Sherlolly Prompt: Let's say Molly didn't help Sherlock fake his death. She's grief stricken, and while she's sobbing her cute little heart out Donovan makes a snarky remark and Molly goes off on her. (You don't have to do it, I just thought of it and thought I'd hand it off to someone more experienced than me.) ~Thanks
((I liked writing it, so thank you for trusting me with the prompt! Thought I can’t say I’m all that experience XD 1 [unfinished] fic and a handful of requests certainly doesn’t make me an expert, but thank you again! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!))
Molly couldn’t believe the news when she heard. Sherlock Holmes was actually dead. For a long time, she had refused to believe it. Then, of course, she was forced to watch them wheel in his body. One look at those curls, and she had known it to be true. No one had those curls, except for him. Molly ran from the morgue, tears streaming down her cheeks as she thought about everything that had happened in the last few days. She hadn’t even bothered to pause when Mike approached her. She just babbled an apology, and said she wouldn’t be in for a few days. In the end, he had let her go.
That night, she had stayed up the whole time, remembering the last time she had seen the consulting detective alive. He had told her that he thought he was going to die. She had asked what she could do, asked what he needed. He had replied, quite simply, that he needed her. At that time, she didn’t know what it meant, but it had sent her heart racing. He had kissed her like a man clinging to the last grasp of sanity, and then he was just… gone. He had swept past her and out of the room before Molly could to more than let out a small whimper of yearning.
The next day hadn’t been much better. She had spent it curled up on her couch, with Toby in her lap, and a pint of Mint Chocolate chip ice cream in her lap as she cried. A call from John, asking how she was doing, and she was crying all over again. He was always wonderful to her, even though she knew he must be grieving too. She invited him over, and they shared the pint, as well as a bottle of wine she had been keeping for a special occasion. Who cared about any of that now though? By the time John left, the pint was gone, as was the wine, and she, at least, had felt giddy on drunkenness and mint-chocolate ice cream.
She woke up the next morning to a splitting headache, and, of course, she had to get back to work. A broken heart didn’t count as a legitimate illness, sadly. She showered, and got dressed, but didn’t bother even attempting to fix herself up beyond that. After all, only the dead would see her… She swallowed thickly as she left her flat, and made her way to Bart’s.
The first few hours were okay. A few people stopped in to give her their condolences, since almost everyone had known how she felt about the consulting detective. Of course, there were a few who also came for different reasons. A few simply shook their heads in disgust at her actions, because they believed what the news was saying, that Sherlock was a fake. There was no way. She’d never let herself think, for even a second, that Sherlock was anything but real.
Of course though, when a tall body with dark curly hair came in, Molly lost it again. It didn’t matter that he was just a bit too tall, his hair a shade too light, his form a bit too rounded, even the small similarities set her off. She broke down again, and had to retreat to her office in the hopes that it would calm her down enough that she’d be able to perform the autopsy on this unknown man.
She hadn’t been alone for more than two minutes when the door of her office opened, and a familiar woman stepped in. She had seen her occasionally, whenever a body for a case came in and Lestrade hadn’t had the time to receive her reports himself. Donovan, Molly thought her name was. She had never been particularly nice to Molly, but whenever Sherlock and she were in the same area, Molly recalled many of the cutting comments she had made towards him. She was immediately on edge, already feeling raw as she continued to cry in front of the other woman.
Donovan’s lips twitched in a barely contained sneer as she watched the quivering pathologist. “Why are you crying for him? He was a freak, and a monster. It was only a matter of time before his lies came out.” She scolded her like Molly was a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and her words only infuriated the pathologist.
“You… Get out of my office, you horrible woman!” She said, her tears suddenly stopping as Molly found something – or someone, rather – to take out all her anger on for the slandering of Sherlock’s name. she took several steps closer as she spoke, glaring at the other woman in a very un-Molly-like fashion. “He wasn’t a freak, and the real monsters are people like you, who were too stupid to believe in Sherlock. He was a genius, Sherlock was real, Moriarty was real, and,” Molly had ended up backing the startled Sergeant to the door, and she opened it before shoving her forcefully out. “You are never to come back to my morgue.” With that, Molly slammed the door, not allowing Donovan to mutter a single argument.
She locked it behind her, and returned to her desk, collapsing into her seat, the tears coming back in full now that she was gone. No matter what anyone said, she’d always believe in Sherlock Holmes.
