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Molly loved her daughter. Even with the unrelenting depression and occasional bouts of anger she knew she loved her daughter, but she just didn't care about much of anything these days other than her job. She had felt so sad and so adrift that it was hard to find an anchor. Part of her was angry at Sherlock, though in her head she knew it was irrational and all it was going to do was bring about the end of their relationship and the dissolution of their marriage that much faster. Part of her was angry at Lydia, which was also just as irrational because she was a tiny baby and she hadn't done anything to deserve it. But mostly she was just very very sad. The anger would pop up at odd moments, but up until recently she had simply not cared much.
She had more or less pushed Sherlock away at this point. She never let him get close anymore. Since Lydia had come home they had slept in separate beds in separate rooms. She was surprised he stayed with her, with as horrible a person she knew she must be towards him. He'd spent more time at the hospital than she had, spent more time making sure Lydia was improving day by day. She honestly didn't know how long it had been since he consulted for a case. She'd stopped paying attention to anything aside from her own feelings and thoughts months ago. She was being selfish, and she fully expected one day she would wake up and Sherlock would have taken their daughter and left her all alone because that was what she deserved. The worst part was that she didn't know whether she'd be upset or relieved.
The head of her department at her university had said if she wanted to take time away it was understandable, but she had known if she had to spend another day at home doing nothing except crying and sleeping she would do something drastic. Sherlock had nearly begged to start work as the beginning of the semester had neared, and finally she had done it just to get him to stop. Going to work and teaching the classes had given her a reason to get up in the morning, more than her family did. And in her head she knew that wasn't how it was supposed to be. But most of the time she didn't think about it that way. She focused on her teaching job with a singular determination just so she wouldn't stay in bed and cry all day long, or sleep for ten or twelve hours at a time like she had after she’d had Lydia. She'd already been on three different medications for this and not a single one had made a significant dent in how she felt, and she hated that. She wanted to feel normal again. But for now getting up and going to work made her feel at least a little better. If the rest of her life was falling apart at least one thing wasn’t.
It was nearly a month and a half into the semester, three weeks before Halloween. Between her four classes were what felt like a million papers to read through and grade and leave notes on. Most of the time she stayed in her office at the university to work so she didn't have to see Sherlock and she didn't have to deal with Lydia. She would leave early in the morning and arrive home well into the night. But today that wasn't an option. Sherlock had to go do something with his brother and there was no way around it, and he couldn't bring Lydia with him to this meeting. John wasn't going to be available until later in the afternoon and Mrs. Hudson was off visiting friends, so the only person to keep an eye on Lydia was her. She didn't want to, but Sherlock had practically begged and after nearly biting his head off over it she had grudgingly agreed.
Lydia had thankfully been quiet most of the afternoon. She was already dreading her daughter waking up and her having to take care of. It wasn't because she was a burden, not entirely, but it was mostly because she was convinced she would just muck things up because she was a horrible mother and a horrible person. Lydia had been home for just under a week, and while she should have been happy that her daughter was deemed well enough to come home she was unhappy. But Sherlock appeared to not want to bother her about it, instead getting up every time Lydia started crying. She thought he might be happy that she wasn't in bed all the time, but she didn't ask him. She'd stopped talking to him as much as she could. She'd stopped letting him get close, stopped showing him she cared because honestly, right now she didn't. She had convinced herself that he was part of the reason she was like this, and so she treated him accordingly.
It was maybe three hours after she sat down with the stack of assignments to grade that she heard Lydia begin to whimper. She hung her head as she listened to her on the monitor. She was almost done with the work. If her daughter had just gone another hour she'd have been finished. But no, she had to wake up now. She pinched the bridge of her nose when her daughter started to actively cry. She just wanted peace and quiet. Was that too much to ask for? Why did her daughter have to start screaming now? “Be quiet,” she murmured after a moment, even though her daughter couldn't hear her. “Please, just be quiet.” The crying got louder, and it was all she could do not to pick up the baby monitor and throw it. She knew this wasn't rational, that she shouldn't be so angry at her daughter for doing something as simple as crying. And maybe it would be best if she just stopped, if she could just make Lydia stop. Maybe it would be better if Lydia was...gone.
And when that thought flitted through her head she got cold all over, bringing her hands up to her mouth. No. No, she couldn't have possibly just thought she wanted to hurt her child. She loved Lydia, she did. She began to shake as the thoughts overwhelmed her. She wanted to hurt her daughter. She really was an absolutely horrible mother. She was a horrible person, she thought to herself. Lydia and Sherlock would be better off if she wasn't there. She didn't deserve them, and she was hurting them, and if she wasn't there it would be so much easier. The real question was whether it would be better to just leave or to off herself. Pack a bag and disappear or take all the pills she could find and wash them down with a bottle of whiskey.
She sat there, trembling as Lydia continued to cry, when the text message alert went off on her phone. Her hands were shaking as she reached over for it. She saw the message was from Sherlock. She hesitated for a moment. She was sure it was bad, that he was going to tell her he wasn't coming home, that she was a burden, that he wanted nothing to do with her. Finally she looked at the text. It was short, and it wasn't at all what she had expected. Will be home soon. I miss you. I hope we can at least talk tonight. I love you, Molly. Don't forget that.
Tears began to leak down her face. She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't be this person anymore, this person who didn't care and wanted to hurt her daughter simply because she was crying. She sobbed for what felt like an eternity because if she wanted to be completely honest with herself she hated this person she had become. Maybe it had all had to come to this point for her to realize just how bad it had really gotten. Finally she was able to compose herself, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. Lydia was still crying, but she knew what she had to do. She picked up her phone again and pulled up John's contact. He answered on the third ring. “Molly?” he asked.
“I need you to come over right now. I...I need to leave. I need to get help,” she said in a rush.
“Slow down, Molly. Are you okay?”
“No. No, I'm not. I'm at home and it's just me and Lydia and John, I wanted to hurt her. I can't do this anymore. I can't be this person anymore. I need to go get help.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I'll be there in thirty minutes. Can you be alone for thirty more minutes?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Should I call Sherlock?” he asked.
“No!” she said, absolutely aghast. “No, he can't know. Sherlock can't find out. You can't tell him.”
“Molly--” he began.
“Promise me, John. Promise me you won't tell him.”
The pause was longer this time. “I won't tell him if you promise me you'll see your psychiatrist today. That you'll get off the phone with me and call him and tell him it's an emergency and go see him today.”
“I will. I promise. Just please don't tell Sherlock.”
“Let me get off the phone with you so I can get ready. I'll be there in thirty minutes, I swear.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. She hung up with him then and immediately called her psychologist. The minute she said she wanted to hurt her daughter he told her to come in immediately, that he would cancel his other appointments and they would talk. She hung up with him and began to pace. Twenty-five minutes later she heard the front door open and slam shut and John bound up the stairs. “John,” she said quietly.
“Has she been crying the whole time?” he asked.
“Yes. I couldn't do it, John. I was worried if I went in there I'd actually cause her harm.”
John came over and pulled her into an embrace. She clung to him, beginning to cry again. “You did the right thing, Molly,” he said soothingly. “You were very smart not going up there.”
“I'm horrible. I'm an absolutely horrible person,” she said between sobs. “She's my daughter!”
“It will be all right,” he said, smoothing her hair back. He comforted her and then she finally pulled away. “I'm going to go take care of her right now, all right? Go make sure she's okay. You go see your doctor and tell him everything.”
“What if Sherlock comes home?” she asked.
“I'll tell him you had an emergency and needed to leave and you asked me to come over. It's the truth.” He hugged her again. “It will be okay, all right, Molly? I promise, it will be okay.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice muffled because her face was buried in his shoulder. After a moment she composed herself and pulled away. “I'll be back. I hope. I might not.”
“The only reason you shouldn't come back is if he decides to commit you,” he said warily.
“I know. That's what I was thinking,” she said, and she saw John relax slightly. “If that's what he decides I'll call you and you can tell Sherlock everything. I just...please don't tell him if it doesn't happen. He would hate me, and I even though he probably doesn't love me anymore I don't want him to hate me.”
“He loves you a lot more than you realize,” John said. “And I think the only way he could hate you is if you'd actually harmed Lydia, and you didn't. Just remember that, okay? He does love you.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She moved over towards where she kept her purse and then she moved away from the door, dimly aware of John leaving the sitting room after her and heading upstairs to Lydia's room. She made her way to the front door and opened it up, moving outside and reaching out to hail a cab. This had to work, she thought to herself as a cab pulled up to the curb. Her doctor had to be able to do something to help, because if he couldn't she didn't know what she would do. She was scared now, and she didn't want to be that way. She didn't want to worry she would do something that would harm Lydia or anyone else, including herself. She just hoped the fact that she was even thinking that way was a sign that maybe she would get through this with her sanity intact at the end and her life could get back to normal once again.