A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

7) Mama

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Molly Hooper had never had a proper boyfriend before. Of course she'd had the odds ones, but they had never lasted long. She remembered all of them, the druggies, the criminals, but this time it was different. Sherlock was a childhood friend, they had met at their boarding school when the two were just four. It was September, and fifty fresh new students has just entered Baskerville School. However, there was one child that was different from the rest that day. Molly was making her way towards the lunch hall with the rest of her class when she had heard crying coming from the toilets. Cautiously, she slipped away from the crowd and snuck her way into the cubicles, the ribbons in her hair flowing in the breeze. There sat a small boy, crouched down in the corner rocking himself slowly, his face year-stained and blotchy.
"What are you doing?" She chirped curiously, lingering by the door.
The boy immediately darted his head up and she noticed the black bruise on his cheek. He had brown curly hair and the longer she looked, the prettier she realised his blue eyes were.
The timid student stayed silent.
"Are you hurt?" Molly mumbled, a little less confidently, edging closer.
The boy watched her miserably before slowly shaking his head.
The young girl with the bright red pinafore crouched down next to him and slowly began to wipe his tears with her thumb. She was good at comforting others, after all she had three younger sisters and divorced parents.
"Who hurt you?" She asked warmly, slumping down next to the boy.
The blue-eyed boy mumbled something under his breath, it was barely audible but Molly was able to hear it.
Mama.

Of course she had no idea what it meant, but she still cared. Molly gave a suttle nod and stuck out her hand.
"I'm Molly," she explained boldly with a smile.
The boy feverishly took her hand and looked up at her.
"I'm Sherlock," he mumbled.
The small girl helped her new friend to his feet.
"We should go back to class."
And together they made their way out of the bathroom, hand in hand.

•••••••••

Sherlock sat alone in his armchair, legs crossed with a solemn look on his face. Molly was in bed, she had fainted earlier for some reason and Sherlock had to help her back to Baker Street. He had no idea why people did such funny things. There came commotion from the bedroom and the pale boy got slowly to his feet, awaiting Molly's arrival. Sure enough she came, a confused look over her petite face.
"W-what..." she began with a stutter, staring around at 221b.
Sherlock gave a slight frown.
"You fainted."
Molly gave a loud gasp and her cheeks had grown a bright red colour.
"Oh my god!" She exclaimed.
"I'm so sorry Sherlock!"
He shrugged.
"It's fine. I just looked a tad odd carrying you back here."
Molly didn't reply for a while, it appeared as if she was caught in a trance.
"Muscles," she mumbled weakly before meeting Sherlock's eyes.
Sherlock, who was in the middle of a cup of tea, fell into a coughing fit and shakily placed down his cup.
"Yes um, anyway," he said, still rather surprised.
"I've got work," Molly explained quickly.
"You can come with me if you want to."
Sherlock nodded awkwardly and folded his arms.
"Sounds good to me."

Ten minutes later the couple sat together in the back of a black cab, Molly's head resting on the skinny boy's shoulder. Sherlock rested his head upon the smooth leather of the chair, staring out upon the scene from outside. The ageing trees rushed past in a white blur and the day was beautiful and cloudless. When they eventually reached Barts, the pair clambered out of the vehicle and headed inside, Molly's hand gently slipping into Sherlock's palm. Sherlock let it happen. After all it didn't affect him in any way, and the fact that he finally wanted to feel some sense of normality. And getting a girlfriend was one of them.
Molly said nothing as she made her way into the morgue and slipped on her lab coat, but a defiant smirk was obvious on her lips. She eyed Sherlock from the other side of the room and he gave a grin back. The curly-haired boy took a seat in the nearest chair and pulled out his laptop, waiting for Molly to set up.
"It's almost like a dream," the girl mumbled with a small smile, her eyes fixed at the window.
"You know I started to have a crush on you when you came back from your break."
Molly put it so poetically. Sherlock's "break" was only when he returned at the age of sixteen to attend college, nobody had gotten contact of him for the past nine years.
Sherlock gave a brief nod.
"What a time," he replied curtly, logging onto his emails. He had only one; a letter of sympathy from Greg about the other night. Sherlock hated himself for it.
"Okay I'm ready now," Molly said sweetly, turning to face her now boyfriend. The pale boy hesitantly put down his laptop and got to his feet, he could reply later.

•••••••••••

Five-year-old Sherlock Holmes now stood weakly in the playing fields, dressed in his usual white shirt and shorts. He was surrounded by at least four other boys, all yelling insults. To his classes' dismays, the boy had won the annual spelling bee today, and they weren't taking defeat gracefully.
"Freak!" One of the shorter boys cried, his name was Carl Powers and he was known for being one of the usual bullies.
"Sherlock's a freak!"
The other boys jeered and began to edge closer, some even holding rocks in their hands. Sherlock's back was pushed against the fence and he cowered miserably in fear, trying to avoid the punches and the pelting objects.

He came home that day covered simply in dry blood and fresh new bruises. His mother had screeched at the sight of him, like an angry owl.
"Sherlock Holmes what in God's name!" She exclaimed, storming up to the young boy.
He hung his head in shame, trying to stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks.
"You're a mess," his mother growled through gritted teeth.
"Get upstairs."
The mousy boy looked up for a second in shock.
"But mama!" He argued.
"No buts, upstairs with you now. There'll be no supper just so you know."
Sherlock's lip quivered for a second and he gave a final tremble before running upstairs and slamming the door shut. He hated this and overall he hated himself. Because to anyone who ever knew him, he was the freak.

••••••••••

"Well that's lunch," Molly explained with a disgruntled huff, glancing down at her watch. The pair had just finished up on the first body, an awkward experience to say the least.
"I better get going," Sherlock muttered, reaching out for his laptop.
"John's at home with a hangover."
Molly's head immediately darted up at this and she stopped what she was doing all of a sudden, the room left in complete silence.
Wrong move.