder, it'll come very soon however). I hope you'll like it.
I want to thank the amazing Blood-Sucker-1428 who betaed the chapter for me and was very helpful. She also writes the best Mythea ever, called A first Time for Everything and if you hadn't had a look at it, you definitely should (she'll make you fall head over heels with Mycroft, be warned).
Of course, even if I wished it so, I don't own anything.
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Molly was still in Barts muttering to herself about stupid bloody detectives getting in the way, as she sorted her bag out of her locker. She then began to dress in her coat, scarf and mittens turning her thoughts as to whether or not take her paperwork back home with her. But if she did, Mike would have her head for not respecting his orders of a sick leave. As soon as he had seen the blood dripping from her hand when she was making her way to the faucet to rinse it, he had decided to send her back home citing a serious work-related injury as the reason. She looked at her fingers. She really hadn't needed stitches but Mike had been adamant about her hand to be looked at and the intern had been so happy to be able to practice that she hadn't had the heart to tell him no. So, here she was, in front of her locker, getting ready for an unexpected afternoon home when her phone rang. She took the call, still in the process of pushing her arm through the coat when she heard the miserable voice of Mary on the line. Her best friend told her in a faint voice that she'd been sent to the hospital as she had started having heavy contractions. Mary was only seven months and three weeks along. Consequently, while not obligatory resulting in a miscarriage, delivering this early wouldn't be good for the baby. Molly felt her arms drop with dread but she swiftly pushed the emotion aside and promised to come to Mary's side right this instant. Still trying to reassure an overwhelmed Mary, she hurried in her preparations and yelped when her hurt fingers snagged into her coat's sleeve.
"Are you OK, Molly?" asked instantly Mary, her voice a little bit firmer as she focused on her friend and found herself distracted from her worry for a short time.
"Don't worry, just a cut across my left fingers. Nothing bloody life-threatening" swore Molly, grimacing against the pain. "I'll just be there in a minute. What is the address of the clinic, again?" asked Molly, all focus on the task ahead.
"Well, actually, I'm at Barts. The clinic is nice but not as good in case of emergencies as Barts. So, I used Sherlock's and John's good name to get admitted." Admitted Mary, not the slightest sorry for her name dropping.
Molly smiled at the blond woman's cunning. The fact was, as much as Sherlock might be perceived as a nuisance by Barts' staff, his celebrity had put a spotlight on Barts as he was a regular visitor, hence attracting more donations from fans. John, Mary and Molly – Sherlock probably as well, but the invitation had probably been shucked off underneath an experiment or directly thrown into the bin – had even all been invited to come to Barts' grand ball that was held every year for wealthy donators.
"In that case, I'll be there even sooner. What's the room?" said Molly as she took the stairs to go to the obstetrics wing of the hospital.
When she arrived in Mary's room, her friend was already attached to all sort of equipment. The beeps and whistles of the medical machinery were loud but steady and it reassured Molly a little. From Mary's relieved face, it was the same for her. Nonetheless, the two women knew that Mary would have to stay under surveillance for the next few hours, in case the contractions started speeding up again. Molly made her way to the bed and squeezed Mary's hand. Mary smiled at the pathologist, happy to have a friend at her side, her husband's phone going directly to voice mail whenever she phoned.
"So where is John? Considering all the coddling the past few weeks I can't imagine what's more urgent about dead girls than you." Asked promptly Molly. She winced soon after at her tactless manner. "Sorry, not what I wanted to say. I'm in a bit of a mood." She apologised as she divested herself from her coat and scarf.
"Never mind, you just read my thoughts actually. His phone's going to voice mail and I just swear I'm…" started Mary in what sounded like the beginning of a furious rant. "Oh goodness, what happened to your fingers? When you said cut, I thought you meant a paper cut. That looks…" Mary cut as she took a look at Molly's fingers bandaged in white gauze.
"Don't worry, it looks worse than it is. I cut my fingers during a PM. At least, the bright side of dealing with dead people, is that the risks for transmitted diseases are practically non-existent." Molly shrugged fatalistically, trying to dismiss the entire matter.
"You cut yourself during a PM? You? Little Miss Perfect?" asked Mary as she raised a brow.
"Can't we just drop the thing entirely? It's not important. So, what happened for you to have contractions?" asked Molly, not really in the mood to discuss the detective.
"Nothing particularly. I was just standing and it started. At first, I just thought it was nothing. But then they got stronger and… I panicked I guess." Said Mary, a little bashful. But Molly patted her arm reassuringly.
"Mary, everybody in your state would be panicky. If it was me, I'd go directly in full hysteric mode, you know." Said Molly, biting her tongue not to add the words: especially if my husband wasn't there but traipsing with his best friend after a serial killer.
"You know with my training as a nurse and all that…" Mary had never quite explained her past to Molly, but she knew her friend had somehow put some of the pieces together. Mary knew from some of the pathologist's remarks – especially a proposition to go and practice at a shooting range in late November - that Molly had figured out that her dangerous past even if she didn't know the details. Nonetheless, the young woman had accepted Mary entirely, neither ignoring the dark things, nor focusing on it. "I just thought that I'll be calmer, more prepared, you know." Finished Mary with a watery smile.
Molly didn't reply anything but just patted Mary's arm, letting her know she was there for her. After a few moments, Mary regained control of her emotions that had been wracking havoc in her mind. She took a deep breath and turned to Molly who had perched on the side of the bed.
"Molly, is that the skinny jeans we bought together two months ago?" she asked as she eyed the tight dark denim garment.
Molly blushed a little and said:
"Hmm… Yes. I'm kind of behind schedule for doing laundry and I didn't have time this morning, so I just grabbed the first thing under my hands." She said a little self-conscious. Molly, for all her intellect and knowledge of bodies, knew she had the fashion sense of a six year old. And yet, whenever she tried to dress more accordingly to her status, she felt like she was playing dress up. She fidgeted under her friend's stare but Mary grabbed her hand:
"No, no, it looks great Molly! Goodness, it's just that I never saw the shape of your legs before." said Mary, smiling.
"So, you don't think I look ridiculous? I mean… I'm not sure it's even appropriate for work." She said trying to cover up her first admission at insecurity. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't let self-doubt overwhelm her again since her break-up with Tom.
"Molly, skinny jeans are considered a basic since Kate Moss started wearing them more than a decade ago. They're perfectly fine for work. Moreover, who's going to complain? Mr Smith who died in an act of erotic self-asphyxiation?" joked Mary.
At that, Molly giggled and she relaxed eventually.
"Actually, I have to admit it's quite comfortable, not as stiff as my usual khakis and warmer too." She admitted, lowering her lashes a bit.
"Dear Lord, Molly Hooper has disavowed her darling khakis! What's next? Shudder, you little floral blouses! Tremble, you garish sweaters! The end is near!" teased Mary.
"Oh… Are all my clothes really that dreadful?" asked Molly, insecurity rearing back its head. Mary took an appraising look at her friend. Molly tried not to fidget again as she knew that the mark of a true friend was also to let know when something was wrong. But Mary, met her with a smile on her mouth.
"Actually, with the jeans it looks good. While your conservative khakis made you look like you were still being dressed by the crazy, overbearing mother from Carrie – it just did, Molly, honestly. The skinny jeans are actually making you more stylish in a hipster kind of way." Said Mary, truthfully.
"Oh. Okay, then." Said Molly, a little surprised. She'd winced at first at the description of her former style, but she finally decided that a new hipster look wouldn't be too bad. Actually, it would definitely be much better than Carrie from the Stephen King book.
Mary suddenly gasped as another cramp gripped her and the machines noises went mad for a moment. But soon, it stopped and Molly found herself releasing the tight grip she'd had on the bedding. Mary frowned and sighed and looked at her belly:
"Stop misbehaving, little one!" Tilting her face up to Molly, she added with a slight look of annoyance on her face "Just impatient this one. I swear Sherlock's voodooing her somehow. You'll see she'll come out with dark curls and a Belstaff too!"
"Well, that would definitely make people talk!" replied dryly Molly.
The two of them shared a laugh at that, both imagining the look on John's face at rumours of ménage in the tabloids. The man, for all his adventures during his army years, was quite the monogamous and straight type. Almost conservative some might say. Not that he was homophobic in the least, but he'd always been touchy about people misinterpreting his relationship with Sherlock. They were interrupted by the obstetric who came back to check on Mary. After a discussion and the doctor forbidding Mary to lift excess weight or moving at all really, they were left alone with the assurance that Mary should be able to get out on the day after if everything was alright.
"Oh that's a bother. How am I going to have everything ready for tomorrow's party if I have to stay overnight? No, that's the worst time ever!" sighed Mary as she flopped against her pillow.
"You're kidding, right? You're not going to have the baby shower tomorrow, we're going to call everyone and tell them it's cancelled." Admonished Molly.
"But everyone was going to be there! And there were going to be presents and cake and…" started Mary.
"Well, we'll reschedule it for next week. You'll have time to get rest and I'll come to help with everything. Now, I really think that after the drama at your wedding, your loved ones could do without having you giving birth to your little girl on your sofa during the party." Teased dryly Molly.
"Are you criticising my wedding? Mrs. Almost Meat Dagger?" replied Mary shooting her friend a narrowed look. But Molly's reaction was a pointed look and Mary had to resign to sulking over the loss of her party.