Fic: Jekyll's Secret (Chapter 14)
"Sherlock? I've been calling you for days. Please call me back as soon as possible."
Standing outside Baker Street 221B, Sherlock deleted the message from his voicemail and took a look around, adjusting his sunglasses. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to him. He walked towards the flat and rang the bell.
John Watson opened the door. He stared at Sherlock with mouth agape. Then he let Sherlock in before laughing at the outrageous amount of hair gel Sherlock put on.
Please don't be dead, Sherlock. I beg you.M
"Is everything alright?" John questioned.
"…Yes. I just got an e-mail from one of my connections." Sherlock put off John with vague explanation.
"Do I want to know what it is about?" John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock.
"Just some tedious business". Sherlock twisted his nose and shrugged.
"Do you still remember your promise to me, Sherlock?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. No more suicide and hiding…"Sherlock rolled his eyes, "It's really just about some small and unimportant details that I don't want to bore you with, John."
John didn't say anything. However, judging from his look, Sherlock knew he didn't believe him completely.
"Insignificant and negligible." Sherlock commented.
Sherlock wasn't sure whether he was assuring John or himself.
I'm really worried, Sherlock. M
Sherlock was slightly baffled. There was nothing to worry about. Things were developing according to plans.
Mostly.
For example, they took down all Sebastian's alliances except one. They let him go on purpose so that they could track him down to find Sebastian. They followed him onto a train and saw him enter the first carriage.
These all went as he predicted, except there was a tiny teeny thing that went a little bit wrong.
It was a trap.
"Remind me again why I moved in with you in the first place." John bent and tried to hitch off the last railway, slightly too close to the ground.
"Because you were bored." Sherlock shouted while fighting off the opponent on the top of the carriage.
Sherlock was topped and strangled. He kicked as strong as he could and the opponent was thrown out of the train. He made a face when he saw the opponent broken into pieces.
"Sherlock, get down!" John shouted behind him.
They dropped down as the engine and the first carriage passed beneath a bridge.
"Why are you still here?" Sherlock yelled at John after they got up, "I told you to stay with the rest of the train."
"And let you become a pile of mince by the bridge?"
Sherlock shook his head. "I noticed it, okay?"
John rubbed his temple, "Right. What are we going to do with that bomb?" John pointed down.
"Ever heard of cliff diving, John?" Sherlock looked forward, "It's about to pass a water area."
"Are you kidding me?" John raised an eyebrow, "No. No. No."
Sherlock smiled.
"If we survive this, I swear I'm gonna propose to Mary. Life is way too short." John sighed.
Like Sherlock has said, there wasn't really anything to worry about, except, well, maybe life.
Molly was totally overthinking.
"I know you are avoiding me. Maybe you can at least tell me what's wrong?"
"Okay. What's wrong?" John stood with hands on his hips. "You don't judge Mary the way you did with my previous girlfriends. You stopped yelling at TV. You even stopped bitching about my tea."
"I like her. She's cool." Sherlock remained watching TV without looking at John.
"You are sulking."
"Non-sense." Sherlock replied absently.
"Oh. Really?" John stepped forward and stood in front of TV, shielding Sherlock from seeing it, "Tell me. What did you just watch?"
"Doctor Who." Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest.
John moved away. On the TV screen, Will.i.am was singing 'Bang Bang' with Leah.
I mistook a guy as you. You should see his girlfriend's face when I jumped over him. M
Molly began a habit of texting Sherlock. She wanted to write, "Wish that you are here with me" but she then realized that the sentence made her look even more pathetic.
She dreamed that he was watching her from the shadow, creeping up on her in his unique way, or maybe just thinking of her.
My life doesn't revolve around you, Sherlock Holmes. M
Molly waited and waited. Nonetheless, Sherlock never appeared or called her.
Toby didn't survive the spring. He was way too sick. His death was sudden and brutal, pretty much like the way Sherlock left her.
It was funny how things could turn out for one.
She needed a pair of shoulders to cry on, Sherlock's, to be more specific. She hoped that he was here with her.
But he wasn't.
She might love him, no matter who he was, Sherlock Holmes or Martin Crieff. But he let her down and killed her again and again.
Molly packed up her clothes, her books and her broken heart.
She took a last look at her life as Mary Cooper in San Francisco, the person who shared a bed with a brilliant man, the fool who was too blindly in love with a bastard.
She switched off the light.
You were right. Paris is lovely. M
When Mycroft asked where she wanted to go, she chose France without much thinking.
She became a painter, much different to any of her previous occupations. She spent the day wandering in the city and seeking for her muse and the night drinking and dancing on the boat flowing above the Seine.
She cut her hair into a boyish style and got a rose on her back. She no longer used the fake name, Mary Cooper and the initial M was only used when texting Sherlock. When men asked, she was sometimes named "Selena", sometime referred as "Doris" and women just called her "the whore" jealously.
If only Sherlock could see her, unrestrained and headstrong, he would understand what he had butchered on the night he went away without a goodbye.
Molly poured all her bittersweet memory onto the canvas and brushed with hatred and grief so that she could finally be at peace.
She did miss him from time to time but those moments were short and gone in the next minute.
"You should really be careful with what you draw, Miss Hooper."
Sebastian Moran slapped Molly onto the ground, "But you do have a gift in art." He took another look at the portrait of Sherlock before tearing it apart.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She struggled to stand up but she was struck again by Sebastian.
"So where should I begin?" Sebastian took out a knife and playing it along the line of her cheek.
"Go to hell." She spat on him.
Everything was blurred. She lost track of time and every part of her body hurt. Lying on the floor, all she could hear was noises coming from sources that she couldn't recognize. She had no idea where Sebastian went and whether he would come back and continue to torture her.
With the last bit of strength, she slid the screen to unlock her phone and typed down one message.
Wish that you are here with me. M
About two seconds later, her phone received a text:
I am. SH
Before she passed out, it occurred to her those sharp noises were from the police sirens.
Standing outside Baker Street 221B, Sherlock deleted the message from his voicemail and took a look around, adjusting his sunglasses. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to him. He walked towards the flat and rang the bell.
John Watson opened the door. He stared at Sherlock with mouth agape. Then he let Sherlock in before laughing at the outrageous amount of hair gel Sherlock put on.
Please don't be dead, Sherlock. I beg you.M
"Is everything alright?" John questioned.
"…Yes. I just got an e-mail from one of my connections." Sherlock put off John with vague explanation.
"Do I want to know what it is about?" John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock.
"Just some tedious business". Sherlock twisted his nose and shrugged.
"Do you still remember your promise to me, Sherlock?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. No more suicide and hiding…"Sherlock rolled his eyes, "It's really just about some small and unimportant details that I don't want to bore you with, John."
John didn't say anything. However, judging from his look, Sherlock knew he didn't believe him completely.
"Insignificant and negligible." Sherlock commented.
Sherlock wasn't sure whether he was assuring John or himself.
I'm really worried, Sherlock. M
Sherlock was slightly baffled. There was nothing to worry about. Things were developing according to plans.
Mostly.
For example, they took down all Sebastian's alliances except one. They let him go on purpose so that they could track him down to find Sebastian. They followed him onto a train and saw him enter the first carriage.
These all went as he predicted, except there was a tiny teeny thing that went a little bit wrong.
It was a trap.
"Remind me again why I moved in with you in the first place." John bent and tried to hitch off the last railway, slightly too close to the ground.
"Because you were bored." Sherlock shouted while fighting off the opponent on the top of the carriage.
Sherlock was topped and strangled. He kicked as strong as he could and the opponent was thrown out of the train. He made a face when he saw the opponent broken into pieces.
"Sherlock, get down!" John shouted behind him.
They dropped down as the engine and the first carriage passed beneath a bridge.
"Why are you still here?" Sherlock yelled at John after they got up, "I told you to stay with the rest of the train."
"And let you become a pile of mince by the bridge?"
Sherlock shook his head. "I noticed it, okay?"
John rubbed his temple, "Right. What are we going to do with that bomb?" John pointed down.
"Ever heard of cliff diving, John?" Sherlock looked forward, "It's about to pass a water area."
"Are you kidding me?" John raised an eyebrow, "No. No. No."
Sherlock smiled.
"If we survive this, I swear I'm gonna propose to Mary. Life is way too short." John sighed.
Like Sherlock has said, there wasn't really anything to worry about, except, well, maybe life.
Molly was totally overthinking.
"I know you are avoiding me. Maybe you can at least tell me what's wrong?"
"Okay. What's wrong?" John stood with hands on his hips. "You don't judge Mary the way you did with my previous girlfriends. You stopped yelling at TV. You even stopped bitching about my tea."
"I like her. She's cool." Sherlock remained watching TV without looking at John.
"You are sulking."
"Non-sense." Sherlock replied absently.
"Oh. Really?" John stepped forward and stood in front of TV, shielding Sherlock from seeing it, "Tell me. What did you just watch?"
"Doctor Who." Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest.
John moved away. On the TV screen, Will.i.am was singing 'Bang Bang' with Leah.
I mistook a guy as you. You should see his girlfriend's face when I jumped over him. M
Molly began a habit of texting Sherlock. She wanted to write, "Wish that you are here with me" but she then realized that the sentence made her look even more pathetic.
She dreamed that he was watching her from the shadow, creeping up on her in his unique way, or maybe just thinking of her.
My life doesn't revolve around you, Sherlock Holmes. M
Molly waited and waited. Nonetheless, Sherlock never appeared or called her.
Toby didn't survive the spring. He was way too sick. His death was sudden and brutal, pretty much like the way Sherlock left her.
It was funny how things could turn out for one.
She needed a pair of shoulders to cry on, Sherlock's, to be more specific. She hoped that he was here with her.
But he wasn't.
She might love him, no matter who he was, Sherlock Holmes or Martin Crieff. But he let her down and killed her again and again.
Molly packed up her clothes, her books and her broken heart.
She took a last look at her life as Mary Cooper in San Francisco, the person who shared a bed with a brilliant man, the fool who was too blindly in love with a bastard.
She switched off the light.
You were right. Paris is lovely. M
When Mycroft asked where she wanted to go, she chose France without much thinking.
She became a painter, much different to any of her previous occupations. She spent the day wandering in the city and seeking for her muse and the night drinking and dancing on the boat flowing above the Seine.
She cut her hair into a boyish style and got a rose on her back. She no longer used the fake name, Mary Cooper and the initial M was only used when texting Sherlock. When men asked, she was sometimes named "Selena", sometime referred as "Doris" and women just called her "the whore" jealously.
If only Sherlock could see her, unrestrained and headstrong, he would understand what he had butchered on the night he went away without a goodbye.
Molly poured all her bittersweet memory onto the canvas and brushed with hatred and grief so that she could finally be at peace.
She did miss him from time to time but those moments were short and gone in the next minute.
"You should really be careful with what you draw, Miss Hooper."
Sebastian Moran slapped Molly onto the ground, "But you do have a gift in art." He took another look at the portrait of Sherlock before tearing it apart.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She struggled to stand up but she was struck again by Sebastian.
"So where should I begin?" Sebastian took out a knife and playing it along the line of her cheek.
"Go to hell." She spat on him.
Everything was blurred. She lost track of time and every part of her body hurt. Lying on the floor, all she could hear was noises coming from sources that she couldn't recognize. She had no idea where Sebastian went and whether he would come back and continue to torture her.
With the last bit of strength, she slid the screen to unlock her phone and typed down one message.
Wish that you are here with me. M
About two seconds later, her phone received a text:
I am. SH
Before she passed out, it occurred to her those sharp noises were from the police sirens.