Reconciliation — Chapter 14: The storm after the calm

When Sherlock left London, John and his identity behind, so did Molly. But destiny can be cruel at times, throwing things from your past at you when you'd rather make a fresh start. Eventual Sherlolly, Post Reichenbach. Please read and review!

The next morning brought with it a heavy downpour. Clutching her umbrella tightly, she ran to the hospital, her clothes already half wet. A hot cup of coffee followed and she sat in her cabin, for no out patients had shown up, thanks to the never ending rain. Sighing, she decided to get on with the paperwork, since there was nothing else to do. As she picked up the numerous files on her desk, a letter fell out. The envelope had the logo of the hospital on it and hence could mean only one thing. The HOD had replied to her request after all. With trembling hands, she unfolded the letter, only to drop it in shock moments later. Not only had her request been rejected, but also, the reason mentioned was completely unbelievable. It said that the patient himself had specially demanded treatment only from her and had refused to let any other doctor to even take a look at him. How was that even possible? After all that had happened yesterday, how could he still want her to be the one to treat him? Why then, had he lectured her about John being his doctor and not her? She had thought he had made himself very clear about the fact that he did not want to see her any more. Why was he calling her back, then? It was unbelievable and hence she found herself storming towards Room no. 24 and wrenching the door apart only to be greeted with the sight of him trying to button his shirt, and failing miserably. Her annoyance melted into nothingness and she barely registered her feet moving in his direction and her hands covering his with her own. Before he could object, she buttoned his shirt, smoothing the fabric to ease the wrinkles. She realized what she was doing a second later and jumped back in shock, her eyes seeking his nervously. His own face betrayed none of his emotions and he turned away without a word, his hand running through his hair just like the day before. 'Why do you want me here?' she asked quietly, not sure if his answer would shatter her heart once again or bring her one step closer to forgiveness. Of course, she had been an absolute imbecile to get her hopes up as always and his response had to shatter them to a thousand pieces, as always. 'It is safer for me. M-Mycroft agrees. The contact lenses are cumbersome and there is always a chance that someone would r-recognize me, in spite of the disguise. You came to know almost instantly, after all. Anyway, it is only a matter of a few days. I will be out of here as soon as p-possible. It isn't safe to go back to L-London right away, or else I wouldn't even be here because there is no reason to. There is still one member left to track down and he-' 'Sebastian Moran' she breathed. His words hurt as usual but she supposed he was right. There really was no reason for him to be here. After all, his brother, with all his resources could ensure that he had help from the best psychiatrist in the whole of Great Britain. She was nobody after all. Even before the fiasco with Jim had happened, she was insignificant as she would always be. His words were the irresolute proof of that. To an onlooker it would seem like he was eyeing a spot above her shoulder intently but she knew that he had dived headlong into his mind palace. Knowing that he was unlikely to emerge any time soon, she sat down into the armchair with a sigh only to be pulled up again by him. 'If what you say is true, then he must have visited the hospital at least once. He has to be on the CCTV footage. He is not the person to trust an accomplice with stuff as important as delivering the package to Moriarty. Two months have passed since New Year's Eve and he still hasn't done else, which means that he knows that the object of his interest is no longer here. Which would definitely..' At this point his mutterings became so faint that they were inaudible to her. Nevertheless, she waited for him to speak, trying hard not to let the earlier feelings of hurt and disappointment seep back into her mind. His muttering stopped suddenly and one look at his face made her blood freeze in fear. She had never seen him genuinely afraid before, for he had always guarded his facial expressions so carefully. But looking at his terrified expression, she wanted nothing more than to put his fears to rest, no matter what it cost her. The words that rushed out of his mouth only multiplied her fears. 'He knows I am here' he said quietly, with a tone of finality. There was nothing to be done on her part, especially since he had all but pushed her out of the room almost immediately, ignoring her protests and the offer to help him tract down the last hindrance to his passage to London, saying that he needed to think. Nothing was heard or seen of Sebastian Moran in the following two weeks and life went on for both of them. The schedule followed was unerringly similar to the one she had with her previous patient. The walks across the hospital grounds were silent because more often than not, he would spend them in his mind palace, ignoring her altogether. There was one thing that made her immensely happy though. In the commotion of expecting Moran to show up any moment, the neurasthenia had almost left him and his hands were now rock steady and his speech was slowly reverting back to its original brisk style. It was on a somnolent Friday that she received the shock of her life when she entered his room in the afternoon as usual, only to find it empty with a crumpled note lying on his bed, in his own handwriting. Dread flooded every blood vessel as she read the single word scribbled on the tiny paper in capital letters. HELP. It could only mean one thing. Moran had finally struck.

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