"A Favor" - a Sherlock ficlet
It was a cold winter night in the morgue. The stale air of death was especially heavy today as Molly Hooper worked, finishing up the paperwork so she could go home. It was when she was just about to leave that the door opened, and a tall figure in a black coat walked in, a troubled expression on his face.
"Sherlock?" she had asked.
"Molly, I need a favor." he replied, looking all around as if scanning the morgue for any unseen secrets.
She began to worry, not used to seeing the cold detective so riled up and nervous, "What's wrong?"
"I need your help in a couple of days. But I need you to promise, promise, me that you will keep this a secret." His voice was low and dangerous with an edge of urgency.
Molly took a deep breath, then nodded, "I promise."
Sherlock sighed, took one final look around the room, and asked, "Do you promise no matter what happens?"
"Yes, I promise! What do you need me to do, Sherlock? What's bothering you so-?"
"I need to fake my own death."
The words sliced through the air. Molly stopped talking, her shock silencing the rest of the sentence. She stopped, looked at his eyes as if trying to find some sort of comfort that this was an experiment or a joke. But there was only hard reality and steady certainty in those light grey eyes. "Why?" she asked.
"It's for a case," he replied. "Moriarty."
"Jim," Molly murmured.
"Yes, Jim. He's been tracking me, getting close to me. I've been investigating him as well, finding his weak points, but he's catching up. The only way to shake off his tail is to make him stop looking. I need to die."
"But, wouldn't he go after John instead?"
Sherlock winced at the sound of that name, a slight look of regret flashing across his face. "I will make sure that doesn't happen. But, it won't be possible without this. Can you do this for me? Can you make sure that I am dead to the world?"
"I don't know, Sherlock. I can't-."
"I trust you."
Three words. Three unexpected words that caused Molly's blood to run cold. Sherlock Holmes trusts her. She didn't know how to respond except to wordlessly nod. A mutual agreement.
"Thank you." Sherlock replied, turning to go.
Just as he was about to leave the room, Molly asked, "What about John? Will he be with you?"
Sherlock stopped in his tracks and looked at her, a torn expression on his face. "Hopefully not."
He left, the air frozen with invisible ice. Molly stood, unsure of what to do next.
(inspired by this post)