Thursday's Thoughts: Molly

Sequel moment to Thursday's Child

"Hello Molly. Come to visit John again?" Mary asked as she entered the prayer room.

It was a room they had there for those to find some solace in grave situations. There were a few rows of pews and at the top there was an alter, sort of, and on the sides there were candles that illuminated the whole room because there didn't seem to be any electric lights. This was a place for the hopeless to come to in hopes of finding...well, some hope. But it wasn't meant for just one type of religion. There were no crosses, there wasn't a Buddha statue, there wasn't a Bible or a Qur'an...and yet whatever you believed in was in that it was everywhere else.

Molly jumped a little when her name was called and turned to look at Mary. She smiled shyly and nodded, "Oh yes. His flowers needed replacing."

Mary nodded and walked up to John's memorial.

It was something that was unanimously decided. Typically when someone working there passes they have a plaque made and they're name goes on a wall. It didn't seem like enough justice to John Hamish Watson. In their prayer room Mary took it upon herself to make a small memorial alter for John.

It was a place that held a picture of him during the holidays. With nowhere else to go John was one of the few that volunteered to work on the holidays. He'd smile and bring gifts for the children, read to them, and made their holiday a little better. There were candles all around his picture. All lit by patients, their children, nurses, and other doctors.

John's picture was so popular that even strangers would visit after hearing tales of the Golden Angel, as they called John.

"Thank you for doing this Molly," Mary said.

Molly looked from Mary to the ground. It wasn't a secret that Mary fancied John. With what happened a lot of the doctors wished John would have left Sherlock for her. Molly being 'friends' with Sherlock, having liked him a lot before, and knowing more than others what happened behind closed doors was very confused and conflicted with what she wanted. She didn't want Sherlock to hurt but she had seen first handed what his cruel indifference had caused, having been victim of his manipulation for many years. Mary was nice and pretty, and she was what Sherlock classified as 'normal'.

"It's no problem. The flower shop where I get them knew John...he helped Sherlock solve a case for them. Saved the owners son from going to jail. When they heard about...what happened, they insisted on free flowers. Every Thursday he'd go and buy some Azalea's. They never knew why but...they seem to fit him..." Molly said quietly.

Mary smiled and looked from Molly to the flowers to the picture of John. Her eyes were dazed as she smiled and said, "Take care of yourself for me...that is very much something John would say. To many people."

They fall into a silence as they look at John's picture.

"With all that's happened...would you have thought me evil had I convinced him to be with me?" Mary asked suddenly.

Molly jumped at the question, "I...well...I..."

"You used to fancy his husband. I've heard stories of how he treated you...and you saw first hand what he did to John. That could have been you. I'm merely curious Molly. Would you have thought me evil had I saved John. Made him a normal man. Gave him a family and peace his fighting soul deserved...he'd be alive right now. Making children smile and mothers happy...being the Golden Angel of St. Bartholomew," Mary said.


Mary smiled at her, "It's alright. We could spend time talking about what could have happened, defended different parties, and mentioned everything we could have done had we known this would happen but it doesn't change anything. The fact is that John is dead...I love him, even now that he's gone. I still love him. I still hate Sherlock. Not for being who he is, but for have gotten to John first. Nothing will change that...the flowers are lovely Molly. I'm sure he would have appreciated it very much."

Molly watched her go.

That was all she could do. She knew that many people at the hospital cursed Sherlock's existence. Claiming that it was better that he remained dead rather than coming back and killing John. That's what they see him as: John Hamish Watson's killer.

Molly was one of the few who accepted Sherlock for who he was. Accepted his brilliance and difference. She wanted to defend him but it became impossible when she would see John.

When he was in front of his patients it would be like nothing was wrong. He would smile and make those around him smile too. He was a godsend.

That was something Molly never doubted, even when he himself did.

Then his shift would end and he'd pack up. He had to pass the morgue to leave and she would see him. He was practically dead as he walked out the hospital doors. Shoulders slumped, face fallen, grays more noticeable, paleness more evident, and his eyes that once shone with the promise of adventure were now dull with cold neglect.

Molly had been there at their wedding and it had been John who had helped her into the dating world once more. Helped her find her Sampson. He was an accountant at a construction company. Nothing as exciting as a consulting detective running around at all hours of the night chasing the evilest of humans. No, he was a nine to five man. But he was hers and he loved her and he told her so every day. They went on dates and met each others family and she's engaged and they'll have a family soon.

None of that would be possible if she still had some illusion that she would end up with Sherlock. John had caused her heart to break but in a gentle way. Sort of like that episode of Doctor Who and the first time they introduced the Weeping Angels. The merciful killers. Had John not killed her expectations it would probably be her that was, she'd still be alive. Still pining after a man who would never see her the same way, but was merely using her to get what he wanted.

She sighed as she returned to her work station.

She was there when John's body had been strolled in. She gasped in horror and apologized to her boss, claiming with tears in her eyes that she couldn't work on John. One of her colleagues had done the autopsy.

Molly had no idea what she had expected. Some criminal being cornered into a corner and John had been at the wrong place at the wrong time? A mugging while he went to fetch more milk? A stroke due to stress?

Then a small ounce of fear creeped up her spine as she thought, for a second, that maybe Sherlock had...

Molly shook her head rapidly. Even to this day she refused to think that Sherlock was able to kill John like that...physically. Sherlock being Sherlock, it was somewhat more acceptable, no not acceptable, expected, that John would die the way he did.

The relief Molly felt when she was informed that it had been natural causes was too much for her. She collapsed to the floor, still in tears. The curiosity got the best of her in the end though. She had been working with Sherlock for many years and needed to see John's body for herself. To make sure it was actually him. To make sure someone hadn't actually killed him and gotten away with it. But there was nothing. No new scars, no puncher wounds to indicate an injection, no discoloration that was caused by some poison. Nothing...

John Hamish Watson was dead. He died of natural causes. He just gave up.

That thought would bring more tears to Molly. She knew how strong John had been. He'd have to be to put up with Sherlock's uniqueness. For him to give up...for his heart and mind to tell his soul that there was nothing left to salvage and to surrender...there must have been unimaginable emotional pain.


Molly looked up from her work and turned to the door. Sherlock Holmes was standing there. Eyes downcast.

Once upon a time he would stroll in like he owned the place. He used to be the embodiment of confidence and arrogance mixed with birthright importance. Now left was the shell of a man who lost his North Star. He couldn't look the world in the eye anymore, not without his John.

"Sherlock," Molly greeted.

"It's your break. Do you wish to go to lunch with me?" he asked quietly.

Once upon a very long time ago she would have died with happiness at that statement, now? Oh how long had that been? It couldn't have been too long ago that John was walking among them? Happy and love...

"Let me change and grab my purse," Molly replied and he nodded.

Molly could be like the rest and openly hate Sherlock for what he'd done. It was only rightful that he'd bare the blame of John's death. But she couldn't. Molly wasn't that type of person. She didn't like holding on to negative emotions or grudges.

Seeing the man she once wanted for his brilliance and confidence look so broken and distraught made her heart ache. Sherlock already blamed himself for what happened, her adding fuel to that fire would do nothing good.

Sometimes...sometimes she thinks what she does is far more evil than what the others do to him. The others are merely strangers to Sherlock who tell him hateful things, but he was used to that. He grew up like that. That's what made him like that.

She was someone he knew. Someone who he couldn't or didn't delete. Someone who held something he dearly wanted. She could spend hours telling him stories about John, and she has, but no matter how much detail she went into there is nothing like the real thing. She could only describe her memories of John to him, not give them away completely.

Deep down Molly thinks that's more evil than anything anyone can say to Sherlock.

They leave in silence and go to a near by restaurant. She orders something small and she orders something for Sherlock as well. Before he could protest Molly answers quietly, "We would come here sometimes. When our breaks were at the same time. He'd always order that."

Sherlock nodded and looked at the pastry before him. Analyzing to the last crumb. It was a cheesecake with blueberry syrup on top and actual blueberries on top. Sherlock ate without complain. He closed his eyes and savored the flavor. Molly was used to this. He'd ask her to tell him of his favorite places, if she knew them. Since they worked together, and he introduced her to Sampson, they would take John out to eat a lot. Sherlock would go to those places and sit exactly where John sat. Sometimes he could bully the people there to give him the table John had used. Sometimes Mycroft or his people would magically appear and they'd get him that table. Sometimes they'd wait hours for that table. Sherlock would order John's order exactly and close his eyes and savor it. Greg told her that he's storing it away in his mind palace. That he needs the information to recreate John in his mind.

She worried for his sanity when she heard that. Apparently he would go into his mind palace to a replica of 221B where John was alive. All the data he's been gathering is because he's literally recreating their lives in his mind palace. He needs all that data because when he has conversations with John his illusions last longer with the more information he has.

Somehow though she can't help but give him what he wants. He's become so very pathetic.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, for a blink, he was happier. Molly had no doubt that when he returned to 221B he would go into his mind palace and maybe surprise his mind John with this very pastry.

"Thank you for coming," he says.

Molly smiles sadly.

John's death really has changed the man in front of her. He wants so desperately bad to have his love back, but he can't. He also doesn't have the memories to help him through the worst pain of grieving. That last of John is in the minds and memories of others. He can't afford to lose them or risk losing John completely.

"No problem," she replied. "What do you want to know today?"

Sometimes he would ask her to repeat stories she's already told him. Sometimes he'd want new stories he hasn't heard.

"He switched from working on anyone in the clinic to specializing in children. How did that start?" Sherlock asked.

Molly smiled and began her story. It was one of her favorites, "It's how he got the name St. Bartholomew's Golden Angel."

A ghost of a smile graced Sherlock's face at the nickname donned on his former love.

"The day was horrid. You could hardly see through the rain. A little boy was rushed in and no matter who looked at him no one knew what was wrong with him. They were getting desperate and someone," it had been Mary but Sherlock didn't like her mentioning the blonde woman. He'd learn about her liking John and it didn't sit well with the consulting detective, "had the idea of getting John. He'd learn so much from you," she would compliment Sherlock a lot, trying to help him get back on his feet anyway she could, "it was already rumor that a patient would only need to walk into the room and John would know what was wrong with them. So John visited the little boy and inspected him. He had very tiny puncture holes on the small of his back. He had fallen on some rusty tools and had gotten infected. John had guessed where to look because his older brother by a year said they had been playing tag near their tool shed. They quickly gave the little boy the proper antibiotics to help him fight the infection and he was as right as rain in a few days. He came back and him and his brother drew pictures of John as an angel. They drew him in his white lab coat and stethoscope but added wings and a halo. John loved the pictures so much he hung them up in his office and they raised his spirits so much...not a week later he began working on specializing in children..."

After explaining in more detail and answering any questions Sherlock had like what did the boys look like. What type of equipment had been used in the boys hospital room, was John wearing a tie, what about the mother and father?

She answered all she could before her break ended and she needed to head back to work. Sherlock paid, like he always did, which was also a new surprise. They bid farewell and she wouldn't see him for a few days. Until his latest illusion shattered and he needed more data.

With a sigh Molly returned. Before heading to the morgue she went to the praying room and when straight to John's picture. She grabbed an unlit candle and lit it.

"I...I don't know what to say. Sorry seems a bit...unwanted. Almost insulting really. Trying to defend him seems like...a betrayal. I don't want to be like the others John. I don't want to be hateful or resentful or..." Molly straightened and took a deep breath, "It's not who I am. It's not who I want to be. I don't want to feel bad forever...I miss you too John, of course I do. You were so nice. So caring. I miss you John and I'm thankful. That's what I am. For your time with me, for bringing Sampson to me, for your time here, for your time in the world. Thank you John."

The original of this is Thursday's Child. It has a sequel called Thursday Again. There is another one shot which are basically Mycroft's thoughts. Please if you have time, read them. It'll give more insight on this.