All We Are - A Sherlolly Fanfic

Chapter Two

Molly's POV

I'm sorry about the other night. Wondered if we could talk about it over dinner. - A. S.

Will you give me a second chance?

You're all I think about at night.

I need you by my side. If you would only answer me, maybe we could work things out.

I love you, babe. Please come back?

As I scroll through my messages I try not to think about him. It's hard to forget him when he is all I think about half the time. Part of me wants him back, but a bigger part of me hates the thought of even seeing him again. I cannot forgive him for the things he's done, even if I love him. I can't go back to the man who lied to me.

I drop my bag on the floor and sit down near Bluewhiskers. My screen goes dim as I stroke his fur. After a long day of work, it's nice to feel his fur under my fingertips. The hardness of the stiff bodies has worn my hands out. All I need is a few moments with Bluewhiskers to feel at home again. I soon forget about Anthony and his pressing needs.

"I missed you," I tell my cat. "Yes I did. I missed you."

My eyes trace my flat. Though quite small, it is bright with white tile in the kitchen, sky blue walls, and soft brown carpet. I smell the fresh scent of the daisies sitting on my coffee table. It's nice to return to a happy home after a grim day in the mortuary. If only I could spend the rest of my days in my flat, not having to care for lifeless bodies and unsolved mysteries, I would be the happiest woman in the world.

From beside me, my phone lights up with an unknown number. Curious, I pick it up and read the text I've just been sent. I stare at the screen, wondering what has happened.

Meet me at the lab. - SH

I scrunch my face, trying to figure out who SH is until I remember my odd encounter with the stranger that morning. In my head, I think of all the horror movies I've seen and how they all start with the clueless female lead. For a moment, I am the clueless female as I stare at the text. Even though I know I could be dead in s matter of only half an hour, I ball up the courage to reply.

I don't trust you. - MH

As my fingers slide across the keys, I know I am making a mistake. My brain screams at me to throw my phone across the room, but I don't listen. Instead, I am intrigued. The mystery of this evening is what excites me the most. And I forget all common sense as I wait for Sherlock's reply.

Good. Meet me anyway. - SH

For a moment, I allow my eyes to shutter closed. I drop the phone back on the couch and smile to myself. What am I doing? I think as I stand. I know I am insane as I grab my trainers. I let Bluewhiskers bid me farewell before I grab my phone and bag. In no less than a few minutes, I am ready to meet my death, or what I am certain will be the end.

I walk along the sidewalk towards Saint Bart's, wondering what I am doing. Something keeps me going, though I'm not quite sure what it is. I blame my meeting with Sherlock on the fact that I have no friends and practically no family. In all respects of the word, I am alone. Meeting Sherlock has given me a sense that someone remembers me, even if he's a complete sociopath who wishes to hide my body in the long row of unidentified corpses.

I walk through the entrance of Saint Bart's and follow the long staircase up towards the mortuary. My thoughts race along to the speed of my heart pounding inside my chest. The winding hallways lead me through the maze of ghostly hospital rooms and forgotten labs. It haunts me to see so many empty rooms as I move towards the useful rooms.

Sherlock stands in front of the mortuary waiting for me. He looks at me with a smirk on his face. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show." He pulls the door open for me and let's me through.

"I'm crazy for showing up," I say, trying to fill the silence with empty words.

"I wanted to confront you and personally tell you we'll be seeing more of each other," he says, leading me over to a set of stools. I take a seat near the meat tenderizer.

"What?" I ask. " You don't work here."

Sherlock smiles and sits down. "I'm afraid I wasn't completely truthful with you this morning," he says. "I'm a consulting detective. The only one, in fact. I'm the person the police come to when they can't solve a crime. I just didn't want you to think I don't know anything about solving crimes, because I do."

I look at him and hold up my phone. "How do you know my number?" I ask.

"Lestrade gave it to me," he says. "I've been a part of London's crime-solving industry longer than you think."

I laugh nervously, hoping he doesn't see right through me. "Is that all you needed to tell me, then?"