The Woman Who Counted (A Sherlolly Tale)

Chapter 9

(Molly’s POV)

     Months went by and Sherlock was going mad. I thought he was okay. I thought he was doing all right, but he wasn’t. I kept hiding his nicotine patches, but he kept finding them and then hiding them from me. I always caught him before he got too sick from them, but I was scared something was going to happen. What if he started doing drugs again?

     I had to watch him, which was hard. I was always at work or he locked himself in his room. Sometimes I’d come home and he was yelling at the telly. He’d watch crime shows and he’d figure out who had committed the crime within the first 10 minutes of the show and spend the rest of it shouting at the detectives for being idiots. Sometimes I could convince him to watch telly with me, but I almost never saw him.

     It’s almost like he was avoiding me. Maybe he was. Why would he? Had I done something wrong–aside from hiding his nicotine patches? Well, he’d seemed distracted for a while. Maybe he was on drugs again and was afraid I was going to find out. Well, whatever was wrong, I felt like I needed to find out.

(Third-Person POV)

     Sherlock sat on his bed in the spare bedroom of Molly’s small flat. He stared at the wall, thinking of the situation he was in. Whenever Molly was working at the morgue, Sherlock got on her laptop and tried to track down the people behind Moriarty’s network and destroy it so he could return to his flat.

     His flat.

     The bullet wounded smiley face on the wall caused by Sherlock’s boredom. The Cluedo board on the wall. His chair. John. That’s where he belonged, right? In his flat with his flatmate. Solving crimes and annoying the hell out of people.

     Here, in Molly’s small flat, he couldn’t think. He never had the problem before the night he went to the pub. He couldn’t figure out what that feeling was. What was happening to him? What was changing? He thought it had something to do with Molly.

     That’s why he’s been avoiding her. He didn’t know what was going on with himself. Did he have…feelings? For Molly Hooper? No. No he couldn’t. Sherlock Holmes doesn’t have feeling, not like this. Sentiment. It’s not possible, especially after Irene Adler. He realized that, although he never had feelings for one before, you could never trust a woman. She would get you where she wanted to and distract you from anything and everything of importance. And that’s just what he needs, right?

     Well, maybe he did. He wasn’t having much luck with tracking down the network. No–he should be completely focused on the network. He couldn’t have any distractions.

     Why was he even letting him think about this? Just thinking about the unnecessary was an unneeded distraction. He needed to focus, but how could he do that if he was here? He couldn’t leave the flat without Molly. He had tried, but Molly wouldn’t let him. She said it was too much of a risk.

     Sherlock couldn’t take much more of this. He felt claustrophobic, trapped in Molly’s flat. He couldn’t do this. He needed something, anything. He was so bored.

     A case he needed a case.  He couldn’t go to Lestrade, or John. What could he do?

    “Molly,” He approached her one day. “We need to run away together.”

Sorry it's so short! Writer's Block. :/ I've decided I should start making the story fit in more with the mini episode and the upcoming series, so expect that. c:

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-OH