Chapter Text
“You’re wrong, you know.”
Molly stopped dead in her path from her office to the door. She whirled around and sitting in the dark was Sherlock Holmes.
“You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you.”
Molly watched him carefully. He looked sad.
He turned to look at her, adding “But you were right. I’m not okay.”
Molly swallowed before replying. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I think I’m going to die.” He said this slowly and simply, watching her.
Oh . Not quite what she expected. She paused as she processed this information, but there was only one question she needed to ask him.
“What do you need?”
“If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?”
Of course. Molly would do whatever he asked of her, she always would. She always had , though she wasn’t sure that smuggling toes and running lab tests for him would be in quite the same category as what he had in mind.
“What do you need?” she asked again.
“You.” He took a step toward her, and she stopped breathing.
“But first—there are a few things you need to know about. I haven’t always been completely honest with you.” Sherlock surveyed the nearly empty morgue carefully before striding quickly to the door. He took out a long, thin piece of wood, and tapped the door. Molly felt a shift in the room, but couldn’t see what he had done.
“There, I’ve made the door imperturbable. No one can listen in, now.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he looked back over at her, walking back toward her.
“Wha—what do you mean? Is that some kind of bug override device? Has the morgue been bugged?” She looked around the room as if she would be able to see listening devices all around her. She suddenly had a million questions milling about her mind. How long had Moriarty been listening? Did she ever say anything that would allow him to hurt Sherlock?
“Molly, you should sit down. You look a little peaked.” The color had drained from her face, and she knew she probably looked a little sick. She did as he suggested, going to a stool at the end of one of the tables.
“Sherlock, has Jim been listening?” she asked, a little louder.
“No, Molly, it’s nothing like that. Well, yes, probably. But that isn’t the point.” Now she was definitely worried. He wore a serious face, his eyes boring into hers.
“Sherlock, what is it?”
He paused a moment longer, and then opened his mouth to speak. “Molly, what I’m about to tell you is going to change the way you see the world, the way you see me. Things aren’t exactly the way you think they are. The way most of the world thinks they are.” He paused, keeping eye contact with her. He had to make sure she was paying attention. “I’m a wizard.”
She narrowed her eyes once more before replying. “You’re good, but that seems a silly way to put it, especially for you. And is this really the time to be bragging?” She was getting a little annoyed. All of this talk, this cloak and dagger nonsense, and he wasn’t even taking things seriously.
“No, Molly. I mean it. I am a wizard. There’s a whole world out there that you don’t even know about. There’s magic, Molly. Here, let me show you.” He took out the slender piece of wood again, held it aloft, and conjured a small bluebell flame on the surface of the table.
Molly immediately jumped up and stared from the small fire to Sherlock, her eyes wide. “Sherlock! You set my table on fire!”
He watched as the flames danced, not touching anything on the surface. He calmly looked from the blue flames to Molly, prompting her to look at it again. She moved closer to the flame, feeling the heat it emitted.
“How?”
Sherlock looked up at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Magic.”
“It’s not possible,” she whispered. She looked up at Sherlock. “I mean, magic isn’t real. You’re a scientist, you know magic isn’t possible.”
Sherlock chuckled softly. “I may be a scientist, but I know very well that magic is possible. Magic and science have lived side by side since the beginning of time. It’s in my blood, you know.” Molly was still staring at him as if he had grown another head. He flicked his wand toward the flame again and it disappeared, leaving no trace.
“It’s a trick. It has to be. You’ve set it up. Why? Why would you go to the trouble?”
“Molly, there’s no time. You know me well enough that my setting up an elaborate practical joke to make you believe I can do magic is not within the realm of probability. What do I have to do to make you believe me?” He nearly shouted in exasperation. For someone so intelligent she could be ridiculously bullheaded.
She matched his frustration, throwing up her hands and replying “I dunno, pull a rabbit out of a hat!”
“A rabbit out of a hat?! Molly, I—” This time he was shouting. Before he could say anything else, he paused, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. Shouting would not make her believe any faster. “Molly. Come here.” She walked around the table to where he was standing. Sherlock motioned to another stool that was next to the table. She sat and he turned to face her. She wore a skeptical expression on her face, as she crossed her arms atop the stool.
With no fanfare, Sherlock began to transform. A few moments, and in his place was a long and lanky black cat with ice blue eyes. Molly gasped, but couldn’t understand how this could be. What more of this other world he mentioned remained hidden from her eyes? The now feline Sherlock padded over to the stool where Molly sat and jumped in her lap.
Molly smiled and rubbed his head. “Well, I quite like you as a cat. You’re much more polite.” He turned and gave her a glare, and indignant mrrow sounding from deep in his throat. Molly laughed. Yes, there were still a few similarities. “And you’re so cute!” He seemed to roll his eyes at that statement (Can cats roll their eyes? Molly wondered) and leapt down from her lap, transforming back into his human form.
“Well?”
Molly was processing the newfound knowledge she had gained. She opened her mouth to speak a couple of times before sound actually came out.
“So, magic is real…”
“Yes.”
“And you do magic…”
“Obviously.”
“In fact, you’re a wizard…”
“That has been established.”
“Wow.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, magic is magical, isn’t it darling that fairies exist, and oh, can I ride a unicorn? Molly, there will be time to marvel at the world of magic later. I have to die, and I need your help.”
“What does Moriarty have planned? Does he have—magic?”
“And that’s another thing. Moriarty isn’t exactly the worst of our problems.”
“Then who is?”
Sherlock’s expression darkened as he thought of the dark wizard that they thought had been defeated fourteen years ago. He didn’t fear his name, as so many did.
“His name is Lord Voldemort. And he’s back.”
“And he’s a—a wizard?”
“A very evil and powerful wizard. He had been defeated years ago, by the Chosen One. But his followers have been gathering in recent years, and I believe they were able to resurrect their master,” he spat. “Moriarty is one of them.”
“Where do I come in? I don’t know anything about magic. I don’t see how I could help.”
“Moriarty doesn’t know I know his plan. He hasn’t been guarding his mind as he should. He plans to destroy me in every way possible. First, he has discredited me. Planted the seeds of doubt in the heads of Scotland Yard.”
“And what happens next?”
“He owes me a fall. I’m going to die, Molly Hooper. I can use my magic to disappear, but I need you to provide a body to bury.”
“Why do you need me for that? Can’t you just, I dunno, magic up a copy of yourself?”
“Not that easy. What I can do is alter the appearance of a corpse just enough to give him a passing resemblance, just long enough to have him buried. I need you to perform my postmortem. I can’t risk anyone else looking too closely.”
“So I should find a body roughly your height and build,” she said, a little timidly.
“Precisely. I can make myself disappear easily enough, but I need to appear as if I’m really gone. I don’t know yet for how long. If I don’t appear to be really dead, he’s likely to go after everyone I care about.”
“Alright. You can count on me, Sherlock. I won’t let you down.” Molly gave him a small smile. She was uneasy about keeping this secret, but she knew there was a reason. Oh God, does John even know? Does he know about the—the magic?
“Of course you won’t.” Sherlock replied with a smile of his own. “I have to go. I’ll be in touch.”
“Of course.” Molly stood for a moment, going from the floor to his face. She started to speak one last time, but before she could get a sound out, she thought better of it. She turned to go, nearly making it to the door before she realized she left her bag in the darkened morgue. She turned back, eyes on the spot where Sherlock had stood, but the room was now empty.
“Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?”