Sherlock's Love Interest (BBC Fan-Fiction)

Chapter 55

Chapter 55

"He has a wife?" exclaimed Molly in outrage.

"No. She, whoever she is, was using him to get information on me. She let him use whoever else was necessary to complete this, and was truthfully unaware of what he did to you in the past month."

John sat back. "And now you're meeting with her."

"I haven't got a choice, John! I need to know who she is! She swore to me that Molly won't be hurt by her."

"And you believe her?" asked Molly timidly, her small form shaking.

"I was carefully watching her. She was telling the truth."

Molly nodded. "Okay. If you trust her..."

"I never said that. Just because she won't hurt you doesn't mean I trust her."

Mary looked at her watch. "Well, if you're meeting her, you'd better go. Don't want you late to your own party."

Sherlock stood, put his coat and scarf on, and walked out the door. Molly was right behind him as they clambered into the cab that would take them to Baker Street.

Inside they heard music playing-violin music. It was beautiful, but sad. Molly and Sherlock raced up the stairs to see the mystery girl playing, her eyes lightly closed and a soft smile adorning her face.

Sherlock stepped forward and cleared his throat. She jumped. "I-I'm sorry. I just saw it sitting there and couldn't help myself. I recently had to sell my own violin."

He nodded. "Sit down." She looked around, biting her lip. She knew how particular Sherlock could be about many things-where guests sat she knew would be one.

Molly patted the back of the red armchair. "You can sit here."

"Thank you." As Molly walked past her, the girl grabbed her wrist. Molly felt fear jump out to her like an old friend. But sincerity showed in her eyes as she softly said, "I can't believe what went on under my own roof. Truly, Molly, I'm very sorry. I wish I could fix what he did."

"You can't," she said back before the girl let her go.

Sherlock sat in his armchair, gesturing for Molly to come over to him. She sat on his lap.

"Tell me who you are," said Sherlock. It was eating at him, not knowing.

She sat back and took a deep breath. "Please don't interrupt, this will already be tough enough to explain. Knowing you, you will. Please try not to."

"Your. Name." he said slowly.

"My name is Maia Marie Holmes." Sherlock's entire body tensed and his jaw set at what he knew to be a lie. "My birth date is July 19, 1976. I was in a car crash on my way home from school when I was fifteen. I survived the crash, but fell into a coma. I could hear everything going on around me." Her eyes started to well up with tears.

Molly felt compassion for her, knowing her emotion to be true even if she'd lied about her name.

"My brothers were both there. They argued with my parents, they fought so hard, but both Mum and Dad were convinced I would never come out of the coma. They pulled me off life support." A tear slipped down her closed eyes. Although this appeared to hurt her, her voice stayed light, carefree, and innocent, just as Sherlock described.

He started to deflate, remembering that no one but his own family was in the room for that argument. His mouth opened, but Molly's stern glance kept him silent.

"Turns out, I didn't need it. I continued to fight. It hurt. My god, it hurt. But I pulled through. When I woke up, I was in a house and the doctor who was there told me he knew I'd wake up. He took care of me for three years. I was eighteen. I immediately began to look for you, for my family.

"You and Mycroft were gone, off to some university. I didn't know which ones. So I found Mum and Dad. Dad answered the door." Another few tears and a sniffle revealed the scene to Molly. "He didn't believe me, why would he? But then he, Dad, of all people, started to yell at me. He was screaming. I'd never seen him so angry before. He called to Mum, and she didn't even come to the door. She screamed profanities at me. I didn't even get a chance to explain.

"I tried to find you boys next, but you'd disappeared. When I found Mycroft, he was already in the government and wouldn't see me. He at least pointed me your way." She now had tears rolling nonstop down her cheeks.

"It took me two weeks to prepare myself to see you again. I would have your address on the tip of my tongue so many times; I had too many coffees those two weeks," she smiled. "Then-" her voice broke and she stopped to take a deep breath. "Then I picked up a newspaper. I was in the cab to go see you when I saw it. You'd jumped to your death."

Molly gasped. "That's why I recognise you."

She nodded. "I was at your funeral, Sherlock. I was there mourning for you. I spent the next two years trying to pick myself back up. I didn't even know what I'd do with my life; since I was eighteen all I'd been doing was skimping by and trying to find you. Then you came back! I was ecstatic! Elated! But Mycroft wouldn't see me, and neither would our parents-I was terrified you would reject me the same way."

"How could you possibly think that?" he asked. Molly looked to him and saw that his eyes were shining with tears as well.

"I didn't know what else to think! Please forgive me for what I did. I found Joseph and I-I just wanted to know you. So I hired him to get information on you for me, even though I knew he was unstable mentally. I just...I didn't think about it. He was good, and I was desperate. He was constantly getting information from his sources, especially in the last month."

She looked at Molly, her bottom lip trembling. "I-I'm so sorry. I had no idea where he was getting his information, not until yesterday, and I was gone. Today when I got back, you were there. I-I was stupid and childish and-and I just wanted to see you again, but I was petrified with fear. I could handle the rest of them rejecting me, but not you." She shook her head. "Never you."

Molly stood up to get out of their way. Sherlock sat there, observing her, questioning if she was telling the truth or not, before he nodded. "Okay."

She stood up, and he did the same. She threw her arms around his torso. "I love you, Sherlock. I love you so much. Here," she separated from him and handed him a slip of paper, "if you ever want to see me again, call this number. Goodbye."

His lips pursed. "Don't use that word."

"What word?"

"Goodbye. I didn't say it before, I don't want to hear it now."

She nodded and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek before giving Molly a last glance of guilt and leaving.