I've Always Trusted You
Jul. 30th, 2019 03:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darnedchildSummary: Sherlock's Other Life AU - “Sherlock. Sherlock, we’re here.” John’s sharp tone cut through the memory like a blade, and Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. No, that’s wrong. Not a memory.
Rating: G
A/N - Sherlolly Monthly Prompt for July - Sherlock's Other Life AU
Sherlock is having flash backs…but of what he is unsure. Images of himself as different, as someone else…as something else flash through his mind. He cannot reconcile the life that he lives with the life that he feels like he should be living. Primal urges keep springing up in the pit of his belly and he has to shove them down, move on, solve the next case. Two different pasts fight for control of his memories, making it impossible to know which to believe. After months of turmoil and personal destruction Sherlock comes to Molly knowing only one thing for certain - she is the only one he can trust.
While I’ve never watched “Sliding Doors”, I have read the IMDB plot summary and that’s practically the same thing, right? This fic is very, very, very loosely based on that plot summary (very). I’m also pulling dialogue directly from rewatching certain scenes of “The Reichenbach Fall” and transcripts compiled by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere on dreamwidth).
I've Always Trusted You
“You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead.”
Sherlock barely restrained his annoyance at Molly’s continued interruptions. He didn’t bother looking up from the microscope as he rebuffed her. “Molly, please do not feel the need to make conversation. It’s not really your area.”
“When he was dying, he was always cheerful. He was lovely, except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.”
Either she hadn’t picked up on his mood or she deliberately chose to ignore the unsubtle hint to drop it. He issued another warning. “Molly.”
“You look sad . . . when you think he can’t see you.”
He immediately knew who she was referring to. Sherlock’s gaze found John, confirming the other man wasn’t paying attention to them. He turned to look at Molly, unwillingly drawn into the discussion.
“Are you okay?”
Sherlock wanted to scoff. What sort of inane question was that? Before he could say anything to remind her—yet again—that they had work to do, she was speaking once more.
“And don’t just say you are, because I know what that means. Looking sad when you think no one can see you.”
His fingers flexed on the microscope knobs as he supressed the urge to immediately deny it. Yet she wasn’t wrong. As much as he would have preferred not to care about the outcome of Moriarty’s newest little game, this time he was very aware of just how much he could lose.
Of who he would lose.
Lestrade. Mrs Hudson. John. Even Molly.
Molly who was still intently watching him as if she could read his thoughts in every twitch of his lips and shift of his eyes.
Perhaps she could.
“You can see me.”
“I don’t count.” For the first time since he’d turned to her, she broke eye contact.
How could she say something like that? How could she even think it?
“What I’m trying to say is that if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all . . . you can have me.” She almost recoiled as her wording registered. “No, I just mean, I mean, if there’s anything you need . . .” Molly shook her head. “It’s fine.”
He couldn’t even fathom what she might be offering. They were already in the lab working together, so it wasn’t her assistance on the case. She already gave him access to the bodies and equipment necessary for his experiments and research. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d truly denied him anything, so what more could she possibly expect he would ask for? “Wha-wha-what could I need from you?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged as she turned back toward him, already beginning to look as if she regretted saying anything at all. “I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually.”
Something had happened. Something important. Yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. He felt completely out of his depth, that much he recognized. Almost as if he wasn’t quite sure why he was doing it, he did as she’d suggested. “Thank you.”
Molly quickly passed behind him, hurrying toward the door and away from whatever it was that had been gathering weight between them. “I’m just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?”
She didn’t even give him a chance to respond. “It’s okay. I know you don’t.”
He didn’t actually. He abhorred wasting time eating when he could be working on a case, but the stiff set of her shoulders and her closed off expression made him start to say that perhaps he would like something.
She cut him off with a stiff “I know you don’t,” and left the lab before he could protest.
Sherlock watched the door swing shut with unfocused eyes as he picked the last few minutes apart in his mind. Why had he wanted to placate her? Was it because she had seen him? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had truly done that; Mycroft obviously did not count because he was . . . Mycroft.
“Sherlock.” John’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Hmm?” Sherlock briefly looked toward his friend before returning his attention to the closed door. He pushed his stool back and stood.
“This envelope that was in her trunk.” John held the crime scene photo up so Sherlock could see it if he were looking, but he wasn’t. He was already moving across the room toward the exit. “Sherlock?” John tried to attract his attention once more.
“In a moment. There’s something I need to do first.” Sherlock pushed his way out the door, ignoring John’s sputtered questions.
The corridor was empty but Molly had said she wanted crisps so he hurried in the direction of the closest set of vending machines. As he’d hoped, she was still standing in front of the machines sorting through the small pile of coins in her hand.
“Molly,” he called softly, trying not to startle her.
Her fingers closed around the coins before she slowly looked in his direction with an obviously forced smile. “Did you figure it out?”
“No, not yet.” He cautiously moved closer, unsure of his welcome. “Molly, I wanted to say thank you.” Unlike before, there was no hesitation in his voice.
She turned to face him fully, puzzled by his sudden change in attitude. “For what?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure, honestly. Anything. Everything, probably. I just-I just wanted to make sure you knew that I appreciated what you said. What-what you offered.”
After a moment, she offered him a soft smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Sherlock. Sherlock, we’re here.” John’s sharp tone cut through the memory like a blade, and Sherlock’s eyes snapped open.
No, that’s wrong. Not a memory.
He took in the sight and sounds of a busy street as the cab pulled up in front of New Scotland Yard. Whatever that had been, the false images that had invaded his thoughts when he should have been preparing for their upcoming meeting with Lestrade, were pushed aside as they exited the cab.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
Sherlock stared out the window, not really paying any attention to the view as his mind raced with all the new data he’d accumulated over the last few hours.
John was right, it made no sense. Why would the little girl, Claudette, scream when she saw him?
Lestrade’s voice echoed in his head. “Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.”
That was important. Why was it important?
Several lights flickered on in the building across the street. The letters I O U were painted on three of the windows. Before he could do more than draw in a sharp breath the lights were off again. He knew it would be no use to mention what he’d seen to the others in the room. By the time someone was sent across the street to check the message would have been removed.
He vaguely registered that John and Lestrade had left the room. Standing there was doing him no good, he’d think better in the familiar space of Baker Street.
Donovan’s words stopped him just outside the conference room door. “Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing.”
Molly was standing with Lestrade, their heads nearly pressed together as Molly pointed at something printed on the papers Lestrade held in his hand. John was near the other two, impatiently waiting. As was Anderson.
“Thank you,” Sherlock remembered to respond to Donovan. Why was Molly there?
“Unbelievable.” Donovan’s tone wasn’t complementary at all. Almost suspicious. And she looked rather smug, as if she knew something that he didn’t.
Molly’s head snapped up. “Not really. I mean, anybody here could have done it.”
Donovan and Sherlock both stared at her. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation at the implied insult to his deductive skills.
“Obviously Sherlock did it faster; but from what I’ve heard, someone in forensics would have eventually discovered the bottle of linseed oil and most likely put two and two together and found the footprints. Unless they were too busy wasting their time canoodling and gossiping around the water cooler to spend time at the crime scene or in the lab, of course.” Molly’s gaze landed on Philip and then pointedly slid toward Donovan.
“What just a minute-“ Philip began.
Molly plucked the papers from Lestrade’s hands. “As I was discussing with Inspector Lestrade—Greg.” She looked at the older man and lowered her eyes. Sherlock noted her cheeks flushed slightly. He didn’t like that. Not one bit.
“As I was explaining, the official report won’t be ready for another day or two but the preliminary results Sherlock brought with him earlier document what tests were used on the samples. I was there during the testing, my name is right here on the form, authorizing the use of the equipment.” She wagged the paper in Anderson’s direction until he took it.
“Once the samples were broken down, well, it’s just a matter of having the right resources to put it all together. Right?” She looked at Lestrade again. “You said you had people out looking. I’m sure they would have narrowed it down eventually. Sherlock just had access to better, faster resources.”
Molly turned to Donovan again. “So, there you go. Brilliant and quick, yes. But not so unbelievable.” She took a deep breath and smiled at them all. “Well, I’ve got to get back to Barts, if you don’t need anything else, Greg?”
“No. I’m good. Thanks for coming by, Molly.” He reached out and snatched the papers back from Anderson. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow to check on the final report, yeah?”
“Sounds good.” Molly nodded at the others. “Philip. Sgt Donovan. John. Sherlock.” Then she pointed toward the left. “That way?”
Greg shook his head. “You know what, I’ll show you out. You two coming?”
John followed along but Sherlock took a moment to glance back at Donovan. Her earlier smug expression had wilted considerably, but he still felt bit of unease.
Somehow John managed to wait until they were in the street to grin at him. “So, anybody could do it, huh? That must have stung.”
“How many times have I told you lot that you don’t observe the obvious? She only said the same thing I’ve been telling you for ages.” Sherlock refused to admit his ego might have been the slightest bit piqued.
“Still, it was rather nice to know that Molly’s got your back. I’m not sure what Sally was getting up to, but I didn’t like it.” John raised his hand to hail a nearby cab.
“Yes. To both counts.” Sherlock reached for the cab door the moment it pulled up to the kerb. “This is my cab. You get the next one.”
The city lights passed by as the taxi made its way down the street, almost hypnotic. Sherlock blinked several times and realized they must have been traveling for nearly ten minutes already. He had to have been lost thought.
That’s not what happened. Molly wasn’t there. Just Donovan and her insinuations. Focus, Sherlock. Why does this keep happening?
He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes shut as tightly as possible. He heard the sound of the small telly on the back of the driver’s seat click on. That was absolutely the last thing he needed right now.
“Can you turn this off, please?”
The telly remained on and he asked again, louder this time.
The image on the screen changed and Jim Moriarty was grinning at him.
“Hullo. Are you ready for story? This is the story of Sir Boast-A-Lot.”
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
“Can he do that?” John asked in disbelief. “Completely change his identity? Make you a criminal?”
Sherlock paced up and down the street. “He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.”
John nodded as he began to flip through the pages in the folder he’d taken from Kitty Riley. “Your word against his.”
“He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to-“ Sherlock froze on the spot.
Suddenly, it clicked. Everything that the last few months had been leading up to, from the moment Moriarty broke into the Tower and left his message—GET SHERLOCK—it was finally coming to an end.
“Sherlock?”
Numerous options ran through his mind.
John wouldn’t be able of any use. He was loyal enough, but he wouldn’t be able to see the bigger picture. If anything, he’d be a distraction. A liability.
He’d already spoken to Mycroft on the matter, although neither one had predicted quite how far Moriarty would take things. He’d have to contact his brother soon enough, but not yet.
He could go it alone. It was what he’d always done before.
But there was another option this time, wasn’t there?
Wasn’t that what those not-memories had been trying to tell him?
He made a split-second decision. “Something I need to do.”
“What?” Ever eager to join into the fray, John asked, “Can I help?”
“No. On my own.”
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
“You’re wrong, you know.” Even without looking, he knew he’d startled her. An unexpected voice coming from the darkness. He didn’t blame her for being jumpy. “You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you.”
It was true. It might have taken those waking dreams, or whatever they were, to make him recognize it. But it had always been true.
He finally looked toward her, almost afraid of what he would see. “But you were right. I’m not okay.”
Rating: G
A/N - Sherlolly Monthly Prompt for July - Sherlock's Other Life AU
Sherlock is having flash backs…but of what he is unsure. Images of himself as different, as someone else…as something else flash through his mind. He cannot reconcile the life that he lives with the life that he feels like he should be living. Primal urges keep springing up in the pit of his belly and he has to shove them down, move on, solve the next case. Two different pasts fight for control of his memories, making it impossible to know which to believe. After months of turmoil and personal destruction Sherlock comes to Molly knowing only one thing for certain - she is the only one he can trust.
While I’ve never watched “Sliding Doors”, I have read the IMDB plot summary and that’s practically the same thing, right? This fic is very, very, very loosely based on that plot summary (very). I’m also pulling dialogue directly from rewatching certain scenes of “The Reichenbach Fall” and transcripts compiled by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere on dreamwidth).
I've Always Trusted You
“You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead.”
Sherlock barely restrained his annoyance at Molly’s continued interruptions. He didn’t bother looking up from the microscope as he rebuffed her. “Molly, please do not feel the need to make conversation. It’s not really your area.”
“When he was dying, he was always cheerful. He was lovely, except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.”
Either she hadn’t picked up on his mood or she deliberately chose to ignore the unsubtle hint to drop it. He issued another warning. “Molly.”
“You look sad . . . when you think he can’t see you.”
He immediately knew who she was referring to. Sherlock’s gaze found John, confirming the other man wasn’t paying attention to them. He turned to look at Molly, unwillingly drawn into the discussion.
“Are you okay?”
Sherlock wanted to scoff. What sort of inane question was that? Before he could say anything to remind her—yet again—that they had work to do, she was speaking once more.
“And don’t just say you are, because I know what that means. Looking sad when you think no one can see you.”
His fingers flexed on the microscope knobs as he supressed the urge to immediately deny it. Yet she wasn’t wrong. As much as he would have preferred not to care about the outcome of Moriarty’s newest little game, this time he was very aware of just how much he could lose.
Of who he would lose.
Lestrade. Mrs Hudson. John. Even Molly.
Molly who was still intently watching him as if she could read his thoughts in every twitch of his lips and shift of his eyes.
Perhaps she could.
“You can see me.”
“I don’t count.” For the first time since he’d turned to her, she broke eye contact.
How could she say something like that? How could she even think it?
“What I’m trying to say is that if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all . . . you can have me.” She almost recoiled as her wording registered. “No, I just mean, I mean, if there’s anything you need . . .” Molly shook her head. “It’s fine.”
He couldn’t even fathom what she might be offering. They were already in the lab working together, so it wasn’t her assistance on the case. She already gave him access to the bodies and equipment necessary for his experiments and research. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d truly denied him anything, so what more could she possibly expect he would ask for? “Wha-wha-what could I need from you?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged as she turned back toward him, already beginning to look as if she regretted saying anything at all. “I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually.”
Something had happened. Something important. Yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. He felt completely out of his depth, that much he recognized. Almost as if he wasn’t quite sure why he was doing it, he did as she’d suggested. “Thank you.”
Molly quickly passed behind him, hurrying toward the door and away from whatever it was that had been gathering weight between them. “I’m just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?”
She didn’t even give him a chance to respond. “It’s okay. I know you don’t.”
He didn’t actually. He abhorred wasting time eating when he could be working on a case, but the stiff set of her shoulders and her closed off expression made him start to say that perhaps he would like something.
She cut him off with a stiff “I know you don’t,” and left the lab before he could protest.
Sherlock watched the door swing shut with unfocused eyes as he picked the last few minutes apart in his mind. Why had he wanted to placate her? Was it because she had seen him? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had truly done that; Mycroft obviously did not count because he was . . . Mycroft.
“Sherlock.” John’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Hmm?” Sherlock briefly looked toward his friend before returning his attention to the closed door. He pushed his stool back and stood.
“This envelope that was in her trunk.” John held the crime scene photo up so Sherlock could see it if he were looking, but he wasn’t. He was already moving across the room toward the exit. “Sherlock?” John tried to attract his attention once more.
“In a moment. There’s something I need to do first.” Sherlock pushed his way out the door, ignoring John’s sputtered questions.
The corridor was empty but Molly had said she wanted crisps so he hurried in the direction of the closest set of vending machines. As he’d hoped, she was still standing in front of the machines sorting through the small pile of coins in her hand.
“Molly,” he called softly, trying not to startle her.
Her fingers closed around the coins before she slowly looked in his direction with an obviously forced smile. “Did you figure it out?”
“No, not yet.” He cautiously moved closer, unsure of his welcome. “Molly, I wanted to say thank you.” Unlike before, there was no hesitation in his voice.
She turned to face him fully, puzzled by his sudden change in attitude. “For what?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure, honestly. Anything. Everything, probably. I just-I just wanted to make sure you knew that I appreciated what you said. What-what you offered.”
After a moment, she offered him a soft smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Sherlock. Sherlock, we’re here.” John’s sharp tone cut through the memory like a blade, and Sherlock’s eyes snapped open.
No, that’s wrong. Not a memory.
He took in the sight and sounds of a busy street as the cab pulled up in front of New Scotland Yard. Whatever that had been, the false images that had invaded his thoughts when he should have been preparing for their upcoming meeting with Lestrade, were pushed aside as they exited the cab.
Sherlock stared out the window, not really paying any attention to the view as his mind raced with all the new data he’d accumulated over the last few hours.
John was right, it made no sense. Why would the little girl, Claudette, scream when she saw him?
Lestrade’s voice echoed in his head. “Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.”
That was important. Why was it important?
Several lights flickered on in the building across the street. The letters I O U were painted on three of the windows. Before he could do more than draw in a sharp breath the lights were off again. He knew it would be no use to mention what he’d seen to the others in the room. By the time someone was sent across the street to check the message would have been removed.
He vaguely registered that John and Lestrade had left the room. Standing there was doing him no good, he’d think better in the familiar space of Baker Street.
Donovan’s words stopped him just outside the conference room door. “Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing.”
Molly was standing with Lestrade, their heads nearly pressed together as Molly pointed at something printed on the papers Lestrade held in his hand. John was near the other two, impatiently waiting. As was Anderson.
“Thank you,” Sherlock remembered to respond to Donovan. Why was Molly there?
“Unbelievable.” Donovan’s tone wasn’t complementary at all. Almost suspicious. And she looked rather smug, as if she knew something that he didn’t.
Molly’s head snapped up. “Not really. I mean, anybody here could have done it.”
Donovan and Sherlock both stared at her. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation at the implied insult to his deductive skills.
“Obviously Sherlock did it faster; but from what I’ve heard, someone in forensics would have eventually discovered the bottle of linseed oil and most likely put two and two together and found the footprints. Unless they were too busy wasting their time canoodling and gossiping around the water cooler to spend time at the crime scene or in the lab, of course.” Molly’s gaze landed on Philip and then pointedly slid toward Donovan.
“What just a minute-“ Philip began.
Molly plucked the papers from Lestrade’s hands. “As I was discussing with Inspector Lestrade—Greg.” She looked at the older man and lowered her eyes. Sherlock noted her cheeks flushed slightly. He didn’t like that. Not one bit.
“As I was explaining, the official report won’t be ready for another day or two but the preliminary results Sherlock brought with him earlier document what tests were used on the samples. I was there during the testing, my name is right here on the form, authorizing the use of the equipment.” She wagged the paper in Anderson’s direction until he took it.
“Once the samples were broken down, well, it’s just a matter of having the right resources to put it all together. Right?” She looked at Lestrade again. “You said you had people out looking. I’m sure they would have narrowed it down eventually. Sherlock just had access to better, faster resources.”
Molly turned to Donovan again. “So, there you go. Brilliant and quick, yes. But not so unbelievable.” She took a deep breath and smiled at them all. “Well, I’ve got to get back to Barts, if you don’t need anything else, Greg?”
“No. I’m good. Thanks for coming by, Molly.” He reached out and snatched the papers back from Anderson. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow to check on the final report, yeah?”
“Sounds good.” Molly nodded at the others. “Philip. Sgt Donovan. John. Sherlock.” Then she pointed toward the left. “That way?”
Greg shook his head. “You know what, I’ll show you out. You two coming?”
John followed along but Sherlock took a moment to glance back at Donovan. Her earlier smug expression had wilted considerably, but he still felt bit of unease.
Somehow John managed to wait until they were in the street to grin at him. “So, anybody could do it, huh? That must have stung.”
“How many times have I told you lot that you don’t observe the obvious? She only said the same thing I’ve been telling you for ages.” Sherlock refused to admit his ego might have been the slightest bit piqued.
“Still, it was rather nice to know that Molly’s got your back. I’m not sure what Sally was getting up to, but I didn’t like it.” John raised his hand to hail a nearby cab.
“Yes. To both counts.” Sherlock reached for the cab door the moment it pulled up to the kerb. “This is my cab. You get the next one.”
The city lights passed by as the taxi made its way down the street, almost hypnotic. Sherlock blinked several times and realized they must have been traveling for nearly ten minutes already. He had to have been lost thought.
That’s not what happened. Molly wasn’t there. Just Donovan and her insinuations. Focus, Sherlock. Why does this keep happening?
He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes shut as tightly as possible. He heard the sound of the small telly on the back of the driver’s seat click on. That was absolutely the last thing he needed right now.
“Can you turn this off, please?”
The telly remained on and he asked again, louder this time.
The image on the screen changed and Jim Moriarty was grinning at him.
“Hullo. Are you ready for story? This is the story of Sir Boast-A-Lot.”
“Can he do that?” John asked in disbelief. “Completely change his identity? Make you a criminal?”
Sherlock paced up and down the street. “He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.”
John nodded as he began to flip through the pages in the folder he’d taken from Kitty Riley. “Your word against his.”
“He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to-“ Sherlock froze on the spot.
Suddenly, it clicked. Everything that the last few months had been leading up to, from the moment Moriarty broke into the Tower and left his message—GET SHERLOCK—it was finally coming to an end.
“Sherlock?”
Numerous options ran through his mind.
John wouldn’t be able of any use. He was loyal enough, but he wouldn’t be able to see the bigger picture. If anything, he’d be a distraction. A liability.
He’d already spoken to Mycroft on the matter, although neither one had predicted quite how far Moriarty would take things. He’d have to contact his brother soon enough, but not yet.
He could go it alone. It was what he’d always done before.
But there was another option this time, wasn’t there?
Wasn’t that what those not-memories had been trying to tell him?
He made a split-second decision. “Something I need to do.”
“What?” Ever eager to join into the fray, John asked, “Can I help?”
“No. On my own.”
“You’re wrong, you know.” Even without looking, he knew he’d startled her. An unexpected voice coming from the darkness. He didn’t blame her for being jumpy. “You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you.”
It was true. It might have taken those waking dreams, or whatever they were, to make him recognize it. But it had always been true.
He finally looked toward her, almost afraid of what he would see. “But you were right. I’m not okay.”