Well then, this is a long overdue prompt fill for my dear Aditi, who has been so lovely a friend. :) Sorry it's taken so long, love. Hope you enjoy this! I'm thinking it'll be a few chapters, so...yea. Oh, and in case nobody noticed, which I hadn't even either, Aditi pointed it out to me...THIS IS MY 50TH FANFICTION!
WOW! That's a bit hard to believe. lol. anyway, YAY FOR 50 FICS!
I do not own anyone/thing relating to the BBC, Sherlock Holmes, or otherwise.
That is all.
Live Like You Were Dying:
It was supposed to be a normal, routine physical. All of her vitals were fine, and she had aced the reflex test with flying colors. So, when it came to overhearing Mike Stamford on the phone, describing what could only be cancer, and then describing someone that could only be her, Molly was shocked.
Molly had been passing by Mike's office, really just on her way to her own in the long line of spaces. She had stopped upon hearing her surname.
"Yes, Hooper. 32, she's the head pathologist here. Petite thing, sweet girl. No, no I haven't told her yet." He sighed heavily, and Molly peeked in to see his somber expression.
"No, the spots were far more solid than anything like that. I just, I don't know how to tell her. She's so young, ya know? Bright young thing, helps a lot around here." Molly gasped as she heard him discussing with the other person on the phone. Mike looked up at the sound, and saw her widened eyes, already tearing up. He murmured to the other person, and stood up.
"Yea, Tom, I've got to call you back. Right, thanks.' Oh Christ, Molly. Wait, come inside." He motioned for her to take a seat. However, a brusque shake of her head told him she wasn't in the mood to talk.
"I...I'm just going to take some...time off. If that's o-okay." She mumbled. Mike nodded his head, and had moved to give her a sympathetic hug. However, Molly had already turned and was swiftly making her way down the hall and toward the exit.
That had been two days ago, and Molly had still been curled up in her duvet. Mike had called, naturally wanting to check on her, but more importantly, wanting to ask her if she'd considered the options.
"I...I don't want treatment. I watched my dad go through that. I saw how sick it made him. I don't want to go through that again." She spoke softly, trying her hardest to sound marginally okay.
"Of course. I forgot about your dad, Molly. I'm so sorry. I- if you want to come in, we can sit down and figure this out together. Ya know, go through the other options that don't require such a harsh treatment. I just hate to see you give up. Please?" Molly had to smile at how sweet the man always was. Even in the darkest of times, Mike Stamford brought a certain light to situations. So, despite her desire to spend another two days in bed hibernating, she agreed to return to Bart's.
"What do you mean she's out sick? This is Molly Hooper we're talking about. She hardly took off when her mother came for a visit from the States." Sherlock was, in a word, annoyed. The current pathologist was anything but competent, and had already proven to the detective that he was quite ignorant on more than the topic of Molly Hooper.
"Look, all's I know is she went home early two days ago, and Dr. Stamford called me in to cover for her. Can I please go back to my paperwork now?" The young man asked with his hand held open, awaiting Sherlock to return the file he'd snatched away moments earlier. Sherlock scoffed, before tossing the file back onto the table in front of the younger man. He turned to leave, walking quickly to the door of the lab.
"By the way, it wasn't a heart attack. Check the toxicology report again." He said as a parting thought.
Molly had been sitting in Mike's office for the past two hours, not really listening to anything he had to say.
"At least consider the surgery. The spots weren't too large, and chances are they can go in and hopefully remove them all without damaging too much of the living tissue. Molly?" Mike waved a bit, trying to draw her attention back to the conversation. She started, and gave him a weak nod.
"Yea, I... I'll think about it. Thanks, Mike." Molly smiled a bit, and stood up. As she turned the knob on the door, her face ran into the chest of none other than Sherlock Holmes. 'Great.' She thought to herself.
He looked over her tired features, noting how sullen her face was, the dark circles prominent under her eyes. He then shot a look to Mike. 'Sad expression, stress points pronounced on his forehead. Bad news. Paperwork on his desk is newly printed; research. Manilla file beneath has Molly's name on it...oh.' Sherlock's mind stopped immediately, wiping away the growing web of deductions that had spread throughout it.
"What is it?" He looked directly at Molly, who whimpered, before lightly brushing past him.
"Excuse me." She mumbled, leaving Sherlock to get his answers from Mike. He turned to watch her go, before turning again, this time to meet the gaze of his shorter friend. The stout doctor shrugged a bit, before motioning for the detective to sit down.
"Listen, Sherlock...it's not...well...Well it's not good." Sherlock's brow furrowed, and he sat down slowly.
Another few hours had passed, and Molly was back at home, looking over some of the research that Mike had given her. She sighed, and picked up the mug of tea she had set aside previously. A long sip had slowly gone down her throat, and suddenly there was a sharp knock on the door. Nearly choking on her drink, she stood up, and walked to the door. No sooner did she open the door, when Sherlock breezed in past her.
"Sh...Sherlock? What are you doing here?" Molly asked, almost bewildered at the speed he was currently pacing back and forth in her living room. He seemed on edge, which unnerved her terribly. As she approached him, she tried to halt his actions.
"Sherlock?" She asked quietly, her hand brushing his arm as he whizzed by. Sherlock turned to face her, and she caught the clearly distraught look in his crystal blue eyes. His gaze was fierce, nearing panic.
"Molly, you are not allowed to die. You'll have the surgery, or chemotherapy, radiation, whatever it takes. I will not let you leave me to suffer the incompetence of those sub-par pathologists." He snapped at her quickly, before sighing as he realized how harsh he had sounded. Molly's eyes widened, before he saw her anger flare to light.
"What? I'm sorry, I'm not 'allowed' to die without your permission? Is that it, Sherlock? You know, if you ever paid attention to my life, you'd understand my reservations about getting therapy treatments for...for whatever the hell this is!" She charged toward him, her finger poking into his chest hard. Sherlock was smart, and moved back as she pushed him back. She wasn't done though.
"You think I want to die young? I haven't done anything with myself! My life has literally been about getting up, going to work, catering to you, and then coming home, hating myself, wondering when my life will get more interesting. I wanted to do so many things! So excuse me, Mister High-and-Mighty, for inconveniencing your damned experiments with my dying! I'll try to make it quick and painless for the both of us." Molly bit out her words coldly, before slamming the door in his face. Sherlock hadn't even realized he'd been pushed out into the hall of her floor, until he was looking at the painted wood of her front door. On the other side, he could hear the muffled sound of her sobs, no doubt racking her small body. Sherlock sighed out, feeling that huge pit of guilt that had ripped through him, just a few Christmases ago.
A knock came again from the opposite side of the door that Molly was leaning against. She shuddered a bit, before sniffling.
"Go away, Sherlock." she murmured.
"What things?" He asked. Molly's face scrunched up with confusion. She turned, facing the door, and remained silent as she contemplated his words. Her silence prompted him to speak again.
"You said you wanted to do so many things. What sort of things, Molly?" Sherlock's voice cut through the door crisply, and Molly became even more confused as to why this man, this man of all people, would want to know. She opened the door again, and looked up to him.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Please, Molly...I... It's very clear to me that I've been a large burden on your life. I'd like to make up for that." At his words, Molly immediately felt terrible for what she had said about him. She looked up to him through shining eyes, and then opened the door a bit more.
"Do you want coffee?" She asks quietly, giving him a weak smile. Sherlock smiles back at her a bit, before walking back into her flat.
"Sure, and then we can discuss these 'things' you've been wanting to do." He gives her a smirk, which lights up her face even more.
"Okay, whatever you say." Molly answers, turning before her excited smile shows. The widening grin does not go missed by the observant man.
Well, there ya go...Chapter 1 is done! I think this will probably be split into 3 or 4 chapters, maybe 5...but we shall see. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it...let me know what you think...OOH! AND, how about this...audience participation time...
tell me something you've always wanted to do, but haven't ever done before. BUCKET LISTS! I LOVE THEM SO! :D
Love you all, my dears!