The Hidden Truth
The Hidden Truth
Title: The Hidden Truth
Pairing: None
Rating: K+
Summary: Everybody is a freak, in one way or another.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Sherlock (BBC) or anything related at all. I don't make a penny.
1 Molly
Molly wondered if Sherlock was a vampire.
Sherlock was almost the standard example of a vampire: He had the palest skin which probably was caused by his obvious nocturnality. To Molly, Sherlock never slept or ate anything. (No, she never stalked him home or watched him via telescope.) Also, Sherlock was so fit that the only difference between him and a magazine model was the missing of a camera. He seemed always alone. Molly imagined his relatives must be all gone and surely it was tragic to say goodbye to all beloved ones. This actually could explain his stony heart and his 'I'm married to my work' thing. Most of all, his sharp observations and broad knowledge. No human being could notice things like he did and no human brains could store information as much as his.
Molly couldn't wait for any longer. That question slowly corroded her. She would stare at Sherlock's mouth for a long time imaginning how blood would be sucked by his fatal fangs.
Molly was curious that if her suspicion was correct, if Sherlock was a nightwalker, if Sherlock was…
As same as her.
She had been a morgue attendent for a very LONG time. Morgue was not only a free restaurant, but also the Disney Land. Molly enjoyed solving those puzzles. Though she always reported them as natural deaths, quietly she collected evidence, interrogated witnesses and hunted down the real killers.
Vicious ones tasted the best.
Then Sherlock came. Instead of feeling competed, Molly somehow felt released that she was not the only one. She wouldn't mind sharing those delicious 'desserts' with Sherlock at all. In fact, she was willing to offer everything to Sherlock. It's all because Molly thought Sherlock would be the one.
Would be her perfect match.
So she asked the universal code, the code that only vampires knew.
'I was wondering…would you like to have coffee with me?'
'No, thank you. I have brought my own tea bag..'
Molly expected Sherlock to answer like this.
2 John
John wondered if anyone could be stranger than Sherlock. Seriously, who would keep a smelly collection of body parts in the refregirator just to see which organ would win the game of decompostion? That fregerator also stored milk and takeaways, he might add.
'Thank God, you are here.' He opened the door for Molly, 'I'm so sorry to bother you.'
'Not at all. I allowed Sherlock to take some body parts home so I guessed it's my responsibilities to take them back. ' Molly followed John upstairs.
'I should warn you.' John pointed to the refrigerator, unwillingly to move any closer to it, 'They really stinked.'
'Even in the refrigerator?' Molly frowned.
'Even in the refrigerator, they are practically biological weapons.' John complained.
'Does Sherlock agree to throw away his experiments?' Molly opened the refregerator.
John suddenly realized he forgot to tell Molly something, something really important. 'Wait!There is ...'
…A head.
Molly didn't scream, panick or run away. Much to John's surprise, she seemed abnormally cheering. Too cheering, in fact.
'Hey, look! It's Miss Nancy Clarkson.'Molly wave to the head, 'Fancy seeing you here, Nancy.'
John wondered if he was the only normal one and since when being a werewolf was normal. Back to Afghanistan, the official record said that he was shot in the shoulder. The truth was, he was attacked by a werewolf in the shoulder. The werewolf was killed immediately but he was trained as a secret cannon. Being a werewolf gave him better sight, hearing, and smelling. Such sensitivity was blessing on the battlefield. However, it created trouble once he got back. For example, he would change during full moon. (Well, he could consider it like a sort of menses. But still …)
And also the problem that he couldn't tolerate Sherlock's experiments. They really stinked.
Biologically, he might be the wiredest. But pshcologically, he was defenitely not.
3 Mycroft
Through all these years, Mycroft wanted to hit Sherlock with his flying broom many times.
But, he never did. As a professional wizard, undercovering always came first. Sherlock always wondered why couldn't people see, why couldn't people think and why couldn't people realize. He didn't know he missed the biggest mystery as well. Why did young Sherlock always slip and fall after stealing one Mycroft's cookie? Why did Mycroft go to a different school? Why did Mycroft never mention what exactly he did for the government? Why did Mycroft always know where Sherlock was no matter how many bugs Sherlock found?
The most important of all, why was Mycroft on diet?
(He broke his favourite broom last time.)
'Sir, we have just received a mission.' Anthea told Mycroft.
'I hate magic.' Mycroft sighed, 'Every time I use it, my hair line moves upwards a little.'
4 Sally
Sally wanted to know when would the world finally shut up.
Not that there was noises, fightings or anything that created unbearable sounds, Sally was annoyed beacause of her gift.
She can hear other people's thoughts.
When she was little, she always get 70 per cent every exam. No matter which subject it was, examinations were simply listenning and writing practice. Other people 'spoke', and she wrote. She calculated the scores needed to get a B plus. Not too high, not too low. Otherwise, she would raise suspicions. Last thing she wanted was to be treated like a freak. Once scores were filled enough, she stopped doing it and had a good nap.
This gift favored her police career. Sally was the best at interrogating. It was quite like when she was little. People 'spoke', and she took strategies to make them actually speak what they thought. It was also quite amazing how her colleagues' logics work. Lestrade's was like drawing a circle A, a circle B, and the section where A and B intersect giving the suspect. Anderson's was much simpler: work or sex, lunch or sex, sex or sex. He was always choosing betweeen options.
Sherlock Holmes, however, was quite disturbing.
Not that he thought of anything dirty or disgusting, in fact he never thought of anything personal, expect sibling rivalry sometimes. His brain sparkled for weird and cruel cases. The stranger the cases, the more like Christmas to him. He got high by the blood of the crime scene. Sherlock Holmes was dangerous. His brain worked like a chain. Fact A pointed to object B and object B leaded to fact C.
Sally was worried that one day Sherlock Holmes, the biggest freak ever, would explore his deepest demand and no one can stop him.
Near the swimming pool, Jim Moriarty rushed back and Sherlock pointed a gun towards the bomb.
John was thinking whether jumping into the pool would help and whether werewolf could swim. (Maybe in a doggy style?)
In the police station, Sally was recording what Sarah said and trying her best to ignore Molly's thought, 'Look at the wanted! He looked yummy!'
Mycroft watched all of them from his crystal ball.