You Can See Me
A Molly/Sherlock fic by rhaine-weber
Sherlock © BBC
A/N: Yup, next chapter. Thanks to all following, again, you guys are awesome. :) I had fun with this chapter. Things are getting a bit angst-ier then I previously planned. So, yay for me. This chapter is short, sort of the-calm-before-the-storm sort of chapter.
“John. John wake up now.”
John blinked, a groan escaping his lips as the blanket was pulled off of him, Sherlock’s voice intruding his peaceful slumber. The cold air hit his skin and he sat up, frown already set against his lips.
“Sh-Sherlock? What t-time is it?”
“That is irrelevant, John. Look.”
John’s eyes were only just beginning to adjust as Sherlock pushed a slip of paper into his hand. He looked down, quickly reading the hastily written, yet still quite neat handwriting.
“Wh-Who wrote this, Sherlock?”
“Molly.” Came the quiet reply, as if the tall lanky boy was already lost in thought. There was something quite urgent and almost fierce in his voice that made John sit up a bit straighter, looking up at him.
“What happened? Is she okay?”
Sherlock didn’t reply for a long while, and when he did speak it was almost in a whisper, yet his voice sounded almost dangerous.
“Someone hurt her. There were fresh bruises already forming on her collar bone and the base of her neck. Her eyes were red and slightly swollen, as if she’d been crying.”
John furrowed his eyebrows slightly, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair. “Is she alright? Sherlock, do we need to go help her? What’s going on?”
Sherlock sat at the edge of the bed, his hands steepling in an already familiar way. “No. She doesn’t want me to go after her. Molly is clever. And keep your voice down, John. ‘Help me’ is all she needed to write. She’s obviously being threatened by someone, her own well being at risk, but more probable, mine. It’s someone she knows that left the bruises on her skin, but…” He trailed off for a moment, his voice barely a whisper, and John raised an eyebrow.
“Jim didn’t hurt her.” He said, and there was a clear ring of bitterness in his voice.
“How do you-”
“Jim is the same height as Molly, this was done by someone much taller, stronger.”
“Molly knew I’d be able to figure out who had threatened her, and again, she was right.”
“Who is it then?”
John’s mouth set in a firm line for a moment at the thought of the large brute hurting the small, doe eyed girl.
“What do you propose we do?” John said after a moment of silence.
“This is much bigger then just Moran, John. But, I can’t be seen with Molly, or something very bad will happen, that much is certain. We’re all being watched.” He said, and the short blonde boy’s eyes widened slightly, looking around him as if he might spot a hidden camera of some sort.
“John, I need…I need to think.”
Sherlock stood, pacing back to the door from which he came.
The dark haired boy stopped and looked back at John.
“Are you alright?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he spoke. There was something sad, he thought, lost in his friend’s eyes. It worried him.
“Molly is…We’re all in danger now, John. I-I’m sorry you’re part of this now.” He said, his voice slightly cold.
John smirked, giving a small shrug.
“We’re going to help Molly, you know. It’ll all work out, Sherlock. She’ll be okay.”
The tall boy only gave a nod before he walked out the door.
Sherlock was left alone to his own devices, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as he lay, his back against his bed. His head spun, searching through everything, perhaps a clue in her words.
What she said, about not needing you, she was lying, you know. She had to lie.
I know that, you don’t need to tell me.
Yes I did. It bothered you.
Don’t kid yourself.
He scowled, focusing back on the problem at hand. Jim had to be involved somehow. This wasn’t just Moran. Someone much more clever was involved. Spinning a web…
She must be scared right now, alone. Defenseless against what dangers lie in the dark.
He groaned, turning on his side. He needed to focus. Sentiment clouding his mind.
It was going to be a long night.
Molly lay in her bed, face buried against her pillow. She was still trembling, and she frowned. She told herself to toughen up, but she couldn’t stop shaking, and she could still feel Moran’s fingers digging into her skin.
She hoped Sherlock understood, and didn’t try to speak with her. She hoped he would be alright.
Please keep him safe.
You Can See Me
A Molly/Sherlock fic by rhaine-weber
Sherlock © BBC
A/N: Oh my gosh hi wow. Didn’t think this was coming did you? Well, yes, glad to have surprised you. Okay, I didn’t mean to leave this fic alone for so long, but suddenly my life decided to get crazy busy, and when I did sit down to write, I was bursting with new ideas, so this was put on hold. Right, so, to those following this story, thank you. I love you, seriously, let’s be friends okay. So, anyway, John and Sherlock are aquatinted now, and the game is ON.
Molly had found it quite hard to concentrate on anything the past few weeks.
If she was asked about her distractedness, she really wouldn’t have been able to reply though she most certainly knew the answer.
She missed her odd, dark, lanky boy.
Sherlock seemed to have taken to avoiding her. He didn’t say anything the day before to indicate that she had done something wrong, but she must have. Right?
She didn’t know. She was questioning herself now, and she could hear him in her head, reprimanding her. Leave it to Sherlock to impose himself into her mind at random times of the day. Not that it was his fault, of course.
During class, they were only a few seats away, and her gaze often flickered to him, though he was never looking in her direction. It was odd, because when she was looking away, at the board or the teacher, actually trying to focus, she could feel his gaze on her.
Of course she had tried to confront him, but he was always a step ahead of her, ducking out of sight right before she could reach him, his dark mop of curls disappearing around the corner.
Frustration grew inside her, and she was hurt. Molly wasn’t angry at him. Never angry. She just wanted her Sherlock. Had something happened? Something awful? Was he okay? Questions burned inside her, and she was slowly becoming a mess of emotions. Day by day, she felt herself becoming more unstable. No. That wouldn’t do. Molly was strong. Her dad had always told her so. She would hold herself together.
She had always thought, well, maybe just a few times, she had thought that maybe Sherlock just…lost interest in her.
Maybe he didn’t want her anymore.
Such thoughts were to discouraging to even contemplate, so they were shut away to the back of her mind where they slowly ate away at her.
However, Molly was never alone. I mean, it wasn’t as if she was lonely without Sherlock, even if it felt that way sometimes.
Jim was there. But, well…Jim was always there. It wasn’t really a problem. Molly liked Jim. Jim was sweet, nice, funny, handsome, and Jim liked Molly. It was a bit odd sometimes though, when he thought she wasn’t looking, she’d see something in his dark eyes, and it almost scared her. It was silly of her, really. It had only been a glimpse, and who’s to say she hadn’t imagined it anyway?
But, all in all, Molly was fine having Jim around. He walked with her in the hall, ate lunch with her, was always nice to her. It wasn’t a problem…but why did it feel like it was?
The answer was quite simple really.
Jim wasn’t Sherlock.
She sighed, tugging on a strand of her hair.
“Something wrong, Molls?”
Jim’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she realized she’d been frowning, eyebrows knitted. She quickly gave him a smile, nodding. “O-Oh yeah, fine, just thinking…” She bit her lip, gathering her things together, beginning to walk back to class. Lunch was over.
She sighed without realizing it, hugging her books to her chest, and subconsciously trying to catch a glimpse of a mop of dark curls.
“So what really is your deal with this girl?” John asked the, at the moment, statue like boy sitting next to him.
They were sitting a short distance away from where Molly and Jim were sitting, eating lunch and ‘investigating’, as Sherlock put it.
Well, at least John was eating.
They were hidden by a bit of brush, but had a clear view of the pair.
Sherlock frowned at his question, tearing his eyes away from Jim and Molly, his eyebrows knitting together as he hesitated, pondering John’s question.
“My…deal?” He asked quietly, raising an eyebrow.
John nodded quickly, waving his hands around slightly for emphasis. “Yes, your deal, Sherlock. I mean, we’re stalking this guy, Jim, because he’s spending time with Molly. I mean, it’s not really a crime. Molly’s nice…cute.” He blinked a few times, nodding slowly, the tips of his ears going slightly pink.
Sherlock wrinkled his nose as if this was really the most idiotic thing he’d ever heard uttered in his presence.
“You really have some things to work out with her. Sherlock? Do you hear me?” John raised his eyebrows, gesturing towards Molly. “Look at her. She’s upset. Why don’t you talk to her. Like a normal person. You keep avoiding her and she’s hurting, Sherlock.” He said, and this seemed to reach through the tall boy’s thick skull. He froze, cold stare intensified. “It was never my intention to hurt Molly.” He said quietly, and John almost smiled.
He had only been running about with Sherlock for a week, but really, it felt quite natural to John already. Things, well, he just fit with Sherlock. He had other friends, sort of, none of them were really worth mentioning. It was nice to finally find someone interesting, even if he was…well, a bit of a git.
He didn’t have much trouble reading him, most of the time.
And when it came to Molly Hooper, Sherlock was quite the open book, even if he didn’t mean to be.
“Well she is hurt, Sherlock. You’re avoiding her all the time. Friends stick together.” He said quietly, running his fingers through his sandy colored hair.
Sherlock didn’t answer, he kept his eyes on Molly, and when she got up, so did she.
John gathered his things, following after the long-legged boy.
“Anyway, what exactly are you trying to achieve here?” John inquired, doing his best to keep up with him.
Sherlock, shot him the ‘obviously’ look. “I find Jim Moriarty to be suspicious.” He mumbled, half of him lost in thought.
“Because he likes Molly?”
“Well-” Sherlock glared at him before continuing. “No, that’s not the entire reasoning behind this investigation.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Don’t you see, John? Jim-…he’s too..well it’s too perfect to be real. His whole act, as if he was crafted especially for Molly.” He waved his hands out for a bit of effect, as if he were explaining something to a child.
“You do know how that sounds, right?” John asked, raising an eyebrow, a slight smirk against his lips.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Something is wrong there. I don’t like it.”
“It is the…natural reaction…to be jealous.” John mumbled with a slightly smug smile on his face.
“Oh, shut up, John.”
Another week passed.
Molly really wasn’t thinking straight, her thoughts returning to him.
What if he needed her help? What if something was wrong? What if…he just didn’t want her anymore? Even if that was the case, she deserved to hear it from him.
Molly would go find Sherlock, whether he wanted it or not.
She waited for midnight, when the school was asleep. She tugged on her nightgown, slipping her flats on as she made her way through the dark halls. She knew the school well enough to walk through it blind, but soon enough her eyes were adjusting to the darkness.
She stopped walking. She was almost there, but a chill ran up her spine. Her light brown eyes widened, and a split second later someone had her pinned against the wall. She gave out a soft squeak, struggling against the dark figure, though their grip was like steal, and her blows didn’t have much effect. They had something over their face, covering it. She could feel their fingers digging into her fair skin, and she closed her eyes, trembling softly.
“Oh, Mousy Molly, going to see Sherlock?” She recognized the voice immediately, but she didn’t make it known. She took deep breaths, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. “Y-Yes.” She managed, her voice shaken and high pitched.
“Molly, I have a job for you. When you do see Sherlock, I want you to tell him that you’re hurt, you’re angry and upset with him. Tell him you…well, tell him you don’t want to see him again. Tell him you’ve moved on. Say it anyway you want, Mousy Molly, but be sure that you get your point across.” He whispered, and Molly’s lip trembled, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. “Or what?” She rasped, and the boy laughed coldly. “Oh, no, I won’t hurt you, it’ll be Sherlock that falls, and you’ll have yourself to blame.”
Her head pounded, and her body was screaming out at her, the grip too tight. “O-Okay j-j-just don’t h-hurt him.” She whispered, and the next moment, she was dropped to the ground, and the figure was gone. She buried her head in her hands, crumpling against the ground, letting a few sobs rake through her. She brushed the tears from her eyes, standing shakily. She could still feel her skin burning from where he touched her.
She took a few shaky breaths, attempting to collect herself.
She had to save him.
Molly opened the door to the boy’s dorm, her eyes adjusted to the dark by now. She tread carefully, silently moving through the room.
Sherlock was awake when she found him.
He was lying on his back at the foot of his bed, his eyes closed, though his feet the dangled off the end made a swaying motion, over and over in a rhythmic pattern.
“Sherlock?” She whispered, taking a step towards him.
His pale eyes shot open immediately, coming to rest on the small girl. She met his gaze straight on, and he did not speak for a long while. “Something’s happened to you, Molly. Who hurt you?” He asked softly, coming towards her.
She took a step back, forcing herself to speak. “Why were you avoiding me?” She asked, and she made an effort to make her words cold and broken.
Sherlock stopped, eyes widening slightly, and she thought she saw a glimpse of something there, before he looked down at his shoes, as if he were embarrassed. “I thought…well, maybe, you didn’t require me anymore, Molly. Jim is…much better suited for you, and I…” He stopped talking, and Molly felt her heart ache, felt the overwhelming urge to throw her arms around him and never let go, always make him feel wanted.
But Molly frowned, her body trembling slightly. “I don’t need you anymore, Sherlock.” She said, and her heart broke. She could feel herself collapsing inside, knowing she would fall to pieces the moment she left him.
He looked up at her, eyebrows knitted. “Molly, if I have done somethin-”
“I just needed to tell you that, Sherlock. I’m done.” She said softly, her words cold and final.
Sherlock blinked a few times, and she could see something pass over his face for a split second before he was cold and stoic once more, straightening up.
She walked to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Goodbye, Sherlock.” She whispered, his body tensing up. She slipped a piece of paper into his hand, letting go of him just enough to look up at his face as he looked down at the paper that read only two words. His eyes widened for a moment, and he looked down at her, realization crossing his features, giving a quick nod. She turned and left, her body quaking as she made her way back down the halls.
Sherlock read the message over again.
Link to last chapter: http://rhaine-weber.tumblr.com/post/36889706456/chapter-three
You Can See Me
A Molly/Sherlock fic by rhaine-weber
Sherlock © BBC
~ ~ ~
A/N: Oh my gosh wow…I actually wrote the next chapter. Amazing huh? This chapter took a while to work out all the kinks with the characters so that they weren’t OOC- I’m looking at you, Sherlock. So here we are, finally. Next chapter should come a bit quicker. Big thank you to anyone following this story. :)
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There were several reasons why Sherlock started to spend more time with John Watson and less time with Molly Hooper. He wasn’t necessarily avoiding her but, then again, maybe he was.
Sherlock met John on a Thursday afternoon. The day’s classes were over, and Sherlock was alone. He was lying across his bed, furiously bouncing a rubber ball against the wall. He didn’t know why he felt so angry, so…wrong. He felt so twisted inside ever since…ever since that boy started hanging around. Jim. It started slowly at first, things had been fine, normal, because Molly was there. Molly relieving him of his boredom, Molly walking beside him, Molly blushing, Molly watching him with her big brown doe eyes. Then Jim started following her about. His eyes narrowed, remembering the first day. He hadn’t even bothered to look at him most of the day. But, lunch time came around, and as usual, Molly and Sherlock sat in their spot. He never ate, and when he did it was scraps that Molly would give him from her lunch. She usually did most of the talking, and Sherlock, though he wouldn’t admit it, did in fact listen. Now that boy was with her. Sherlock sat there, watching them, arms crossed tightly. What was happening? Molly was blushing deeply, giggling, smiling. That’s how Molly acted around him. Jim telling Molly that her nose was cute. Cute? Honestly. She was smarter than that, why was she blushing so brightly? She had to know Jim was lying. She was being stupid. Stupid Molly. Why was Jim saying those things to her anyway? What did he have to gain?
Someone disturbed his thoughts, and Sherlock sat up to see the short blonde boy he and Molly had deduced just the other day. Had it been the other day? How long had passed? A week? A month? Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Yes?” He regarded him coldly, catching the rubber ball in his hand while keeping his eyes on him. John raised his eyebrows, making a sort of grunting noise. “Uh, well, it’s just…you’ve been talking out loud, is, um, something the matter?” He asked, blue eyes slightly bent. Sherlock blinked a few times before steeple-ing his hands under his chin, focusing in on him. “Ah…yes good, John, do you know who Molly Hooper is?”He said, his words slow and calculated. The boy shuffled slightly, eyes brows rising high. “Right, sorry how do you know my name?” Sherlock rolled his eyes, sighing exasperatedly. “Obvious, John. I asked you a question.” He waited for the boy to collect himself. “Molly?” His brow furrowed slightly, and Sherlock, being the impatient sod that he was, sighed once more. “Small girl, brown hair worn in unnecessary pigtails at all times, usually seen with me.” He cut in stonily. John nodded slowly. “Right, yeah, I might have seen her a couple times. Girl you were just calling stupid? She your girlfriend?” John asked lightly, yet not without the smallest of an amused glimmer in his eyes.
Sherlock only fixed him with a glare. “I’m having a problem, John, and I could use your assistance.” John ran a hand through his hair, brow still furrowed. “I don’t even know your name, and you want me to help you? How about we start with how you know my name?” He said, his voice becoming a bit firmer, expression relaxing slightly. Sherlock ran his hands through his curls frustratedly. “We share two classes. English and History. Your bag is embroidered with your name. I know more than your name however. You’re an athlete, rugby, officially, however you partake in many other sports on the side. Rugby isn’t your favorite physical activity however, though it is a close second. You love a good fight, John. And if I’m correct, which of course I am, you’ll assist me for exactly that reason. You enjoy a fight.” He finished, John’s eyes wide. “The name is Sherlock Holmes.”He added, standing up to his full height.
Sherlock was competent enough when it came to a fight. Though lanky and slightly awkward, his mind made up for what he lacked in bulk. He was able to analyze how his opponent fought, what their next move would be. There was a reason Moran won every time. Sherlock hated being outnumbered. There was too much. Too many moves to calculate, too many variables. He knew his limits.
That was the advantage of having John Watson. He was a natural fighter. A brawler by design. And Sherlock would have someone on his side.
But maybe he wanted the boy with him for another reason. Sherlock had been alone his whole life. He had grown used to it. It was just normal for Sherlock to be left by himself. And Molly…Molly hadn’t even questioned whether or not he wanted her around. She stuck with him like it was her place, where she belonged. He had grown used to Molly. He didn’t really understand it, but he knew Jim was a problem. What was his angle? He didn’t seem like a threat…there were no definite signs. Actually, everything pointed to the opposite of that. He stuttered, he blushed, he was clumsy and barely intelligent. Perhaps it was a facade? No, it was too good. Or was it?
“That’s brilliant.” John’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Sherlock frowned slightly. “Brilliant?” John Watson was a generally popular boy. He was friendly, mildly intellegent, nothing about him was considered odd, freakish, weak. He wasn’t made fun of, and honestly he didn’t think anyone could come up with anything to make fun of about John, even if they tried. And John Watson was not put off by Sherlock. Sherlock only gave a small nod. “How is it you do that?” John asked, a light smile across his features. “Deduction. I observe and find truth.” Sherlock stated simply, eyeing the boy warily. John nodded once, hands in his pockets.
“You’re going to help me investigate…someone. Jim Moriarty. I’m suspicious of him.” Sherlock said, peering down at the boy who was slowly nodding. “Right, can I ask why, then?” He asked quietly, the smallest of a smile against his lips. Sherlock paused. “He’s taken an interest in Molly. I want to know why.” He scowled as he saw John attempting to hold back laughter, nodding once, twice. “It couldn’t just be that he likes her?” He asked, raising an amused eyebrow. Sherlock scoffed. “Molly is utterly plain. What could he possibly like?” He said, his words icier than before. John already knew better than to press the odd, lanky boy about this further. He obviously had some issues he needed to work out with this girl. It seemed that Sherlock, though obviously brilliant, was a bit oblivious himself when it came down to emotions. Primarily his own. John’s interest was peaked, and he felt something in him boiling, tensing.
Yes, he did like a good fight.
Link to last chapter: http://rhaine-weber.tumblr.com/post/36724242912/chapter-two
You Can See Me
A Molly/Sherlock fic by rhaine-weber
Sherlock © BBC
~ ~ ~
Author’s Note: Hi! Yes, another chapter already, but I was excited to write this one. We’re going to see the actual plot coming in here, and we’ll get a glimpse of our consulting criminal and our favorite army doctor (who’s not really and army doctor yet, I suppose, but you get the idea). Oooo yes! Also, if anyone is really enjoying this, or wants to correct me on something, feel free to let me know! Okay, so, shout out to anyone who is actually reading this fic. I kind of love you. Yeah.
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Things began to settle into a sort of routine. Sherlock found himself walking with Molly between classes. They rarely spoke, but they were simply comfortable in each other’s presence. Sherlock had stopped trying to answer the question that kept coming back to him. ‘What in god’s name are you doing?’ He wasn’t sure why he found himself keeping tabs on where she was or hanging around her all the time. Maybe it wasn’t important. Anyway, it wasn’t as if she were telling him to stop. Molly welcomed his company, and Sherlock found that she slowly stopped stuttering around him, at least a bit. He could have actual conversations with her, if he wished. She was intelligent. So Sherlock ignored the buzzing questions in his head, and let himself do what he wanted.
Molly kept her eyes on him during English. He seemed abnormally restless today, and her worried eyes kept coming back to the dark haired boy who was shifting around in his seat. He patted his hands against the desk, changing positions a few times. She sighed quietly, picking up her notepad.
‘Something the matter?’ She wrote in her bright blue pen, flashing him the message when his eyes wandered over to her. He gave a small snort, picking up his notepad. Molly’s eyes flashed up to their teacher, the old man trying to hide the fact that he was dozing at his desk.
‘BORED’ Was the slap handed written response in thick black marker. She nodded at him slowly, writing her response in neat letters. Sherlock sat two seats away, and the children at the desks between them were still furiously concentrating on their work. Molly had finished a few minutes ago, and so had Sherlock, apparently.
‘The bell rings in ten minutes, Sherlock.’ She displayed her message, and she held back a giggle as he slumped against his chair, rolling his eyes. ‘Honestly, sometimes he’s just so melodramatic’ She thought, waiting for his response.
‘BUT I’M BORED NOW’ He flashed the message quickly, fixing her with a glare.
She bit her lip, looking around the room for a moment before writing her response.
‘You want to play deductions?’ Her heart leapt at the crooked smile that flashed across his lips.
‘I’LL WIN’ He wrote with a challenging raise of his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes, an amused smile across her lips.
‘Don’t you always? Do you want to play or what?’
He stayed still for a moment before printing his response with only half his attention. His eyes were already moving about the room.
‘WHO’S THE TARGET?’
She nibbled on her bottom lip, wide brown eyes studying everyone in the room, deciding silently on a short blonde boy who’s name she didn’t know. His fingers were buried in his hair in a frustrated manner as he glared down at his paper. He seemed perfect, seeing as neither Molly nor Sherlock knew much about him at all.
Molly looked back at Sherlock, nudging her head in his direction. Sherlock slowly nodded, and Molly could see the gears already turning in his head.
Molly went back to looking at the blonde boy, who was too wrapped up in his work to notice two students staring at him intently. She started scribbling down deductions, studying the boy slowly, taking her time. She knew she wouldn’t win, but when they played this game, Sherlock found that she was a worthy enough opponent, making a few actually intelligent assumptions.
She took a deep breath. She noted the slight faded grass stains on his uniform. Athlete? She nodded to herself, noticing the worn manner of his shoes, slightly dusty from running about the grounds. He bit his lip, padding his fingers against the desk, ruffling his hair, tapping his foot. Always in motion. A boy of action. She nodded, scribbling her findings down. She casted a small glance back at Sherlock. He wasn’t looking at the boy at all. His hand flew across the page, his eyes focused on something she couldn’t see. She found herself smiling fondly. She caught herself, blushing a bit, turning her eyes away. She was supposed to be playing the game. She sighed, furrowing her brow. She noticed his bag leaning against his desk, raggedy, it seemed, like everything else that he owned. She squinted a bit, and smiled, writing ‘John H. Watson’ on her notepad. Sherlock would’ve gotten that already, but at least she hadn’t missed it. She sighed once more in a more exasperated manner. Sherlock would be able to tell her what the boy ate for breakfast, what sports he played, how many siblings he had, and what his great aunt’s favorite color was. Something like that. At least he wasn’t bored now. She smiled once more, and found the bell ringing. She gathered her stuff, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and moving through all the leaving students till she stood by his desk. He still sat, scribbling things on the notebook, eyes distant. She tilted her head to the side. He hadn’t even heard the bell. She touched his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Sherlock, the bell rung, the game is over.” She said softly, and she watched him slowly come back to her, eyes focusing. He looked around the empty classroom (save for the professor, who had been awaken by the bell, and was now trying to remember what class this was). He nodded after a moment, clearing his throat. “Right, quite right, Molly.” He mumbled, gathering his things, holding tightly to his notebook.
He stood, and followed the girl out of the classroom. She looked up at him as they made their usual route down the hall. She hugged her notebook to her chest. “So…what did you find? Everything, I suppose?” She teased, and the a small smug smile found it’s way across his lips. “Tell me what you found first.” He stated simply, and she wrinkled her nose. “Fine.” She said lightly, pulling open her notebook.
“Uh…his name, is John. John H. Watson. He’s an athlete, telling from the grass stains of his uniform, the state of his clothes, and the fact that he’s always in motion.” Sherlock hummed in approval, keeping his eyes forward.
“Um…his favorite subject isn’t English…?” She tried, and he chuckled quietly. “Right, well, better than average Molly, I suppose. Yet you miss most of the important facts.” He stated, and he looked down to find her raising her eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. He smiled.
“You’re right. He doesn’t enjoy English, though he’s quite good at it, actually. His name is John H. Watson, and he is an athlete.” He nodded, clearing his throat. “He plays rugby. There’s bruising on his face, and it’s a smart choice for a boy of a stockier stature. He’s drawn to action, yet isn’t one to get in the middle of things. He’s someone who does before they think, yet he possesses an above average intelligence despite the fact that he’s a bit put off of English. He has an older sibling, obviously.” He paused when she raised her eyebrows further. “Think, Molly. His bag. The thread used to embroider his name on the bag. The thread is brand new yet the bag is obviously not. It most likely had a previous owner.” He nodded his head slowly. Molly blinked a few times. “You’re fantastic.” She said softly, looking straight ahead.
Sherlock looked down at her for a few moments, furrowing his eyebrows. “Fantastic?” He asked with a smug smile. Molly laughed, shoving him gently. “Oh shut it.” She mumbled, an amused twinkle in her light brown eyes. He looked at her for a moment more. She was blushing deeply. Not anything new for her. She seemed to blush much more in his presence, however. He pondered that in silence for a few moments.
“Sherlock?” Her voice broke through his contemplating, and he looked down at her, finding that they had come to a stop. “What are you thinking about?” She asked softly, and he shook his head. “Nothing of importance.” He remarked. She nodded slowly. “Well, this is the boy’s dorm, Sherlock. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She said, gesturing to the door she had stopped at, giving him a small smile. He gave a nod. “Bye, Sherlock.” She called back to him as she made her way down the hall. He watched her for a few moments. “Goodbye, Molly.” He said, too quiet for her to hear, as she had just disappeared across the corner.
Molly smiled to herself as she made her way down the hall. It had been a pleasant enough day, she thought. “Excuse me?” Came the voice, and she turned to see the boy who had spoken. He was a bit older than her, and he stood a few inches taller. His hair was as dark as Sherlock’s, yet straight, hanging a bit over his dark eyes. The was a slight lilt to his voice.
She came towards him a bit. “Um…yes? Is something wrong?” She asked quietly, noting the looking of frustration and confusion across his face. “U-Uh, o-oh yes, you see, I’m n-new here, and I th-think they told me w-where boy’s dorms are, b-but I forgot.” He said, with a slight sheepish smile and a blush in his cheeks that Molly found strangely endearing. “Could you show me, p-please?” He asked, and Molly found a small smile touching her lips. “Oh, yes, sure. She gestured for him to follow her, wide doe eyes peering up at him. “So you’re new here?” She asked softly, and he grinned at her in a way that made her blush. “Oh, yes, I am. I-I’m Jim.” He said, holding out a hand to her. She shook it with a sweet smile. “Molly.” He bit his lip, drawing his hand away.
When they came to a stop at the door of the boy’s dorm, his eyes started to jerk around as if he was nervous, running a hand through his dark hair. “Is something wrong?” She asked softly, and he looked up at her. “Oh, no, just…I-I don’t really know anybody, and…you’re really nice, Molly. Would it be alright if I could…walk with you between classes and s-stuff? I m-mean, I know I’m rotten c-company, but-” She shook her head, a blush now present in her cheeks. “Oh, no, I mean, yes, that’s fine, Jim.” She gave him an easy smile, and he nodded quickly a few times. “Right, okay, I’ll be seeing you then.” He said, giving her a small wave as he disappeared beyond the door. She stood there for a moment, pondering to what she had just agreed to.
It was a good thing of her to help out a new student, right? And Jim was incredibly friendly, nice…sweet. What would be the harm? She wondered how Sherlock would react. Actually, she didn’t really want to think about that.
Link to last chapter: http://rhaine-weber.tumblr.com/search/you+can+see+me
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You Can See Me
A Molly/Sherlock fic by rhaine-weber
Sherlock © BBC
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The last chapter was pretty short, but I needed it to end where it did. This chapter will be longer. In this chapter, we’ll be seeing some familiar faces popping up, so be on the look out, though I’m pretty sure they’ll be hard to miss.
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“MOUSY MOLLY! MORBID MOLLY!”
The large boy, Moran, had his fingers clutching Molly’s hair, pulling her up harshly to make her look at his face. She gasped in pain, biting her lip till it bled to keep from crying out. She wouldn’t give Sebastian Moran the satisfaction. But, she could feel her strength slowly breaking as the older boy sneered, the children gathering around, chanting those hateful names. She felt tears welling in her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She was used to this kind of thing happening to her, but none of them had been this physically painful.
“You like dead things, Mousy Molly? Hmm?” He laughed, and she could feel his hot breath against her face. He held up a small dead bird up by the tip of it’s wing, the neck of the bird hanging limply in an awkward position. He began to bring it closer to her face. She wasn’t in the slightest repelled by the small bird, didn’t really feel anything at all except the soft pull of curiosity inside her. But, with Moran tugging mercilessly at her hair, the children’s taunting and laughing in her ears, she felt sick. “Stop this, Moran.” Came the raised, dark voice through the crowd. The children slowly stopped their screaming and laughing, turning their attention to the tall, lanky, dark haired boy who stepped forward. Molly’s heart stopped. She didn’t think about why he was doing this, she only felt afraid for him, afraid for the brilliant boy. “Sh-Sherlock! No, get out of here!” She said, her voice shaking slightly, her head aching. He didn’t say a word in reply to her, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment, as if considering something important. His cold eyes locked back on Moran, and he rose to his full height, almost eye level with the older boy. Moran chuckled lightly, jerking Molly’s head up once more, causing her to gasp softly, biting down once more on her bleeding lip. He grinned as if he had just been told an amusing joke. “Oooo, Sherly. I didn’t know you loved Mousy Molly.” He snickered, yet Sherlock’s face remained impassive, calm. Only Molly could see the blaze of his eyes as she looked up at him through tear filled eyes. “She doesn’t deserve this.” He stated simply, making Moran freeze for a moment. “Really? W-” He began, but Sherlock quickly cut him off. “The fact that your father is a drunk, and behind closed doors would beat you, explains your regular taunting and physical abuse of those weaker than you. You direct most of your energy and time on me, because I have, on several occasions, provoked and agitated you in some way. But,” He paused for a moment, eyes moving to Molly’s wide eyed face before moving back to Moran. “She’s never done anything to provoke you, Moran. So yes, she doesn’t deserve this.” He snapped, his lips turned down in a frown.
Molly could feel the anger bubbling up inside the older boy, and she felt her blood grow cold as he let her go, moving forward towards Sherlock. She crumpled against the ground for a moment, cursing her knees for giving out. Her fingers moved to her head to faintly brush against her scalp, yet she winced, pulling her hand away. She looked up, finding that Sherlock’s eyes were on her, as if he wasn’t concerned at all about the large, seething boy coming towards him.
The next few moments were a bit of a blur. She saw a few of Moran’s friends grab Sherlock restraining him, bringing him down. Sebastian came forward, his fists beginning to collide with Sherlock’s face. A few of the children had cleared out, but those that remained began chanting. “FREAK! FREAK! FREAK!” It rung through Molly’s head. “No!” She cried out, running forward on shaky legs to begin trying to pull them off him.
Sherlock didn’t make any attempt to fight back. Perhaps he knew it was useless, or perhaps he knew that if he let them do what they would with him, they would soon be off, bored with him. They would leave the girl alone.
He didn’t quite understand why he was doing this. He could’ve just stayed where he was, let them bully her like that. But, he felt something pulling him to his feet, sending him in the middle of that crowd. Ever since she said that to him, about him being good, not a freak, he found his attention being drawn to Molly Hooper during most of his classes. She was a mystery, a puzzle that he couldn’t work out. And when he saw her face just now, he didn’t understand the feeling of concern that shot through him. He made an excuse for himself that it was merely his instincts that brought him to want to protect the small girl. It was a lousy excuse, especially for him, but he dismissed it, tucking it away in his Mind Palace, resolving to think on it later.
Moran and his friends soon left as he had predicted. He blinked a few times, analyzing his level of pain to see how much damage they had inflicted upon him. It was pretty bad this time, and he really wasn’t very surprised. She was beside him then, leaning over him, her fingers brushing against his face. She heard her rushed, almost panicked whispers, yet they seemed far away. He had to focus somewhat to hear her. “Oh, oh, Sherlock. Wh-Why did you do that? Oh no. I’m sorry, so sorry.” He blinked up at her a few times, her light brown eyes wide and afraid. Was he really in that bad a state?
He found her arms around him, hoisting him up to a standing position. He blinked in surprise a few times at how strong the girl was. She pulled his arm around her shoulders, pulling him forward. He was able to walk easily, though he found himself quite dizzy, and he was thankful of her arm around his torso, balancing him.
“Oh dear, oh…Sherlock. Have to get you to the nurse…Why’d you do that? That was silly, Sherlock. Oh, I’m so sorry.” She kept rambling like this while they made their way through the grounds, catching a few odd glances from students on their way, but nobody seemed interested enough to inquire. Perhaps they were used to seeing Sherlock bruised and bloodied.
Molly pushed the door open quickly, pulling Sherlock along with her. The nurse, Mrs. Hudson looked up from the stack of papers on her desk. Her eyes widened, and the short woman rose out of her seat, coming forward quickly. “Sherlock? Good lord, what have they done to you?” She tutted softly, helping Molly sit him down. Molly sat close by, intently watching the woman as she inspected the dark haired boy, cleaning his cuts and scratches out carefully. She inspected his nose, and smiled, finding that it wasn’t broken. She talked all the while, mostly things like, “It’s that boy again, isn’t it dear? Sebastian, yes?” Or, “Really need to stop testing him, Sherlock.” Or more often, “It’s not right that he keeps bloodyin’ you up like this, but you really have to stop deducing him, dear. You know how it turns out.”
His lip was split, and his right eye was blackened. His face was cut and bruised awfully. Mrs Hudson managed to clean everything out, set him out right again. Sherlock sat there, still the whole time, only replying with a soft hum of acknowledgment. Mrs. Hudson took a step back with a sigh. “Right, I’m done now, you can be on your way.” She smiled, eyes moving to Molly for probably the first time. She gave her a grin. “Hooper, yes? Molly?” Molly felt a blush creeping up in her cheeks and she nodded. “So good to see that Sherlock has a friend like you.” She said softly, and Molly couldn’t find the words to reply. Sherlock sighed exasperatedly, standing from his seat, now recovering from the dizziness he was feeling earlier. He pushed Molly out the door, sending Mrs. Hudson a last glance. “Lovely to have seen you, Mrs. Hudson.” He called back as he left through the door. “Always a pleasure, Mr. Holmes.” She laughed.
You Can See Me
A Molly/Sherlock fic by rhaine-weber
Sherlock © BBC
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For this fic, Sherlock and Molly attend the same private school. I suppose they’d be around 14 at the beginning of the story, just to clear that up. I tried to keep them in character. Sherlock is a lot less guarded at this age, and a bit more vulnerable seeing as he’s ruthlessly bullied, and no one has really ever told he he was anything but a freak. Keep an eye out for familiar faces, as you’ll be seeing a lot of them.
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“SHERLY’S A FREAK! SHERLY’S A FREAK!”
Molly’s eyes shot up from the book in her hand at the sound of chanting. Her body froze for a moment as she focused in on the group of people a good distance away. The children’s voice carried across the grounds, shouting and laughing. Molly closed her book, slipping it inside her bag. She found herself running towards them, but by the time she got close enough to really make out what was happening, the group had cleared off.
She froze when she saw the dark haired boy, picking himself up off the ground. Her wide eyes studied him silently. His dark curly hair was muddled, his eye blackened, his nose bleeding, and his uniform torn and covered in dirt. She found her heart beating a bit faster when his light eyes turned on her. He seemed quite calm, as if this sort of thing happened to him all the time, and that was just how things were. Molly walked towards him, eyes wide with concern. He watched her silently, as if he were somewhat fascinated in her behavior.
“A-Are you okay?” She asked, pulling out a cloth from her bag, hating herself for a moment for stuttering. “Of course. Perfectly fine.” He said in a tone that was ages older then he, but suited him quite well. She began to come close to him, cloth in hand. He didn’t shy away from her, and when she started to clean the blood from his nose, she thought she saw something soft and vulnerable flash in his eyes, yet he quickly dismissed it, pushing her hand away. His body language was slightly defensive, she notes, but there was something else in his expresison that she couldn’t place. He rubbed his blackened eye, straightening up, and brushing some of the dirt off his clothes. “So you’re Molly Hooper then?” He asked, eyes moving down to her again. She blushed brightly, fiddling with a light brown lock of her hair. “H-How did you know?” She asked, and he rolled his eyes, pinching his nose to stop the bleeding. “It’s on your bag.” He muttered. She blushed deeper, nodding a few times, her eyes jolting from her name embroidered on her bag and back to him.
“You’re Sh-Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?” She asked with a friendly smile. He raised his eyebrows and she struggled to grasp words. “I’ve s-seen you around. W-We have… a few classes together.” She clarified, and he gave a small nod in response.
Really, Molly had most classes with him, and she had quickly found herself enamored with the brilliant boy she’d never spoken to until just now. She didn’t really know what it was. Most people seemed to hate him. She never understood that, she thought he was just sad. Maybe he was all alone.
The bleeding of his nose had stopped, and he ran a hand through his curls in an attempt to tidy them up a bit. “Well, Molly Hooper, I suppose I’ll be seeing you then.” He said politely, gathering his books and turning. She found words bubbling up inside her, and she just couldn’t keep them down as he began to walk away. “They’re wrong, you know.” She called out to him, and he turned back to look at her, interest peaked. “You’re not a freak, Sherlock. I just…hope you know that. You’re good and brilliant.” She said, and she was slightly proud of herself for not stuttering once. He was frozen for a moment, his icy blue eyes studying her silently. She felt herself blushing once more, but she didn’t let her eyes drop from his. He gave a small nod, his face retaining it’s calm mask, yet she saw the activity behind it, his mind running a mile a minute. He turned, and left her without a word.
Her heart was pounding and she watched him go. “See you later then…” She whispered.