Chapter Text
Black blurred silhouettes were produced from the moonlight at the back of the stairs as the body walked itself downstairs.
Someone is here, listening to their exchange of voices varying from a high-pitched baritone to a monotonous one from two different lads standing across the hallowed space of the deserted room.
"You better make up your mind." The monotonous lad spoke. According the voice produced, he was somewhat that of the age of early forties, and based on his pitch, he is definitely a man of honor and position of power...he seemed to be used in ruling, or even giving instructions in which anyone must take in consideration... This man is someone she does not know.
Then the laughter from the baritone man was heard. A Man of humor...very odd.
"What would I get from you, dear Brother?" The baritone man asked the other.
"Because I know what's best for you my dear brother..." The other replied...
The hidden figure shifted from its place and shook its head seemingly trying to get a focus of the faces in hand.
The high-noted man was wearing a dark grey suit, a three piece, slim cut, enough for his size, 6'1". His waistcoat was that of the same shade of his jacket, which also has lapels. His tie seemingly that of a simple yet not plain--dark blue with yellow and gold diagonals against his plain white dress shirt. His shoes were that of a polished work of art, a Gucci lace-up, this man is much of a simple guy. His shoes looked like the new ones, is it his first time to wear it? Or he doesn't really walk to use his feet?
On the other hand, a man, 6" leaning on railings of the balcony was wearing a dark blue Belstaff overcoat, estimation of ten inches above the heels of his black Assn. casual shoes for comfy. He was leaning back revealing his periwinkle-colored dress shirt, two buttons up opened, and a button closed with his suit jacket. This man was a curly black-headed human of pale skin, maybe that of an Irish or French descents, curls were slightly different from the higher man, who was that of having a slightly straight yet that of a thin layer visible, more of a Hanks' hair.
“Why would you want me to stay with her?”
“To keep you close.”
How could she miss the forming stubbles in both men's chins?
It was odd to think that both were familiar... Yes, they are both-- but the Hanks guy, didn't seemed to fit any of the circumstantial evidences offered, not even that of her time in Bart's, she has never.... Yes Bart's.
"Yes, that's her."
“How could he possibly identify her by the body?"
The man shrugged, and smiled.
Yes. He is the Man. That Man and the other is--" Oh My Goodness, She-sh-sherlock?"
~~~Ω~~~
"SO... THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK OF ME?" She stuttered out the voices screaming from her head hoping for an acceptable answer from the icy cold stare that the person she had known and now that he’s with her, living, alive and kicking—well, he had just stayed with her, at the moment. She had wished all her life for him to be the person who will love her for the rest of her days in the world. Is it that hard to wish, assume, and think about a star that would never fall from its constellation? Is he?
"What do you mean Molly Hooper? Based on my hard drive—I mean my mind palace, I didn't say things such as that what were you saying." He answered her question leaving her blankly looking at him.
"But that’s what you actually mean, Sherlock." She whispered while a tear escaped from her chocolate colored orbs.
The lad was about to speak when the muse cut his gut off.
"And don't just pretend here that that is what you mean Sherlock. I am not just anyone of your friends who will be willing to fool around you. I heard what I heard. I may be like that, a fool friend, but I can’t and I’ll never let this pass.”
“Molly, you have to think. You’re being illogical, again.”
“I helped you and all you ever gave me was what? Me, being a dumbass, mutton-headed bird brained nesting on a top of a worthless anatomy—and I even did call myself a Doctor? Sherlock, I’m thinking.” Molly stumped her feet against the cold ground, splashed with cold air, standing before a cold man.
"MOLLY." Sherlock said, raising his voice, trying to manipulate her temper. Her. Once again.
"If that's what you think of me then why did you say that I counted, I hoped for your respect and love—though I knew that love won’t be reciprocated, but I knew respect would, for once. Sherlock, for once. You are a human, treat us one.”
“Molly, I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry Molly Hooper.”
“I should have known that you are just here to fool me. I should have never helped you or your brother—this is not working anymore; I don’t feel like I’m the one being in control in this flat, I was the one being controlled. Fill me jokes just to get something from me. I should have heard it that night." it was his turn to speak when a stomping of relatively large sole was produced at the back of the flat's door.
"Someone’s coming." She choked. Unable to suppress the embarrassment produced from the previous act of indifference, she bit her lower lip, as she tugged her sleeves to her eyes, holding back the tears.
Then a figure turned the knob's girdle, revealing a man higher than that of Sherlock, a much older man and a suit bearer, as she could see him.
"Am I missing something, my dear brother?" The man asked.
"No. Nothing. Mycroft, Molly and I are just talking about the...er... Morgue, right Molly?" He asked as if he is asking for a dear confirmation regarding the matter brewed and discussed.
"Ah yes, Mr. Holmes. And good morning, if you'll excuse me, I just need to check on my medication." She said. Medication?
Mycroft nodded, and glared daggers to Sherlock, waiting for an explanation. As soon as his brother sighed, he looked back at Molly, eagerly checking for answers.
Dr. Molly Hooper. The purple lines under her eyes indicates crying, and as the change of her nose's state--slightly puffy. Her lips were cracked, indicates the loss of water from dehydration due to the previous probable reason--crying. The end of her long wool green cardigan's sleeve is slightly wobbled and damped wet that seems to be used as a towel to stop her from crying. Face. Pale, indication of not taking enough nutrition for the day, estimation, since yesterday afternoon. She really needs medication, aside from hydration she needed time.
Molly Hopper took a step back, proceeded to go inside the washroom, and locked the door from her back, sliding her body against the tub with a face down as her tears continued to slide down from her lacrimal glands.
"I have to praise your timing one of these days. I was about to prevent a fish from jumping out of my tank, but you came, so the possibilities shrank to 48.4% from a 62."
Sherlock sat down, offering the seat opposing his. Mycroft, in return, gave his signature brow.
"So brother, what brought you here?" Sherlock asked him.
"What happened, with Miss Hooper? Didn’t I tell you to—" Mycroft sat himself and his brolly on his side.
"Behave. My dear brother, I believe that the matter doesn't concern you." Sherlock revealed his muddy expression of annoyance.
"Oh yes. My apologies for sticking my nose with others businesses. However, my purpose of coming here is this." Mycroft handed him a folder and an envelope.
Sherlock checked the folder to see a man's profile along with some of his data researched by the CIA.
"Who's this?"
"Andrew Bullock, a police, who had been acquiring drugs from his sources and supplying it to his informants."
"What do you want me to do with him? Don't tell me you wanted me to try and use drugs again and be one of his informants?"
"If that's what it takes Sherlock."
"So what more? Aside from he's under—Lestrade...previously?" Sherlock shocked as he read the part where Gregory Lestrade’s name was written.
"We believe that he's currently in the possession of the plans of further reinforcement of the British Government with the French Government."
"And what are in those-- care to elaborate brother mine?"
"Nothing in particular but it’ll be a lot of fun to ruin the France's state to the dearly eyes of England." Mycroft uttered as he stood from his seat, leaving his brolly, and walked around the flat’s living area.
"I have presumably elaborated the plot of my fall and that do consider the ones involved. Have I?" Sherlock asked following Mycroft’s every and each move.
"Sentiments, you have." Mycroft had indeed changed a bit. He had been a grown up.
"Think. Mycroft, I'm paying back."
Mycroft nodded, "You see the rainbow on the outskirt?" looking in front of an open window glaring at the heavens.
"Ahum, nope-- never seen it, but hopefully I'd see it soon. Very soon." Sherlock answered at his brother's query.
"I have seen it multiple times. Colored through perfection. And I might see it with Gaia by the night broke with the sun."
"Seriously, you have. So I see."
"Sorry?"
"You have plotted every bit of it--"
"To keep you close, Sherlock."
"Then I had to meet a storm on my way back home?"
“Yes. Brother mine, you have to.” Mycroft looked at Sherlock’s replicated orbs and paused. "Yet the eyes of yours speaks a lot more different that of your medium, you never met that, at least what you think you saw was the rainbow, then things turned out to be a storm... I'd better say you're shedding inches, Sherlock." Mycroft let out a slight chuckle.
"And you are melting a lot, Ice Man." Sherlock stiffened, sounded annoyingly.
"I'll be-- but you've been." Mycroft just grin widely.
"So..." Molly appeared from the arch that separates the living room from the hallway of rooms and washroom. She was wearing a slacks and a blouse underneath the jumper she was wearing for the cold. Her hair was neatly clipped into her back, pony-tailed, revealing her bare neck that shone through the windows of her flat. She is indeed ready for work, indeed at the right time to cut the banter out of the brothers’ love for both.
Mycroft looked up from his gaze at Sherlock, meeting Molly's brown one. It was a brief eye to eye contact between them, lasted for at least 8 ticks, enough for Molly to know that Mycroft acknowledges her presence, yet too much for Mycroft to read her through her windows, who in return turned to his phone.
Sherlock looked at Molly's facade and then to her eyes, trying to get her attention, however, Molly was still looking at Mycroft, who is looking at his phone typing something.
Mycroft, on the other hand, could sense the tension building up in the oxygen and carbon dioxide that they have been exchanging. After sending his text to his PA, he coughed, to get the attention of the two.
"I believe Ms. Hooper--"
"Dr. Hooper" Sherlock corrected.
"Molly." She quipped back, saying as a matter-of-factly tone.
"That you must be going now." Checking his watch, he added--"If you'd stay here for another minute, you'll be late for at least five minutes-- therefore, I must say, you'd better be going to at least minimize it up to 3 minutes."
"Oh. Thank you, Mr. Holmes."
"Mycroft... And thank you for taking care of my brother." He said.
"I'm not a bloody pain in the ass." Sherlock said, tugging his lips back to his mouth.
"Shut up bugger." Molly and Mycroft said in unison that startled Sherlock.
"Oh...er...I have to go." Molly said, blushing.
There was a creak of a hinge and a click from the lock, indication of a busy day for Dr. Hooper and a not so long lovely and worth conversation between the brothers.
Once Molly had closed the door, Sherlock started speaking.
"10 more minutes, I suppose."
“And enough for her to compose herself in her locker." Mycroft sat at the seat he had left.
"Surely. It is. My gratitude?"
"This has something to do with the previous conversation we had, it has?"
"I assume you already know my answer, Mycroft."
"Yes and to top it all, brother mine, the odd's mine."
"What if they're already mine? I intend for you to lose at your own game."
"Lying. You never won, and you have lost, actually."
"The sun is coming up."
.
"You should start walking too Sherlock. Every information you need to know it's in there... Also, he had their captain under his thumb of morphia and heroin-- he is enough for you."
"And so do you Mycroft."
"My PA's not yet around."
"Why is that so?" Sherlock looked at Mycroft with a knowing smile.
"Maybe."
"However brother dear, I will not let you do that. Just because she had helped me a lot during the Moriarty confrontation that you should feel obliged to help her... And also."
“Also what Sherlock?"
“She’s mine."
"Mine? As clearly stated from her being... She isn't anyone's possession. No bind yet."
"Oh yes sure, but I'm pretty much sure she’s my pathologist-- let her know that her feelings were being reciprocated."
"Why the ‘were’? Past tense?" Mycroft smiled, keeping his laughter zipped.
Sherlock just shrugged. Let’s play a game, Mycroft. Knowing Mycroft knew the entire offer.
"I hope you don't mind having competition, you do?" Mycroft asked grinning.
"Of course."
"Then, be my guest."
~~~Ω~~~
"Ahm. Miss?"
"Yes?" A lady answered-- who was glued to her dearest Blackberry phone as if her life-- everyone's lives-- depended on it.
"Where are you taking me?" Molly asked half smiling as if the associate will tear her attention just to look up at her-- though she didn't even bother.
"To St. Barts."
"Oh. I see." Immediately, she zipped her mouth, not mentioning things but a deep silence.
~~~Ω~~~
"Dr. Hooper." Finally, the associate looked up from her phone just to snog her left scapula and slightly pinched her humerian socket.
"Oh. Sorry. I was just..." Molly gasped at the thought that she had slept.
"We're here."
"Oh. Yeah. Thank you, and please inform Mr. Holmes that I'm very much grateful for his help, however he shouldn't be bothered." Molly spoke unclasping the buckle of her seatbelt, and carefully hanging her bag across her neck touching her left collar.
"Okay Doctor Hooper, I will tell him. However, I'm afraid that you'll be late."
"Ahm yes. But just call me Molly."
"Okay Dr. Molly. I'll be going."
~~~Ω~~~
Ten minutes ago...
'Anthea, please escort Dr. Hooper to St. Barts. I'm afraid that she'll be late because of Sherlock and my intrusion.- MH'
Anthea glanced up from her phone to open her side of the door of the black Dodge armored car. Once outside, she immediately typed an affirmative, not-so-long message to her boss.
'Yes Sir. If you may, will I call for another car for you? In such case that you'll be out already. Or you'll be going with us?- Anthea'
Her phone blinked-- revealing a message from her boss.
'No need. I have to talk to my brother first.-MH'
There a creak bust open from the door, revealing Molly Hooper-- all dressed, ready for her new day-- days, ahead. A journey, I suppose.