Fic: Jekyll's Secret (Chapter 9)
That’s not a real door. She must have hidden in the storage room which was concealed to look the same as the walls.
Thanks, Sherlock. Thank you for the spoiler.
“Martin, are you all right?” Molly looked up at him with concerns, “You look like you are in pain.”
“Oh. I was just trying to figure out the mystery.” To be honest, Martin didn’t lie. He was but then Sherlock just felt like it was his responsibility to spoil the fun.
Ever since their first kiss, Martin could start to hear Sherlock’s thinking and Sherlock seemed to be awake all the time. It was like a radio channel which he was compulsory to listen to. Martin felt for John Waston. He really did. Anyone who could tolerate Sherlock’s mumbling for an hour deserved a golden medal, let alone being Sherlock’s flat mate.
Albeit how brilliant Sherlock was, he really had no idea when to keep his mouth shut.
Or stop thinking, in this case.
However, it seemed that the radio was going one-way only. Sherlock couldn’t hear Martin’s thoughts; otherwise Sherlock would definitely know that it was not cool to be suicidal just because Sherlock could always recover.
Sherlock had to go after Sebastian Moran. Martin understood that and he wouldn’t mind Sherlock borrowing the body at night. (Okay. Maybe he minded a little bit on the night that Molly first kissed him.) But pursuing criminals recklessly was just mad.
Last time he woke up from being washed up upon the beach on the east coast of Cuba. Judging from the footage provided by Mycroft, Sherlock found one of the operation sites of Sebastian Moran. Instead of waiting for back-up, Sherlock walked in alone and took out eight viscous gangsters with the price of fifteen bullet holes all over the body.
Mycroft added those bullets into the Holmes Family Collection.
Martin felt sick.
Frankly speaking, it was cheating. Even Martin felt sorry for the villains. They never stood a chance against the impossible Sherlock Holmes. Just when they thought Sherlock was finally taken out of the picture, Sherlock showed up at their doors with a smirk, in his usual fabulous coat like a haunted nightmare in the next day.
Sherlock took full advantage of being “reborn” and went on missions with a death wish.
Martin wasn’t so sure that Sherlock might have noticed this or Sherlock was pretending not knowing: Every time Sherlock was recovered, the period of time that Sherlock could stay shortened.
One day, Sherlock might not be able to get reborn.
And that scared Martin like hell.
The movie ended. Martin wasn’t really paying much attention. He didn’t really miss much considering Sherlock was constantly complaining about the lack of imagination of the writer.
“Let me get some more popcorn.” Molly gave Martin a quick peck on the lips.
You are always a lousy kisser, Martin.
Alright. That was it.
“Molly?” Martin shouted to the girl who was busy in the kitchen, “Where do you keep all the Glee DVDs?”
What?
No!
No!
No!
I can’t believe you are doing this to me!
“I can’t wait to watch them.” Martin meant it, sincerely.
Mycroft called Martin - to be precise, Sherlock - in when the news of bombing comes out at St Bart’s.
“Oh My God! Is Molly Okay?” Martin asked worriedly when Mycroft handed him a folder containing some photos
“I can assure you that Dr. Hooper is safe and was sent home about half an hour ago.”
Martin looked down at the photos from the crime scenes, and frowned. One of the things that he learnt from Sherlock was a stronger stomach. The photos were so miserable that one might not bear seeing them.
The bomb exploded under the table by the window.
Martin repeated what Sherlock “said” to Mycroft and turned over the page.
“Same type detonator was used.” Martin tried to catch up with Sherlock’s fast speed, “Definitely Moran.” He couldn’t understand half of Sherlock’s saying.
Mycroft nodded, “Moran’s men were spotted outside St Bart’s after the explosion.”
“Did you find anything from them?”
Of course, he didn’t. Otherwise, he wouldn’t ask for my advice, would he?
“No. They committed suicide.” Mycroft sipped his tea, “Can’t really blame them. Death is more merciful than a raging Moran.”
Ignoring the comments Sherlock made on how Mycroft was “good” at his job, Martin read the report written by Mycroft’s men.
The bombs exploded in the canteen at five past twelve…
“The bombs exploded in the canteen at five past twelve…”
…starting from the table by the window…
“…starting from the table by the window.”
The real target was…
“The real target was…”
Molly Hooper
“……”
“Is everything okay, Martin?” Mycroft raised furrow at silent Martin.
Martin didn’t say anything at all. He just listened to Sherlock
It might look like the bomb wasn’t meant for anyone specific. It went off at the precise time as Molly normal lunch break under her usual table.
“Martin?” Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder.
However, Molly got distracted by her mother’s sudden call. Otherwise, she would be laying on her own working bench now.
“You knew it, didn’t you?”
“I thought it would be better if Sherlock could tell you.” Mycroft smiled wryly.
Not so brave now, is he?
Martin left without a word.
Martin just stared at his reflection in the mirror. In the mirror stood Sherlock who was rolling eyes on him.
We should go to the airport.
Not Molly’s toilet.
I know who make bombs for Sebastian Moran.
It is quite obvious.
The serial number was destroyed in the previous times, but not this time.
Martin?
Say something.
You can say “Brilliant”. John always does.
Or “freak”.
I can’t hear your thinking, Martin.
Even I can’t always deduce what my duel personality is thinking.
Sherlock crossed his arms in the mirror.
“Oh. Yeah? Do you want to know what I think?” Martin finally said a sentence after staring at Sherlock for the whole five minutes.
“I’m angry.”
Understand. Moran tried to blow up your little girlfriend.
“Our girlfriend.” Martin emphasized and continued, “And Sherlock, you don’t understand.”
What?
“I’m angry at myself.”
You are not making any sense.
“I was rejected by more than one flight school. I barely qualified for my certification on the seventh attempt. I took the job with MJN Air without any salary as long as I get to be the Captain.” Martin shouted frustrated, “Sherlock, I’m not brilliant. I can’t catch the bad guys. I don’t have the ability to help or protect her. I sometimes even need her to open the jars for me.”
Martin sighed and rubbed his face.
“I’m not who Molly really needs, Sherlock. I may be able to make her happy but I can’t make her protected…” Martin paused for a second, “I’m not you.” Martin leaned on the wall and slowly sat down on the tiles, covering his head.
Sherlock seemed genuinely unprepared for Martin’s speech. He looked at Martin in the same way he did when Molly stormed out the lab after Jim.
“I don’t expect you to understand the sentiments.”
“Sentiments make me weak and slow me down.” was all Sherlock could think of to respond.
Martin was too exhausted to debate with Sherlock. No one said anything for a while. The only sound was the running of tap water in the sink.
All Martin could think of was Molly lying down on the bench, cold and burnt like those corpse in the photos.
“Can you catch him, Sherlock?” Martin stood up and looked into Sherlock’s eyes, “Will you?”
Sherlock simply nodded.
Martin stepped forward and put his right hand on the mirror.
Sherlock gazed at Martin’s hand in confusion, but he moved his hand to Martin’s anyway.
Their hands coincided.
“We have a deal.”
The last two stages of grief are depression and acceptance. Martin had too much of the former and he was ready for the later.
Martin Crieff was ready to accept his own death.
“Martin, are you alright?” Molly asked outside the bathroom door, “You seemed to take an awful lot of time in there. I hope there is nothing wrong with the food.”
The door opened and Molly found herself locked in the arms of Martin. “Martin.” Molly hesitated, “What’s wrong?”
Martin buried his head into Molly’s neck, “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Is it about the bombing today?” Molly gently stroked Martin’s back, “I’m sure Lestrade will catch the guy who did it.”
“You don’t understand.” Martin’s eyes were bloodshot.
“Hey.” Molly brushed Martin’s hair with her fingers, “I wasn’t hurt. Don’t worry.”
Martin wrapped his arms around her, more tightly this time. “I love you.”
Molly smiled. “I love you, too.” She wrapped her arms around Martin’s neck and kissed his cheek.
Martin studied her intently. He looked like he was about to tell her something but also feel conflicted. Then suddenly he dragged her to him, slanting his mouth across hers. Their lips met in a slow movement of heat and passion. His hands travelled from her back to her hips and lingered at her waist. The familiar sensation of butterflies fluttering in the stomach came to her. They broke the kiss, leaning their foreheads together.
“If this is our last day, what would you do, Molly?”
“Like the Zombie Apocalypse?”
Martin chuckled. “Yes.”
“hmm…Watch…” Molly nibbled gently his bottom lips, “Shawn…”, and Martin pulled her closer for a deeper kiss, “…Of the…”
Martin picked her up while maintaining his lips full on hers and carried her towards her bedroom.
Molly never got to finish the title. She had something way more important on her hands, like the buttons of Martin’s shirt. It suddenly occurred to Molly why the shirt was designed to have so many. The buttons should all be replaced with a zipper, like his trousers.
Martin’s shirt was tossed on the floor, along with her dress.
Martin laid Molly on the bed with one hand while the other one traced the curve of her body from her back, to her breasts, and grazed her inner thighs. She unzipped him and giggled.
Martin seemed slightly embarrassed. As he was about to pull away, Molly grabbed him for another kiss while her fingertips slipped under his boxers and pull his trousers and boxers down altogether.
“Oh. Boy.” Molly raised an eyebrow.
Martin was blushing like his cheeks were on fire. “Not good?”
“On the contrary.” Molly grinned and switched the position with Martin. She climbed down on him, wrapped her small hands around his length and gave it a tentatively lick, hearing Martin gasped in surprise.
She took him into her mouth bit by bit as he grew harder and harder in her mouth. Sucking gently, she bobbed her head back and forth, slowly at first, as Martin’s grip on her hair increased, she moved faster.
“Molly.” Martin called her softly. Her mouth was too full to answer.
“Molly.” This time her name was louder.
Molly grinned in proud but she stopped and looked up at him innocently, “Yes?”
Martin chuckled and rolled her over. He kissed her neck and undid her bra. He spent a few seconds thinking about what to do. She put his hands cupping her to save him the trouble.
“Before we fly Gertie, we switch on the engine...” He playfully stroke her right breast, “…check the fuel condition…” Rubbing her, He placed one of her nipples in his mouth.
Gosh. He got a flexible tongue.
“…make sure the runway is clear…”She laughed when he licked down Molly’s waist. Her laugh died out when his tongue was close to her sensitive area.
He bit softly on her inner thighs and was busy dropping pecks around her clit.
She waited impatiently for him to put his fantastic tongue into real use.
But. No. He licked her clit only the surface. Just when she thought, he was going to put a bit in, his tongue moved away. She could feel the tension built up and burning her from inside.
He put one fingertip in and curled slightly as if he was testing something, taking trials so that he wouldn’t make any mistake. Molly lifted herself a little bit to meet him more. One fingertip was not enough, one finger was not sufficient, and one whole hand might still be too little. She needed the whole him. She would like to tell him that she was not a bomb so he didn’t need to be so careful with her. However, considering his state of hearing the news today, she might just complain in her head.
Finally, his soft tongue replaced his finger and circled inside her.
Clockwise once.
Clockwise twice.
And then anticlockwise half a circle.
“Martin.” She was out of breath and clutched the bed sheet as strongly as she could.
His need for air interrupted. He moved up and gave Molly a kiss while his big and hot dick dangling so close to her, dripping a little on her.
Taking a deep breath, Martin went down again. He sucked a little and his tongue slide in.
One hand hurried for condoms in her drawer, Molly’s other hand dug into his back badly. She spread her leg as far as she could and tangled Martin’s shoulders.
“Golf Tango India.” Martin winked at her, “Permission to take off.”
She literally threw the condoms into his face.
By the time he entered her, she was too wet and shaking. As he pressed against her firmly, Molly could feel she was coming with his rhythmic thrusts.
They cried for each other’s name and desired more and more from each other as they ride each other faster and faster.
Molly looked into Martin’s eyes. His eyes were darkened with lust and need and her mind was washed with pleasure and excitement. She couldn’t tell if she was having multiple orgasms or just one particularly long. But Molly was sure he was close.
He was about to come.
He was coming.
And then -
Martin’s hair darkened and curled, his skin paled and his hands slightly enlarged.
Molly blinked.
Sherlock???
She couldn’t believe what she just saw.
“Who the fuck are you?”
She slapped the man above her, who was still buried deep inside of her.
Thanks, Sherlock. Thank you for the spoiler.
“Martin, are you all right?” Molly looked up at him with concerns, “You look like you are in pain.”
“Oh. I was just trying to figure out the mystery.” To be honest, Martin didn’t lie. He was but then Sherlock just felt like it was his responsibility to spoil the fun.
Ever since their first kiss, Martin could start to hear Sherlock’s thinking and Sherlock seemed to be awake all the time. It was like a radio channel which he was compulsory to listen to. Martin felt for John Waston. He really did. Anyone who could tolerate Sherlock’s mumbling for an hour deserved a golden medal, let alone being Sherlock’s flat mate.
Albeit how brilliant Sherlock was, he really had no idea when to keep his mouth shut.
Or stop thinking, in this case.
However, it seemed that the radio was going one-way only. Sherlock couldn’t hear Martin’s thoughts; otherwise Sherlock would definitely know that it was not cool to be suicidal just because Sherlock could always recover.
Sherlock had to go after Sebastian Moran. Martin understood that and he wouldn’t mind Sherlock borrowing the body at night. (Okay. Maybe he minded a little bit on the night that Molly first kissed him.) But pursuing criminals recklessly was just mad.
Last time he woke up from being washed up upon the beach on the east coast of Cuba. Judging from the footage provided by Mycroft, Sherlock found one of the operation sites of Sebastian Moran. Instead of waiting for back-up, Sherlock walked in alone and took out eight viscous gangsters with the price of fifteen bullet holes all over the body.
Mycroft added those bullets into the Holmes Family Collection.
Martin felt sick.
Frankly speaking, it was cheating. Even Martin felt sorry for the villains. They never stood a chance against the impossible Sherlock Holmes. Just when they thought Sherlock was finally taken out of the picture, Sherlock showed up at their doors with a smirk, in his usual fabulous coat like a haunted nightmare in the next day.
Sherlock took full advantage of being “reborn” and went on missions with a death wish.
Martin wasn’t so sure that Sherlock might have noticed this or Sherlock was pretending not knowing: Every time Sherlock was recovered, the period of time that Sherlock could stay shortened.
One day, Sherlock might not be able to get reborn.
And that scared Martin like hell.
The movie ended. Martin wasn’t really paying much attention. He didn’t really miss much considering Sherlock was constantly complaining about the lack of imagination of the writer.
“Let me get some more popcorn.” Molly gave Martin a quick peck on the lips.
You are always a lousy kisser, Martin.
Alright. That was it.
“Molly?” Martin shouted to the girl who was busy in the kitchen, “Where do you keep all the Glee DVDs?”
What?
No!
No!
No!
I can’t believe you are doing this to me!
“I can’t wait to watch them.” Martin meant it, sincerely.
Mycroft called Martin - to be precise, Sherlock - in when the news of bombing comes out at St Bart’s.
“Oh My God! Is Molly Okay?” Martin asked worriedly when Mycroft handed him a folder containing some photos
“I can assure you that Dr. Hooper is safe and was sent home about half an hour ago.”
Martin looked down at the photos from the crime scenes, and frowned. One of the things that he learnt from Sherlock was a stronger stomach. The photos were so miserable that one might not bear seeing them.
The bomb exploded under the table by the window.
Martin repeated what Sherlock “said” to Mycroft and turned over the page.
“Same type detonator was used.” Martin tried to catch up with Sherlock’s fast speed, “Definitely Moran.” He couldn’t understand half of Sherlock’s saying.
Mycroft nodded, “Moran’s men were spotted outside St Bart’s after the explosion.”
“Did you find anything from them?”
Of course, he didn’t. Otherwise, he wouldn’t ask for my advice, would he?
“No. They committed suicide.” Mycroft sipped his tea, “Can’t really blame them. Death is more merciful than a raging Moran.”
Ignoring the comments Sherlock made on how Mycroft was “good” at his job, Martin read the report written by Mycroft’s men.
The bombs exploded in the canteen at five past twelve…
“The bombs exploded in the canteen at five past twelve…”
…starting from the table by the window…
“…starting from the table by the window.”
The real target was…
“The real target was…”
Molly Hooper
“……”
“Is everything okay, Martin?” Mycroft raised furrow at silent Martin.
Martin didn’t say anything at all. He just listened to Sherlock
It might look like the bomb wasn’t meant for anyone specific. It went off at the precise time as Molly normal lunch break under her usual table.
“Martin?” Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder.
However, Molly got distracted by her mother’s sudden call. Otherwise, she would be laying on her own working bench now.
“You knew it, didn’t you?”
“I thought it would be better if Sherlock could tell you.” Mycroft smiled wryly.
Not so brave now, is he?
Martin left without a word.
Martin just stared at his reflection in the mirror. In the mirror stood Sherlock who was rolling eyes on him.
We should go to the airport.
Not Molly’s toilet.
I know who make bombs for Sebastian Moran.
It is quite obvious.
The serial number was destroyed in the previous times, but not this time.
Martin?
Say something.
You can say “Brilliant”. John always does.
Or “freak”.
I can’t hear your thinking, Martin.
Even I can’t always deduce what my duel personality is thinking.
Sherlock crossed his arms in the mirror.
“Oh. Yeah? Do you want to know what I think?” Martin finally said a sentence after staring at Sherlock for the whole five minutes.
“I’m angry.”
Understand. Moran tried to blow up your little girlfriend.
“Our girlfriend.” Martin emphasized and continued, “And Sherlock, you don’t understand.”
What?
“I’m angry at myself.”
You are not making any sense.
“I was rejected by more than one flight school. I barely qualified for my certification on the seventh attempt. I took the job with MJN Air without any salary as long as I get to be the Captain.” Martin shouted frustrated, “Sherlock, I’m not brilliant. I can’t catch the bad guys. I don’t have the ability to help or protect her. I sometimes even need her to open the jars for me.”
Martin sighed and rubbed his face.
“I’m not who Molly really needs, Sherlock. I may be able to make her happy but I can’t make her protected…” Martin paused for a second, “I’m not you.” Martin leaned on the wall and slowly sat down on the tiles, covering his head.
Sherlock seemed genuinely unprepared for Martin’s speech. He looked at Martin in the same way he did when Molly stormed out the lab after Jim.
“I don’t expect you to understand the sentiments.”
“Sentiments make me weak and slow me down.” was all Sherlock could think of to respond.
Martin was too exhausted to debate with Sherlock. No one said anything for a while. The only sound was the running of tap water in the sink.
All Martin could think of was Molly lying down on the bench, cold and burnt like those corpse in the photos.
“Can you catch him, Sherlock?” Martin stood up and looked into Sherlock’s eyes, “Will you?”
Sherlock simply nodded.
Martin stepped forward and put his right hand on the mirror.
Sherlock gazed at Martin’s hand in confusion, but he moved his hand to Martin’s anyway.
Their hands coincided.
“We have a deal.”
The last two stages of grief are depression and acceptance. Martin had too much of the former and he was ready for the later.
Martin Crieff was ready to accept his own death.
“Martin, are you alright?” Molly asked outside the bathroom door, “You seemed to take an awful lot of time in there. I hope there is nothing wrong with the food.”
The door opened and Molly found herself locked in the arms of Martin. “Martin.” Molly hesitated, “What’s wrong?”
Martin buried his head into Molly’s neck, “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Is it about the bombing today?” Molly gently stroked Martin’s back, “I’m sure Lestrade will catch the guy who did it.”
“You don’t understand.” Martin’s eyes were bloodshot.
“Hey.” Molly brushed Martin’s hair with her fingers, “I wasn’t hurt. Don’t worry.”
Martin wrapped his arms around her, more tightly this time. “I love you.”
Molly smiled. “I love you, too.” She wrapped her arms around Martin’s neck and kissed his cheek.
Martin studied her intently. He looked like he was about to tell her something but also feel conflicted. Then suddenly he dragged her to him, slanting his mouth across hers. Their lips met in a slow movement of heat and passion. His hands travelled from her back to her hips and lingered at her waist. The familiar sensation of butterflies fluttering in the stomach came to her. They broke the kiss, leaning their foreheads together.
“If this is our last day, what would you do, Molly?”
“Like the Zombie Apocalypse?”
Martin chuckled. “Yes.”
“hmm…Watch…” Molly nibbled gently his bottom lips, “Shawn…”, and Martin pulled her closer for a deeper kiss, “…Of the…”
Martin picked her up while maintaining his lips full on hers and carried her towards her bedroom.
Molly never got to finish the title. She had something way more important on her hands, like the buttons of Martin’s shirt. It suddenly occurred to Molly why the shirt was designed to have so many. The buttons should all be replaced with a zipper, like his trousers.
Martin’s shirt was tossed on the floor, along with her dress.
Martin laid Molly on the bed with one hand while the other one traced the curve of her body from her back, to her breasts, and grazed her inner thighs. She unzipped him and giggled.
Martin seemed slightly embarrassed. As he was about to pull away, Molly grabbed him for another kiss while her fingertips slipped under his boxers and pull his trousers and boxers down altogether.
“Oh. Boy.” Molly raised an eyebrow.
Martin was blushing like his cheeks were on fire. “Not good?”
“On the contrary.” Molly grinned and switched the position with Martin. She climbed down on him, wrapped her small hands around his length and gave it a tentatively lick, hearing Martin gasped in surprise.
She took him into her mouth bit by bit as he grew harder and harder in her mouth. Sucking gently, she bobbed her head back and forth, slowly at first, as Martin’s grip on her hair increased, she moved faster.
“Molly.” Martin called her softly. Her mouth was too full to answer.
“Molly.” This time her name was louder.
Molly grinned in proud but she stopped and looked up at him innocently, “Yes?”
Martin chuckled and rolled her over. He kissed her neck and undid her bra. He spent a few seconds thinking about what to do. She put his hands cupping her to save him the trouble.
“Before we fly Gertie, we switch on the engine...” He playfully stroke her right breast, “…check the fuel condition…” Rubbing her, He placed one of her nipples in his mouth.
Gosh. He got a flexible tongue.
“…make sure the runway is clear…”She laughed when he licked down Molly’s waist. Her laugh died out when his tongue was close to her sensitive area.
He bit softly on her inner thighs and was busy dropping pecks around her clit.
She waited impatiently for him to put his fantastic tongue into real use.
But. No. He licked her clit only the surface. Just when she thought, he was going to put a bit in, his tongue moved away. She could feel the tension built up and burning her from inside.
He put one fingertip in and curled slightly as if he was testing something, taking trials so that he wouldn’t make any mistake. Molly lifted herself a little bit to meet him more. One fingertip was not enough, one finger was not sufficient, and one whole hand might still be too little. She needed the whole him. She would like to tell him that she was not a bomb so he didn’t need to be so careful with her. However, considering his state of hearing the news today, she might just complain in her head.
Finally, his soft tongue replaced his finger and circled inside her.
Clockwise once.
Clockwise twice.
And then anticlockwise half a circle.
“Martin.” She was out of breath and clutched the bed sheet as strongly as she could.
His need for air interrupted. He moved up and gave Molly a kiss while his big and hot dick dangling so close to her, dripping a little on her.
Taking a deep breath, Martin went down again. He sucked a little and his tongue slide in.
One hand hurried for condoms in her drawer, Molly’s other hand dug into his back badly. She spread her leg as far as she could and tangled Martin’s shoulders.
“Golf Tango India.” Martin winked at her, “Permission to take off.”
She literally threw the condoms into his face.
By the time he entered her, she was too wet and shaking. As he pressed against her firmly, Molly could feel she was coming with his rhythmic thrusts.
They cried for each other’s name and desired more and more from each other as they ride each other faster and faster.
Molly looked into Martin’s eyes. His eyes were darkened with lust and need and her mind was washed with pleasure and excitement. She couldn’t tell if she was having multiple orgasms or just one particularly long. But Molly was sure he was close.
He was about to come.
He was coming.
And then -
Martin’s hair darkened and curled, his skin paled and his hands slightly enlarged.
Molly blinked.
Sherlock???
She couldn’t believe what she just saw.
“Who the fuck are you?”
She slapped the man above her, who was still buried deep inside of her.