(Dedicated to alwaysauthentic who already cried at the idea.)
T'was the night before Christmas,
And it was a quiet house.
Molly was not stirring,
Longing to once again be affectionately called 'mouse'.
"I'm just going to... go," Molly said softly, her voice little more than a mumble. She couldn't help but feel it was somehow her fault that he was upset, and she was chastising herself for it already.
You didn't do anything, it wouldn't be your fault.
The voice sounded eerily similar to Irene's, and the tension dropped from her shoulders as she thought of how she would be on vacation tomorrow with Irene. Irene always made everything better, and she sent off a text to her.
I'll be home early, love, I'm on my way now. Merry Christmas! 😚 -Your Mouse
For it was Christmas, after all, it had hit midnight a few minutes ago, and though Irene wasn't religious, she knew her girlfriend was looking forward to spending the holiday with her. She debated it for another moment before shooting off another text, this one to John.
Why's he upset?
Don't know. He refuses to leave his room.
Let me know what happens.
And so, with a sigh, she dialed her last resort, the eldest Holmes brother.
"Uh, yes. Mycroft. Hi."
"Hello, Dr. Hooper." He sounded impossibly tired, as though he was dealing with something far bigger than he'd hoped for.
"I was just wondering if... you know what's wrong with Sherlock?" There was a pause on the other end of the line before he spoke again.
"There's been a body found, and Sherlock is convinced it's the body of a certain Irene Adler." Her blood chilled and her heart quite literally stopped for a moment; she had to remind herself to breathe, and her eyes stung with tears.
"That's not possible."
"Would you like to come in and examine the body?" His voice was challenging, but her hands curled into fists.
"Yes. It's not Irene. That's not possible. We were going on vacation tomorrow... It's not possible. You've got to be mistaken."
"Very well. You can see for yourself." The call was ended and, as her phone dropped to her lap, she wasn't sure if it was her or Mycroft who'd hung up. She cleared her throat a moment later and leaned forward to speak to the cab driver.
"I'm sorry, can you take me to Bart's Hospital instead? Thank you."
Ten minutes later, Molly was climbing out of the cab and walking into Bart's, hands trembling. Her whole world was crashing down, and Irene wasn't there to put it back together.
She took the list and held her breath as her eyes landed on Adler, Irene. The DNA test had been completed, apparently, and all that was left was a positive identification of the body and an autopsy.
So there Molly was, on Christmas morning, sobbing over her dead girlfriend and terrified of pulling her body out. This was not how she wanted to spend Christmas.
She laid Irene's body out on the table and shook with more sobs when she saw her beautiful Irene's face beaten to the point where it was someone else's entirely.
"Her face is a bit bashed in, so... it might be hard to identify," was the only thing Molly could say to Sherlock. He stared at her bashed in face and then glanced up to Molly before looking back at Irene.
"Show me the rest of her." A flare of anger and indignation flashed through her. How dare he ask to see Irene's naked body! That was for Molly and for Molly only. But she swallowed her rage and pulled the sheet back, and watched as Sherlock nodded.
"That's her." The final nail in the coffin. If even Sherlock was sure it was Irene, then there was no doubt about it. When he'd gone, Molly turned to Mycroft, and her voice was more sad than angry.
"How did he recognize her from... not her face?" He just smiled sympathetically and left her, wondering how she would go on now.
With a sigh, she turned and cleaned up the morgue, sobbing silently to herself as she returned Irene's body to its rightful slot.
Then there was nothing. There were no bodies to put away, or autopsies to be done, and the sight of Irene might make her feel even worse, so she decided she would call Irene.
When her fingers flew across the keypad and typed Irene's familiar personal number, she was not expecting an answer. She just wanted to hear her voice again, even if it was only in her voicemail.
The last thing Molly expected was for her to pick up on the second ring with a confident "Hello, sexy, would like to see more of not my face tonight?"
