Hi guys, this is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, any comments are greatly appreciated :)

Chapter Two

There was no longer any light coming in through the window of Greg's simplistic office, the sun having long since set as Molly had sat in relative quiet, listening to the bustle of the office on the other side of the door die down as the afternoon passed. The room was minimalistic, a desk with two chairs, a bookshelf with only a few worn out volumes upon it, a filing cabinet that he could no longer shut due to the amount of paperwork he had unceremoniously rammed inside of it. Curiously, an empty photo frame sat to her right, no doubt once home to an image of himself and his estranged wife that he could no longer bare to look at – The frame itself seemingly sentimental and therefore not worthy of disposal.

The coffee in the cup in front of her had gone cold long ago - Not that she was ever going to drink it anyway. She much preferred tea and had only taken the beverage out of politeness. Numerous people had filtered in and out over her time in his grey, dull office, checking up on her periodically, offering her sustenance and reassuring her that she was safe.

But truly, Molly couldn't have cared less. She felt hollow and brittle. It was as though her very soul had been sucked out of her body, leaving a decaying shell of flesh and bone, discarded and disrespected. Closing her eyes tightly she drew in another deep breath. No one had told her any more since she had seen Sally and she presumed that this was the reason why she had been brought to New Scotland Yard and asked to wait in Detective Inspector Lestrade's office – To await an explanation from either of them. Though she would have accepted any news from just about anyone by that point.

And so, she was surprised when the room opened up once more, and the elder Holmes brother stepped inside, closing them both off with a soft push of the handle and a gentle click as the door shut. For a man who usually appeared so above his station, confident and calm, he seemed a little deflated, broken and worn. He usually stood proud in his tall, slim frame, clean shaven and clad in a sharp suit and neatly parted, if not slightly receding, hair. The man before her was drawn, ruffled without his jacket or tie and pale in his hunched form.

She watched him carefully as he glided towards the seat opposite her, seemingly unable to return her stare as he gingerly lowered himself parallel to her. Resting his elbows on his knees he wrung his hands together and hung his head a little. He said nothing.

Molly's insides squirmed, finally coming to life as a cold wave seemed to wash through her. The longer they sat, the worse she felt, and her anxiety was reaching heights that had been unparalleled in years. It took her back to being 'Mousy Molly' - Weak, mild tempered and clumsy. Humiliatingly pathetic. She refused to be that woman now.

"Mr Holmes." She stated, rather than asking, finally drawing his face up to meet hers. He looked conflicted which was rather unsettling for her.

"Dr Hooper." He replied, his voice cracking a little. He exhaled deeply and drew a hand over his face, finally sitting back. "I must apologise for the inconvenience cause to you today, Dr Hooper. I assure-"

"Mycroft." She cut through him, confusion filling her. She didn't need an apology. She needed an explanation. He finally looked directly at her, and they made eye contact. A flicker of remorse passed over his face and he straightened. It seemed he was not necessarily as good at hiding his emotions as he believed, or his brother claimed.

"Dr Hooper." He took another deep breath, "I expect you wish to know the events of this evening." She nodded, not trusting herself to speak as her heartbeat hastened, fear beginning to creep back in. "It's much more complex than I have time to reveal, but I once made a decision to hide my youngest sibling's location and the fact that she had not expired from the rest of my family to protect them. And what has transpired today, is the result of that decision."

Molly's breath caught. A sister? There was a third Holmes sibling. This seemed ultimately impossible – Sherlock had made no mention of her. Not that he ever really mentioned any of his family. Molly had been certain she would have known at least something. Maybe she didn't know Sherlock as well as she had thought after all. As if sensing her doubt, he quirked an eyebrow and continued,

"There was an incident when we were younger. She killed a small boy with whom Sherlock used to frequent. Afterwards the Holmes ancestral home was burnt to the ground, and she institutionalised. I allowed my parents to presume her dead, and Sherlock rewrote his memories to forget them both."

She felt overloaded and put her head into her hands, leaning down into the desk. The level of deception was despicable. She thought about how Sherlock must have felt to have lost his best friend in such a devastating way, followed by the family home and then his sister. The distress must have been overwhelming. The cold and unloving Sherlock she had met more than five years ago, was the result of closing himself off as a child and protecting himself. Her chest swelled at the knowledge and her face flushed in sorrow and anger.

And then the sister. What had happened to make her behave in such a way? And had she deserved the fate that befell her? If the boy she killed had been small, then surely, she had been even younger.

"She was…is…incandescent. An era – defining genius, able to perceive truth beyond the normal scope and use manipulation to the point of enslavement and reprogramming." She looked back up at him, intrigue replacing her resentment and she sat a little straighter. "Did you know…It was she who originally taught Sherlock to play the violin?" Molly shook her head dumbly, still trying to process what he was saying. Of course she hadn't know, she couldn't have possibly. Was he testing her or simply trying to lighten the situation with a rather pathetic attempt at casual small talk? Molly thought not, it was more likely an attempt to avoid the inevitable,

"And so, what…What…W-"

"Does this have to do with you?"

She nodded again and he tried to straighten himself a little more, seemingly almost itching to get out of his seat.

"She had a connection to Sherlock in particular – He was always her favourite. But because she was not his, he had become the main subject of her harrowing acts - Even now. There was an explosion at Baker Street, and we sought passage to Sherrinford, the maximum - security facility that holds Eurus – But it was already too late. She had assumed control, and used this to her advantage in torturing myself, Dr Watson and Sherlock."

He paused and took another deep breath as if readying himself for the killing blow. Molly's brain was pulsating inside her skull, still not quite understanding how she fit into all of this,

"And of course, the puzzles continued – People died, choices were made. She sees him. And she saw you too."

Molly stiffened considerably, her breathing slow and deliberate. Here it was, the crunch. The reason that she had been subjected to such heart – breaking and non – existent hope that her feelings could ever be reciprocated.

"He cares for you deeply, Molly." Mycroft stated, as though he were reciting from an encyclopaedia. She gulped heavily and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Her mouth was so dry from the lack of speaking she could barely even gulp in new air - Feeling like she needed to comment but was unable to bring herself to do so. Her feelings had been laid bare for all of them to see – He knew for certain now the depth of her love for him and the utterly crippling devastation he had brought to her life by having her admit to it. And it appeared, so too now did Mycroft and John. A sense of humiliation washed over her. The declaration had been very public after all.

She had already known exactly how Sherlock felt about her. They were friends, and she had accepted that fact long ago. His love for her was purely platonic, and she was content with it as long as it remained that way, a silent concession that they both accepted.

The phone call had cut her deeply – He had voiced what she had always wanted to hear, and sparked a slither of hope that left her feeling appalled with herself. Her brain knew the truth, despite what her heart was telling her.

"He was always the most emotional of us all – She used that to her advantage. We could see you via a television, and she had convinced us that your abode had been outfitted with explosives. The very fact she was able to gain access and install surveillance…It wasn't a far cry to think that your life was in danger."

And there it was. He had feared for her life. He had been saving her. She had paid for her life with humiliation. In that moment, her defences melted, a single tear slipping from her lashes and slithering its way down her cheek, the cold trail drying in the crisp air of the room.

"And…Where is he?" Her voice cracked slightly, and she cleared her throat afterwards. "And John?" She added, guilt flooding her at her friend and father of her goddaughter being a mere afterthought.

"They are being seen by medical professionals. As you can imagine this has been a rather traumatic experience."

She nodded slowly, and he began to rise to his feet, patting his crumpled suit, though it did very little to straighten him out.

"Please do not think too harshly of him, Dr Hooper." Molly looked at him, her features softened. Regardless of how he tried to say that Sherlock was the emotional sibling, she could see that Mycroft was no stranger to sentiment when it came to family. He had protected his brother for as long as she had known them both, undoubtedly longer, despite their sibling rivalry and his often misplaced method of doing so. He had protected his parents from the devastating knowledge of their daughter's descent – Perhaps not a decision Molly agreed with, but knowing the elder Holmes brother as she did, she understood his motives and how he would justify his actions in his own head. And to that effect she could only assume he had cared for his sister in some kind of estranged and dystopian way.

He began to make his way towards the door, his apparent tolerance of their situation having finally evaporated,

"If there is anything, anything at all that I can do, please, Molly," He paused, seemingly struggling to finish his sentence. But she didn't need him to and nodded in understanding, receiving a sharp tilt in return as he shut the door behind him as quietly as he had when he had entered.

~x~x~x~

"Get that down you, you deserve it!" Meena thrust a large glass of white wine into Molly's hand as she collapsed next to her, her own tumbler grasped tightly in her long fingers. She was tall and slim with a mass of bushy red hair and pale skin, green eyes sparkling in the dim light of the overhanging lamp that rested behind them both. The two of them had been friends for years after meeting in the canteen of St Bartholomew's Hospital not long after Molly had started working there as a specialist registrar under Mike Stamford from whom she had been further studying. Meena worked in radiotherapy, so they rarely saw one another, but this helped them find an abundance of topics to speak about when they did get together and had plenty of common ground on which to grow their friendship. Where Molly had come from humble beginnings with a mother who cared little for her and was more interested in her next beau, and a father whose passing devastated her, with little other family to speak of, Meena's family had been incredibly wealthy and generous with their children. She had been allowed to purchase a home in London whilst pursuing her dreams of a career in medicine. Surprisingly they found ample to bond over, their conversations easy and meaningful, a deeper bond across class boundaries than Molly could have imagined.

And so, once Molly had been released by Greg, Meena's house was the first place she went to. Toby had already been deposited there earlier by Sally, but Molly had little desire to return to her flat and instead settled herself into the spacious living room and tucked her feet under herself, determined to finally drink the wine she had been craving for hours now.

Taking a big gulp, it slid down her throat with ease, quenching her thirst despite being too dry for Molly's liking – But it mattered not. She was desperate for the buzzing inside her head to subside. The day had completely overwhelmed her. And even now, as Toby slunk up between them and onto her knee, she could feel herself letting go of her inhibitions and allowed herself to cry. Her body shuddered with great gasping sobs as she held her free hand to her face, Meena relieving her other of her glass.

"Hey, hey! It's okay," Meena put the glasses down and pulled Molly into her arms securely, clearly wanting to bring her some kind of comfort. Yet it only made her sob harder, and she buried herself into her cardigan, "You get it all out. Cry. Scream. You do whatever it is you need to do."

And so, she did. The overwhelming sense of catharsis that overtook her when she finally stopped was exactly what she needed, allowing her to finally sort through the haze and begin to think clearly again. She breathed heavily and squinted through puffy eyes, and she pulled back and gave Meena a watery smile.

"Sorry. I just-"

"Nope." Meena cut her off, thrusting the wine back into her hand. Molly looked back at her confused, another shaking breath leaving her lips as she gulped thickly and wiped her tear – stained cheeks with the sleeve of her cardigan. "I've let you have this one. And only because you needed it. But this is it, do you understand?"

Molly shook her head, completely befuddled by the statement. Meena smiled softly at her and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"You will never, ever, under any circumstances, cry over that man again. Do you hear me?" She said bluntly, her gaze never wavering.

Her eyes widened in shock and her breath hitched. Meena was kind and gentle, and rarely so forceful with her words. Molly nodded automatically, unable to even blink. She was right, the toll her unrequited feelings were taking on her weighed far too heavily. She had loved him for more than five years now and knew that he could never be with her in the way that she desired.

Even if the situation with Tom hadn't spiralled into misfortune in the way that it had previously, realistically she could never have been honestly and entirely happy with him. Especially not in such close proximity to Sherlock. Molly bit her lip and took another gulp of her wine, her eyes flicking between Meena and Toby.

"Meena…Can I..?"

"Of course. Stay as long as you need to. I wouldn't want to go back there either, not when I know someone had been watching me for who knows how long." She breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back into the soft pillows. This was exactly what she needed. And Meena was right. Molly felt violated. Her flat was no longer her safe haven, nor a place where she could hide from the rest of the world when things got too much for her. She felt as though it had been defiled and she was filled with dread to think about returning there with only Toby for company.

"I'll get you some jammies – We're about the same size," With that Meena relieved herself from the sofa and bounded out of the room.

Japan's Arc Angel x