Nutrisco et extinguo - Chapter XLII
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Nutrisco et extinguo: "I feed upon it and extinguish it"
Tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris: "when the sky becomes darker, you will be left alone" i.e.: when the tough times come, you will be left alone. Part of a longer quote from Ovid, "As long as you are wealthy, you will count many friends; but when the sky becomes darker..."
Warnings: Rating for this chapter is T.
You can read this story on my LJ with its illustrations, and the songs by Ingrid Michaelson - FFnet unfortunately doesn't allow me to insert those on this page. Please check my profile for the link.
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Chapter XLIII: Tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris
The Hat, by Ingrid Michaelson
oOo
I knitted you a hat all blue and gold
To keep your ears warm from the Binghamton cold.
It was my first one and it was too small.
It didn't fit you at all, but you wore it just the same.
"Feel the city breakin'
And ev'rybody shakin'
And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Oh oh oh oh..."
"I'm sorry, Shin, can you turn the radio off? Or change the channel."
"Yeah, of course. Don't like the song?"
Molly shrugged.
"Not very fond of it, no."
It was a morning habit of Shinwell's to listen to the radio while having coffee. Molly never minded it. She even liked to be awoken by the sound of the radio coming from her kitchen. It was the sign of another presence in her flat; the sign that she wasn't alone anymore.
It had been weeks since Shinwell had moved in. Months, perhaps. She began to count in her head.
She had seen his studio once and had found the place quite dreadful - so dreadful in fact she had suggested that he moved in with her at once. Well. She had been in love, too, of course. She craved the company. Shinwell had succeeded in convincing her that she deserved a bit of happiness and could, in fact, have some.
Molly brought her mug of tea to her lips with a smile. Shinwell was a lovely sight in the morning, dishevelled and not so well-shaven... His voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
"Why do you always use that awful mug, love? I've bought you one for Christmas!"
"Oh yes, right. Old habits die hard, I suppose."
"You don't like the one I gave you?"
"No, I do! I do, Shin."
She looked down at the mug in her hand. It was a random yellow mug with green polka-dots. It looked awful indeed. Sherlock had pointed it out after having used it for three days in a row without paying any attention to it, so engrossed had he been in his own thoughts. Then suddenly he'd said: "God Molly, this mug looks horrible, where did you find it?"
"I really do," Molly said as she wrapped her arms around her lover. "I love the mug you bought me."
She kissed his temple and went to put her ugly mug in the sink.
"You're still reading that book?" Shinwell asked, looking pointedly at Three Months in the Jungle lying on the table.
"What? Oh. Yes. I'm trying."
"You've been trying for months."
"Yes, well... it is a bit off-putting."
"Where in the world did you find it?"
Molly froze for a second, then turned to Shinwell. "I've had it for a long time. Since my student days."
"The book?"
"The mug. Oh sorry, you were talking about the book, of course-"
"Your student days? So that's why you're so fond of that mug. I'm sorry, dear, of course you can use it, you don't have to use the one I-"
Molly pressed her lips to his to silence him. She was rather proud of herself; she thought she had become quite bold since she last tried to flirt with someone seriously. That someone being Sherlock. It was bound to fail anyway, there was nothing, absolutely nothing wrong with her; just that she'd always liked the wrong type of guys, that's all.
"Do you have to go to work, today?" Shinwell asked her as he pressed a trail of kisses down her neck.
"You know I do. We can have lunch together, though, if you'd like."
He pouted. Molly smiled gently and stepped away. She wondered how she could have found Shinwell nondescript when she had first met him with Meena in that bar. Just a brown-haired stranger. Funny how life turned out, sometimes.
"What are you staring at? Taking me for a prey or something? You've been reading that hunter's book too much, methinks."
Molly slipped away before he could pull her into a hug again and picked up her bag as she walked to the door.
"Well, I'll see you at noon then."
"What, you're going already?"
"Unlike you, I've already showered and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm dressed. Work starts at 9 today, gotta rush."
"But... You haven't even put on lipstick yet!" he said with mock despair, obviously trying to find something - anything - to hold her back a little.
Molly gave him a strange look.
"No, I didn't. Do you think my mouth is too small?"
Shinwell blinked.
"What? No! Where did that come from? I love your mouth. Your mouth is perfect."
Molly grinned.
"Good. See you for lunch then."
"What would you like to eat?"
"Quavers crisps!" Molly shouted back before she closed the door behind her.
Alone in the kitchen, Shinwell arched an eyebrow.
"Quavers crisps?"
I remember the first time we danced.
I remember tunnelling through the snow like ants.
What I don't recall is why I said,
"I simply can't sleep in this tiny bed with you anymore."
"For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."
You always say such horrible things. Always. Why is it you're so cruel? Do you really not realize it, are you truly insensible? Or do you know people care, but you still can't bring yourself to care? You keep doing so much damage.
I'm sorry Molly. I hope you get better. Please don't write any more. - John
"I am sorry. Forgive me. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."
That woman. Who was that woman? So silly, really. You couldn't possibly have slept with her. But even John seemed worried. He counted the texts you received from her. I would have gone mad if I'd been in his place. But then again he wasn't being very fair either. A man who counted the exact number of texts you received from a woman but could hardly remember a thing about the ones he dated. You were so spoiled, always so spoiled. Did you ever realize? How much you were loved.
"Would you like to have coffee?"
"Black, with two sugars?"
I wish you could have seen him. It must be terribly hard on you too, of course. I wish I could see how you are doing.
And there are these red apples too... Red apples everywhere... Hydrogen cyanide... Potassium cyanide... She could've died... John could've died... Who...
"Sherlock is dead. There's no reason anyone would want to target us. Maybe I'm just imagining things and panicking for nothing, but... You know. Old habits die hard."
They do. Don't they?
"He's not dead, is he? You examined him, surely he faked it, this is..."
Couldn't nod. Had to shake my head. See him fall. I didn't think you could break a man other than John, but you could.
"He can't... It's not..."
"I'm sorry, Greg. His brother took him to be buried just an hour ago. I'm sorry."
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
"Molly, this is Greg. It's about John."
Suicide? What do you mean suicide? Is he...?
"Mycroft said we shouldn't go see him."
No, of course not. Why would we be honest with ourselves after all? Why should we tell the truth about everything, least of all our feelings?
Oh God why do we have to hide and lie all the time?
Is this how you felt?
I wonder when your hell truly started... When did you understand? When did you know you'd have to go? When did you start lying to everyone? To...
"You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you."
Define "count". I've been counting. Too long. It's been too long.
"But you were right. I'm not OK."
Fear. I can't tell if it's yours or mine. I'm scared. Perhaps you're scared too. Or maybe you're just acting.
No. You wouldn't, would you? Not for this. Not for...
"Molly, I think I'm going to die."
Why didn't you tell John? Until the end you only treated us like pawns. You didn't tell me because I cared. You didn't tell me because you cared, God forbid! No. You told me because I could be useful to you.
"If I wasn't everything that you think I am - everything that I think I am - would you still want to help me?"
You must have been scared. Surely, you did feel fear. Doubt. I would have done anything for you, and I thought you knew. I realized you didn't. That's why I told you. You looked so sad... You were so good at hiding it from him. Life is unfair, but you were even more unfair than life.
"I need you."
I need...
"SHERLOCK!"
Molly woke up with a start. Molly, I think I'm going to die.
...I think I'm going to die.
...going to die.
...to die...
SHERLOCK!
"Darling? Are you awake?"
"Hey," Molly answered in a shaky voice.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
She was trembling. Rattled, she nuzzled up to her boyfriend.
"I know he lied," she murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing. Nightmare."
Shinwell stroked her hair soothingly.
"What did you dream about?"
Molly's eyes fell on her dressing gown hanging on a stand behind her bedroom door. Next to it there was a scarf. One couldn't see the colour in the dark, and it appeared to be grey; but Molly knew it was blue.
"I dreamed that someone died."
"Oh love."
Shinwell pulled her into an embrace. Molly did not fall back to sleep.
I should tell you that you were my first love.
So it's Christmas time, it's been three years.
And someone else is knitting things for your ears.
She knew she had been taking more coffees than strictly necessary lately. She knew, and yet here she was again, in front of the coffee machine, trying to make up her mind between an espresso and a double espresso.
"Hello Molly! Haven't seen you around a lot lately."
"Mike! How have you been doing?"
"Good, I'm good. Can I offer you something?"
"I was going to have coffee, but-"
"Here, let me."
"Thank you."
Once they both had their drinks in hand, they sat down on the plastic bench next to the machine and fell silent.
"So, John told me you're living with someone now?"
Molly couldn't repress a blush. "Yes. And it's going well."
"Good, that's wonderful. I'm really glad you could... Well, you know... After... Well."
They fell silent again.
"And John, too," Mike went on, apparently getting more and more embarrassed as the awkward quietness stretched on, and keen to say something. "His wife is lovely. I know they're planning on getting a divorce, but..."
A divorce. That's true. When? Would they really?
"...but they were made for each other, don't you think?"
"What? Oh, yes."
Would John still be married when Sherlock came back?
…Would Sherlock come back?
"I don't really understand this whole divorce thing, they've got a kid, they look sickeningly happy together and..."
They do. They look very happy together. Mary Morstan was Godsend for John. Or maybe it was the other way around.
"...but it seems they've made up their mind about it, so what can we do? Have you seen the baby?"
"Blake? Yes just once. He's adorable, isn't he? He looks like his..."
"...father."
"...mother."
They looked at each other and broke into laughter.
"Oh well, they both participated in the conception, so I guess he's got a bit of each."
John was a father now. He had a full-time job, responsibilities. A wife, even if they got a divorce - the mother of his child. How could Sherlock possibly cope with this? Would he... would he run away from it all, just...
"It's funny, I never imagined John with a child. God, I never imagined him married!"
...remain dead?
"Yes, well, things happen."
"That, they do. What about you? Are you planning to...?"
"What?! Oh, no!" She turned crimson. "I mean, I don't know, we haven't..."
"Ha ha! Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I was just wondering but it's none of my business."
None of his business. Would he think that? Now John had found his happiness. He was finally doing - somewhat - better. So Sherlock should not interfere with his life anymore. God, would he think that?
"Maybe it's better if they get a divorce."
"Sorry, what?"
"I mean..." She fumbled, and tried not to sound too flustered. "I mean, for the child. You know, when parents don't get along, it's not a good environment." What am I saying?
Mike looked at her strangely. "But they do get along, though."
"Right. Of course!" She let out a nervous laugh. He'll think I'm crazy. "It's just... you know, if they think it's for the best, surely they've got good reasons and it's better that way."
"Yeah. Yeah, naturally."
They fell quiet. Again.
Did Sherlock still feel anything about John, at all? It was likely that distance had exacerbated his feelings - that's what normally happens, but then this was Sherlock, so who knew? Maybe he no longer cared.
No. No, of course he cared.
"I wonder how Sherlock would have dealt with that! John getting married and having a kid."
"Well. It would have been a problem for the rent."
Mike stared. Molly slapped herself mentally.
"He would have reacted like a kid, surely."
"I bet he would have! Sulking..."
Molly felt a shiver run down her spine. She highly doubted Sherlock was still capable of such things. As sulking. As... acting like a child. At least an innocent, oblivious child. She knew it was for Sherlock's safety, but she wished Mycroft could have told her more when she had gone to see him. She desperately wished she knew how he was doing, how he was really doing.
"I don't think John could have managed to get a sentimental life - not to mention getting married and having a child - when Sherlock was still around," Mike said.
He saw Molly's look and added pre-emptively: "I'm not saying it's a good thing! God help me, I miss him. And I'm sure I'm not the only one. London has lost one of its greatest men."
Molly smiled gently.
John could never have married anyone when Sherlock was still 'alive'. Obviously, because Sherlock had been enough. John had been content.
Well, except for the sex. Hence the girlfriends.
Molly froze, holding her paper cup in mid-air.
"Are you all right?"
"What? Oh, yes. Sorry, I'm a bit out of it today."
"No problem."
Right. There was that, too. John's sexuality. Molly had a feeling that John's infatuation with Sherlock, which he now seemed to be more willing to admit, had a lot to do with the whole divorce plan.
She considered the situation for a second, and had to repress a groan.
Well. Everything was so convoluted. And Molly thought that perhaps, in Sherlock's place, she would run too.
I have come to learn I'll only see you interrupting my dreams at night
And that's alright. And that's alright. And that's alright. And that's alright.
"I'm exhausted!" Shinwell exclaimed as he dropped into the sofa, making Toby jump on the armchair. Molly came into the living-room with a cup of tea in hand and a smile on her face.
"Bad day, was it?"
"You have no idea. Hey, you're all dressed up! Are you going somewhere?"
"Well... we are going somewhere. We're having dinner with John and Mary, remember?"
Shinwell groaned. "No, I had forgotten all about it."
"I'm sorry, if you don't feel well, would you like me to-"
"No no no, I'll be ready in a minute."
She pushed him a bit so she could sit next to him on the sofa and leant in for a kiss.
"We have more time than that. We're not expected before 7."
"Good," he grumbled, pulling her down into a hug and kiss. Molly giggled.
"Stop it! You'll make me spill tea everywhere!"
"Damn the tea."
Molly felt a little awkward as she kissed her boyfriend back, and she couldn't say why. Something with the sofa... She blushed. Oh God.
"Something troubling you?"
"No. Why?"
"Your head is in the clouds lately."
"Is it?"
She kissed him again. Staying alive had been boring for Jim. What if Sherlock found it boring too, now that he didn't have any cases, and didn't have any people to protect? What if...
What if he'd already found it so boring that he...
They were interrupted by Molly's phone beeping.
"Let me take that."
"But it's a message."
"Yes, but it could be important."
"More important than me?"
"Nothing's more important than you," Molly countered as she stood up to take her phone. Shinwell pouted.
"It's John", she said.
"What is he saying? Are they cancelling?"
Molly gave him a not very convincing glare.
"No. It seems Mary invited people over tonight as well, so he asks if it bothers us if we're a bigger party than expected."
"What people?"
"Seb and Ron. You've already met Seb, I think. At the house-warming party."
Shinwell's expression darkened noticeably.
"Dear, what's wrong?" Molly asked worriedly.
"Nothing. Sorry. It's fine, of course."
"You sure? I can still cancel if you-"
"I said it's fine," he insisted, pressing a kiss to her brow as he walked past her and down the corridor to the room.
"I'll just have a shower and be ready!"
"Take your time."
Molly fell back on the sofa and welcomed Toby in her arms gratefully.
Jim had been a psychopath, or so they said. Many had said the same about Sherlock, and Molly highly doubted that. But it remained that both men were very similar in some ways.
Dreaming about Sherlock the previous night must have set her on edge, she thought. She didn't dream about him that often - actually, she didn't dream very often. Yet it had all felt so real. She could almost hear his voice, even now.
Molly, I think I'm going to die.
Sherlock must have seriously entertained the possibility at the time. Thought that it was possible that he would die, for real.
She shivered. Hearing his voice saying this now sounded ominous, too ominous for her. She didn't like it. It would be horrible, just horrible if Sherlock truly died after all he'd gone through to...
To what? What did he really want?
I wonder if he really got blue hair afterwards, she muses, trying to dispel her sense of dread. That would have been a sight. She chuckled.
Yes, it was all right. Surely he was all right.
I should tell you that you were my first love.
And it's alright. And it's alright. And it's alright.
"Mary this is delicious!"
"It is, isn't it? John cooked."
Seb almost choked on his food. "What? Seriously?"
"It's not because you don't do a thing that other people don't have talents," Ron said.
Sebastian glared at him.
"I do have talents!"
"Boys," John warned half-jokingly.
"Really?"
"Well, I'm good at whist, for one thing!"
"And?" Ron pressed on with a smirk.
"Shinwell would you like second servings?" Mary offered kindly, ignoring her husband her guests.
"Sure. It's delicious."
"I didn't know you could cook, John," Molly commented.
"The recipe is Angelo's."
"Who?" Molly asked.
"A friend who's got a restaurant."
"...and I can hunt, too!"
"Oh yeah, that's very useful," Ron replied with a smirk. "Sebastian Moran the Hunter! Perhaps you could hunt down some game next time for dinner? Please don't break into the zoo, though..."
"Oh shut up, I can hunt regular British game too, you idiot."
"So you hunt?" John asked, surprise in his voice. "I had no idea."
Molly felt Shinwell tense next to her and glanced at him with confusion.
"Yeah. I hunt," Sebastian answered with a smile. Shinwell's eyes were fixed on him.
"Shin, are you all right?"
"Mm? Yeah, of course."
"Do you not like hunting, Mr. Johnson?" Sebastian asked. Shinwell smiled stiffly.
"Not really. But Molly does. Don't you, love?"
"What?! Me?"
Everyone around the table seemed as puzzled as her.
"Why, yes, dear. Didn't you realize that you're in the presence of your favourite author?"
"My wha-"
Molly blinked. Sebastian Moran.
"Colonel Sebastian 're Colonel Sebastian Moran," she said as realization hit her.
"God, are you a colonel?" Mary asked.
"Don't say it like that! Sounds like you can't believe it."
"I can hardly believe it," John put in.
"Oh shut up, Captain. You'd actually have to answer to me if we were on the front."
"Well thank God we're not."
"Really? Sure you wouldn't enjoy it?"
"Seb, are you seriously flirting with my husband?" Mary cut in.
"Well, aren't you getting a divorce?" Sebastian countered provocatively.
"Oh so you're just going to jump on him the moment he's free, huh?" Mary said with a wide grin.
"Right. Why are we even discussing this again?" John interrupted.
"I've read your book," Molly said, trying to change the subject as well.
"Oh? Which one?"
For some reason, John blushed. Molly, knowing all about the symptoms, construed that Sebastian Moran must have sounded a bit like Sherlock, or reminded John of Sherlock in some way. She looked at the man more closely. He did have something of Sherlock. The hair, perhaps? But he didn't have curls. The face was quite different. The expressions, then?
"Molly?" Shinwell whispered, snapping her back to the conversation.
"Oh. Sorry. I've been daydreaming a lot, lately. What did you say?"
"I asked you which book of mine you've read," Sebastian replied pleasantly.
"Three months in the jungle."
"You spent three months in the jungle?!" John asked, befuddled.
"Impressed?" Seb retorted. John rolled his eyes.
"You're mad."
"So, did you like it?"
"What?" said Molly. "Oh. Yes. Well. I've never personally hunted, but..."
"Why did you buy such a book in the first place?" Mary laughed. "Planning on going on a trip to the jungle?"
"Oh no, that's not my cup of tea. Someone just... gave it to me."
They all stared at her. Molly wished she could disappear. She was saved by Blake, who started crying in the bedroom.
"I'll go," Mary said, standing up. "It's because you're all so noisy!"
"No, it's because he's hungry," John corrected, giving her a look. She stuck out her tongue at him and left the room.
"Isn't she too old to do that?" Seb asked.
"Do what? Be a mother?" John protested.
"No, you idiot. Stick her tongue at people."
"Oh. That. She's always done that."
"Either way, she's not old," Molly said. "A woman's life expectancy in England is 82.4 year old."
Again, they all stared at her. She closed her eyes and flushed.
"OK, I'll just... shut up, yes."
"No, no, that's fine," John said. Molly smiled. He must have been used to her weirdness by now. Plus, he'd shared a flat with Sherlock. He must've seen worse.
"By the way, John, I'm finally done reading all of your blog," Seb said. "It's brilliant stuff!"
"Yeah, well, Sherlock was brilliant."
"No, I mean, the adventures!"
"Now look who's the kid," Ron remarked casually.
"Seriously, I've become a fan!"
"Too bad the idol's gone now," John replied a little grimly.
"Oh no, don't get depressed," Sebastian moaned. "I was just going to ask if you wouldn't bring me on a tour, show me the places you've been to. It'd be so exciting!"
"On a tour?! What the hell..." John mumbled.
"Well I can show you the mortuary," Molly offered. There was an awkward silence. Shinwell chuckled and kissed her.
"I love you."
"What? Why? What did I say?"
"Nothing, love."
"Well I can't exactly bring you to Buckingham palace, if that's what you have in mind," John answered with good humour. "And there's no way I'm going back to Dartmoor."
"Aw come on, I only meant London, mate."
They spent the rest of the evening pleasantly, discussing one thing and another. Ron and Seb taught Shinwell and John how to play whist, while Mary and Molly talked by the fireplace.
"Thank you for inviting us tonight," Molly said, turning her cup of herbal tea in her hands absent-mindedly, thinking of a yellow mug with green polka-dots.
"It's our pleasure, really. I've been wishing to see you more, but with the baby..."
"Oh I understand! I mean obviously I don't because, I don't have one, but..."
"Do you want one?"
Molly stopped turning the cup. "I... I don't know. I guess I really should start thinking about it, shouldn't I?"
"Well, you don't have to, no."
They fell silent, but for some reason it was a comfortable kind of silence.
"Is John doing... well?" Molly inquired eventually.
Mary looked at her with surprise. "He's fine, yes. As fine as usual anyway. He spent hours researching bees today because he found the word 'apoidea' in Sherlock's notebook and realized he hadn't had time to look it up before. Nothing out of the usual, an ordinary Saturday as they go."
They broke into laughter.
"Did you know that the main difference between bees and wasps is that bees provide their babies with a mixture of pollen and honey, and wasps give them insects or spiders? Well I didn't, and I would have been fine not knowing."
"Mary, what are you telling Molly about me?"
"Nothing, darling. Just keep playing cards, won't you?"
"Why don't you play, then?"
"Because I am entertaining Miss Hooper here," Mary replied in a mock haughty tone.
Suddenly Molly stood up.
"What's this?"
They all turned to her as she stood up and walked closer to the fireplace. There was an envelope above it, placed right next to the skull.
"It has my name on it," she said.
Shinwell stood up and was by her side at once.
"I have no idea," Mary said. "John?"
"No. Don't touch it, Molly. I didn't put it there either."
"But it's just an envelope," she noted.
"Yes but why would there be an envelope for you in my flat?" John inquired. "No offence."
"Who came here today?"
"No one."
They all exchanged nervous glances, except Molly, who recognized the handwriting. She took the envelope.
"Molly, don't!" Shinwell exclaimed.
"Don't worry, I know who this is from," she announced. It was unmistakable. That handwriting. It was the exact same one Sherlock had mimicked on the back of Mycroft's name card for her, years ago. It was the handwriting of Mycroft in his teenage years.
Dear Miss Hooper,
I would love to have the pleasure to see you again some time. If you do come to visit at the Diogenes, the name card you used last time won't be necessary. You will be welcomed.
My kindest regards to Mr. Johnson, the Watsons, and their two other guests.
M.H.
We were seventeen again together.
And it's alright.
"You didn't have to contact me in such a way. John was furious."
"I'm sure he was," Mycroft replied in a honeyed tone.
Molly sat in the same chair she had used the first time she had come to this office, and felt a lot more embarrassed. Probably the hair, she thought. She hadn't dyed it blond this time.
"Why did you put the note there, Mr. Holmes?"
"I have my reasons," Mycroft drawled. Molly could have slapped him. Well, not really. No. Definitely not. Still, she found his superior attitude much more annoying than Sherlock's, because Mycroft was clearly quite aware of it, and did not share Sherlock's refreshing obliviousness.
"I know I am nothing like my brother, Miss Hooper, and I thank God for that. Now shall we move on to proper business?"
Molly blushed but forced herself to keep her composure.
"I'm listening," she said.
"Here," Mycroft told her as he handed her a piece of paper. "Read this."
Molly looked down and read: The Three Sillies. She blinked.
"What is this?"
"A fairy tale."
"A fairy tale?"
Mycroft did not bother answering and just waited for her to read. So Molly did. Once she was done, however, she was more lost than ever.
"What does this mean?"
"I don't know. What do you think?"
"I don't understand. Where did you find this? Why-"
"I think Sherlock read this. According to my sources, it was one of the first messages Moriarty left him."
"Moriarty? But he's-"
"Dead, yes. Obviously he left the letters before he died for someone to make sure Sherlock would read them, but that is not the point."
"Oh. So what's the point?"
Mycroft, who had been pacing the room in circles around Molly, sat back across from her.
"At the end of the fairy tale, the protagonist goes home and marries the farmer's daughter, since everybody else in the world was as silly as they were," he said. "Miss Hooper. Do you think Sherlock will come back?"
Molly gave him a pained, angry look.
"How should I know? I don't know where he is. I don't know how he's doing, what he's doing, I... I know nothing. But you must know. Why did you call me here, Mr. Holmes?"
"Once," Mycroft went on, apparently ignoring her, "he asked me if I thought there was something wrong with us."
"Wrong?" Molly asked, puzzled.
"Because, he said, we did not care. People care so much, but we do not."
Molly did not know what to say.
"Well, now we know he wasn't exactly being honest, don't we?"
Molly still remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the elder Holmes.
"Where is Sherlock?" she asked.
Mycroft looked back at her.
"It is better, for your safety and for his, that I do not tell you this piece of information."
"Then what can you tell me? Is he all right? Is he coming back soon?"
"He's not all right, but he'll manage. And I'm afraid he will have to come back, whether he wants it or not."
"Are you going to force him?"
"Force him? No. I won't do anything. But other people... Well. Let's just say the end of the tale is approaching. Everything must have been set. But I don't know how much has been written."
Now Molly had really no clue about what he Mycroft was trying to say.
"What are you talking about?"
"The end, Miss Hooper. The return of the hero. But the thing is, he's not alone."
"Of course not. We're here."
Mycroft gave her a look. "That is not exactly what I meant."
"Then what do you mean? I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Do you remember that woman Sherlock recognized from... 'not her face', as you put it?"
Molly paled slightly.
"Yes."
"She is not dead."
Molly's eyes widened.
"What? But..."
"I believed that she was, too. For a long time. But she isn't. Sherlock helped her."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"She's one of the characters, you see. She's part of the tale as well."
"Is Sherlock with her now?"
"Possibly. But most likely not."
Molly let out a sigh she didn't know she was holding.
"I am worried, Miss Hooper. I think Sherlock will have to face the end alone."
"The end of what?"
"Of the hell Moriarty set for him," Mycroft answered sternly.
Molly closed her eyes.
"Listen, Mr. Holmes. I do not know the part you played in Sherlock's... death. But a few days before he died, I... We were in the lab together. John was there, too. Sherlock was working on that case with the children of the ambassador. He..."
She averted her gaze and clenched her fists on her thighs.
"He looked sad, Mr. Holmes. So terribly sad. My father, when he was dying, he... he was always cheerful. But when no one could see him, he looked sad. I saw him once. Sherlock had the same look on his face. He looked sad... when he thought John couldn't see him."
"Miss Hooper..."
"No, please listen. I... I never counted for him. The night he came to me for help, he came... because he needed me. He was frightened, he was having doubts, about himself, about his life... He was terrified. And he was all alone. This was something he could not share with John, with the one person he must have most wanted to share it. I know he lied to me when he said I had always counted, and that he had always trusted me."
Her voice broke.
"I think you're wrong," Mycroft remarked quietly.
"Please. Let me finish. He... He asked me that night. He asked me: 'if I wasn't everything that you think I am - everything that I think I am - would you still want to help me?'"
Mycroft's eyes widened slightly at this. Molly's blurred and she had to close them.
"He must come back," she murmured shakily. "He must come back to John. His home is here, Mr. Holmes."
"I know," Mycroft declared. "And this is why I have asked you to come."
Molly took a deep breath and opened her eyes again.
"What can I do?"
"When he comes back - and he will come back - do you think you could... talk to John, perhaps? Tell him about... how Sherlock was before he left. Things he told you about him, maybe. Did he leave you any instructions?"
"He did."
"Perfect. Then tell him about that, too. Show him anything to... well. Anything that could testify to Sherlock's attachment to him."
"But why would that be necessary? Sherlock jumped from a rooftop to save his life, Mr. Holmes."
"And Lestrade's, and Mrs. Hudson's. John must understand how special he is."
Molly nodded slowly.
"I am sorry you've had to go through all this," Mycroft said as he stood up, signifying the end of the conversation.
"Through what?"
The elder Holmes extended his hand to her and gave her a pointed look.
"It must be difficult for you to lie to everyone about this. I wanted to express my gratitude, Miss Hooper. I'm afraid I did not thank you enough the first time we met."
Flabbergasted, Molly simply stood there without a word. Mycroft Holmes was very imposing, and impressing enough when he was being his haughty self; but when he was being sympathetic, he was truly terrifying.
"Please just ensure he comes back," she replied softly.
Mycroft nodded. Molly stopped at the door and turned back.
"Mr. Holmes?"
"Yes?"
"Did your leaving the letter at John's flat have anything to do with Sebastian Moran's presence there?"
Mycroft smiled secretively.
I should tell you that you were my first love.
We were seventeen again.
"Hi, Greg? I'm sorry it's a bit late. This is Molly."
"Hey, Molly. It's been a while. Is everything all right?"
"I..." She held her phone away and let out a sob. "I think I need to have a drink." She paused, trying to suppress the tremor in her voice. She failed. "We used to be closer, a bit, do you remember when we spent Christmas together at Sherlock's? Well I was prettier then, with that fancy dress that didn't truly fit me and my hair done and all the make-up, it was silly, I was trying so hard to catch his attention..."
"Molly, where are you?"
"Pall Mall," she said before bursting into tears.
Half an hour later she was sitting at a pub table with Greg, crying and apologizing profusely.
"I'm so sorry to bother you like this. I don't know what's got into me, I just..."
"It's all right. It happens."
"Does it? Does it happen?"
"Yes," Lestrade assured her, taking her hand on the table. "Calm down. You can cry if you want. I cried. John must have cried. Maybe not Mycroft, but then again he's barely human..."
Molly let out a broken chuckle.
"Is that what you were doing at Pall Mall? Seeing him?"
She nodded. "But it's not him... It's not because of him that I... Oh I'm being ridiculous."
She ordered another drink, and noticed Lestrade was wise enough not to stop her.
"He called me John, you know," she said, feeling a bit drunk already, fighting back off the tears. "There was only John for him. I couldn't even remember his name at the beginning - John's, I mean - but Sherlock, he only saw John, he saw John everywhere, every other person was John to him... Oh I'm pathetic I'm talking nonsense..."
"It's all right. It's all right, Molly."
"I just wish... I just wish he were here. I want him to be here. He should've told John, he..."
"Shh. It's fine. It's all fine."
"No it's not! They were... They should have... Oh this is so frustrating."
"But you, I thought you..."
She dried her tears with a handkerchief and drank again. "Oh, I did. I did. But he called me John!" She giggled helplessly. "What could I do? I tried hard enough. Not giving up would have been too humiliating at one point."
Greg nodded kindly. "But you know, he must have cared about you quite a lot. He knew your full name, at least."
Molly blinked.
"Didn't he know yours?"
"Nope."
They stared at each other for a second, then broke into chuckles. Molly pressed her handkerchief to her eyes again.
Well, perhaps he didn't know your full name, but you got a sniper. I didn't get any. I was the way out.
"Do you want to go home?" Greg asked.
Molly shook her head.
You'd better come back, Sherlock Holmes. Come back where you belong.
...come back to John Watson.
She ordered another drink.
Together.
.
.
.
tbc
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