The Child of Zeus

The Apple Never Falls Far From the Tree

Everyone was taken aback as the last three words hung in the air. They lingered the same way a foul stench seems to. And everyone, except of course Sherlock, was lost for words. 

"Daughter? Why of course." He called out into the darkness.

"Tell me Mr. Holmes, what can you deduce about me?" 

"I can't even see you."

"Tell me Mr. Holmes, what can you deduce about me?" Repeating herself slowly and maliciously. 

"I think you're just as bored as your father. Yes, the average person would describe you as insane. But no, I see through that, I see the boredom. You're both so sick and tired of routine, of the ordinary, of good defeating evil time and time again. And although you two have remarkable similarities both physically and mentally. Yes, I saw you, for a moment, when you passed through a break in the darkness. I hope you're not alarmed, I'm sure my fan has informed you that I miss nothing. You two, to say the least are similar in facial features, demeanour, and your earlobes are detached as are his. Which is a characteristic passed down only through direct bloodline. But you're different than him, you may act like him but you are not your father. I think that you grew up in a complicated family. I think you've lived your life without a mother. I think you've been neglected as a child, Daddy never having time to tuck you in to bed or take you to school. I think you're angry, yes, but evil? No, I think you're releasing all that negativity and neglect onto the world around you. I think you're trying desperately to have your father see you as his daughter. And most of all I think you're still good, somewhere deep down inside of you. Don't compare yourself to your father dear, you're so much better than him. Am I right?"

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Lestrade and John gaped in complete awe of a deduction made with only a quick glance at someone he's never met before in his life. Molly sat in the closet smiling to herself remembering the precise reason she had fallen for Sherlock Holmes in the first place. Sherlock's mind flickered for a fleeting moment back to the woman sitting and smiling in the back of the station, hoping she was fine, wishing she was doing alright. But it turned back immediately to the adversary who must've had all her words run away from her grasp. "Am I right!?" He asked again, more forcefully now. 

"How dare you." She called out again, her voice caught on the words. Sherlock recognized the emotion immediately, sorrow. And although he was only acquainted with the feeling, he'd seen it tear apart people.  "How dare you accuse my family."

"Was I right?"

"Mr. Holmes, I do what I do because I know it's right." She struggled to keep her voice steady and strong as tears slowly fell down her cheeks. How did he know? "You think you have people figured out." How could he have known? "But you're just as bored as my Father and I are. You're no better than us. And you know what I think, I think you are us. You just resist it. Stop resisting Mr. Holmes."

"I'm not resisting anything. I'd rather not wreak havoc on all of London."

The next time she spoke, she whispered, the voice came from behind him. The words softly trailing from her lips to his ear. "Join us, Sherlock."

"Never!" He cried and whipped around, he saw her running but grabbed a hold of her wrist pulling her back toward him. "Stop this! No one else has to die Marissa!"

"My name? How do you know my name?"

"Stop with the killing." 

She stopped wriggling suddenly and smiled up at him. "Got to run, sorry. Past my curfew." She reached her free hand up his neck, her fingers instinctively finding a precise spot just below his neck and pressed down with as much pressure she could muster. He released her arm and flung himself backwards. 

"Au revoir Mr. Holmes." 

He looked back up at her, tears still staining her cheeks, as she fled the scene without a trace. No matter how tough she acts, she is will always be a perfect reflection of what she actually is, a child. 

John came running to Sherlock, "What happened? How did she get away?"

Catching his breath he replied, "She used pressure points, there is a pressure point that causes pain located on the bone of your sternal notch. Also, your gag reflex is located just behind that. If you use both in combination your opponent will fall backwards with all his own force. Brilliant, actually." 

"And quick question, how did you know her name?" A noise filled the station signalling the power had come back on. The lights blinding the three men. Sherlock stopped suddenly in shock and ran back towards the closet. 

"Molly! Molly, are you alright?" He asked as he frantically pulled open the door and fell to his knees before enveloping her in a tight hug. She winced at the sudden pain that shot through her arm, but decided against complaining.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You're bleeding, Oh God, you were shot, John! John come over here!"

"No really I'm fine."

John appeared behind them, stopping for a moment confused at the sight of his friend gazing so deep into Molly's eyes. "What's happened?"

"She was shot John, please make sure she'll be alright!" 

"Calm down Sherlock, I'm positive Molly will be fine."

John knelt beside her and pulled off her coat, she felt the colour flood her face. She was sitting in front of Lestrade, John and most of all Sherlock in her nothing but her bra because she had used her shirt to stop the bleeding. Greg noticed how embarrassed the poor girl looked, so he left, intending on relieving the boys outside from their watch. Sherlock just paced back and forth until he had noticed her sitting half naked on the station floor. He stopped suddenly in his tracks completely lost for words. She met his gaze for a second before they both turned away. Sherlock returning to his pacing and her looking down at her arm. 

"You've pretty well stopped the bleeding. A few stitches and a proper bandage ought to fix you up just fine. Shall we head over to Bart's?"

_________

A few hours later Molly was bandaged, stitched and more than ready to go back to her own flat. She was getting up from the hospital bed when Sherlock came in, swiftly and quietly. "What are you still doing here?" She asked him.

"To take you home." He replied as if it was the most obvious reason in the world.

"Oh. I, uh, I can walk, I don't live far from here."

"No, I'm walking you home. And I'm staying over the night to make sure everything is fine. There is no use arguing Molly, I've made up my mind." And he took a few more steps towards her, closing the distance between them.

"Well, tha-that's very kind of you." She said as he took a few more. Until nothing but clothing separated them. He wrapped her in his arms, this time careful of the newly-dressed wound. He rested his chin on her head and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. "I'm so glad you're safe, Molly Hooper." He then leaned down and kissed her on the forehead before removing his coat and putting it on her. She was speechless, so she let him put his arm around her and walk her out of the hospital.