#🌿molly hooper — interactions.🌿

[storyuntrue]

@shxlmes: see? you have a talent for this.  ❜ { for molly }

Molly’s   nose   scrunches   up   at   his   compliment,   while   she   looks   up   at   him   through   a   furrowed   brow.   “I   don’t   think   breaking   and   entering   is   something   I   want   to   be   talented   at.”   This   might   be   the   only   time   that   being   a   short   woman   with   petite   assets   and   sufficient   yoga   skills   seemed   to   pay   off.   It’s   the   first   —   and   hopefully   the   only   —   time   that   she   had   to   stuff   herself   through   a   tiny   window   in   order   get   into   some   bloke’s   basement   flat,   and   she   did   a   pretty   good   job.   There’s   only   one   scratch   on   her,   right   on   her   bum,   where   the   swell   of   it   caught   against   the   opening   latch.   

After   unlocking   the   door   from   the   inside,   Molly   pulls   it   open   to   let   Sherlock   in,   looking   around   the   darkened   room.   “Are   you   sure   he’s   not   coming   back   any   time   soon?”

[storyuntrue]

𝑻𝒉𝒆   𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓   𝒕𝒐   𝒕𝒉𝒆   𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏   𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒔   𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕   at   the   tip   of   Molly’s   tongue,   yet   she   refrains   from   letting   it   slip.   Instead,   she   actually   allows   herself   a   moment   to   mull   it   through,   to   truly   think   if   that’s   what   she   wanted   —   if   getting   herself   more   involved   in   crime   solving   was   something   that   she   really   was   after.   In   the   end   she   shakes   her   head,   slowly   at   first,   and   then   with   more   conviction.   “I   don’t   want   to   add   more   to   what   I   already   do.   I   like   what   I   do;   sometimes   it   involves   helping   solve   some   crimes,   other   times   it   allows   the   family   of   a   deceased   one   to   bid   an   easier   goodbye.   I   wouldn’t   want   to   exchange   one   part   of   my   job   for   more   of   another.   I   like   the   balance,   even   if   it’s   not   always   entirely   even,   as   is   with   today.”   

Chin   rested   on   her   curled   hand,   elbow   on   the   surface   of   the   bar,   Molly   gave   Alice   the   sweetest   of   smiles,   her   appreciation   for   the   other   woman   visible   in   the   glint   of   her   dark   eyes.   “I   really   shouldn’t   work   with   contacts,   but   I   haven’t   yet   bought   a   new   pair   of   glasses,   and   the   ones   I   have   currently   keep   sliding   down   my   nose.”   A   vivid   thought   enters   her   mind,   at   which   she   visibly   grimaces   and   giggles.   “I   would   not   like   to   fish   them   out   of   some   poor   sod’s   entrails,   so   contacts   will   do   for   now.   Seriously,   though,   Alice.   Thank   you   for   worrying   for   me,   but   it’ll   be   alright.   Nothing   I   haven’t   had   to   put   up   with   before.”   

how could you do anything but! alice can hardly understand it, wanting to cling to the idea of truth, of the heart! why not embrace what you wanted with both hands, selfishly? what was it that molly wanted from all of this? leaning in with that smile, all teeth and sharp edges and eyes, reflected behind blue-tinted lenses, stared back with fervent conviction. "hardly! i think you have to start asking yourself since you've been putting in all of this EXTRA WORK... molly, is it that you want to get more involved? in the solving of crimes?" molly, who was so sweet, oh she wonders what sort of seedling has taken root within the core of molly hooper?

leaning in, her hands loop beneath her chin ; wide eyed and locked in. alice gives off the airs of someone who could fall into just about ANYTHING. but she definitely believed that molly hooper noticed far more then most ever gave her credit for. especially those that she suspected that molly wished most to notice it, but, alas! what alice felt was most important was molly believed in her own ability within this, nodding her head in serious attention. "i think it's perfectly good. imagine if you were tired and then missed something important! and that simply wouldn't do, not for our molly." her lips split into a wide grin. "you need eyedrops too? molly! come on! you have to take care of yourself too~ don't make me march in there and tell off inspector whoever."

- @storyuntrue

[storyuntrue]

He   wants   her   to   believe   his   words   are   honest,   that   there   is   no   ulterior   motive   lying   behind   his   confession.   It   might   be   her   unfortunate   experience   when   dealing   with   him,   it   might   be   years   of   heartache   and   sadness   as   she   watched   his   fall   from   grace   over   and   over   again.   In   her   heart   lies   unconditional   love   for   him,   the   kind   that   could   never   go   away,   only   dull   with   time.   But   her   naivete   when   it   came   to   him?   That   was   well   and   truly   gone,   and   Molly   could   not   find   it   within   herself   to   believe   him   to   be   sincere.   

“Are   you   out   of   your   bloody   mind?”   She   half   whispers,   half   hisses,   her   dark   gaze   ablaze.   A   part   of   her   wants   to   hurl   the   syringe   to   the   nearest   wall   and   watch   it   shatter,   she   wants   to   grab   Sherlock 's ear, like a naughty schoolboy,   and   drag   him   out   of   the   drug   den   by   it.   Instead   she   remains   rooted   to   her   spot,   her   petite   body   giving   away   her   state   with   a   light   quiver.   “Have   you   thought   this   through?   Actually?   Have   you?   Or   have   you   passed   all   logic   and   sense   and   care   only   about   a   bloody   good   high?”   

Her   mouth   tugs   up   in   a   quick   smile,   but   it’s   nowhere   near   humorous   or   amused,   nowhere   near   affectionate.   It   feels   bitter   on   her   lips,   weary.   No   qualms,   no   care,   Sherlock’s   using   her   again.   The   big   dark   eyes,   and   the   deep,   deep   voice   and   she’s   just   supposed   to   throw   all   caution   to   the   wind.   Molly   feels   bile   rise   in   the   back   of   her   throat.   “You’re   asking   me   to   assist   you   in   your   suicide.   If   anyone   finds   out,   and   Mycroft   will   find   out,   he   probably   already   knows   about   this,   my   life   will   be   ruined.   I   will   lose   my   license,   I   will   lose   my   work,   I   will   probably   be   put   behind   bars.   So   I   might   as   well   just   kill   myself   here   right   beside   you.”   But   why   should   he   give   a   crap   about   what   will   happen   to   her   if   this   goes   wrong?   He   never   really   did care about her well being to begin with.   

“There   are   other   ways   to   prove   your   solution.   Actual,   scientific   ways   that   can   be   complete   in   safe   and   more   accurate   laboratory   conditions.   This   is   just   a   sodding   insanity.   I’ll   do   a   lot   for   you,   but   I   will   not   be   the   one   to   assist   you   in   killing   yourself   with   drugs,   Sherlock.   I   won’t.”   

@theirmadness cont.

[storyuntrue]

@kingofthewebxxx: ❛  do you wanna feel how it feels?  ❜ For Molly

“What. . .   what   would   happen   if   I   were   to   say   no?”   While   at   the   start   of   her   night   shift   Molly   had   thought   that   it   would   be   a   rather   boring   one   —   from   experience   she   knew   that   not   many   people   died   of   unknown   reasons   in   the   middle   of   the   week   —   a   visit   from   him   of   all   people   certainly   changed   her   opinion.   Back   pressed   into   the   bench   behind   her,   she   longingly   looks   at   her   phone   she   had   left   on   the   other   side   of   the   lab.   It   could   come   in   handy,   then   again,   he   would   probably   do   something   before   she   could   even   unlock   the   bloody   device.   “I   have   work   to   do,   you   know?”   She   tries   for   casual,   even   if   there’s   a   quiver   to   her   limbs   and   to   her   voice.   “Can’t   really—   can’t   get   sidetracked,   as   fun   as   it   may   sound.”   

Maybe   Molly’s   wrong,   maybe   there   will   be   a   corpse   with   a   mysterious   cause   of   death   on   the   slab   that   night   —   her   corpse.   

[storyuntrue]

TAG DROP! MOLLY HOOPER.

[storyuntrue]

Molly   doesn’t   want   to   hear   this.   She   doesn’t   want   to   see   the   pity   in   his   eyes,   listen   to   it   in   his   voice   and   words   as   he   explains   away   what   had   transpired.   And   she   was   really   starting   to   regret   opening   the   door   to   her   flat   and   letting   him   inside   in   the   first   place.   For   now   she   has   to   sit   there,   and   suffer   through   her   heart   being   shredded   into   pieces,   yet   again,   for   the   hundredth   time   it   seems,   has   to   willingly   part   with   her   dignity   so   he   would   feel   okay.   

It’s   exhausting.   He   has   exhausted   her   to   the   very   last   drop   of   her   hope and patience.

“Well,   it   seems   like   you   didn’t   have   the   choice,   and   I   can   understand   that.”   There’s   nothing   to   discuss,   at   the   end   of   it,   nothing   to   process,   in   her   mind.   Sherlock   didn’t   mean   the   words,   but   she   did,   and   now   they   have   to   live   with   it.   Whether   that’s   good   or   bad,   Molly   didn’t   care   to   ponder.   She’d   rather   just   forget   it   entirely,   shove   it   all   down,   lick   out   her   wounds   and   carry   on   with   her   life,   the   Hooper   way   of   making   the   pain   disappear.   “Thank   you   for   saving   my   life,   but   it’s   2 AM   and   I   have   work   in   the   morning,   so. . .”   

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎����𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 / @storyuntrue

" in fifty years will all this be declassified and you'll confess why you did it ? "

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 if you think this story will ever be officially released... " His voice quickly retorted as he struggled to meet her gaze. Sherlock was aware that he was stalling, intentionally evading the point. Usually, this worked well when there was something that felt too heavy and emotional to face --- people expected him to be lacking when it came to sentiment. Incorrectly assuming he didn't feel or understanding them, when he did - but chose to neglect them for a myriad of reasons that all felt so broken and complicated since he'd been to Sherrinford.

However, Molly Hooper had never been most people - which is why his sister had targeted her specifically. " But... I digress... " he relented after a moment, taking a breath as he resisted the urge to pace. "The short answer is I was under the impression that your life was at risk if I didn't. The long is, frankly much more complicated than that... I'm still processing it all. "

[storyuntrue]

Dark   gaze   remains   firmly   fixed   on   the   dark   stain   marring   the   undoubtedly   expensive   carpet,   up   until   she   hears   the   explanation   for   it.   “I’m   sorry,   do   you   mean   one   of   them   got   in   a   fight   here?   Or   do   you   mean   Mycroft   and   Sherlock   fought   and   now   at   least   one   of   them   is   bleeding?”   The   second   option   sounded   incredibly   insane   to   her   ears.   But   then   again,   the   amount   of   stuff   the   brothers   had   been   through   —   the   amount   of   stuff   they   put   Molly   through   as   well   —   she   really   shouldn’t   be   that   surprised.  

@storyuntrue asked " whose blood is that? " / from Molly !

" Honestly I'm not too sure, " Anthea said, barely glancing at the spot on her carpet Molly was looking at. "One of the Holmes brothers probably." They'd gotten into a few scraps in Anthea's quarters. She'd thought it absurd the first time but now she was used to their little fights. They were rare but had been known to happen. "Any advice on how to get it out?" She was about ready to just toss the small carpet away.

[storyuntrue]

The   amusement   curls   in   Molly’s   chest,   escaping   with   a   giggle   covered   behind   her   hand.   Alice   had   voiced   thoughts   that   often   times   ran   through   the   pathologist’s   mind,   but   she   was   never   brave   enough   to   voice   them   out   loud.   She   is   entirely   thankful,   however,   than   someone   did.   And   the   compliments   spilling   from   Alice’s   lips   were   appreciated   just   the   same.   “You’re   heaven   sent,   I   swear.   I   think   without   you   here   I   would’ve   already   gone   completely   mental   just   because   of   the   men   that   barge   into   my   morgue   on   a   daily   basis.”

A   tentative   sip   of   the   coffee   taken,   careful   not   to   burn   herself   on   the   scalding   liquid,   Molly   hums   and   nods   along   to   Alice’s   questions.   “The   murderer   is   still   out   there,   they   so   believe.   And   they   have   very   little   to   go   by.   So   the   faster   I   get   through   the   autopsy,   and   provide   them   with   any   clues   I   can   find,   the   faster   they   can   catch   the   bastard.”   It   takes   Molly   a   beat,   her   head   bobbing   from   side   to   side   as   she   ponders.   Then   a   rush   of   air   escapes   her   lungs,   a   breathy   laugh   that   had   a   touch   of   good   natured   self-deprecation.   “So   it’s   a   bit   not good   that   I   took   a   coffee   break,   but   honestly   sod   it.   My   back   was   killing   me   and   my   eyes   were   getting   far   too   dry   for   comfort.”

"well that doesn't sound very sportman-like of him, now, does it, molly? after all, you're pouring in the work and he's what? at a bar knocking back a drink or something of the like?" there clicks her tongue, but she's on the upswing with a laugh. "well. let me say it to double down because you DESERVE IT, but you are the best, molly. we're all terribly lucky to have you here with us." the hospital, the city, she leaves it in the air! because if she knows anything about her darling friend, it's that molly had an imagination rich enough to fill in the spaces with things that felt good to her. or a someone, though she hasn't really seen her mooning about that detective of late, has she?

the coffee's hand poured, she wants to make sure she takes the right moment for her to give her something that didn't taste burnt now that they're at the very ends of their day. swirling the boiling water from the goose neck of her kettle, she hums, swinging and moving, leaving it untouched before handing it over to the other woman. "how much do you have left to do?" it's an INNOCENT QUESTION, but really, she sees just how much of this job eats her up. both because she wants to, and what else? well. it's something that makes molly hooper feel seen, doesn't it? sweet creature. she forgot all about herself within the equation. "probably sleep more hours with the residency staff~ which reminds me, even most of them have cleared for the night. is it a really tough case? or is it something last minute and urgent?"

- @storyuntrue

[storyuntrue]

Alice’s   compliments,   her   awe   of   the   work   she   did,   had   always   left   Molly   with   a   flush   coloring   her   face.   “I   suppose   you   could   call   it   police   work.   Unofficial,   though.   Because   the   best   I’ll   get   is   a   couple   hours   of   overtime   and   Thank   you,   Molly,   you’re   the   best   from   Lestrade.”   Just   a   bit   of   complaining;   it’s   not   entirely   fair   to   unload   this   on   Alice,   but   sometimes   Molly   needed   it.   A   touch   of   bitterness   to   air   out   and   stop   it   from   festering   within   her.   And   considering   the   people   she   otherwise   surrounded   herself   with,   only   Alice   could   understand.   After   all,   gratitude   form   Lestrade   is   quite   a   big   reward   in   comparison   to   what   she   receives   from   other   detectives   and   the   like   for   her   work.   

“No,   no   sugar,   thank   you,”   Molly   says   with   a   shake   of   her   head   and   a   grateful   smile   on   her   face.   Sets   the   bill   for   the   coffee   on   the   counter   and   plops   herself   into   one   of   the   stools   by   the   bar.   “That’ll   only   give   me   a   sugar   crash,   and   I   cannot   afford   to   have   one   with   so   much   work   ahead   of   me   still.”   A   sip   taken,   careful   not   to   scald   her   mouth,   Molly   hums   in   appreciation.   There’s   nothing   better,   she’s   positively   sure,   than   a   cup   made   by   Alice.   The   woman   was   a   goddess   at   making   coffee.   And   at   keeping   her   company.   “You’re   a   true   savior,   Alice.   I   don’t   know   what   I’d   do   without   you.”

who knows what's rumbling down in the morgue! there's no stoppage on death, is there? so many tragic souls meeting their end, both routine and not - she wonders how molly does it. keeps that perky attitude up when all else seems to be at a loss. it's her SUPERPOWER, alice tells her once. all draped over her counter top, wiped clean to avoid the fruit flies that linger, suspiciously, around the smoothie shop down a few rows. one needed to have them, she insists, to do the type of work she did and still remain positive about the world. after all. she saw the outlet made of people to frustrations, accidents, purposeful intent. and still. she was good.

"i'm guessing something came up late for you too! i'm just glad you managed to skirt in before closing." then molly would have really been shit out of luck save what little takeaway could be summoned up to the hospital doors. still. there's a sigh from her, as she swings into the counter, turning on a dime to begin working on the order, talking through all of the motions made. "does that mean that you'll be doing a little bit of POLICE WORK again, molly? look at you! keeping our streets safe~ you're a bit like a super hero, aren't you? on top of those super powers! i'm sure they're all proper grateful for you working so late to help them out." she's turned, with it made, and ready. "just black, or do you want any sugar?"

- @storyuntrue

[storyuntrue]

His   order   was   met   with   an   instant   jump   to   action;   the   quicker   he   finds   what   he   needs,   the   sooner   they   can   leave.   “One   of   the   nicer   ones?   Your   brother   pretty   much   runs   our   government,   can’t   you   make   sure   I   do   not   go   to   prison   at   all   for   this?”   If   this   was   the   gratitude   she’d   receive   for   helping   out   —   a   promise   to   make   her   possible   incarceration   comfortable   —   this   might   be   the   last   time   she   willingly   assists   in   one   of   the   cases.   And   so   to   cut   it   as   short   as   possible,   Molly   works   her   way   through   the   kitchen,   checking   any   cupboard,   counter   or   a   drawer   for   any   possible   leads,   making   sure   to   leave   everything   as   she   found   it.   If   Sherlock’s   not   going   to   ensure   her   freedom   in   case   they   get   caught,   she’s   going   to   have   to   do   it   herself, and step one is exactly as he implied; leave no evidence.   

"I wouldn't be too ashamed of it, there are plenty of people who tried it, failed, and ended up in Pentonville so I think you're already a far more successful criminal than them." Sherlock's tone is faintly playful - Probably not the most appropriate time to be making jokes but then again trespassing does wonders for putting him in good spirits. He sweeps into the flat as the door is opened, adjusting his gloves as he does so. "Oh, don't worry about him. Watson is following him and will alert us to any change in movement. However, all going well we have at least an hour." He moves towards the coffee table, leaning over to rifle through the magazine selection. "I'm looking for anything suspicious. In particular keys, photos, or even a code. Anything to link him back to the storage unit." He flicks through an issue of Playboy, brow lifting before tossing it to the side. "You start in the kitchen. Don't move anything around too much, make sure you keep the gloves on." Eyes glance to her, holding her in his gaze for a moment. "Don't look so nervous, Ms Hooper - If we get caught I'll ensure that you get placed in one of the nicer prisons."

[storyuntrue]

It’s   not   often   Molly   takes   a   break   in   the   middle   of   an   autopsy,   the   removal   of   her   gear   alone   was   not   worth   the   hassle   in   the   most   usual   cases.   However,   every   now   and   again   an   exception   to   the   rule   presented   itself,   this   being   one   of   those   instances.   Not   only   will   it   take   her   several   hours   at   the   very   least   to   go   through   and   catalog   all   of   the   injuries   the   deceased   had   sustained,   the   gruesomeness   of   the   murder   was   not   something   Molly   could   stomach.   Even   if   she   had   seen   how   horrible   things   could   get.   

So,   Molly   had   accepted   the   wasted   half   an   hour   of   removing   her   gear   and   putting   it   back   on   after   her   break,   scrubbed   herself   clean   and   made   her   way   into   the   cafeteria.   She’s   in   dire   need   of   caffeine   and   human   interaction.   “Sorry   I’m   coming   in   at   the   last   minute,   Alice.”   An   apology   as   a   way   of   greeting,   Molly   offers   the   other   woman   a   sincere,   and   a   bit   of   a   tired   smile.   “And   they’re   not   bullying   me,   but   there   is   a   body   that   I’m   not   done   with   yet,   and   a   full   examination   is   needed   for   Scotland   Yard   as   soon   as   possible.   It’s   been   hours   and   I’m   barely   halfway,   so   could   you   be   a   dear   and   make   me   a   cup   of   black   coffee?   I   feel   like   my   energy   is   running   out   faster   than   I   could   finish   this   autopsy.”   

@storyuntrue - molly gets a new follower starter !

most people don't like to hang about st bart's. alice is here, working at the cafe within the lobby, how she swans about the sick and the dying and the births and the medical miracles, soaking up the full array of human emotion within it. she's making hot chocolates for kids who are sleepily attending to their grandparents, to doctors gearing themselves up for their shifts. and all too often, a particular MOLLY HOOPER would appear, brought forth from within the innards of st bart's.

the romantic, the sweetheart, the BELIEVER!

molly is prolific in her own way, the guardian of the dead, the revealer of truths! at least, those are the little notes that alice writes on the sides of her cup as she meets her but 3 times a day to make sure molly's all WIRED AND GEARED for her job. she smiles, swinging from her seat as a familiar face appears. the cafe's just about to close, but she never minds for molly, a grin appearing on her features. "mo-lly~ i thought you already left! i didn't see you this afternoon, i hope it wasn't too busy for you! little super star~ they're bullying you into staying late, how awful!"

- @storyuntrue

[storyuntrue]

“Twiggsy,   I   swear   to   God,   if   you   come   anywhere   near   us,   you   will   be   the   next   corpse   laying   on   my   slab!”   Okay,   so   that   might   be   an   overstatement,   Molly   has   no   intentions   of   murdering   any   drug   addicts   present   in   the   room   ( which   had   seen   much   better   days,   honestly,   she’s   sure   she   saw   a   rat   or   two   scurrying   about ).   But   she’s   cornered   —   assist   Sherlock   and   Mycroft   will   destroy   her;   turn   away   from   him   and   let   him   do   this   all   the   same   —   Mycroft   will   destroy   her   still.   One   way   or   another   she’s   a   dead   woman   walking,   all   because   she’s   incapable   of   telling   the   consulting   detective   to   shove   it   on   a   regular enough   basis.   

Gnawing   on   her   lower   lip   —   the   sign   of   the   stress   this   whole   ordeal   was   putting   her   under   —   Molly   looks   at   the   syringe   in   her   hands.   There’s   still   a   chance   to   throw   it,   break   it   against   a   wall   or   squash   it   with   the   boot   of   her   heel.   Something   tells   her   that   it   will   only   make   Sherlock   get   some   more   and   attempt   again.   The   biggest   issue   was   that   he   was   not   listening   to   her,   and   when   had   he   ever,   if   she   was   being   honest?   Once   something   was   set   in   his   mind,   there   was   practically   no   way   to   change   it.   

Unless. . .

“I’ll   do   it.”   The   tone   of   her   voice   lacks   some   determination,   but   that’s   alright.   It   was   the   most   insane   idea   she   has   ever   had,   after   all.   But   at   the   same   time,   it   makes   sense.   Molly’s   less   likely   to   crave   this   ever   again,   Molly’s   less   likely   to   attempt   a   second   time   and   then   the   third   and   the   fourth.   Out   of   the   two   of   them,   she’s   the   one   that   doesn’t   struggle   with   addiction,   and   therefore   is   the   better,   safer   candidate   out   of   the   two   of   them.   “I’ll   inject   myself   with   this   and   you. . .   you   can   bring   me   back   to   life,   if   needed.   You’re   more   than   capable.”   

A   part   of   her   does   hope   that   this   will   make   Sherlock   see   the   ludicrousness   of   his   idea,   see   that   gambling   with   your   own   life   for   a   bloody   case   was   idiotic   to   say   the   least.   There’s   not   a   lot   of   hope   in   her,   just   a   tiny   glimmer,   but   Molly   let’s   it   linger   as   she   pulls   her   own   sleeve   up,   exposing   creamy,   untarnished   skin,   the   syringe   held   tightly   in   her   hand   so   that   he   doesn’t   attempt   to   snatch   it   away.   “Maybe   Twiggsy   will   help   you   out,   if   needed.”   

❝ that's not going to happen, molly. you're letting your emotions cloud your reasoning. this makes sense. we don't have the time for lab conditions. people are dying! ❞ of course, in his state, sherlock knows that no one would really believe that he's being objective. he really did think that he could at least convince molly of that fact. but, apparently, he had lost credit with everyone in his life. molly included. he can't fault her for that, he can't even be angry. but he is frustrated.

sherlock may be an addict, but his brain is functioning well enough that he knows this is the only way to ensure no one else dies. this is the quickest way to solve the case, and he knows for a fact that he is in good, capable hands. he leans back onto the dirty mattress, taking a deep breath in as he looks up at the mould infected ceiling. maybe his body is failing him, and his mind might not be as sharp as it used to be, but he knows he's right about this. it's more than just a hunch.

❝ molly, ❞ he looks at her, and there's something in his eyes. he's not faking it. he's not using it to manipulate her. ❝ i'm going to do this. you'll either be here to bring me back as a trained professional that i trust and know is more than capable, or it'll be twiggsy over there. ❞ there's a young man in the corner of the room, twitching and talking to himself. you could say him and sherlock were friendly, so to speak. he sits up, his back against the wall. ❝ i thought you'd understand. do you honestly think i need this to get high? look around you. i need you to believe me now, molly. i need you to trust me. ❞ but he has the feeling he's already lost her. sherlock sighs. she should know better than expect him to change his mind. he's going to do it, and it's there, in his eyes, as he starts rolling back the sleeve of his shirt, muttering to himself. ❝ fine. always have to do everything myself. twiggsy, you're back on, mate. come here. ❞ sure, it isn't fair to put this on her, to make her watch. but sherlock holmes is what he is.