Four Months Later. Alice Springs Hospital, Alice Springs, Australia
Nearing the end of her shift at Alice Springs Hospital, Dr. Katherine Eliot was advised by one of the nurses that she had one more patient left to see today.
"He complains of chest pains, but he won't let us run any tests until he sees a doctor. Real pain the ass, this guy," the nurse complained.
Oh, brilliant, Dr. Eliot thought, just what I need to end my day. So she steeled herself for the potentially difficult patient and entered the examination room. Upon seeing the tall man with piercing blue eyes staring at her, she felt like all the air had left her body and a mixture of fear and longing came like a wave upon her.
"You're out of danger, Dr. Eliot," Sherlock said immediately, sounding out her alias for effect. "Well, let me clarify. Irene Adler does not now nor will she ever pose a threat to you again. However, you are still in danger of me, as I might well yet strangle you with my bare hands." The woman calling herself Katherine Eliot breathed a sigh of relief at Sherlock's announcement. Sherlock continued, anger spilling out with every word he spoke, "In fact, had you stayed one more day in England, you would have known that."
"I'm sorry, Sherlock . . . "
"Well," Sherlock interrupted her, "are we going to get to my examination?"
"Um, excuse me?" The question had thrown the woman formerly known as Molly Hooper for a loop.
"I've been having chest pains, but, the thing is, I'm not sure it isn't psychosomatic. Because their arrival happened to coincide with a woman taking my virginity and then immediately running off to the far ends of the earth away from me. Let me tell you, one's ego takes quite a hit from such behavior."
"Sherlock . . . "
"Molly."
"I, um . . . I'm off in a few minutes. I live nearby."
"I know where you live."
"Of course you do. Do you want to come with me and have a chat?"
"No, I flew all the way down here—commercial no less—just for a check-up from a bloody pathologist and some marmite on toast."
"Ok, I'll just be a few. Meet you out by the little greenery at the west entrance to the hospital? Ten, fifteen minutes at most."
"Can I trust you not to run away again?"
She blushed. "Sherlock, I . . . "
"Yes, I'll be there," he said, interrupting her again.
They didn't say much in the car together from the hospital to Molly's house. Sherlock seemed to be taking in the town pitilessly. Upon arriving at Molly's house, he noted to himself that it was probably four times larger than the flat she had occupied in London. She invited him in and offered him a cup of tea. He accepted with more of a grunt than a yes.
When they were seated at her kitchen table, Molly began, "So, how did . . . "
Once again, Sherlock didn't allow Molly to finish her sentence, but instead launched into how he had finally defeated Irene Adler. The told the story in clipped tones, indicating to Molly that he was still quite angry.
"It only took you four months to find me, I guess I'm not as clever as thought I was," Molly said, getting out her first full sentence since first seeing Sherlock over an hour ago.
"Oh no," Sherlock assured her, "you were quite clever indeed. Now it's my turn to ask you: how did you pull it off? We know about Malcolm's role, but the rest?"
"Malcolm, oh I so hated getting him involved. I should imagine he was in a lot of trouble."
"Nothing of the sort. He's doing quite well."
"Really? That's . . . that's wonderful, I was worried . . . "
"On with your story," Sherlock barked.
"Yes, well, as you know, the biggest problem is always the documents needed," Molly explained. "Back in grammar school, my brother was best friends with someone who made fake identification cards so that we could drink in pubs before we turned eighteen. He was so good, he made a career of it. He was able to forge most of what I needed. Another friend, from medical school, became a hospital administrator in India. She helped me with my fake medical credentials. So, how did you end up finding me?"
"Well, we had an intelligence expert from MI-6 work with the best mathematician I know—namely my mother—to come up with a very complicated algorithm that included data on British emigration, medical licensures and applications, recent hires at hospitals and labs, travel records, etc."
"Ah and it led you here."
"No, actually, all the algorithm did was narrow our search parameters down enough so that we'd likely find you within eight to ten years. Then, about three days ago, I picked up the dog-eared copy of A Town Like Alice you left in my flat. I looked at recent hires and real estate contracts in Alice Springs and here you are and here we are. You didn't choose a town like Alice, you choose Alice itself."
"Always clever, Sherlock."
"Yes, well, now that that is out of the way . . . " Sherlock said, as he pulled out a weathered and many times refolded letter from his pocket, " . . . now I'd like to discuss this big steaming pile of horseshit!" Molly drew in a breath, realizing that he was holding the letter she had written him four months ago. "Sometimes I get it out and read it to remind myself how utterly stupid seemingly brilliant people can be."
"Sherlock, I . . . "
"No, no, I've been brooding over the words on this letter for four fucking months. It's my turn, Molly Hooper." His eyes burned into hers with ferocity. "A mixture of duty and pity? Duty and pity? I don't know what's more infuriating: how much you belittle and minimize the sincerity of my feelings or how little you value yourself. If anyone said or even insinuated half the things you say about yourself, I'd throttle him. I am not some teenage boy who impregnated a girl and offered her marriage out of a sense of duty or at the end of shotgun. I am a grown man and, while I'll readily admit that it took a long time for me to know my own heart and even longer to admit and act upon what I wanted, I was completely sincere in declaring my love for you. I wanted you, Molly. And, what's more, I still want you."
At that declaration, Molly started to cry. Sherlock took some pieces of paper out of his pocket and laid them on the table in front of her. "This is one of two tickets back to London scheduled for tomorrow. I have the other one. Mycroft, of course, purchased two standard coach fares, but I stole his credit card number and upgraded to first class. He'll be furious, which is an added bonus." Molly laughed at this through her tears. "I'm not going to drag you back to London against your will, Molly. It's up to you. You can come back to your life, if you want it. And you can have me if you still want me. But know that I absolutely want you and have for a very long time. It's your choice." His speech over, Sherlock quickly stood and walked to the door, opening it and leaving without once looking back. Molly could not help but break down and cry.
But Molly's solitary tears were not to be long endured. A few seconds later, Sherlock came rushing back into her house toward her, still seated at the kitchen table. When he reached her, he lifted her up from her chair and sat her atop the kitchen table. He kissed her passionately, again and again. When he finally stopped to catch his breath, he said, "I'm not leaving this damn country without tasting you." He pulled down her pants and panties roughly then lowered himself to her groin, placing open-mouth kisses everywhere he could before he finally caught her center between his lips and started to alternatively lick and massage it. Then he inserted two fingers inside her. When he quickly made her come, he licked at the juices coming from her until she came down fully from her orgasm. She laid back on the table, trying to get control of her senses once more when she felt him enter her and she began to feel her body climb once more towards orgasm as he delivered thrust after thrust, until both of them collapsed in exhaustion, enjoying the waves of pleasure coursing through their bodies.
"If the idea was to give me a choice, you weren't playing fair," Molly told Sherlock, minutes after they completed their reunion properly.
"How so?" Sherlock asked.
"How can I possibly want to stay here after you did that?"
"That's not playing unfairly. Playing unfairly would be show you pictures of the completely disorganized mess your lab at St. Bart's is in right now."
"What . . . what happened to it?"
"Well, I was angry with you and Peter, your replacement, got tired of fighting with me all the time and putting things back the way they were." Molly laughed. "Besides, it should hardly be a choice at all. I mean, this place is awful: endless sun, wide open spaces, clean air, low crime rate. Frankly, I don't know how you can stand it."
"Oh, shut up. It's lovely and you know it. I even have my own pool. I could never, ever have that in London."
"A pool?" Sherlock sounded intrigued.
"Yes, do you want to go for a swim in it?"
"No, but I would like to fuck you in it."
"Sherlock!"
"What can I say? You created a monster."
Reviews are things of beauty and keep the demons away and the muses close by.