Sherlock -- Hurt [3/?]
Author's note: thank you to everyone who has reviewed/favorite or left kudos. The characters have once again taken over from me so, I'm not sure which direction this one will take.
Chapter 3
Sherlock swung through the door of Barts morgue, expecting to see Molly working on the body parts they'd brought in, but as he looked around Dr. Hooper was nowhere to be seen. His brows lifted, this was really strange; Molly hadn't replied to his text messages and she wasn't at work. But there was not time to wonder about where she might be or what was going on with her, Molly was a big girl and she could take care of herself.
There was something more important to do right now: solving a case to catch a killer. He wouldn't admit it, but he was annoyed at the fact that Molly wasn't there. Mike wasn't a bad pathologist, but he wasn't Molly Hooper. She was precise, accurate, she could anticipate his needs and demands like no one else could. He would maybe stop by her flat later on today and see how she was doing…
Wait… was he actually wondering how she was doing? Where had that come from? Concentrate on the case, you have a killer to catch, Sherlock he grumbled to himself. There was even a possibility that there'd be more than one killer. He wasn't sure of that yet, the only thing he was certain of was that the body parts belonged to different people, some parts fresher than others, but how could no one have seen that before? It was obvious to the detective that one of the legs had passed sometime in a freezer before being placed in that storage room. Why couldn't people simple use their eyes and observe instead of simply seeing?
He would have to run tests to be sure of the date of the murder, but there was no doubt in his mind that some of the legs and arms belonged to women that had been killed way before the others had been.
John and Greg arrived about five minutes later and Sherlock's friends both frowned when they couldn’t see Molly. Mike was there so they'd have to make do with him but they both knew that it was going to be a long…a very long day. Sherlock would be more irritable and crankier than usual because Mike just wasn't as meticulous as Dr. Hooper.
Lestrade spotted the detective, he was reading a file. Greg thought he'd be upstairs in one of the labs, studying a sample of skin or doing an experiment, but no. John Watson fished for his mobile phone in his jacket pocket and texted Molly.
Is everything alright? JW
He frowned as he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket a few moments later, he hadn't expected her to respond so quickly. Sherlock had told him earlier that she hadn't answered any of his text messages. The text wasn't from Molly though it was from one of his old friend, from his army days, asking him if he fancied a drink later this week… it wasn't really what he had had in mind for the end of the week, and he didn't want to make real plans until the end of this case. For some reason, he had the impression that this particular case would take longer than usual. So, he texted back that he wasn't free this week, but that he'd let him know when he would be able to go and have a drink with him.
John's thoughts went back to Molly; it was not like her not to answer her text messages even when she wasn't pleased with someone. He decided that he would try to call her later.
"Everything alright?" John asked Greg when he came to stand next to him.
"I don't know. What do you think of that?" The policeman inquired nodding his head in the direction of the Consulting Detective.
When Watson's eyes fell on Sherlock, his left eye brow lifted. "What… now that's new…"
His friend hadn't moved an inch from where he stood, file still in hand, he seemed to be reading though he hadn't turned a single page. This wasn't like him. Sherlock wasn't the kind of man that would let his thoughts divert from a case, so he must have seen something.
John walked toward him. "Is there something wrong?"
"What?" Sherlock suddenly asked as if snapping out of a trance.
"I was asking you if there was something wrong?"
"No. No, I'm fine, everything's fine." Sherlock retorted a bit too fast. He hoped his friend wouldn't notice; he didn't say anything about it if he had.
I've seen you go through a lot, my friend, we've been through a lot together, but this is anything but fine, John Watson thought to himself. Something was going on because he saw Sherlock stare at something written on that report. He wanted to know what it was, but he knew that pushing the matter wouldn't make Sherlock talk. He’d share it with him when he judged the time was right.
000
Molly sat in her flat at the small kitchen table staring at her cup of tea. She had been to work that morning like she had planned to and had every intention of talking to Sherlock whenever he would swing through the door, but then as time passed by, she had started to think that maybe, she just shouldn't tell him what was on her mind after all. She wasn't sure anymore… was it all worth it? Would he even understand? Maybe he would, but then what? He'd probably dismiss her, thinking she was being ridiculous. And what if he decided to exclude her from his life? Molly didn't think she would survive that. In the end, she hadn't been able to stay at Barts and was thankful that Mike had been so compassionate giving her a few days off
She stood and went into her living room to the small desk where she kept sheets of paper and pens. Molly hesitated for a few moments more, before she finally made up her mind. She would tell him everything she had in her heart, but just in case she couldn't find the courage, she decided she would write it down.
Pen and paper in hand, Molly Hooper went back into the kitchen and returned to her place on the chair she’d been sat on previously. It took a few moments thought before she started to write; the thing was, she didn't really know where to start.
Dear Sherlock,
I guess, the time has come for me to tell you how I really feel about you. I suspect that you know it already, but that you willingly chose not to act on it. First of all you have to know that I admire you and respect you. You have such an amazing mind, I'm privileged to know you, but I can't go on like this anymore.
Caring for you is not an important thing, I get that. I know that you like to have your mind focused on the case when one comes along. I love helping you and being able to anticipate your needs on a case, I love working with you, Sherlock, but I can't take the way you treat me anymore or other people for that matter. I don't want to change you, I just want to make you understand that caring about someone isn't a disease, or a virus that you get sick of. No, love and care enrich your personality as well as your life… I know it, because even though I spend my days with cadavers in the morgue, with victims of crimes, accidents or whatever it is that has ended they lives they talk to me. Not verbally of course, but at the end of the day, I am their voice when I am able to put their relatives at ease by providing them with an answer to their questions. I know what you're thinking: no one can really give them all the answers, but still, I can tell them if their loved one suffered or not when they passed away. That's what I do, Sherlock, my job is as important for me as it is for you, except that I have feelings that I can't suppress. I'm not a machine, I want to love and live. Sure, loving someone can hurt, but it's better to be hurt by loving someone who doesn't love you back than not to love at all, believe me.
We have one life and it's short, we both know that but I want to enjoy it as much as possible, and I'd like you to stay in it but I will not let myself be treated like a puppet or being discarded by you whenever you don’t need me anymore. Your violin is handled with more respect than the people in your life and by people, I mean, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, you don't even bother to remember his first name, and me.
You're missing a great deal in your life, Sherlock. Life is so full of wonderful things and you won't ever know about them because you won't let yourself be sentimental. I love you, and will miss you so very much, but I'm done.
I've decide to move on.
Yours sincerely, Molly.
After rereading her letter to Sherlock several times, she folded the paper and placed it in an envelope then sealed it, and on the envelope, she simply wrote: To Sherlock Holmes. Once it was done, she sighed heavily as a solitary tear rolled down her left cheek.
Chapter 3
Sherlock swung through the door of Barts morgue, expecting to see Molly working on the body parts they'd brought in, but as he looked around Dr. Hooper was nowhere to be seen. His brows lifted, this was really strange; Molly hadn't replied to his text messages and she wasn't at work. But there was not time to wonder about where she might be or what was going on with her, Molly was a big girl and she could take care of herself.
There was something more important to do right now: solving a case to catch a killer. He wouldn't admit it, but he was annoyed at the fact that Molly wasn't there. Mike wasn't a bad pathologist, but he wasn't Molly Hooper. She was precise, accurate, she could anticipate his needs and demands like no one else could. He would maybe stop by her flat later on today and see how she was doing…
Wait… was he actually wondering how she was doing? Where had that come from? Concentrate on the case, you have a killer to catch, Sherlock he grumbled to himself. There was even a possibility that there'd be more than one killer. He wasn't sure of that yet, the only thing he was certain of was that the body parts belonged to different people, some parts fresher than others, but how could no one have seen that before? It was obvious to the detective that one of the legs had passed sometime in a freezer before being placed in that storage room. Why couldn't people simple use their eyes and observe instead of simply seeing?
He would have to run tests to be sure of the date of the murder, but there was no doubt in his mind that some of the legs and arms belonged to women that had been killed way before the others had been.
John and Greg arrived about five minutes later and Sherlock's friends both frowned when they couldn’t see Molly. Mike was there so they'd have to make do with him but they both knew that it was going to be a long…a very long day. Sherlock would be more irritable and crankier than usual because Mike just wasn't as meticulous as Dr. Hooper.
Lestrade spotted the detective, he was reading a file. Greg thought he'd be upstairs in one of the labs, studying a sample of skin or doing an experiment, but no. John Watson fished for his mobile phone in his jacket pocket and texted Molly.
Is everything alright? JW
He frowned as he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket a few moments later, he hadn't expected her to respond so quickly. Sherlock had told him earlier that she hadn't answered any of his text messages. The text wasn't from Molly though it was from one of his old friend, from his army days, asking him if he fancied a drink later this week… it wasn't really what he had had in mind for the end of the week, and he didn't want to make real plans until the end of this case. For some reason, he had the impression that this particular case would take longer than usual. So, he texted back that he wasn't free this week, but that he'd let him know when he would be able to go and have a drink with him.
John's thoughts went back to Molly; it was not like her not to answer her text messages even when she wasn't pleased with someone. He decided that he would try to call her later.
"Everything alright?" John asked Greg when he came to stand next to him.
"I don't know. What do you think of that?" The policeman inquired nodding his head in the direction of the Consulting Detective.
When Watson's eyes fell on Sherlock, his left eye brow lifted. "What… now that's new…"
His friend hadn't moved an inch from where he stood, file still in hand, he seemed to be reading though he hadn't turned a single page. This wasn't like him. Sherlock wasn't the kind of man that would let his thoughts divert from a case, so he must have seen something.
John walked toward him. "Is there something wrong?"
"What?" Sherlock suddenly asked as if snapping out of a trance.
"I was asking you if there was something wrong?"
"No. No, I'm fine, everything's fine." Sherlock retorted a bit too fast. He hoped his friend wouldn't notice; he didn't say anything about it if he had.
I've seen you go through a lot, my friend, we've been through a lot together, but this is anything but fine, John Watson thought to himself. Something was going on because he saw Sherlock stare at something written on that report. He wanted to know what it was, but he knew that pushing the matter wouldn't make Sherlock talk. He’d share it with him when he judged the time was right.
000
Molly sat in her flat at the small kitchen table staring at her cup of tea. She had been to work that morning like she had planned to and had every intention of talking to Sherlock whenever he would swing through the door, but then as time passed by, she had started to think that maybe, she just shouldn't tell him what was on her mind after all. She wasn't sure anymore… was it all worth it? Would he even understand? Maybe he would, but then what? He'd probably dismiss her, thinking she was being ridiculous. And what if he decided to exclude her from his life? Molly didn't think she would survive that. In the end, she hadn't been able to stay at Barts and was thankful that Mike had been so compassionate giving her a few days off
She stood and went into her living room to the small desk where she kept sheets of paper and pens. Molly hesitated for a few moments more, before she finally made up her mind. She would tell him everything she had in her heart, but just in case she couldn't find the courage, she decided she would write it down.
Pen and paper in hand, Molly Hooper went back into the kitchen and returned to her place on the chair she’d been sat on previously. It took a few moments thought before she started to write; the thing was, she didn't really know where to start.
Dear Sherlock,
I guess, the time has come for me to tell you how I really feel about you. I suspect that you know it already, but that you willingly chose not to act on it. First of all you have to know that I admire you and respect you. You have such an amazing mind, I'm privileged to know you, but I can't go on like this anymore.
Caring for you is not an important thing, I get that. I know that you like to have your mind focused on the case when one comes along. I love helping you and being able to anticipate your needs on a case, I love working with you, Sherlock, but I can't take the way you treat me anymore or other people for that matter. I don't want to change you, I just want to make you understand that caring about someone isn't a disease, or a virus that you get sick of. No, love and care enrich your personality as well as your life… I know it, because even though I spend my days with cadavers in the morgue, with victims of crimes, accidents or whatever it is that has ended they lives they talk to me. Not verbally of course, but at the end of the day, I am their voice when I am able to put their relatives at ease by providing them with an answer to their questions. I know what you're thinking: no one can really give them all the answers, but still, I can tell them if their loved one suffered or not when they passed away. That's what I do, Sherlock, my job is as important for me as it is for you, except that I have feelings that I can't suppress. I'm not a machine, I want to love and live. Sure, loving someone can hurt, but it's better to be hurt by loving someone who doesn't love you back than not to love at all, believe me.
We have one life and it's short, we both know that but I want to enjoy it as much as possible, and I'd like you to stay in it but I will not let myself be treated like a puppet or being discarded by you whenever you don’t need me anymore. Your violin is handled with more respect than the people in your life and by people, I mean, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, you don't even bother to remember his first name, and me.
You're missing a great deal in your life, Sherlock. Life is so full of wonderful things and you won't ever know about them because you won't let yourself be sentimental. I love you, and will miss you so very much, but I'm done.
I've decide to move on.
Yours sincerely, Molly.
After rereading her letter to Sherlock several times, she folded the paper and placed it in an envelope then sealed it, and on the envelope, she simply wrote: To Sherlock Holmes. Once it was done, she sighed heavily as a solitary tear rolled down her left cheek.