Chapter Text
Nymphs are generally regarded as personifications of nature and are typically tied to a specific place or landform […]. They are not necessarily immortal but are thought to live much longer than humans before they die.
Musing of a lone walker.
**1**
As much as he played it down, Molly knew this was an awful pass for Sherlock. She was happy to have been able to take a leave from the hospital to accompany him. Not that he had asked, but then she had not left him much of a choice. The death of a parent was not something that ought to be faced alone, and between John and herself they would take care of Sherlock. Mycroft… he mourned in his own way, taking care of everything from a distance.
Summer was slowly dying, and a chill was embracing the evenings again. She tugged her thin pullover closer and walked the lawn up to Sherlock. He was standing a little way from the house, gazing at the woodland’s treeline that seemed to eat up the lawn in the distance. Smoke curled about his face and eyes, that had the faraway look of reminiscing.
‘Hey.’ She called to get his attention once she was close enough.
He gave her a half smile, and she was somewhat relieved to know she wasn’t being a bother. She suspected he was grateful for her small talk. She chased the ghosts away.
‘It’s beautiful.’ She commented, pointing the expense of wood ahead. ‘It must have been quite the tale growing up here.’ She paused, observing a magpie flying from branch to branch and scaring off smaller birds. ‘I’ve always loved the forest, but I grew up in a flat in the city.’
‘On day I tackled Mycroft in the mud. He was painted from head to toe.’ He smiled around his cigarette. ‘His face was perfect.’
She gave a chuckle.
‘What about a walk in the woods tomorrow?’ She asked. They did look beautiful and somewhat eery in the growing darkness.
Sherlock face fell a little and something passed over his eyes.
‘No, that’s a bad idea Molly. I’m sorry.’ He answered.
He patted her on the shoulder and made his way back to the house, leaving her standing on the lawn.
**2**
‘Is that a track? I suppose it must be.’
She carefully considered the little strip of dirt worming its way between the overgrown bushes and tree trunks. Yup, definitely an old track. She carefully walked around the vegetation, working to not damage anything and not get damaged in return. Some of these bushes were very thorny.
‘Is that why Sherlock did not want to come around? It’s not that bad.’ She huffed.
Sherlock and John had gone into town to solve a couple things and she’d opted to stay behind. Even nowadays she didn’t get as much fresh air as she wanted. London was not exactly the best place to do so and the hospital was so busy she hardly ever had the time to get a proper vacation.
The woods were quite beautiful and enjoyable once you’d gotten past the fact your shirt would probably be ruined by the time you got out. Light filtered through the overhanging foliage in tender hues of green. There were a lot more birds and little insects than she would have expected, and the place had a timeless feeling to it.
Like it’d been left untouched and unchanged for years.
There was a rustle to her right and she through the vanishing tail of a fawn caught her eye. The faded track was going in this precise direction, and she proceeded quietly, her heart fluttering at the idea of perhaps getting to see the fluffy and adorable little creature properly. She advanced for quite some time, letting the forest wash over her and cursing as quietly as possible when encountering especially vicious thorns or inquiring insects. At last she heard the rustle again, closer and insistent. Panicked even.
The little fawn was there, caught and trapped in the biggest and most vicious looking thorn bush Molly had ever seen. The animal had gotten entangled and was trying to jump out, only succeeding in driving the thorns deeper in its skin. It was trembling of all its little limbs and obviously exhausted.
‘Oh, look at you. Don’t worry I got you.’ She cooed.
She moved and proceeded slowly to get the animal free. She regretted not bringing a knife or anything as she had to work with har bare hand. And somehow, she had not noticed the canopy getting denser as she proceeded into the woods, but here a lot less light filtered down. Making the task harder. In the end, her hands hurt and were covered in blood, and her shirt would definitely go down the bin, but the little animal sprang free and scuttled in the undergrowth.
She huffed but was very pleased to have been there at the right place in the right moment.
But right now, it was growing colder, and she was tired of all that excitement. And she wanted a bath. She looked around her and frowned. The track had been narrow, but very obvious in the vegetation or she would not have risked going forward. And yet, now, she couldn’t make it out.
She rounded the brambles and noticed the earth around and under seemed to have been burnt down at some point. The flames must even have started to eat up the nearby trees, since some stood shared like terrible black needles pointing to the sky. She rounded it a couple more times, getting very acutely aware of every details of the unfriendly place.
And still no path.
She started panicking, pondering the possibility to pick a direction at random. If she started from where she had worked the fawn off the bush the chances were… In her panicking she slipped against a blackened stone and fell headfirst into the bed of thorn. It bit mercilessly into her flesh and out of exhaustion she stayed very still and cried.
After a few, very long seconds, there was a shuffle besides her, and a branch was removed from her face.
‘Who are you?’ A voice asked softly. Curious.
It was a man’s voice. She gave a relieved sob, happy to know someone had found her and would help her out. She opened her eyes. And gasped in surprise.
He looked like a man, and yet he didn’t. He eyes were two black beads staring at her. Its skin was very pale, but something like a very dark bark, or coal covered part of it and of its face. There were leaves growing off him and brambles.
‘Oh god!’ She gasped, recoiling out of instinct only to feel the thorns digging deeper into her skin.
‘Hush now,’ the creature whispered, ‘don’t be afraid.’
He helped her up gently, looking her up and down in a ravenous and obvious curiosity all the while. By the time she was up his appearance had shifted, to one somewhat closer to a human’s and thanks lord he was clothed. Only remained the paleness of his skin, his eyes and the charcoal eating up his face and side. Molly was speechless.
‘It’s not very polite not to answer questions.’ He stated with a sharp smile.
Her brain fumbled and the only answer she could come up with was:
‘Who told you that?’
His smile turned broader, and slightly secretive.
‘A boy. He used to come here. He doesn’t anymore.’ He gave her an assertive look and added. ‘He used to call me Jim. Apparently, he found my name ridiculous.’
‘Molly.’ She answered. ‘Molly Hooper.’