The Woman Who Counted (A Sherlolly Tale)

Chapter 29

Did you miss me?

Did you miss me?

Did you miss me?

Hours after the looped clip of Jim Moriarty was off telly, his voice still echoed in her mind. Did you miss me? She brought her legs up to her chest, buried her face in her knees and began to sob. This was terrible. This was impossible. This was...happening.

This was happening. Sherlock Holmes has been exiled, and the consulting criminal was back.

Who is going to save us? Molly thought. John Watson? Mary Morstan? Greg Lestrade? Scotland Yard?

No.

No one can save them. With Moriarty back, there is no way anyone is safe. What if he came after her? Would anyone even try to save her? Of course they wouldn't, who would even try? Who would dare risk their life for Molly Louise Hooper? No one would.

Her cat, Toby rubbed the side of his face against my leg, and she lifted my head. Sherlock gave her the cat when it was just a kitten. Toby was only thing she had left of him. She pet his head, and gave him a small smile. He was nice company. After she broke it off with Tom, things were getting lonely at her flat. Sherlock was right. Caring was not an advantage.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes. He was the man she loved. She helped him fake his death. She helped save him, and he saved her. He's saved her loads of times–he's saved all of London. Now he needed saving. Who would save him this time? No one. No one could save him. Six months, he said. Six months of exile and his undercover work would prove fatal to him. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. Sherlock Holmes would be gone.

What was Molly to do now? Her believed to be dead, psychopathic, ex-boyfriend had returned to the grave and there was nothing anyone or she could do to stop him. What would he do? Who would he kill this time? How many would he kill this time? It was times like this that Molly wished she were smart. She wished she were a detective. She wished she were brilliant like Sherlock himself.

Molly stood up and walked to her bedroom, dressing in her pyjamas when she arrived. After taking a second to wipe the tears off of her cheeks, she crawled under the covers on her bed and pulled them over chest. Somehow, after about an hour of tossing and turning, she was able to fall asleep.

• • •

She awoke to a bump. Something was moved.

It's probably just Toby. Molly thought.

Then, she felt Toby, who had been lying at her feet.

She covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her gasp, and slid her legs out from under the covers and placed her feet silently on the floor. She stood, and started taking small, quiet steps towards her open bedroom door, pausing at her dresser. She spotted a curtain rod, which she had bought a few days earlier and meant to put up, but never got round to. She grabbed it, held it tightly, and started walking towards the door again.

Another bump.

Molly paused at the doorway, and listened. She heard the kettle whistling, and then, after a moment, it stopped. She knew she hadn't left it on earlier. She gripped the rod tighter, like a baseball bat, and walked out of her bedroom. She took silent steps into the sitting room, looking first towards kitchen. Then, she turned her head to the sitting room, but before she could register who was blocking her view, two arms pulled her towards them. She screamed, and the arms immediately let go.