‹ Prequel: Deducing Tragedy Part One: See No Evil
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Deducing Tragedy Part Two: Speak No Lies
The Ones Left Behind
The hole left by Hanna death was something Molly had gotten very good at hiding. It was known that she still mourned her sister but not how badly she missed her. Hanna was her baby sister, her responsibility, and she failed. Hanna was dead and she could do nothing for her sister. Hell she’d hardly spoken to her in the year leading up to the accident but that’s just how Molly was with her family. She loved them, she cared about them, but out of sight out of mind was an unfortunate truth.
She supposed Hanna’s death was a bitter blessing in that way. She was now in almost constant contact with Mark and their parents. Mark had moved closer to the city with his new girlfriend, Bethany. She was a sweet girl, and Mark adored her. Molly was happy that her brother had found some sort of happiness for himself. She was most happy that he had found the strength to forgive himself for what he did under Mathers’ orders. For a long time he let that dark cloud hang over his head and it kept him from many things. Nothing she said helped it was only when he met Beth that things started to change.
She walked to Baker Street, from her flat. It was a long walk but she needed to think. The vigil had been more than a month ago and she hadn’t spoken to either John or Sherlock in that time. She just couldn’t bring herself to face them. Hanna’s vigil, her final goodbye to her sister was destroyed by a psychopath and Sherlock had smiled.
She was standing in front of his door. She’d been here before, four times in the past month she’s made the walk to Baker Street, and four times she turned and got a cab back to her flat. What do you say to a man who takes joy in your misery? She tried to forgive him this time, like she had done so many times in the past. She tried to remind herself that Sherlock didn’t think or feel like the rest of the world. At least part of him was robotic in his thoughts and actions.
But he wasn’t at the same time. He was human; he had emotions at one time. The way he looked at Hanna back when she was alive told her this. Sherlock Holmes was not a robot.
Slowly, Molly approached the door. Her hand rose to knock but she stopped, leaning into the wood pressing her forehead against its’ cool surface. What was she doing here? What did she have to say? She asked herself with a long sigh. As she turned to leave the door opened and she froze.
“This is the fourth time you’ve approached the door but turned away,” his voice was calm and even as she turned to face him. “I think it’s time you say what is on your mind.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” She nodded slowly walking through the door but pausing next to him, “and just so you know… this was the fifth time.” She walked up the stairs, not bothering to take off her coat as she didn’t plan to stay long. She walked over to the piano her sister had bought when she lived here. Sitting on the top was an old copy of a book she was very familiar with.
“Hanna’s book of poems,” she said paging through the thick braille copy. “I bought this for her the year after she lost her sight. She was always fond of poetry said it could-“
“Tether us to what we hold dear,” Sherlock finished her thought as he made his way into the kitchen and put on a pot for tea.
“She told you?” Molly raised an eyebrow. “She never talked about this with anyone. The only reason I know is because I caught her at a weak moment.”
“We talked about many things in the time we spent together,” he shrugged, his eyes locked on the kettle in front of him.
“So you remember her,” Molly said, it wasn’t a question.
“You don’t sound happy about it,” he said glancing through the corner of his eye.
“I guess I don’t have the energy to be happy right now.”
“I would say not,” he shrugged. “All your energy is focused on your anger towards me.”
Her head snapped up and she let out a bitter laugh, “You know I don’t think I will ever get use to that. It’s like you know every thought in my head.”
“Not every thought,” he said as the kettle went off and he pulled two mugs out of the cupboard. “For example I don’t know why you are angry with me.”
He walked into the living room and handed her a mug and a teabag, just like Hanna liked it. She frowned into her mug as she walked around to sit down in John’s seat. “Hanna’s vigil,” she began looking up at him. “When that woman’s body fell from the sky you smiled.”
He nodded slowly, sitting down across from her, “I did.”
“Why?”
“What are your theories?” he asked and her eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been nearly a month since that night, Molly,” he said with a pointed look as he took a sip of his tea. “You came up with your theories about my actions that night and they made you angrier. I want to know what you thought that made you hate me so much.”
“I don’t hate you-“
“Lying to me is a pointless endeavor and you know it,” he said with a straight face. “Molly Hooper since I’ve known you, you have never deliberately gone out of your way to avoid me. I have been harsh and even cruel to you but you were always there the next day with a smile on your face.”
She smiled weakly, “I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” he sighed in a bored tone. “Now, your theories, what are they?”
“I thought about how excited you get when there’s a new case,” she started. “I tried telling myself that was it because it was easy to believe.”
“But that’s not what you believe.”
“No,” she sighed heavily, looking into her mug, “no, it’s not. My theory, the reason I couldn’t look you in the eye for a month it because I thought you were happy.”
“Happy?” he raised an eyebrow.
“That it was over,” she clarified. “That the vigil, something you moaned about going to, was over and you didn’t have to deal with it anymore. My last goodbye to my sister ended in blood and you were just happy to have it done with.”
He cocked his head to the side, “and what do you think now?”
“Now I know I'm just being silly,” she said with a forced smile, “it was a silly thought, I'm sorry-“
“Do not apologize,” he said cutting her off. “That would not be out of character. You are very far from right, but not far from truth.”
“Then why?” she asked looking up at him, a tear falling down her cheek. “Why did you smile Sherlock? What could possibly be your reason?”
He looked at her steadily, his cold eyes deducing and thinking as they raked over her, “I smiled…” he trailed off setting his cup aside and leaning forward, “because I found out she wasn’t dead.”
She scoffed softly, he hand gripping the mug in her hands tightly, “that woman was dead, her throat was torn out-“
“I'm not talking about her,” he said with a straight face. “You know who I mean.”
She paused a moment, “is this some kind of sick joke? Are you trying to be funny?”
“Molly-“
“Because you’re not,” she said standing up. “My sister died. She died and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to save her-“
“Molly-“
“She was my baby sister, my responsibility from the moment she moved to London,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Mum told me to look out for her, ‘she’s smart but can be so naive’ she said. ‘Look out for her Molly, make sure she goes down the right path.’ But what do I do? Nothing, I called her once in the three months she lived here before her birthday.”
“Molly-“
“Shut up!” she shouted, “just shut up, okay? Because whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear. Hanna died with that Ben boy on the plane.”
“You saw her,” Sherlock said standing up. “You know you did, but then your rational mind kicked in. ‘It can’t be her; she’s nothing like my sister.’ But it was. Hanna is alive, as is Ben. She’s working for Mycroft to catch the man who killed that woman at the vigil.”
“She can’t be,” Molly cried, “she wouldn’t have done this to me again.”
“Ben says she was trying to protect us,” he said, his tone even as he carefully removed the mug from her hands and set it on the table. “Mycroft makes enemies in his job-“
“I could have handled it,” she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I know,” he said with a small smirk before his face turned serious and he added: “Hanna is alive, Molly.”
She didn’t say anything as she ran out of the building. She jumped in the first cab she saw and cried the whole way home. What Sherlock telling the truth? Part of her knew he was right but the bigger part was to hurt to handle that right now. Hanna Hooper died three years ago, she told herself. Because if she didn’t, I don’t know what to do.
She supposed Hanna’s death was a bitter blessing in that way. She was now in almost constant contact with Mark and their parents. Mark had moved closer to the city with his new girlfriend, Bethany. She was a sweet girl, and Mark adored her. Molly was happy that her brother had found some sort of happiness for himself. She was most happy that he had found the strength to forgive himself for what he did under Mathers’ orders. For a long time he let that dark cloud hang over his head and it kept him from many things. Nothing she said helped it was only when he met Beth that things started to change.
She walked to Baker Street, from her flat. It was a long walk but she needed to think. The vigil had been more than a month ago and she hadn’t spoken to either John or Sherlock in that time. She just couldn’t bring herself to face them. Hanna’s vigil, her final goodbye to her sister was destroyed by a psychopath and Sherlock had smiled.
She was standing in front of his door. She’d been here before, four times in the past month she’s made the walk to Baker Street, and four times she turned and got a cab back to her flat. What do you say to a man who takes joy in your misery? She tried to forgive him this time, like she had done so many times in the past. She tried to remind herself that Sherlock didn’t think or feel like the rest of the world. At least part of him was robotic in his thoughts and actions.
But he wasn’t at the same time. He was human; he had emotions at one time. The way he looked at Hanna back when she was alive told her this. Sherlock Holmes was not a robot.
Slowly, Molly approached the door. Her hand rose to knock but she stopped, leaning into the wood pressing her forehead against its’ cool surface. What was she doing here? What did she have to say? She asked herself with a long sigh. As she turned to leave the door opened and she froze.
“This is the fourth time you’ve approached the door but turned away,” his voice was calm and even as she turned to face him. “I think it’s time you say what is on your mind.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” She nodded slowly walking through the door but pausing next to him, “and just so you know… this was the fifth time.” She walked up the stairs, not bothering to take off her coat as she didn’t plan to stay long. She walked over to the piano her sister had bought when she lived here. Sitting on the top was an old copy of a book she was very familiar with.
“Hanna’s book of poems,” she said paging through the thick braille copy. “I bought this for her the year after she lost her sight. She was always fond of poetry said it could-“
“Tether us to what we hold dear,” Sherlock finished her thought as he made his way into the kitchen and put on a pot for tea.
“She told you?” Molly raised an eyebrow. “She never talked about this with anyone. The only reason I know is because I caught her at a weak moment.”
“We talked about many things in the time we spent together,” he shrugged, his eyes locked on the kettle in front of him.
“So you remember her,” Molly said, it wasn’t a question.
“You don’t sound happy about it,” he said glancing through the corner of his eye.
“I guess I don’t have the energy to be happy right now.”
“I would say not,” he shrugged. “All your energy is focused on your anger towards me.”
Her head snapped up and she let out a bitter laugh, “You know I don’t think I will ever get use to that. It’s like you know every thought in my head.”
“Not every thought,” he said as the kettle went off and he pulled two mugs out of the cupboard. “For example I don’t know why you are angry with me.”
He walked into the living room and handed her a mug and a teabag, just like Hanna liked it. She frowned into her mug as she walked around to sit down in John’s seat. “Hanna’s vigil,” she began looking up at him. “When that woman’s body fell from the sky you smiled.”
He nodded slowly, sitting down across from her, “I did.”
“Why?”
“What are your theories?” he asked and her eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been nearly a month since that night, Molly,” he said with a pointed look as he took a sip of his tea. “You came up with your theories about my actions that night and they made you angrier. I want to know what you thought that made you hate me so much.”
“I don’t hate you-“
“Lying to me is a pointless endeavor and you know it,” he said with a straight face. “Molly Hooper since I’ve known you, you have never deliberately gone out of your way to avoid me. I have been harsh and even cruel to you but you were always there the next day with a smile on your face.”
She smiled weakly, “I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” he sighed in a bored tone. “Now, your theories, what are they?”
“I thought about how excited you get when there’s a new case,” she started. “I tried telling myself that was it because it was easy to believe.”
“But that’s not what you believe.”
“No,” she sighed heavily, looking into her mug, “no, it’s not. My theory, the reason I couldn’t look you in the eye for a month it because I thought you were happy.”
“Happy?” he raised an eyebrow.
“That it was over,” she clarified. “That the vigil, something you moaned about going to, was over and you didn’t have to deal with it anymore. My last goodbye to my sister ended in blood and you were just happy to have it done with.”
He cocked his head to the side, “and what do you think now?”
“Now I know I'm just being silly,” she said with a forced smile, “it was a silly thought, I'm sorry-“
“Do not apologize,” he said cutting her off. “That would not be out of character. You are very far from right, but not far from truth.”
“Then why?” she asked looking up at him, a tear falling down her cheek. “Why did you smile Sherlock? What could possibly be your reason?”
He looked at her steadily, his cold eyes deducing and thinking as they raked over her, “I smiled…” he trailed off setting his cup aside and leaning forward, “because I found out she wasn’t dead.”
She scoffed softly, he hand gripping the mug in her hands tightly, “that woman was dead, her throat was torn out-“
“I'm not talking about her,” he said with a straight face. “You know who I mean.”
She paused a moment, “is this some kind of sick joke? Are you trying to be funny?”
“Molly-“
“Because you’re not,” she said standing up. “My sister died. She died and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to save her-“
“Molly-“
“She was my baby sister, my responsibility from the moment she moved to London,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Mum told me to look out for her, ‘she’s smart but can be so naive’ she said. ‘Look out for her Molly, make sure she goes down the right path.’ But what do I do? Nothing, I called her once in the three months she lived here before her birthday.”
“Molly-“
“Shut up!” she shouted, “just shut up, okay? Because whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear. Hanna died with that Ben boy on the plane.”
“You saw her,” Sherlock said standing up. “You know you did, but then your rational mind kicked in. ‘It can’t be her; she’s nothing like my sister.’ But it was. Hanna is alive, as is Ben. She’s working for Mycroft to catch the man who killed that woman at the vigil.”
“She can’t be,” Molly cried, “she wouldn’t have done this to me again.”
“Ben says she was trying to protect us,” he said, his tone even as he carefully removed the mug from her hands and set it on the table. “Mycroft makes enemies in his job-“
“I could have handled it,” she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I know,” he said with a small smirk before his face turned serious and he added: “Hanna is alive, Molly.”
She didn’t say anything as she ran out of the building. She jumped in the first cab she saw and cried the whole way home. What Sherlock telling the truth? Part of her knew he was right but the bigger part was to hurt to handle that right now. Hanna Hooper died three years ago, she told herself. Because if she didn’t, I don’t know what to do.
♠ ♠ ♠
hello luvs! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I thought it was time for Molly to be clued in.okay so a long-ish time ago I did a contest, and the winners got one shots well the first place winner decided she wanted me to read her Sherlock story (which I am nearly finished with, sorry I have a lot on my plate at the moment) while second place wanted a fluffy HanLock (Sheranna?)
well im stuck between two ideas, one is definite fluff and the other is kind of/sort of fluff.
Fluff- a sort of AU where Moriarty never sent Mathers after Hanna. I've vaguely touched on this before but I thought it would be interesting to actually write it out
sort of not really fluff- Sherlock walks into the room to see a sleep walking Hanna sitting in the open window. I cant tell you much more with out spoiling it so i'll leave it at that.
so what do you think? I might post both but I only really have time to focus on one right now :/
let me know in the review/comment section also leave your thoughts about the capter! I love hearing from you guys and plan to reply a lot more if I have time!
ttfn y'all!
-Katy