Life After Death - A Post-Reichenbach Trilogy

Part Three – Unfinished Business

Chapter Sixteen

Molly's next session with Eve was a land mark moment. She had spent the weekend repeating the virtual tour of her flat until she could get round without any panic attacks at all. On the Monday morning, when the doctor arrived, Molly could not wait to get started. She took the doctor round her 'virtual' flat and stopped at every stress point, lingering and describing in detail the woman's appearance and her behaviour, even to the point where they left the flat and exited the building. Molly opened her eyes and looked at the doctor with a triumphant grin.

'I think I'm ready to do it for real,' she exclaimed.

'Yes, I would have to agree with you there,' Eve replied. 'We should arrange it as soon as possible, perhaps even tomorrow. But, Molly, I must warn you, without wanting to be a damp squib, it will be much harder doing it for real. You have embraced this stage of the process brilliantly. Just don't expect the next stage to be a formality. It will be tough.'

Molly nodded. She understood what the doctor was saying.

'Don't worry, I won't get too cocky. I know what I'm in for.'

ooOoo

That afternoon, Sgt Donovan was despatched to take Molly's statement. A few days earlier, this would have been a traumatic experience for Molly but today it felt like catharsis. It was part of the process of washing the Jamieson woman out of hers and her William's life.

That night, the nightmares returned but she was able to calm herself and get back to sleep relatively quickly and, next morning, Molly was dressed and waiting when Dr Matthews arrived to take her to the flat. They sat outside the building, in the car, for several minutes, whilst Eve Matthews took Molly through her relaxation techniques, before getting out and approaching the front door.

'OK, Molly, I'm right here with you. Just walk me through it, like you did in your head,' the doctor reminded her, 'and remember, you can stop any time or take a break whenever you need to.'

Molly nodded, took a deep breath and keyed in the code to enter the house.

'This is my home,' she told herself, defiantly. 'I can't let that woman win this battle.'

This was the first time Molly had been home since being kidnapped at gun point. She took the few steps across the inner hall to the archway into the sitting room. Looking around, she could see signs of other people's habitation. Mrs Hudson had been there, with William, for four days and nights and Sherlock and William had been here for almost a week, so she expected it to seem different.

Sherlock may have been a brilliant detective but his housekeeping skills did leave something to be desired, she noted. There were small and subtle changes, but this was her home and she knew it intimately, so even small changes shouted out to her. But the over-riding difference was the malignant aura left behind by Bernadette Jamieson.

'Do you want to sit down?' asked the doctor, concerned at the loss of colour in Molly's cheeks.

'No. I need to do this. I need to do the whole routine,' she insisted.

'You can take breaks, remember,' Eve reminded her but Molly pressed on.

As she walked through the flat, holding tight to the doctor's hand, everything she looked at brought back powerful memories of that awful evening that had begun so innocently. She employed the breathing techniques, just as she had rehearsed in the virtual tours and began to move through the flat.

Here was where she sat, looking at William, with the gun held at her side, here was where she stood, pointing the gun at my heart, here was where I packed William's bag, while she was in the sitting room, with my son and a gun, here is where I wrote the clue for Sherlock, here is where she took William's hand and made me walk first, out of the flat.

'Molly, it's Ok. You are safe. She can't hurt you.'

Molly heard Eve's voice and opened her eyes. She was in the arm chair, in her sitting room, holding tight to the doctor's hand, shaking uncontrollably, with the all too familiar sensation of tears, trickling down her cheeks and dripping into her lap.

'Would you like a glass of water?' Eve asked. Molly nodded, gratefully.

When the doctor returned with the water, Molly was much calmer. Eve sat on the sofa and waited for her to sip the water, then spoke,

'That was quite amazing, Molly. You have done so incredibly well. I really did not expect you to do the whole thing like that, without a break. You were on a mission,' she smiled, full of admiration.

'I couldn't let her win,' declared Molly. 'This is my son's home and she is not going to chase us out of here. I didn't think I would ever set foot in here again, but here I am. And she is locked up, where she belongs. I hope she rots in Hell, her and her psycho son. Fuck them!'

Eve burst out laughing and Molly joined in, too, despite the tears.

'My mother would kill me if she heard me say that word!' she gasped, putting her hand up to her mouth, in embarrassment. 'I NEVER say that word!'

'Well, in my book, swearing is like crying. It's a safety valve. Save it up and use it when it really counts,' the doctor advised. 'How about a cup of tea?'

Molly and Eve spent another hour, in the flat, talking in detail about the abduction, and Eve was able to explain how the perpetrator had used psychological tricks to subvert Molly's natural instincts.

'She was very clever, Molly. Any normal person would have been taken in by her. Don't think yourself stupid or gullible. She knew what she was doing.'

'She may have thought she knew what she was doing but she had no idea what she was going up against when she picked on Sherlock,' Molly exclaimed. 'How soon can I move back in?'

'As soon as the hospital discharges you but I would recommend you have someone with you for a day or two, someone to help out around the home, until you feel completely recovered.'

ooOoo

Mycroft wanted to hire a private nurse for Molly but Mrs Hudson insisted on moving in as a temporary home help, which was Molly's preferred option, so Mycroft capitulated. Two days after Molly's visit home, her consultant advised that she was well enough to be discharged. A car was dispatched to collect Mrs Hudson and her suitcase then pick up Molly and transport them both to Molly's flat.

After being in a hospital environment for almost two weeks, it felt good to be out in the fresh air and to be walking around, even just from the car to the house. The driver brought in the luggage and took his leave. Sherlock had taken William to the crèche that morning, so Molly had some time in the flat to relax before William came home.

Sherlock had done as she asked and had the flat 'valeted', the day before, so it was clean and fresh-smelling, neat and tidy. He had, considerately, packed his things into his valise and stripped the bed in the guest room, that morning, so Mrs Hudson only had to remake the bed and unpacked her things then she went to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Molly was lying on the sofa, with her feet up, when she heard Sherlock's key in the door. She stood up and ran into the hall, just as William come through the door. She stood still, smiling, whilst he registered her presence, processed the information and then rushed at her, shouting 'Mummy!' She picked him up and hugged him, so happy to have him back in her arms, back in their own home. She carried him into the sitting room and sat on the sofa, handing him the TV remote, to choose which programme to watch. Needless to say, he chose a nature show.

Mrs Hudson busied herself in the kitchen, preparing supper and Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, looking thoughtful, so she pushed a colander of raw vegetables towards him and said,

'Here, make yourself useful and peel and chop those. You do know how to peel and chop, don't you?'

'As a matter of fact, I do,' he replied, indignantly, taking up the vegetable knife and selecting a chopping board. 'We had a very good cook and she taught both me and Mycroft to cook, before we went up to Cambridge. We'd both been away at school so she knew we had never had to cook a meal in our lives and she didn't want us starving to death or living on takeaways. She taught us to make 'Winter Comfort Food', as she called it – beef stew, shepherds' pie, spaghetti bolognaise, chicken chasseurs – you'd be surprised,' he remarked.

'I'm constantly surprised by you, dear,' she said and reached out to ruffle his hair.

After supper, Sherlock took William off for his bath, brought him in to say 'good night' to the ladies, then put him to bed, whilst Mrs Hudson watched TV and Molly dozed on the sofa. When he came back into the room, Mrs H excused herself,

'I'm going to my room, to read a book and have an early night,' she said. 'It's been a busy day.'

'Put my bag in the corridor,' Sherlock requested. 'I'll collect it shortly, when I leave for home.'

ooOoo

When Molly awoke, an hour or so later, Sherlock was still there, sitting in the arm chair, watching her.

'We have to stop meeting like this,' he said, with a sardonic smile.

Molly smiled back and rubbed her eyes.

'Did I miss something?' she asked. 'Where is everyone?'

'Mrs Hudson went to bed. I think we've worn her out,' he smiled. 'Can I get you anything?'

'A cup of tea would be nice,' she replied, yawning and stretching.

He got up and went to the kitchen. Whilst he was making the tea, Molly took herself off to her en suite shower room. Looking into the mirror above the basin, she groaned at the state of her face. Oh, god, she thought, I look frightful. She wondered how those damsels in distress in films always looked so glamorous, even on their death beds. Of course, she knew the answer – a makeup department and a soft filter on the camera lens. Opening her toiletries bag, she set about trying to repair some of the damage. Then she brushed through her hair and returned to the sitting room.

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, pouring the tea, so she sat in the arm chair and accepted a cup and saucer from him. They both sat, sipping their tea and thinking their own thoughts, Molly trying to come up with a way of broaching the subject of what was really bothering him and why he had lied about it. In the end, having come up with nothing better, she decided the blunt approach would have to do.

'Sherlock, why did you lie to me the other day?'

He looked as though she had just given him an electric shock.

'And, please, don't bother trying to deny it because we both know you are a terrible liar,' she added.

He was trapped.

She could see by his rapid eye movements that he was trying to think of a way out but nothing was coming to mind. In the end, he sighed and sank into himself, defeated. He reached forward and put his cup and saucer on the coffee table, propped his elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested his head on his hand. Taking a deep breath, he spoke, at last.

'Molly, what do you want from me?' he asked, anguish evident in his tone.

'I told you at the airport, Sherlock. I make no demands and I have no expectations but I would like you to be part of William's life,' she answered, as the old fingers of dread began to squeeze her heart.

This was always likely to happen, she thought. The stark reality of the situation has finally reached crunch point. Well, I've managed without him for three years…but how will I explain this to William?

'The last time I was here, we talked about why you put up with me before, when I was treating you so badly,' Sherlock went on, breaking into her train of thought. 'And you said it was because you loved me. And you said that you still loved me but that you knew I couldn't love you back.'

He looked to her for confirmation.

'Yes, that was about it,' she confirmed, feeling hollow.

'You said you loved me for who I was, so why would you want me to be different, that it was irrational to expect me to change.'

Another pause.

'Yes, that is what I said.'

Molly waited for him to find the words he was looking for, the words that would break her child's heart.

'But what if I wanted to change?'

He was looking at her again but, this time, not for confirmation but for assistance. He was struggling to put his thoughts and feelings into words.

'What if I wanted more out of our relationship than just sharing William?'

'What did you have in mind?' she asked, completely out-flanked by this sudden and surprising change of direction.

'Well, that's just it, I don't know,' he groaned. 'You must know that this is virgin territory for me. I watch other people being together - like John and Mary - and it all seems so simple but, for me, it is not simple. I have never been 'in a relationship', ever.'

He gazed at her, lamely, and shrugged his shoulders.

'I've had sex, of course, and not just with you, although maybe I shouldn't be telling you that – or maybe I should, I don't know! Oh, my God, why does it have to be so complicated?'

He punched the arm of the sofa with his fist, in sheer anguish.

Molly got up from the arm chair and sat next to him on the sofa, took his hand and plaited her fingers into his. He looked at her hand, holding his, but did not pull away.

'It does not have to be complicated,' Molly soothed. 'It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be. We are already friends, good friends, who trust each other. We don't have to do anything too different. We could maybe start as 'friends with privileges'?'

She waited for him to react.

'Does that mean what I think it does?' he asked, cautiously.

'Yes, I expect so.'

'Because there is no way we could live together,' he gabbled. 'I'm sorry but I do need my own space, especially if I'm working. With all my experiments, it would be too dangerous for William, being around all that...'

'No, you're quite right,' Molly assured him, trying so hard to keep a straight face. 'I like my own space, too, and William is fine with us living in separate houses. He doesn't know any different.'

There followed an even longer pause, whilst Sherlock considered the full implications of what 'friends with privileges' might entail.

'So, should we give it a try?' Molly asked.

After an even longer pause, he gave a small nod.

'So would you like to stay tonight?' she asked and then added, 'And I'm not suggesting you bunk in with Mrs Hudson. I mean, I know you two are close but that would be weird.'

He turned his head, sharply, to look at her and, at last, he smiled.

'OK,' he said.

She smiled back.

'Good. Let's go to bed.'

ooOoo