There were too many people talking but
Sherlock was very adept at blocking people out.
He needed to sort through his mind palace as quickly as possible as he
had no time to waste. He was currently
put out with John Watson but knew he would need his best friend’s help with the
case he was working. What he didn’t need
was for his best friend to tell him what he did was ‘not good.’ What he had
done was quite a lot more than just a ‘bit not good’ and he didn’t need to be
told, honestly John didn’t know the half of it.
If he had maybe Molly would have been spared the pain but Sherlock would
not be taking his actions nearly as seriously otherwise.
It was never in Sherlock’s plan for Molly Hooper to ever find out about the drugs. He was regretting not just coming clean to John but by the time they made it to the lab and Sherlock realized what was happening in his addled state it was already too late. Molly had seen him and gave a look that managed to be angry and hurt at the same time. The only relief he had in seeing her was that the horrible ring was off her finger.
Molly could tell without the test that Sherlock was high. She also knew what drug he had used because she had witnessed him on it before. The only reason she took the test was because it gave her something to do while she reined her emotions in. There was that and the fact that John wanted the solid proof.
Sherlock felt an uncomfortable tightening in his chest. He needed to sort out Molly’s room before he carried on with the case, which was coming to a conclusion tonight. He was unsure if Molly would forgive him this time and he needed to tuck this sentiment away so it did not distract him, he also did not want anyone to know how much his pathologist meant to him and he felt as if his ‘sentiment’ may ooze out of him at any moment now. The only people to have an inkling of his sentimental feelings were his brother, and his best friend’s wife. Mary really was a sharp one, he paused a moment to add the thought to visit Mary’s area to figure out why that was at a later date. He supposed it was a possibility John had some idea but he doubted that it was so. He had no time to dwell on those thoughts at present.
He opened the door to Molly’s room and looked at the room he knew so well. It had originally started as a small white hospital room. The only things that had been in the room had been a bed and an IV stand. Over time the room had expanded in size, it remained white but it had changed from a hospital to room to a lab. It had changed again almost against his will, but he would never admit to it. The room was now lit by a window that reached from the ceiling to the window seat at its base. The room had remained white but now instead of the original sterility and coldness it had possessed the walls of the room were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves that held an array of different colored books. There was a piano on one side of the room and the other room contained two cozy chairs with a table in between them. The only other thing in the room was an industrial style trashcan that was out of place with the rest of the room’s décor.
He saw Molly’s copy complete with lab coat and ponytail standing with her arms folded across her chest. She was also wearing the matching emotions that her counterpart had worn earlier in the day. He added the details of the encounter, and admitted that he was proud that the little woman could land such a blow with just the flat of her hand.
He decided to speak to the apparition, “I am sorry for today.”
The specter looked at him, “You do such horrible things every time.” Her words echoed the sentiment of her original’s words spoken one Christmas with a slight alteration.
“It was for a case.” Sherlock said as firmly as possible.
“It always is.” She answered back flatly.
“Does this mean you won’t forgive me this time?”
His mind’s Molly shook her head slightly and gave a sad smile, “The only way to know that, Sherlock Holmes, is to ask me. Not everything can be solved in your mind palace.”
“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” He nearly shouted at the figure as he raked his fingers through his curls and turned his back on the pathologist.
When he turned back around the figure was vastly different. A young girl of about ten looked at him with tears in her eyes.
“I don’t have time for this,” the detective muttered. He went about sorting new thoughts and tried to keep the memories at bay. The girl sat there and watched. She didn’t speak but allowed him to continue his work in peace; she rarely spoke when she appeared.
On occasion a book from the shelves would fall unbidden and the detective rushed to put them back in order. Some book titles consisted of one word such as sentiment, caring, and heart. On one of his missions to return an errant book he tripped on the trashcan knocking it over.
“Why is this still here! I know I have deleted it.” The detective exclaimed as he looked down at the trashcan. A solitary piece of crumpled up paper had fallen out of the trashcan. It was a letter that Sherlock had memorized by heart the one time he read it in the physical realm.
A full-grown Molly answered his question, “Guilt.”
“Don’t be ridiculous I am a high functioning-“
He picked up the letter and flattened it out then having folded up the missive he went to a shelf and grabbed a scripted copy of My Fair Lady and placed the letter inside. He decided to leave the trashcan for now and to delete it later. “Will you still help me?”
“I already told you the answer. You can’t deduce the answer to that question from your mind palace.”
With a huff he stalked to the door and wrenched it open. On the other side he came face to face with an unkempt man.
“Anderson! What are you doing here?” Sherlock was beginning to think maybe drugs had a negative impact on his mind palace, or maybe it had just been a bad batch.
Molly’s voice answered from his room, “If you had been paying attention you would have seen that he is often nearby my room these days. He has taken quite an interest in observing our interactions.”
“Anderson get in there I have no time for this just get in there.” He shoved the man into Molly’s room and pulled out a key. He locked the door and was relieved that he could now focus on the case.
After spending time sorting out the different aspects of the case he decided to begin his recruitment of John. It should be easy as John was as bored as Sherlock without a case. On the outside Sherlock smiled at the irony.
“You’ve heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen of course?”