Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, Sherlock and Molly would have lots of really hot sex. And even more scenes together. Alas, I don't. But I'm still holding out hope for the sex.
Summary: Molly Hooper's relationship, or whatever it is…she still hasn't been able to find a proper name for it, with Sherlock Holmes started out with a favor. Flash forward years later and she wonders if he knows that this particular favor will kill her.
VERY IMPORTANT AN AT THE BOTTOM. PLEASE READ.
I LOVE ALL OF YOU.
It's a little bit dark and definitely a little bit angsty with some mentions of slight abuse (when under the influence, language, etc...more will come in future chapters) Of course smut will come a bit later. Or soon. It depends on my muse. Lol. But yes, just want to give everyone a fair warning. Reviews are greatly appreciated! Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. This comes from a prompt from Petra Todd, which is why you all should read the AN at the bottom!
Read this Truth
Molly Hooper's relationship (or whatever it is…she still hasn't been able to find a proper name for it) with Sherlock Holmes started out with a favor. Not a simple one. One that had to do with a body and body parts and sulfuric acid…it was all very grotesque and any other person would have thrown him out of the morgue while simultaneously phoning Scotland Yard.
Not Molly though. No. Instead, Molly cocked her head to the side and studied him. She couldn't read the man (she couldn't read any man, or woman, or anyone really) but she could see that he really did want to experiment and he was almost-almost-brimming with a sort of excitement that children get when they're told they get to have ice cream after dinner (she knows this because her brother uses that bribe on his son all the time.) At the same time, she could tell it's an unrestrained sort of excitement, something pulsing through his veins that is clearly not natural adrenaline.
She doesn't answer for a few moments and he opens his mouth and proceeds to tell her everything about her. Her jaw drops as he dissects her life (her lonely pathetic life.) He's cold and callous and obviously doesn't care about her feelings at all, but Molly can't help but find herself fascinated. He's an enigma. He's different. He's…Sherlock Holmes.
"Neat trick." She breathes out.
He looks affronted. "It is not a trick. I observe and deduce."
"Okay." She says because she doesn't know what else to say.
"Oh, that." Molly interrupts, "you're going to have to ask Mike. Mike Stamford, he's-"
"I know who Mike Stamford is." He snaps.
Molly narrows her eyes. "Ask his permission, then and get me the proper paperwork."
He's silent. "The liner brings out your eyes." He looks shocked at what just came out of his mouth and Molly freezes, scalpel mid-air. "It makes them less small." It's a lame finish but Molly can't help but blush.
"I still can't just give you what you requested. You really do need to talk to Mike. I'm-"
"New." He finishes. "Yes. I know." And with a sweep of his large black coat, he's striding out of the morgue leaving a bewildered and very confused Molly behind him.
She stood up to him though. No matter how hard her heart pounded against her chest. No matter how much she was yearning to let him have free reign in her morgue, she stood her ground. She resolved to not weaken because her father and brother raised her better than that. She would not give in to anyone (not even to a brilliant but obviously unhinged man with piercing blue eyes.)
He later comes in, not with the proper paperwork but with Mike. Mike tells her while rolling his eyes to let Sherlock Holmes do whatever he wants and give him whatever he needs and for the love of God keep him away from Doctor Saunier, lest you would like one-if not both-of them to be your next autopsy.
He smiles proudly, almost smugly but his eyes dance with excitement and glee.
(And just like that, she's done for. All her strength she thought she had disappeared the moment Sherlock Holmes walked into her morgue. She's royally screwed herself over; she knows this, because her thudding heart won't let her forget.)
He comes in all the time. Haunting her. Taunting her. It's almost unfair how her heart skips a beat whenever she sees a black coat, not just at the hospital but everywhere. She thinks she sees him everywhere she goes and it's starting to drive her crazy. He's starting to drive her crazy.
But she can't help but admire him. He's brilliant. He's so brilliant, it hurts. She wonders what it's like in his head sometimes. She wonders what she would find there.
Then one day, a year after she meets him, she sees him explode. It's a horrible moment. He's vicious, more so than usual, cutting her down with barbs sharp enough to stab her and make her bleed. He rips her very being to shreds, he deduces her father's deteriorating health and her brother's struggles as a single parent and her constant need to be nice to everyone, to see the good in everyone. It's not like she can help it, it's who she is. It's a trait she shared with her mother.
She stands there shocked. Astonished. Mortified. Worried. For him. Because that's just who she is. "Sherlock…are you…okay? Did something…happen?" Oh, now she stutters. Fantastic.
"I'm fine." He asks, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. "I'm fantastic. I'm…glorious. Everything is glorious. Don't you see? Can't you see? Why can't you see, Molly?" He's gripping her arms and pulling her to him and Molly would have been internally screaming for joy if he weren't gripping her arms so tightly that she knows she'll have bruises for days.
She looks into his eyes and almost rears back. His pupils are blown back and he looks…he is…high. Oh. God. "Sherlock." She says quietly, "What did you take?"
"What haven't I taken?" He admits gleefully. He laughs loudly and it's like nothing she's ever heard.
"You're high. You need help. You need…need...rehab."
His grip tightens and she lets out a cry. "You're hurting me!" She yelps and wrenches herself away from him. She cowers in the corner, staring at him with wide eyes. She's breathing fast, her pulse is racing, heart pounding.
The morgue doors burst open and Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade comes in. He takes one look at Sherlock and then at Molly. She knows he's taking in her defensive and terrified stance and how she's rubbing her arms with trembling hands. She knows he's taking in Sherlock's eyes, appearance and he snaps. He grips Sherlock's face and looks at him. "What are you taking? What have you taken?" Sherlock doesn't answer; he just keeps staring at Molly. "What have you done? Sherlock, what have you done to Molly?"
"I'm fine." Molly croaks out, her voice shaky, she's not fine, she's nowhere near fine. "It was…an accident."
"Don't." Sherlock snaps, his voice cold but his blue eyes are still staring at her, "defend me." He looks at Lestrade and shakes him off. He grabs his phone and texts someone. With one last (hesitant) glance at Molly, Sherlock leaves.
(She finds out the next day, from Lestrade, that he went into rehab.)
Molly cries for days. She likes to think it's because of her fading bruises but she knows it's not. She cries for Sherlock and not even because he has to turn to drugs but because she knows what it's like in his head now and she wonders how long he's been so lonely.
When he comes back from his three-month stint at rehab, he's different. His eyes are clearer, he looks healthier. He's much more…like the Sherlock she always pictured in her mind.
He's there, in the morgue when she comes in for the morning shift. She jumps and lets out a small yelp when she turns on the light to see him standing in the same spot he was in all those months ago. He's staring blankly at the corner, where Molly cowered in fear all those months ago.
"You're back." She says softly.
He turns around slowly and Molly drinks him in like he's alcohol. "I hurt you."
"It's fine…you were…not yourself." It's an excuse and a pathetic one but Molly doesn't have it in her to hold it against him.
"It was not my intention to hurt you. The drugs…while clouding my mind are not an excuse and you should never forgive me for putting my hands on you and hurting you."
"I do though. I always forgive you." It's her curse. It's his blessing and her curse.
They're silent and he stares at her, eyes roving her body, as if looking for any lasting injuries. "You're letting your hair grow. It suits you."
Molly smiles, bites her lip and can feel her face heat up. "I have a body…if you need it."
"Male, between forty-five and seventy-four?"
"Female." She corrects him. "Between thirty-one and forty."
"That will do."
And just like that, they're back to normal.
"Are you familiar with the term masochist?" Her brother asks her over the phone one day.
"No." She says bluntly.
"No, you're not familiar with it or no, you're just in deep denial."
"I am not a masochist. That's just…why would you say something like that?"
Her brother growls, "Because it's true. For fuck's sake Molls, the guy is a tool. He's using you, he insults you all the time and he put his hands on you. I'll kill him if I ever see him and if I didn't live in bloody Cardiff, I would."
"How's Sammy?" She asks after her nephew who she hasn't seen in entirely too long. She wants to see him. Wants to see her brother and her father and hold their hands and look at old photos.
"You're changing the subject."
"How perceptive." God, she's beginning to sound like him.
"Sherlock Holmes is going to break you, Molly. He's going to break you and I'm going to be sent to prison for murder."
She laughs. It's forced.
Sherlock Holmes won't break her. He'll kill her, but he won't break her (not anymore than he already has.)
The years pass and blur and her entire life revolves around Sherlock Holmes. Her friends from Uni don't bother to visit her anymore (not since the Dave incident, oh God, she doesn't ever want to think about that, ever again) and her colleagues steer clear from her and the morgue.
The only companions she has are the dead, a Detective Inspector and Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective.
She continues to do him favors and continues to do herself none. She still watches him as he conducts his experiments because Sherlock Holmes at work is glorious. A sober Sherlock Holmes at work is even more glorious.
(She sometimes gets calls from his landlady Mrs. Hudson who begs her to remove the dead body parts before she faints. She's a lovely old lady and Molly has tea with her often. Mrs. Hudson called her out on her crush on Sherlock the moment she met her. When Molly asks one day how she even got her number, Mrs. Hudson smiles, cocks her head and says, "why, Sherlock, of course.")
She's worked up the courage to ask him out a couple times. He completely misreads her questions, or just blatantly twists them. Either way it's rejection. But Molly swallows her tears and smiles because for every rejection, he's always there. He always comes back and that means something, right?
She knows how he likes his coffee, how he likes his tea, how even though he says he doesn't eat much, he particularly likes lemon poppy seed loaf. She knows what stool he prefers, what microscope he likes, she knows everything about him. Well…almost everything. She can never understand his heart. Sometimes in her darkest moments, she wonders if he even has one.
"You're happy." He tells her one-day. "Why?"
She looks shocked and then she shakes her head. "My brother is getting married." Her brother finally met a woman who wasn't intimidated by having a stepson and who actually cared for both of them. Molly couldn't have been happier when she got the call and the subsequent invitation. Katie asked her to be her maid-of-honor and Molly said yes automatically.
His face twists. "Sentiment. Disgusting."
"You're against marriage too?" Why does this not surprise her?
"Marriage is an inconvenience not to mention ridiculous as divorce rates are rapidly increasing, you should not get your hopes up on a happy marriage. Nearly every marriage fails."
"It must be horrible to be you." She claps her hands over her mouth.
He stills. "Pardon me?"
Molly shakes her head rapidly.
"Don't cower now Molly. Finish. What. You. Were. Saying."
And because she has nothing to lose, Molly's hands fall to her side, hanging limply. "I just mean…you don't…you don't believe in sentiment. You don't believe in love…or…or…friends. I mean you've got me and we're friends…at least I think we are but you always…I don't know. You believe in science and observing and…deducing and…doesn't it get lonely? Don't you ever…I just feel bad for you."
"Is that what friends are for? Is that what sentiment is for? Pity?"
"No." She flushes. Oh, this is going all wrong, how did you expect it go Molly?. "That's not…you're twisting my words."
"If I were to ever require a friend, Miss Hooper, it most certainly would not be you." He belittles her credentials and that hurts the most because she knows she's good at what she does. He knows she's the best at what she does.
Then he storms out, leaving behind Molly with tears of humiliation and heartbreak streaming down her cheeks.
Her brother's wedding is small and it's in Cardiff. She hasn't seen Sherlock in nearly two months and she's worried that he's relapsed or worse, dead.
Her brother is happy. Katie is happy. Sammy is happy. Her father is weak and tired and he smiles when everyone is looking but Molly can tell that even he's happy.
Molly is happy, if she can stop being so sad.
When she looks at her brother's and Katie's beaming faces, she wishes Sherlock were here with her so she could show him what it means to be love and have someone to love you back.
Sherlock is at the morgue when she comes back.
"I'm sorry." She says to him quietly, not wanting to disturb him.
"I need a body." He doesn't bother with an offhand compliment, which he's started to include before every request, knowing full well the cruel hope it places in Molly's fragile heart.
She nods and goes to get one for him.
Everything is back to normal.
John Watson comes into the picture on a dreary cloudy day.
Sherlock's interests are immediately piqued. (It's been three years and Molly knows him by now. Knows that she will never hold his interest for longer than a fleeting moment.)
Molly can feel him drifting further and further away from him until she realizes that she doesn't matter. She's never mattered.
Not to Sherlock anyways.
(He still asks for favors and Molly always grants them.)
Jim from IT is nice. He's funny and kind and he's smart. Almost as smart as Sherlock. He's clever too (he knows who the killer is in every police show and movie they watch.)
He's attentive to her and he's really a fantastic kisser and she thinks that she could finally-finally-be happy with someone. It's been so long after so many failed dates that she finds herself with an extra spring in her step.
Then Sherlock Holmes shoots her happiness right in the face.
Jim for his part just shrugs, tells her that he really did like her and that she almost-almost-makes him sorry.
(She has no idea what he's talking about.)
Then she finds out Jim is Moriarty and that he's not from IT but actually a psychopath Consulting Criminal.
(And now she knows exactly what he's talking about.)
"Come up for Christmas."
"Working." She tells her brother.
"You're always working. Sammy wants to see his auntie and Katie is driving me mad."
"You're the one who got her pregnant."
"Don't remind me. Call me then at Christmas yeah?"
"Yeah, of course."
Their father died a few months earlier and they're struggling to hold on to who they used to be.
The Hooper Orphans, her brother joked once, then he promptly burst into tears.
She should have gone to her brother's. It would have saved her the embarrassment. All she wanted was one chance. Just one. To make Sherlock see. For all that he observes and deduces, he can't see what's right in front of him.
Until she's verbally beaten, broken and bloodied. She remembers thinking that she would have preferred that day in the lab when he grabbed her so tight he bruised her, than this.
Irene Adler happens a little bit later and Molly suddenly knows what all his rejections were about.
And she knows that she never once, ever, stood a chance.
"I'm going to kill him." Her brother spits.
"I think…that I want to first." She tries out the words and immediately wants to take them back.
She couldn't ever. She loves him too much.
In the end, she does kill him. But only because he asks, as a favor.
And Molly has always granted his favors.
He's off fighting Jim's-Moriarty's-network but he comes back every now and then. He always needs patching up and she never hesitates to try and piece him back together. She tells him about John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson quietly, never once mentioning herself and what she's going through.
He never asks, just stares at her.
Two and a half years in of lying, mourning, and watching the people who mean so much to him (to her) try and piece their lives together, Sherlock comes to her.
As always, with a favor.
"Molly, I need you to marry me."
There is so much wrong with that sentence. So much. But Molly doesn't fight because she sees something in his eyes, almost a sort of desperation, almost. "Okay." Molly Hooper has never denied him and she never will.
She's an idiot.
A masochist. (Her brother will laugh until his throat bleeds.)
Molly Hooper's relationship (or whatever it is…she still hasn't been able to find a proper name for it) with Sherlock Holmes started out with a favor.
She wonders if he knows that this favor will finally be the one to kill her.
He probably does.
He probably doesn't care. Because for everything he's said, Molly Hooper doesn't count. Not really.
So, this story is based on Petra Todd's Sherlolly photoset with the prompt "Hiding out in the French countryside after the Fall, Molly and Sherlock pose as a married couple. Over time, the line between disguise and reality blurs. Molly is certain Sherlock will push her away after they spend the night together but the man he has become surprises her."
If you want to see the photo it's here: post/42367339577/hiding-out-in-the-french-countryside-after-the (WARNING: It's not Work safe or Child safe. It does contain nudity and sexual themes, if this is a trigger, do not click on it.) I think it's beautiful but then again I think everything Petra Todd does is beautiful. Which leads me to say that you should definitely, if not already, check out her Tumblr (again it does contain nudity and some of the stuff is not work safe or child safe. There is porn on it, but beautiful Sherlolly porn along with really awesome other things) Hopefully these URLs show up properly. lol.
So yes, Petra Todd is the inspiration behind this story. Which hopefully lives up to the prompt.
I LOVE YOU ALL.
So, yes. Ahem…another story. Dear Lord, what am I doing with myself? Obviously, torturing poor Sherlock and Molly. It's more background than anything else, getting set up for the later chapters. Won't be a long story (are any of my stories long? Lol.)
I hope that you guys like this! Reviews are greatly appreciated. And I LOVE YOU GUYS. SERIOUSLY LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH. AMAZING. ALL OF YOU.
Thanks again and much love!