Aftermath - Chapter Three

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by _theyoungwriter

by _theyoungwriter

Mollys POV

Sherlock's face was pale. Paler than usual, it looked a sickly green colour. John Watson stood firmly beside him, his suit jacket had been removed and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing his muscular, tanned arms. Sherlock, on the other hand, was still wearing his pristine suit, underneath the black suit jacket was a personal favourite shirt of mine, the shirt we nicknamed "Purple Shirt of Sex" at school. His trademark blue scarf and Belstaff coat were hung over the back of the chair which he had emerged from before making his speech. His dazzling, multi-coloured eyes that I had grown so fond of throughout my life, pierced my own, looking straight through me, making me feel an inch tall and completely naked.

The boy I fell in love with at the meek age of 11. The boy who comforted me through hardship, who let me stay in his dorm that Halloween, who gave me my first kiss, my first feeling of want. The boy I broke. The boy I betrayed. The boy I ruined.

'Sherlock, I-'

'Don't.' The lanky, raven-haired man spoke in subtle tones which cut through my soul like a knife. He sounded so... Disjointed, so broken.

'I suppose I can explain.' I began, my tone of voice dramatically changed from the confidence bitch who I was when I walked through the door, back to the shy love-sick teenager.

'Go ahead, explain. Explain to me why you did this, explain why you had to leave in such a way. Explain why you destroyed me.' Sherlock Holmes growled, only a few times before in my life had I ever seen him this angry.

I remember his face, when I "died" in his arms. Never in my entire life had I seen so much emotion in one mans face, I doubt I ever will again. His usually cold and emotionless eyes were filled with a variety of different and quite obvious feelings; heartache, hopelessness, despondency, guilt. As I remember laying limp in his arms, the drug taking a rapid effect, he spoke in a soft, velvet voice. He said;

'Mycroft was right, sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. But god, Molly Hooper, being on the losing side feels so good. How terrible it is... To love something that death can touch.' A small, transparent tear ran down his porcelain skin. That one tear meant everything to me. Sherlock Holmes cared. He cared for me, of all people, the one person who was about to destroy him.

'Sherlock I... I had to. I-I had to bring you out of the... job, or else you would've gotten yourself killed.'

'Honestly, Molly. I would've preferred to have died than go through what I went through after losing you, but I suppose you think that's fine now, do you? Since you're back and everything is fine and dandy again.' The detective stood over me, his huge demeanor towering over me. I forgot how terrifying he was.

'I-I'm so...so sorry, Sherlock. I wanted to come back straight away, I wanted an alternative... But... This is all I got, I guess.' I inhaled deeply through my nose and tugged the bottom of my dress up, revealing an array of bombs strapped to each leg. Within moments, the lights on them were activated and a tick-tock of the timer began.

'It's a matter of time, Sherlock Holmes.'