Chapter Text
Greg
“Oi! Sherlock! Don’t leave just yet. We need to get you over to the Yard for a statement.”
“I don’t have time for statements, Graham.”
So getting his name right had been a one time thing. Typical.
“Look, Sherlock, I know you’re not one for dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s, but we’ve got five dead bodies at Sherrinford, plus a child’s skeleton here. I need a full statement, you know that.”
Sherlock gave a frustrated groan. His movements, which had been resigned and calm just a few minutes ago, were starting to get more agitated.
“Fine, let’s get your precious statement.”
John, who has been standing virtually motionless, heaved a sigh and moved to follow Sherlock, hunching slightly as the blanket that had been keeping him warm started to instead leech heat from him. Greg rolled his eyes once both of their backs were turned.
Sherlock Holmes was, indeed, a great man. And a good one. But it didn’t seem that he’d ever be any easier to deal with.
————
John
John was exhausted. The statements were taking forever, and having to repeat them for different officers, then different department heads, didn’t do anything to ease his weariness or Sherlock’s increasing impatience. Not to mention wearing further on already raw nerves at being forced to recount, again and again, the nightmare after nightmare they had experienced on the island. John had wondered why they weren’t split up to give statements individually, as was Yard policy. But as he heaved another great sigh, he thought maybe he understood. Sherlock has already ripped into two sergeants and a clerk, the latter angrily storming out of the room when Sherlock deduced that he had a gambling addiction and was cheating on his wife. If left without John as a buffer, Sherlock was guaranteed to reduce half of the force to tears - or bloodshed. Either way, protocols weren’t as important as protecting Greg’s officers.
Sherlocks voice was steady but impatient as he repeatedly went over each of the tasks they had been forced to endure. He left no detail out save for one critical omission. He never spoke of the destroyed coffin. He skipped over that completely, and no one asked about it. Additionally, his expression told John in no uncertain terms that he was not to bring it up either.
Spending time at the Yard without an active case to solve was never Sherlock’s idea of a fun night out, but his impatience ran at a much higher level tonight. Before seeing him with that coffin John knew he wouldn’t have understood why Sherlock was so keen to go.
Now he thought he knew exactly why. He saw Sherlock’s face when he registered the words on the coffins nameplate, and realized who it meant. He saw the tears activity falling when Sherlock placed the lid on the coffin. He heard the fury and pain as Sherlock pulverized it, screaming as if he had flames licking his own feet. If it hadn’t been for that, John would have assumed that the “I love you” had been meaningless - just a means to an end.
He was starting to seriously doubt that now. Possibly the first was. But the second...
————
Greg
“Okay, Sherlock, that’s the sixth person that’s left this room demanding hazard pay after speaking to you, and that’s impressive even for you.”
“If your staff wasn’t comprised of complete idiots, I would have been able to leave an hour and a half ago.”
“Thanks, mate, it’s good to feel appreciated.”
“I don’t care if you feel appreciated, I care about when I can leave.” Sherlock’s voice was rising and beginning to crack.
“Alright, Sherlock, keep your hair on, it’s just an...”
But Greg words were cut off when Sherlock’s fists slammed into the table, almost upsetting a styrofoam cup of really bad coffee.
“Damnit, Greg, we weren’t the only ones who were tortured tonight!”
Well, damn.
————
John
John was running low on patience. He knew Greg was doing everything he could, but the nights cumulative events were threatening to break Sherlock (and John). He sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He washed a hand over his exhausted face and turned to Greg. “You can keep him here if you want, but a few hours ago I watched him tear a full size coffin to pieces with his bare hands. Reduced it to splinters. So, unless you’d like a repeat demonstration on your interrogation room, I’d suggest you either let him go, or get her here. Right the hell now.”
Greg’s face was puzzled for only a moment before it morphed into understanding. Opening the door, John heard him call out.
“Oi, Donovan! A word.” Then, after several heartbeats, “I need you to go round and collect Molly Hooper. Take your car, not a marked one. When you get her here, make sure you put her in a conference room, not in interrogation.”
“Molly Hooper? What’s she got to do with this?” came Sally’s irritated voice from just outside the door.
“Later, Donovan, just get her here quickly. Make sure she knows no one’s hurt or in danger, but don’t tell her anything else. Got it?”
“Got it. Molly Hooper, for god-knows what reason.” At her petulant tone, Sherlocks eyes darkened, causing John to lean over and cut him off before he could react any further to Donovan’s annoyance.
“They’ll get her here. You’ll see her soon. Just hang on, mate.”
Sherlock just huffed our a frustrated breath and closed his eyes as yet another sergeant came in the room. John sighed and closed his own eyes as well
This was the longest night ever.
————
Greg
It took her a bit longer than he expected, but Donovan finally caught Greg’s eye and gave him the high sign to let him know she was back. As she approached him, she shook her head. “She’s in conference room six, and you might want to station someone in there with her. Never seen her like this before. I thought she was going to shred the upholstery in my car when I told her I couldn’t give her any info.”
Greg wasn’t surprised. It’s always the quiet ones.
He went straight to the room where Sherlock and John were sequestered. “Alright, she’s here. Mad as hell we won’t tell her anything, but I figured you’d rather that come from you or John.”
Sherlock stood up and moved towards the door. “As usual, Graham, you show more intelligence than most of your stooges. I need to speak with her. Now.”
“You will, in just a mo....”
“NOT IN JUST A MOMENT. RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW.”
Greg reaches a placating hand out to him. “You can’t right now, you’ve got to do one more briefing with the Chief Superintendent. Then she’s all yours. John can sit that one out, but...”
“Why on earth do I need to meet with him and not John?!?”
“Because it’s your brother and sister being carted into hospital, and because the last time John saw the chief it did not go at all well. Since one of you needs to speak with him, I think it’s much better that it be you. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”
————
John
As Greg was leading him to the conference room, John stopped him in mid stride.
“Listen, Greg, I’d never ask for this normally, but I need to get the CCTV footage from Sherrinford. Only a small section, but I need it before I see Molly.”
Greg sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “The number of rules I break for the Great Sherlock Holmes...“
“This isn’t one you’d be doing for him, Greg, it’s for her. Molly has to see that footage, it’s the only way I can explain what happened. She needs to see what I saw, and she needs to see what he did to that coffin. She’s already been hurt so badly... I need to show her, Greg.”
Greg paused, scowling at the floor. “It might take a few minutes, but... wait, what’d he do to the coffin?” They stepped into Greg’s office and John stood looking over his shoulder, directing Greg and trying to spot the footage he needed. The relevant section took about twenty minutes to find. Greg soon had the cut saved to his desktop for easy access.
It was the first time Greg had seen any of the CCTV feed, and as they watched the isolated footage together John felt Greg’s anger towards Eurus become more and more palpable.
“I don’t care how brilliant she is, or if she’s a ‘valuable asset’. If there’s anything left of her when Sherlock gets done with her, I may have a go at her myself. Might as well kick a puppy. They don’t make ‘em any smarter, any sweeter, or more loyal than Molly Hooper. They just don’t.”
John knew that the situation wasn’t that cut and dried. Eurus was frighteningly psychotic, but part of what made her so dangerous was the lack of love and support she’d had during her formative years. But yeah... he’d quite like to have a go at her himself, and not just because she locked him in a well and tried to drown him.
Though he wasn’t crazy about that part either.
————
Greg
Greg showed John into the conference room where Molly waited. She was beside herself. As soon as she saw them she sprang from her chair like it was on fire, shouting “What the bloody hell is going on here, John? Are you okay? Is Sherlock okay? They won’t tell me a fucking thing, just said to wait in here.” Molly whirled around to Greg, her voice rising until she was actually shouting “And you - the next time you send one of your minions to collect me, choose one with better social skills!” Greg took a step back, holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture. He reminded himself that Molly Hooper was not a person to piss off. They’d never find his body.
John put on his most comforting “doctor speaking with a patient’s family” expression, trying to help her to get ahold of herself. It can’t have been easy - Greg saw in his face that he was exhausted, drained, and at his wits end with the whole situation. He put his hands on each of her shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes.
“Molly, I’m going to explain everything I can, but I need you to calm down first. I am fine, Sherlock is... well, he’s Sherlock - but he is in no way physically hurt.” Molly exhaled sharply, releasing a breath he didn’t know she had been holding. “There’s a lot to tell you, but most of it can wait for now. What you need to know first is that Sherlock and Mycroft have a younger sister...”
Greg took this as his cue to leave John and Molly to it. He needed a cigarette anyway.
————
John
John started at Baker Street with the explosion and summed it up as best he could. He told her about the grenade, the takeover at Sherrinford, the murders they had witnessed, the little girl on the plane... as his monologue went on and on, her face grew steadily more horror struck. Then they reached her call.
At first Molly had been humiliated. Not only had she been crushed by that phone call, but now she found that she had an audience for it. John brought up the footage on Greg’s laptop, but after only a few seconds she was begging him to turn it off. He paused the video and moved his chair closer to hers, putting his arm around her, supporting her. “Molly, I know this is hard, but you need to see this. It will all make sense when you see it. I’m right here with you, Molly, I’m not going anywhere.” He waited until she gave a slight nod and resumed the footage.
She watched with rapt attention as he, Sherlock, and Mycroft entered the room where the coffin stood. Tears fell freely as the footage went on. When she finally heard Eurus give the command for Sherlock to pull himself together, she turned to John and started to speak, but John forestalled her, pointing at the screen “Pay attention to this Molly. This is important.” They watched together as Sherlock lost all control. Molly gasped when his hand hit the coffin the first time, covering her mouth, eyes wide and terrified at the violence she was seeing. John stopped the playback as the footage followed the three of them to their next task. He turned to her, taking one of her hands firmly in his.
“Molly, he was in tears. Literal tears. That scream when he laid into that coffin - it wasn’t just anger. It was rage and anguish. He sounded like he was being burned. Tonight he’s been desperate to be done here, in fact he’s being significantly more difficult than usual, all because he had to get to you. Now, I don’t presume to know all that goes on in that man’s head, but I do know what I saw.”
At this, Molly broke down into wracking sobs. She leaned against John as tears slipped down her nose and cheeks. He did the only thing he really could in the moment - he held her as she cried.
They waited for several minutes for Greg to return - John was at the point of going out to look for him when the door opened and Greg poked his head in.
“We’re all done with him, he’s just getting out of interrogation. He’ll be here soon.” Greg’s head disappeared from the doorframe for a moment, then reappeared. “Here he is. Oi! Sherlock! Over here!” Greg considered for a moment, then added “Not sure I’ve ever seen him run that fast before.” He quirked a small smile at Molly, but she was totally focused on the door. Outside the room John heard the unmistakable squeak of Sherlock’s dress shoes trying to find purchase on the linoleum floor as he overshot the room in his haste. Elbowing his way through the door, he went straight for Molly, who threw her arms around his neck. Sherlock wrapped his own arms around her, actually picking her up off the floor and burying his face in her shoulder as he said, over and over, “Molly... I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry...”
Suddenly, Molly pulled her head back and, through sniffles and stray tears, commanded “Let me see your hands.” Sherlock looked a bit surprised at this, but set her back on her feet and held his hands out for her to see. She fought a fresh wave of sobs as she looked at the abrasions, the swelling, and the bruises on his fingers.
“Why aren’t your hands bandaged? You should have had them cleaned and dressed hours ago. Greg, I need a first aid kit.” Sherlock drew a breath and smiled briefly and moved his arms around her again.
Greg returned with the first aid kit, and Molly gently pushed Sherlock into one of the chairs while muttering dark implications about the fact that no one had taken proper care of the wounds. John suppressed a smile, but caught Greg’s eye. By mutual unspoken agreement they left the room, Greg turning to John and saying, under his breath, “Was wonderin’ if he was ever gonna get his head out of his arse.” John smirked and nodded as he quietly closed the door.
Neither Sherlock or Molly noticed.