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darnedchildSummary: Sherlock Holmes learns the shocking secrets of Molly Hooper's past. *Cue dramatic music and an evil laugh*
Rating: T
A/N - With apologies to H.P. Lovecraft - A modern retelling of Herbert West - Reanimator. Written for the 2017 Sherlolly Halloween fest.
Molly Hooper - (Assistant) Reanimator
Part Eight - Outro
Sherlock pulled her tight against his chest, horrified at how close he’d come to losing her. “Obviously, you made it out.”
“Barely.” Molly wrapped her arms around his waist in response. “I ended up in hospital for nearly a month. Concussion, some minor burns considering what could have been, broke my leg and nose. Apparently, I was hysterical and had to be sedated for the first several days. Mycroft had me moved to a private facility while I recovered.”
At least his brother had done something right. Sherlock was still going to murder him for putting his pathologist in danger.
“No other survivors?”
She shook her head, then changed her mind and nodded. Sherlock held his breath in anticipation of whatever horrifyingly new information she was about to dump in his lap. “Meghan and Roy were in town when it happened. Roy is the one who found me.”
Molly sat up and rubbed her temples, as if the remembering and recounting of years’ worth of memories was giving her a headache. “The four men on duty in the house were dead before the fire started. It took nearly a week to sort through everything. Mycroft told me most of the bodies recovered from the bunker were mangled and burned beyond recognition. They were at ground zero when the incinerator exploded, none of the corpses were intact. But he said that they recovered tissue from ten different sources; including Moran, Halsey, Jim, and Herbert.”
“Mycroft told you that?” Sherlock stood and crossed the small room to the desk. He was going to have to pay a visit to his brother; he needed to observe Mycroft’s face and read every muscle tic and twitch. If Mycroft had been lying to her because he had decided that Molly didn’t need to know . . . His brother had no qualms about withholding formation if it suited his purposes.
“Is that everything?” Please let that be everything, Sherlock thought. He wasn’t sure how much more he could stomach without a cigarette to calm himself.
“Yeah. Up until-“ She stopped and flicked her fingers at the desk. “That.”
He bent to study the box at eye level, closely examining each side and the top in turn. The handwriting was unfamiliar; uneven lines with several stops and stops. Either they had tried to disguise their writing or manipulating the pen had been difficult.
After determining he’d deduced everything he could without taking the box to the lab for a more detailed analysis, he pulled his mobile out of his pocket. He spared a moment to readjust the sleeves of his suitcoat before pulling up the direct number to Barts security room. “Yes, hello. I need to speak with Turner. No, Robertson won’t do. Tell him it’s Sherlock Holmes.”
He waited exactly forty-two seconds while someone explained who was calling and Turner finally took the phone. “Mr Holmes?”
Sherlock wasn’t in the mood to bother with social niceties (not that he ever was, really). “I need you to check the CCTV footage for anyone coming or going from the morgue area in the last . . . How long were you up in the lab?” Molly held up three fingers. “The last three hours.”
“All right, Mr Holmes. I can get to that in a few-“ Turner began before Sherlock cut him off.
“Now. I’ll wait.”
He heard a long-suffering sigh over the phone, and then the sounds of someone typing on a computer keyboard. “Let’s see. I’ve got Doctor Hooper heading out. Twenty minutes later I’ve got two nurses—one male, one female. They keep looking around, nervous like.”
“He’s married, she’s in a committed relationship. They’re meeting for their regular weekly tryst in one of the supply closets.” Sherlock’s tone was clipped as he quickly dismissed them.
Molly gasped, “How do you know that?” at the same time Turner asked, “How can you be so sure, you haven’t even seen them?”
“Did I not just say this was a regular occurrence? It’s not them, keep looking.” He rolled his eyes even though Turner couldn’t see him.
Turner huffed. “Is there someone in particular you’re looking for, Mr Holmes? Something I can use to narrow this down?”
“They’ll be carrying a box when they arrive, and they’ll be heading toward the morgue offices.” Sherlock kept his eyes on Molly as she fidgeted. He realized it must be frustrating for her, stuck listening to a one-sided conversation.
There was nothing but the sound of Turner breathing for close to two minutes. “Yeah, I think I’ve got him. Guy in a delivery uniform with a decent-sized box, came through an hour ago. Got a limp. Kept his face down and was actively avoiding the security camera.”
Sherlock felt his heart begin to beat faster and he straightened his spine, all attention focused on the details Turner was feeding him.
“He left eight minutes later, without the box. Oh, that’s odd.”
“What?” Sherlock turned away so that his back was to Molly, he needed to concentrate and he couldn’t do that while she was looking at him with those wide, scared eyes. “What is it?”
“He stopped and looked right up at the camera this time. Just looked up, smiled, and waved. Half his face is all scarred up, like . . . like some of those poor people up in the burn ward.”
Sherlock swallowed hard. He lowered his voice to a whisper, hoping against hope that Molly wouldn’t hear his next question. “Turner, do you recognize him? Have you seen him before, perhaps without the scars?”
Another short silence while the other man must have been studying the image on the screen. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s that ‘Miss Me?’ guy. What’s his name? But what the hell happened to him? Did he get caught in a fire or something?”
“Something like that.” Sherlock disconnected without another word.
When he turned back Molly was standing on the other side of the desk, nervously twisting her hands together. “What did he say? Is it someone we know?”
“Moriarty.”
She looked as if she were about to faint. Her head dropped as she took several deep breaths and put her hands on the desk to steady herself. Sherlock came across to her side, prepared to catch her if she fell. After a moment, Molly lifted her head and glared at the box. “We need to open it. I need to know what the hell is in there.”
Her hands trembled as she reached for it, but Sherlock took hold of them and pulled them away. “I’ll do it.”
He had only just begun to pick at the packing tape that sealed the box shut when something thumped and a voice rasped from inside, “Moollllyyy.”
She paled and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, her nails digging into his skin.
“Herbert?”
*Fade to Black*
Part 1
Rating: T
A/N - With apologies to H.P. Lovecraft - A modern retelling of Herbert West - Reanimator. Written for the 2017 Sherlolly Halloween fest.
Molly Hooper - (Assistant) Reanimator
Part Eight - Outro
Sherlock pulled her tight against his chest, horrified at how close he’d come to losing her. “Obviously, you made it out.”
“Barely.” Molly wrapped her arms around his waist in response. “I ended up in hospital for nearly a month. Concussion, some minor burns considering what could have been, broke my leg and nose. Apparently, I was hysterical and had to be sedated for the first several days. Mycroft had me moved to a private facility while I recovered.”
At least his brother had done something right. Sherlock was still going to murder him for putting his pathologist in danger.
“No other survivors?”
She shook her head, then changed her mind and nodded. Sherlock held his breath in anticipation of whatever horrifyingly new information she was about to dump in his lap. “Meghan and Roy were in town when it happened. Roy is the one who found me.”
Molly sat up and rubbed her temples, as if the remembering and recounting of years’ worth of memories was giving her a headache. “The four men on duty in the house were dead before the fire started. It took nearly a week to sort through everything. Mycroft told me most of the bodies recovered from the bunker were mangled and burned beyond recognition. They were at ground zero when the incinerator exploded, none of the corpses were intact. But he said that they recovered tissue from ten different sources; including Moran, Halsey, Jim, and Herbert.”
“Mycroft told you that?” Sherlock stood and crossed the small room to the desk. He was going to have to pay a visit to his brother; he needed to observe Mycroft’s face and read every muscle tic and twitch. If Mycroft had been lying to her because he had decided that Molly didn’t need to know . . . His brother had no qualms about withholding formation if it suited his purposes.
“Is that everything?” Please let that be everything, Sherlock thought. He wasn’t sure how much more he could stomach without a cigarette to calm himself.
“Yeah. Up until-“ She stopped and flicked her fingers at the desk. “That.”
He bent to study the box at eye level, closely examining each side and the top in turn. The handwriting was unfamiliar; uneven lines with several stops and stops. Either they had tried to disguise their writing or manipulating the pen had been difficult.
After determining he’d deduced everything he could without taking the box to the lab for a more detailed analysis, he pulled his mobile out of his pocket. He spared a moment to readjust the sleeves of his suitcoat before pulling up the direct number to Barts security room. “Yes, hello. I need to speak with Turner. No, Robertson won’t do. Tell him it’s Sherlock Holmes.”
He waited exactly forty-two seconds while someone explained who was calling and Turner finally took the phone. “Mr Holmes?”
Sherlock wasn’t in the mood to bother with social niceties (not that he ever was, really). “I need you to check the CCTV footage for anyone coming or going from the morgue area in the last . . . How long were you up in the lab?” Molly held up three fingers. “The last three hours.”
“All right, Mr Holmes. I can get to that in a few-“ Turner began before Sherlock cut him off.
“Now. I’ll wait.”
He heard a long-suffering sigh over the phone, and then the sounds of someone typing on a computer keyboard. “Let’s see. I’ve got Doctor Hooper heading out. Twenty minutes later I’ve got two nurses—one male, one female. They keep looking around, nervous like.”
“He’s married, she’s in a committed relationship. They’re meeting for their regular weekly tryst in one of the supply closets.” Sherlock’s tone was clipped as he quickly dismissed them.
Molly gasped, “How do you know that?” at the same time Turner asked, “How can you be so sure, you haven’t even seen them?”
“Did I not just say this was a regular occurrence? It’s not them, keep looking.” He rolled his eyes even though Turner couldn’t see him.
Turner huffed. “Is there someone in particular you’re looking for, Mr Holmes? Something I can use to narrow this down?”
“They’ll be carrying a box when they arrive, and they’ll be heading toward the morgue offices.” Sherlock kept his eyes on Molly as she fidgeted. He realized it must be frustrating for her, stuck listening to a one-sided conversation.
There was nothing but the sound of Turner breathing for close to two minutes. “Yeah, I think I’ve got him. Guy in a delivery uniform with a decent-sized box, came through an hour ago. Got a limp. Kept his face down and was actively avoiding the security camera.”
Sherlock felt his heart begin to beat faster and he straightened his spine, all attention focused on the details Turner was feeding him.
“He left eight minutes later, without the box. Oh, that’s odd.”
“What?” Sherlock turned away so that his back was to Molly, he needed to concentrate and he couldn’t do that while she was looking at him with those wide, scared eyes. “What is it?”
“He stopped and looked right up at the camera this time. Just looked up, smiled, and waved. Half his face is all scarred up, like . . . like some of those poor people up in the burn ward.”
Sherlock swallowed hard. He lowered his voice to a whisper, hoping against hope that Molly wouldn’t hear his next question. “Turner, do you recognize him? Have you seen him before, perhaps without the scars?”
Another short silence while the other man must have been studying the image on the screen. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s that ‘Miss Me?’ guy. What’s his name? But what the hell happened to him? Did he get caught in a fire or something?”
“Something like that.” Sherlock disconnected without another word.
When he turned back Molly was standing on the other side of the desk, nervously twisting her hands together. “What did he say? Is it someone we know?”
“Moriarty.”
She looked as if she were about to faint. Her head dropped as she took several deep breaths and put her hands on the desk to steady herself. Sherlock came across to her side, prepared to catch her if she fell. After a moment, Molly lifted her head and glared at the box. “We need to open it. I need to know what the hell is in there.”
Her hands trembled as she reached for it, but Sherlock took hold of them and pulled them away. “I’ll do it.”
He had only just begun to pick at the packing tape that sealed the box shut when something thumped and a voice rasped from inside, “Moollllyyy.”
She paled and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, her nails digging into his skin.
“Herbert?”
*Fade to Black*
Part 1