Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/561519.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/Molly_Hooper, Molly_Hooper/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, Molly_Hooper, Mycroft_Holmes, Greg_Lestrade, Sally
      Donovan, Anderson_(Sherlock)
  Additional Tags:
      Rape, Incest, extreme_violence, Pregnancy, Underage_-_Freeform
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-01 Completed: 2012-11-24 Chapters: 13/13 Words: 8777
****** The Importance of A Scarf ******
by MCRmyGeneral
Summary
     As Molly climbed the stairs to her father's bedroom, she remembered a
     time when her mother would invite her into bed, but only to watch
     scary movies and cuddle. She shook her head to clear it. No use
     thinking of the past. It wouldn't make the future any less painless.
Notes
     This story started out as a headcanon of mine:
     Molly's father was abusive, and she tends to go after guys that
     remind her of him. Because of this, she's been in a string of abusive
     relationships all her life. However, she fell for Sherlock because he
     reminds her of her brothers, who would do whatever it took to protect
     her from their father.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Knock, knock, knock.
They were slow, deliberate. Molly knew that it wasn't just the age of the
house, or the cats fighting. She knew his tell. She knew the knocks were thick,
sausage-like fingers on the wood of her bedroom door. It was her father.
Probably drunk, probably high, definitely lonely. She shivered and pulled her
blankets higher up on her shoulders. The door creaked open carefully. Soft
footsteps againt the padded carpet, calloused fingers on her cheek, a soft kiss
pressed to her hair. She shivered again, knowing this would be as gentle as her
father would treat her tonight. He felt her movement.
"Moll-bug? You awake?" he whispered, lips inches from her face.
She sighed silently and nodded. How she detested that name. Her mother used to
call her that with nothing but affection and love in her voice. Then when she
died, her father had adopted using that name on nights when he forced her into
his bed.
"You wanna come sleep in my bed tonight?" he asked.
NO! She had wanted to scream it, yell it, carve it into his chest with a dull
razor. Instead, she simply nodded. Her father kissed her cheek with force,
already staring in on the unnecessary roughness.
"I'll be waiting," he said before slipping back out the door. He didn't close
it. He never closed it.
Molly looked to the bed in the corner. Ryden was asleep, she could hear his
snoring. Then she looked at the bed next to hers, just in time to see Cryus
turn his head back over to face the wall.
She threw back her blankets and walked to the door. As she pulled it closed,
she heard Cyrus' whisper of, "I'm sorry."
"I understand," she whispered back, and closed the door.
Cyrus would usually do whatever it took to keep his father's hands off his
sister. Either he would pretend the he was woken up by the door opening, or
he'd curl up with Molly in her bed (their father always left her alone on those
nights), or he'd simply lock the bedroom door. But he had locked the door the
night before and had received one hell of a beating for it in the morning. He
could barely move, let alone defend his baby sister. Ryden would've helped, if
only he knew what his father did in the dark. But Cyrus and Molly had agreed
years ago; Ryden didn't need to know.
As Molly climbed the stairs to her father's bedroom, she remembered a time when
her mother would invite her into bed, but only to watch scary movies and
cuddle. She shook her head to clear it. No use thinking of the past. It
wouldn't make the future any less painless. She pushed her father's bedroom
door open. He was shirtless, sitting under the blankets and channel-surfing.
When he saw Molly, he smiled.
"Come on in," he offered, turning off the television and throwing the blankets
aside. "Lock the door."
She did.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Two hours later, Molly was limping back to her room. Something must've happened
at work, because her father had been nothing short of sadistic tonight. Her
nose was bleeding, almost every inch of her stomach and back were covered in
bruises, it felt like she had a cracked rib, and her neck was cut up and bloody
from the belt. God, how she hated the belt. Her father didn't use it very
often, but when he did... She shuddered at the memory. She ran her fingers down
her neck, over the cuts, over the welts, through the blood. She groaned, and
every ounce of her body wanted to collapse in the middle of the hallway and
stay there. But she knew she had to make it to her bed. If not her bed, then at
least to her room. She'd collapsed halfway to her room before, and no matter
who found her, it was always bad. If it was Ryden, she'd tell him she passed
out, and then she'd have to come up with a reason as to why. If it was Cyrus,
he'd be nearly catatonic with guilt for at least 2 days afterward, which was
ridiculous, because it was in no way his fault. And if it was her father, he'd
simply carry her back up to his room.
She finally made it to her bedroom, opening the door and falling through it.
But Cyrus caught her before she hit the floor. He pulled her to his chest and
cradled her for a moment, pressing a few gentle kisses to her cheeks and giving
her a moment to regain her strength.
"Are you okay, Boo?" he whispered.
She nodded against his chest. She allowed herself to be coddled for a moment
before she gently pushed Cyrus away. She walked to her dresser, opening the top
drawer. She reached under her nightgown and pulled off her underwear, tossing
them in the laundry hamper, and pulled on a new pair. Cryus saw that the pair
she took off were soaked in blood. They always were when Molly spent the nights
with Howard. He refused to call that dirty, disgusting, evil thing his father.
Molly wobbled a bit, and Cryus ran to catch her again before she hit the floor.
With as gentle movements as he could manage, he picked her up and sat her down
in her bed. Cryus sat next to her, pulling a first aid kit out from under the
bed. Molly lit a candle for him so he could see better.
With slow, tender movements, and with years of experience, he cared for his
sister. He wiped the blood from her nose, cleaned the cut on her lip, and
cleaned and bandaged the cuts on her neck. When Molly mentioned her rib, he
made her lift her gown and show him. He poked and prodded at her stomach, but
he ultimately decided nothing was broken. He gave her a wet rag, and looked
away so that she could wipe the blood from her abdomen and thighs.
When Molly was cleaned up, Cyrus blew out the candle and curled up next to her,
throwing one arm protectively around her waist. He kissed her temple softly.
"Do you still cry?" he asked her.
Molly chuckled, which, given the question she was just asked, was not the
response Cryus had expected.
"Not for about 5 years, now," she whispered back. "I think he liked it when I
cried, so I don't do it anymore. I try not to scream, either. But sometimes I
can't help it."
"I know. I can hear it through the vents sometimes."
"I'm sorry."
Cyrus laughed, because they both knew that Molly had nothing to apologize for.
He let the moment go, until the silence rang through his ears.
This was the only time they spoke openly about the abuse; in the dark, in the
middle of the night, cuddled together in Molly's bed.
Molly shivered, and Cryus held her tighter.
"How much longer are you gonna let this go on, Boo? It's been 8 years."
"I know that. But I can't say no," she argued. "He'll kill me," she added,
almost silently.
They both remembered the last time Molly had had the guts to demand that their
father never touch her again. The end result was a beating so bad it broke an
arm, a leg, 3 ribs, her nose, and 6 fingers. It took both Ryden and Cyrus to
pull Howard off of her. She spent 2 months in the hospital because of the 'car
accident', and she had almost died. That was 3 years ago. She was only 12 at
the time.
"That's another 3 years, Boo. And I'll be 18 next year; I'm gonna move out. Do
you really think you can handle it without me?"
"Excuse me," she said, shaking off his arm defensively, "But I coped just fine
on my own for 2 and a half years before you found out. I don't need you."
Cyrus threw his arm back around her, pulling her flush against his chest and
hugging her tightly.
"Boo, you know I didn't mean it like that. You did handle it on your own, and
for so long, too. You're so strong to be able to do that. I can't even
imagine..." He trailed off. "But it's getting worse and worse. Sometimes you
don't even make it down the stairs. Half the time, I find you in a ball in the
hallway. You do need me. You need someone to help you into bed. Someone to
clean you up. Someone to hold you and hug you and remind you that it's not your
fault. You need someone to love you, and not in the perverse way that Howard
does. You need someone to actually love you."
Molly sighed, and gripped Cyrus' arm. "Thank you. Just... thank you."
A moment later, they were both asleep. Cyrus was snoring gently. Molly, because
of her injuries, was breathing slowly and deeply.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Sherlock was waiting on the corner the next morning. He smiled when he saw
Cryus and Molly. "Morning, Hoopers!" he called.
Molly rolled her eyes, like she did every day when Sherlock called them
'Hoopers'.
"Where's the other one?" he asked, noticing that Ryden wasn't there.
"His girlfriend gave him a ride. Hey, Sherlock."
"Hi, Cryus. Hey, Molly. What's this?" he asked, tugging gently at the scarf
Molly had wrapped around her neck.
She turned red and gently swatted his hand away. "It's a scarf, genius," she
said as they started walking. Sherlock walked ahead of them, but he turned to
face them, walking backwards.
"Let's see, why is Molly wearing this scarf?"
"Sherlock, please, leave it alone," Cryus pleaded.
As expected, Sherlock didn't listen. He simply flaunted his powers of
deduction.
"She's not wearing it for it's practicality. It's a balmy-for-London 54- wait,"
he pulled his left hand from his pocket and lifted it. "56 degrees out, not
cold enough to necessitate a scarf. She's not wearing it for fashion; the dark
red contrasts with the powder blue of her shirt. It's cashmere, very expensive.
If you were wearing it for fashion, the expense of the material means that you
wouldn't be so careless as to let it get dirty, but it's smudged with make-up,
so it's clearly not for style. So it's not for keeping her warm, and it's not
for fashion. That, coupled with the fact that it's dirty with make-up, no doubt
used to hide what the scarf couldn't reach, says that it's being used to hide
something."
Will you stop it? We already know how smart you are; you're just showing off!"
Molly almost screamed. Sherlock just smiled that smug smile of his and
continued.
"
"The Hooper family is less-than-wealthy, so this scarf wasn't just bought on a
whim. It was a gift, then. A gift of a cashmere scarf, and you're using it
purely as camouflage? That says that either you don't like the gifter or they
meant for it's intended use to be camouflage. You're definitely hiding
something, but what? Not a tattoo. You're a stereotypical 'good girl', so you
wouldn't get a tattoo underage, much less one so visible and one you'd need to
hide. So tattoo is out. Hickeys from a lover, maybe?" He scoffed. "Molly's been
infatuated with me for as long as we've known each other. If she had sexual
marks from someone else, she wouldn't hide them; she'd flaunt them to try to
make me jealous. So, then what are you hiding?"
He stopped walking, blocking Cyrus and Molly from going any further. He stared
at Molly intently. Finally she sighed, having admitted internal defeat. She
reached up to tug off her scarf, but Cryus set his hand on her arm.
"Boo," he warned.
"If I don't, he'll never shut up."
Cryus removed his hand and Molly pulled the scarf off.
Sherlock pulled his mini magnifying glass from his pocket and stepped forward,
inspecting the marks on Molly's neck. She stayed still, and hung her head in
shame.
"Hmm..." Sherlock said, his voice as remorseful as anyone had ever heard it. He
didn't seem happy now that he knew what Molly was hiding. He stepped back,
closing the magnifying glass and putting it back in his pocket.
"Well?" Cyrus said angrily. "You got what you wanted! You know what she was
hiding! Now do what you do best! Deduce, Sherlock!" he screamed in his face.
"Well," he said, his voice trembling, "It's one long bruise, stretched the
entire length of her neck, with cuts scattered where the edges bit into her
skin. The fact that she tried to hide them shows that the injuries were
probably," he sniffed, "Sexual in nature. I assume from the size and length of
the bruise that the instrument used was a belt. Obviously, the choking wasn't
consensual, or Molly wouldn't be so upset about me finding out. The size of the
mark tells me that the belt was either a large or an extra-large. Certainly not
yours or Ryden's."
Molly wiped away a stray tear.
Sherlock sighed. "Your father's then. Did you know that you're limping, Molly?
The angle of it suggests that there's pulled muscles and general soreness near
your groin."
Sherlock looked up from the ground and saw that Cryus had his arm around
Molly's waist. Protection.
"How long has this been going on, Molly?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter," she said, putting her scarf back on. "Please, Sherlock,
for once, keep your big mouth shut."
He nodded, and in a very non-Sherlock moment, pulled Molly into a tight hug.
All three stayed silent the rest of the way to school.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Sherlock couldn't stop thinking about it all day. He couldn't even focus in
Advance Chem, his favorite class. So many thoughts and questions were running
through his mind.
How long had it been happening? How often did it happen? Did Ryden know? How
many of Molly's frequent sick days were spent in bed nursing her wounds? But
the question that plagued him the most was How had I not seen before?
Molly was his best friend. How could he possibly be so thick and self-centered
as to not notice? He had to help. He had to do something.
Sorry, Molly. But I can't keep my big mouth shut about this.
****
"I'm here for Mycroft Holmes."
"I'm sorry," the receptionist said way too perkily, "He's not in right now."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's what he told you to tell visitors, but I reallyneed to
see him."
"Okay, he's in. But he's not taking visitors right now. Come back tomorrow."
"Listen, lady!" Sherlock slammed his hands on the desk, and the woman jumped.
"I am here to see Mycroft Holmes, and I willsee him today! If you ring his
office and tell him that you've so rudelykept Sherlock waiting, I guarantee you
that he will not be happy!"
The receptionist's face went shocked at 'Sherlock'.
"Why didn't you say that before?" She picked up the phone and pressed a button.
"Mr. Holmes? Other Mr. Holmes is here to see you. Uh-huh. I will. You're
welcome." She set the phone back down. "You can go on in."
Sherlock scoffed at the woman and entered Mycroft's office.
"Ah! Little brother! To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Mycroft
asked, leaning back in his chair and setting his feet on his desk. Sherlock had
an almost-overwhelming urge to tip his chair over. Instead, he sat down in the
chair opposite him. He tried his best to look as mature and professional as
possible, and to not show how scared and worried he was inside.
"Hi, Mycroft. This isn't a social visit."
When he heard that, Mycroft set his feet back on the ground and immediately
turned back into 'Mr. Holmes'.
"Are you okay?" he asked, very concerned.
"Mostly. I need your help, Mycroft."
"It must be very serious, then. What happened?"
"If I had a friend who was being hurt, could you help them, right?"
"Who's hurting you?"
"I said 'friend'. I assure you, it's not me. Could you help?"
"Well," Mycroft said, leaning back in his chair, "That depends. Before I can
give you a definitive answer to that question, I need some more details. Who is
it? How is he being hurt?"
"I told her I wouldn't tell," Sherlock said, guiltily.
"Sherlock, if you don't tell me, I can't help at all," Mycroft said softly.
"I know. Her name is Molly. You've met her before."
"The Hooper girl. I remember. How is she being hurt?"
"I think her father is raping her and beating her and her brothers."
Mycroft sat up straight as if he'd been shocked. "Sherlock! That's a very
serious accusation! What makes you think that?"
"Well, she's always saying that different parts of her body are sore, and she's
got the quiet, introverted personality that a long-term victim of abuse
develops, and even though they try to hide them, her and her brothers always
have bruises, and they miss a lot of school, and she had this huge, belt-shaped
bruise on her neck today that I deduced that-" he spoke quickly.
"Wait a minute," Mycroft cut him off. "You think she's being abused simply
because she has a few bruises and she's shy? Sherlock, there's nothing I can
do."
"Mycroft, please! She's my best friend! I care about her and she's being hurt.
You have to help!"
"Listen, Sherlock. I understand that you care deeply for this girl, but even
yourdeductions can be wrong. I can't help you. I'm very sorry."
"Fine," Sherlock said, standing, "I'm leaving. Thanks for nothing."
He was almost to the door when he turned and said, "By the way, fire your
secretary."
And without another word, Sherlock was gone.
Mycroft sighed heavily. If he was wrong about this, his entire job could be in
jeopardy. But if there was one person in the world he would trust on blind
faith alone, it was Sherlock.
He wrote out a severance check for his secretary, and called DI Lestrade.
***** Chapter 5 *****
"So he just left?"
"He just walked out in the middle of the lecture. I mean, it's not the first
time he's ever done that, but still," Molly explained, recapping how Sherlock
had ran out in the middle of class, "It scares me every time he does it. He
gets this crazy gleam in-"
"Molly," Cyrus warned, blocking Molly from walking with an arm across her
chest.
"What?" Molly asked, looking around nervously. "What?"
Cryus pointed to a sleek black car in their driveway. "Strange car. New,
expensive, official." He looked at her warily. "Looks like either an unmarked
or a Government car. Come here."
He pulled her in front of her and adjusted her scarf to hide the bruises.
"Good?" Molly asked?
Cyrus nodded. "Good." He held out his hand, and she grabbed it tightly. "Let's
go."
They walked up to the house slowly, and opened the front door cautiously.
"Daddy?" Molly called. She only ever called him 'daddy' around strangers.
"In here," he called from the kitchen. Both Cyrus and Molly knew the cheeriness
in his voice was a mask.
Cyrus reluctantly released Molly's hand just before they entered the kitchen.
Molly felt cold not having Cryus' hand in hers.
Molly was first through the doorway. She was first to see the strange woman
sitting at their kitchen table. She had dark, cocoa-colored skin, with wild,
curly hair, and an inviting smile. She wasn't in a police uniform, thank god,
but an a-line pencil skirt and an army-green khaki blazer. She was very pretty.
Howard had a smile on his mouth, but Cyrus and Molly saw the warning in his
eyes. "Hey, kids. How was school?" he asked, leaning against the counter and
crossing his arms.
"Fine," they said in unison. They smiled and Howard laughed.
"Kids, this is Sargent Sally Donovan. Sargent, this is Cryus and Molly. Cyrus
is obviously the boy."
Sargent? She's a cop. Sherlock, what did you do?Molly thought.
The woman stood and shook Molly's and Cyrus' hands.
"That's quite a grip you've got there, Cryus," she said in a slightly Cockney
accent. "Pretty strong. Get in a lot of fights, do you?" she asked with a smile
on her face.
Cryus saw the look his father shot him. "No, Ma'am. Football team," he said.
"Even better. Something constructive instead of violence. Anyway, I'm with
Scotland Yard. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple questions
privately."
"Of course you can. Cyrus, let's leave them alone," Howard said.
With a worried look for his sister, Cyrus left with Howard.
"Please sit, Molly. That's a beautiful name, by the way."
"Thank you Sargent Donovan," Molly replied, sitting in the chair across the
table from the woman.
"Please, call me Sally."
"My mother taught me that it's rude to call adults by their first names."
Sally smiled a warm, genuine smile, and Molly decided that she liked this
woman, even though she was there to break up her family.
"Your mother seems like a smart woman."
"She was. She passed on when I was 7."
"I'm very sorry." She flipped open a small notebook and pulled a pen from her
pocket. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
Sally smiled again, and Molly gave her a smile in return. Sally's smiles were
almost contagious.
"So, is it just you, Cryus and your father now?"
"No, Ma'am. I have another brother named Ryden, but he's at his girlfriend's
house.
"Uh-huh. How old are you, Molly?"
"15." Truth.
Thankfully, years of lying to teachers about bruises had made the Hooper
children into fantastic liars. Molly was prepared for whatever Sargent Donovan
would throw at her.
"Do you get along with your father?" She asked.
"Does any teenage girl?" Molly answered with a small chuckle.
"You make a very good point. Would you say your father is an angry person?"
"No." Lie.
"Has he ever hit you?"
"That's a very blunt question. Not that I can remember." Lie.
"I suppose it was. My apologies. Can you explain?"
"Well, when we were younger and did something that we knew was wrong, we'd get
swatted, but not recently." Lie.
"Have you ever seen your father hit one of your brothers?"
"No." Lie.
"Are you sexually active, Molly?" With this question, Molly looked up from her
notebook.
"I don't see how that's any of Scotland Yard's business."
Sally smiled wickedly. She then closed her notebook. "Off the record, then.
Just between us girls, then."
Molly smiled. "Yes." Truth.
"Consensual?"
"Of course." Lie.
"Would you say your father's a good man, Molly?"
"Yes." Lie.
With a blank face, Sally asked, "Do you love him?"
"Yes." Huge lie.
"Are you close with your brothers?"
"Yes, ma'am. They're my best friends." Truth.
Sally smiled. "That's good. Family is important. Thank you for your time. If
you wouldn't mind going and getting your brother for me?"
"Of course not, Sargent.
***** Chapter 6 *****
"I spoke to two of the children. They both said the same thing; their father
wasn't angry, and he'd never laid a hand on any of his kids. Sherlock must've
been mistaken. There is no abuse in that household."
Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted.
"All right. Thank you, Sally. I'm sorry for sending you on an imaginary case."
"It's quite alright, Mycroft. I'm glad it was imaginary."
"Good-bye, Sally."
"Bye."
With that, Mycroft ended the call.
"Are you happy now?" he asked his brother.
"No!" he shrieked, jumping up from his chair. "They're lying! They're trying to
protect him!"
"Sherlock! I get it; you're concerned. But there's no reason to be. Leave it
alone, Sherlock! Please."
Sherlock ran from the room.
****
Molly had taken her usual position; curled in a ball on the floor, covering her
face with her hands.
Her father struck every body part he could reach, all the while screaming in
her face.
"You think that was smart? Real funny, too! Sending tips to the cops?"
Molly was sure that if the beating didn't kill her, she'd suffocate from his
beer breath.
"You think you have it bad?" He emphasized 'bad' with a sharp kick to her ribs.
"You wanna leave?" At 'leave', he punched her in the face. "Go, then! Find
another family!" He grabbed the front of her shirt and pried her arms from her
face. "Good luck finding one that wants a little... fucking... slut... for a...
daughter!" He punctuated his sentence with forceful punches to her mouth and
jaw.
Molly could vaguely hear Ryden and Cyrus pounding on the bedroom door and
screaming.
Howard punched her once more in the mouth, then picked her up and threw her
back to the ground. She spit up a rather large puddle of blood onto the floor,
and he kicked her in the head for staining the carpet. Just before she blacked
out, she saw the door burst open and her brothers running to her rescue.
Ryden immediately ran to his sister's aid. Cyrus tacked Howard to the ground
and hit him a few times, before abandoning him so he could help Ryden pick
Molly up from the ground.
"Good. Take the lousy bitch. I don't want her in my sight."
Just as the trio reached the top of the stairs, one of Molly's arms slung over
either brother's shoulder, Howard had an afterthought, and pushed hard on
Molly's back, throwing her off-balance and sending the unconscious girl
tumbling down the stairs. Cyrus was quick enough to avoid being taken down
also, but Ryden wasn't. He went toppling down along with Molly. Cyrus turned to
attack his father again, but the door was already closed and locked. He could
hear Howard laughing.
Cyrus raced down the stairs, unsure which sibling to tend to first. Molly was
still unconscious, but Ryden's leg was trapped under her at an awkward angle,
meaning his hip was probably dislocated.
Cyrus picked up Molly first, carrying her out to his car, then came back for
Ryden, his wallet and his keys.
***** Chapter 7 *****
"What happened to these kids?" the nurse asked Cyrus.
He had been waiting for Molly to get out of ICU for a broken rib which had
punctured her right lung.
"Uh, car accident."
The nurse put her hands on her hips. "Another one? Honey, this is your family's
third car accident in three years. Either you all need Driver's Ed, or
something else happened."
She crouched so that she was eye-level to Cyrus. She placed a comforting hand
on his knee. "What's really going on, sweetie?" she asked with genuine
compassion in her voice.
Cryus stayed cold. He brushed off her hand, gave her his father's insurance
card (which Cryus kept in his wallet specifically for times like these), and
said nothing more.
The nurse walked away, leaving Cyrus to sit, scared and alone.
In all, Molly had a broken rib, a punctured lung, a severe concussion, and
three chipped teeth. Ryden had gotten off easy with just a dislocated hip and a
fractured wrist.
Cyrus spent had spent two days in the hospital before he had to cave and
finally text Howard.
I told them we were in a car accident. I gave them your insurance card. We'll
be home in 3 days. Don't forget to call school.
Done. See you in three days.
Howard always complied, because he knew that Cryus was always cleaning up
hismesses. If it weren't for Cryus, all his children would probably be dead by
now, and he'd already be in prison. Not that Howard cared about his children.
He didn't want any of them, but when he had gotten Katrine pregnant, her father
had demanded they marry. Then when she died, he was stuck with three kids he
didn't want, and never loved.
The three days passed slowly, Cryus running back and forth between Ryden's and
Molly's rooms.
Cyrus signed his name as their father on all the hospital papers. Everyone at
the hospital thought he was their father. He was the only one that ever brought
them into the hospital, even if it was a genuine sickness and not injuries from
being beaten.
After a total 5 days in the hospital, Ryden and Molly were given the okay to go
home. Since Howard was still at work when they got home, Cyrus tucked his
siblings into bed, and locked the bedroom door, giving them the comfort of
being safe, even if only for a few hours.
****
Where are you guys? -SH
Are you sick? -SH
How many more days do you expect me to walk to school alone? -SH
Cyrus, what's going on? -SH
Are you okay? Is Molly okay? -SH
Tell me what's wrong. Please. -SH
Cyrus, you're scaring me. ME, scared! -SH
His mobile vibrated again, and Cyrus reluctantly pulled it from his pocket. It
was another text from Sherlock, big shocker.
Cyrus, if you don't tell me what's going on, I'm walking over to your house and
sitting on your front porch until you come home. Try me if you think I'm
joking. -SH
Don't do that! We're fine.
Where have you guys been? I'm worried. -SH
Just leave us alone for a little while, Sherlock. Please.
****
It had been a total of 10 days since the accident, and Molly was still sore.
But she decided to play through the pain and go to school anyway.
She hadn't seen Sherlock until he was right in front of her. With him that
close, Molly couldn't control her anger. She had never hit anyone before, but
being on the recieving end of violence for most of her life must've taught her
something, because she punched Sherlock so hard, he fell to the ground.
"I guess I deserve that," he said, getting back to his feet and brushing off
his coat.
Molly was still upset, so she slapped him across the face. She tried to lunge
at him, and Cyrus grabbed her before she could, but that didn't stop her from
trying. Halfway through her leap, she fell to the ground in pain. Both Cyrus
and Sherlock tried to help her up, but she slapped Sherlock's hands away.
"Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me!"
She stood, much due to Cryus' helping hands.
"What the hell, Sherlock? What did you do?"
For once in his life, Sherlock felt guilt for what he had done. He knew that
Molly's and Ryden's absences were due to injuries were from their father.
"I'm sorry, Molly! I was trying to help!"
"We asked you not to! We were fine!" Cryus yelled.
"Why didn't you tell her the truth? You all could be safe by now," Sherlock
pleaded.
"They would've broken us apart."
"But at least you'd be safe!"
"Sherlock!" Molly yelled, her face inches from his. "Stop trying to help! You
can't help! All you did was make things worse! Just leave us alone, Sherlock!
This is none of your business; we should've never even told you! Leave it be!"
Molly stepped around Sherlock and walked away, Cyrus close on her heels.
Sherlock was left alone on the sidewalk. For the first time that he could
remember, he was crying.
***** Chapter 8 *****
That night, Cyrus sat waiting for Molly to return from Howard's room. When he
had come to get her, it was midnight. That was normal. But she was never gone
longer than two and a half hours. He flipped open his phone and checked the
time; 4:48 am.
Something was wrong. He could feel it. He heard a scream through the vents.
Then another. And another. She just kept on screaming. Cyrus clamped his hands
over his ears, but that did little to muffle the sound.
He was conflicted. Half of him wanted to run to Molly's aid, but he didn't
wanna deal with the repercussions if Howard found out that Cyrus knew.
He got out of bed and sat outside his bedroom door, staring down the hall to
the top of the stairs. When Howard opened his door to send Molly back to her
bed, Cyrus would see the light.
It was another 45 minutes before he heard Howard's door open. He scurried back
into his room, but left the door cracked so he could see.
It was Howard. He was muttering to himself. He was shirtless, and rummaging
through the linen closet. He grabbed a fitted bedsheet, and walked back up the
stairs to his room. Cyrus heard a loud thump, and then the light from Howard's
room vanished.
Cyrus ran from his room like a bat outta hell, running up the stairs as
silently as he could while still running.
He gasped when he realized that the pile on the landing was his sister. He
tried to pick her up, but her body was slick. Instead, he dragged her into the
second-story bathroom, where he could turn the light on without disturbing
anyone. The second he turned the light on, he knew he should've left it off. It
was easier to lie to yourself in the dark; convince yourself that everything is
okay, and that nobody is hurt.
At the sight of his poor baby sister, he gagged, lost his breath, and broke
into hysteric tears simultaneously. He gave her a once-over, trying to keep
from vomiting as he did so.
She lay facedown on the floor, unconscious. Every single inch of her was coated
in blood, even her hair was soaked in it. No wonder Howard had needed to change
his sheets. Cyrus tried to find a place that didn't look bruised so that he
could sit her up, but beneath the red, everything was purple. Howard hadn't
even bothered to redress her; he simply threw her out of his room nude. There
were cuts all over her body. Some were long, some were short. Some were so
shallow that they had already healed, and some were so deep, they were still
pouring blood all over the tile.
When he looked at her back, Cyrus saw that the words 'SLUT', 'WHORE', and
'BITCH' were carved into her skin. The bastard had taken a straight-razor to
his own daughter, his own flesh and blood.
Cyrus turned her over as gently as he could. He'd had to hold his hand in front
of her mouth to make sure she was still breathing. It was so shallow, he
couldn't see her chest moving.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he muttered to himself, his hands hovering somewhere over
Molly's stomach. He couldn't decide what to take care of first.
He finally decided how to go about cleaning her up, but first, he pulled his
phone from his pocket and cataloged Molly's injuries with photos, locking and
protecting the files. He had a feeling that eventually they'd come in handy.
He found the deepest cuts were on her chest and thighs. He bandaged those
first. Then he checked each arm and leg, bandaging the cuts that were still
open. He saved her stomach and the vulgar words on her back for the last. By
the time he had taped gauze on 'WHORE', his hands and the lower half of his
forearms were painted with Molly's dried blood.
He wet a washcloth, and carefully started wiping Molly clean. He started on her
face and worked his way down. He reached out the door for the oversized t-shirt
that Molly had worn to bed that night, which Howard had thrown on the landing,
and dressed her mostly blood-free body.
Cryus pulled Molly into his lap, cradling her. She was still unconscious, but
he rocked her anyway, whispering, "It's okay, Boo. It's not your fault. You'll
be okay. You'll be okay, Boo," over and over again, silently crying.
***** Chapter 9 *****
When the alarm on his phone went off at 6 am, Cryus sent the same text to three
phones: Ryden's, Howard's, and Sherlock's.
Molly and I aren't going to school today.
Ryden's response was: Okay. I'll get a ride to school with Melissa. Molly's
hurt, isn't she? Take care of my little girl, Cy.
Howard texted back: You've been missing an awful lot of school lately. You both
know what happens if you fail. I'll call you in.
Sherlock sent a text back that said: Will you tell me what happened? -SH
Cyrus sighed when he read it. Sherlock was owed some kind of explanation, being
their best friend.
My father happened, Sherlock. What else?
What did he do to her? -SH
Do you really wanna know that?
Sherlock's finger hovered over the button for a good 2 minutes, making sure he
really wanted to know. When he decided he was strong enough to hear the truth,
he pressed the SEND button.
Yes. -SH
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Cyrus decided that visuals would be easier, so he sent the photos of Molly from
the night before too Sherlock's phone.
When Sherlock opened the files, he had to choke back a sob. She was so bloody
and bruised that she was almost unrecognizable. There were horrible words cut
into her skin, bruises covering her body, and she was in a puddle of blood.
Oh my god! How could he do that?! -SH
I'm guessing he's still a wee bit pissed about the whole 'child services'
fiasco.
No. Please don't say that this is my fault. Please... -SH
I'm not saying it's your fault. I'm sorry. It's nobody's fault but Howard's.
Is she gonna be okay? -SH
I think so. Eventually, anyway. She hasn't woken up yet, but she'll pull
through. She always does.
'Always does'? How often is she beaten this bad? -SH
THIS bad? Only about a handful of times.
Oh, god. I'm so sorry. How can you handle that? How can you deal with seeing
her like that every day? I just saw pictures, and it hurt worse than anything
I've ever felt. -SH
You think it hurts YOU? I'M the one that always has to deal with the aftermath.
I commend you for that. If I were you, I would've committed patricide by now. -
SH
Patricide?
The official word for murder of the father. -SH
Oh. I can't tell you how many times I've thought about it. Nobody'd blame me.
So, then why haven't you gone to the police yet?
She made me promise years ago. She doesn't want us seperated.
My house is big enough. -SH
We could never do that. Thank you, though. I'll tell Molly you offered when she
wakes up.
Hopefully she'll smile. She could use a smile right now, I'm sure.
You love her, don't you? Cyrus sent with a sly smile on his face.
Sherlock sighed when he read the message. He'd never cried over anyone before.
He'd never wanted to protect anyone before. He wanted to murder Mr. Hooper for
doing this to her.
Yes. At least, I think I do. Don't tell her. -SH
Of course not. I'll leave that to you. =)
Gee, thanks, friend. I gotta go. Tell me when she wakes up. -SH
I will.
Cyrus put his phone away, and carried Molly downstairs, tucking her into her
bed. She was still unconscious.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Sherlock didn't knock or check in with the secretary this time, although he did
notice that the secretary was a different woman than last time. He simply threw
open the doors to Mycroft's office and stormed in angrily. Mycroft was on the
phone, but Sherlock didn't care. He whipped his mobile at Mycroft, hitting him
hard in the chest.
"I gotta go, Greg," he said, and hung up the phone. "Sherlock, what is this
about?"
"Look at the pictures!" Sherlock roared.
Confused, Mycroft picked up the phone and started scrolling through the
pictures of Molly. With each new picture, the small 'o' that was his mouth got
tighter, and his face got more horrified. Finally, he put the phone down.
"Sherlock, what-"
"Her father did it! Read the texts between me and Cyrus! He tells me, in those
words, that their father beat her!
"Jess, would you mind?" Mycroft called out the door.
"Of course, Mr. Holmes," came the reply as the woman closed the office doors.
"Those photos are of Molly. Remember her? 'The Hooper girl'? The one from the
allegedly abuse-free household? While you're at it, you can fire Sargent
Donovan, too, because she's an idiot! I told you what was happening and you
ignored me! And this," he said, picking up his phone, "is the result. This was
done last night, by the way. She still hasn't woken up."
Mycroft's face went rigid and stern. Truth be told, it actually kinda scared
Sherlock.
"Okay. I apologize for not believing you. But that's in the past now. You now
have the full support of the entire British Government. What's your plan?"
****
"It'll be a cold day in Hell when my 17 year old son tells me how to run my
family!" Howard yelled as he smacked Cyrus across the face. Cyrus tried to stay
on his feet, but Howard had been hitting him for a good 15 minutes. He fell to
the ground and Howard started kicking him in the ribs. Ryden was yelling at
Howard to stop, but he was ignoring him. Howard had forced Ryden to sit on the
couch and watch. He said it was to 'teach him what happened to children that
didn't know their place'.
This wasn't Ryden's fault. Cyrus had verbally attacked Howard the second he
came through the door.
"Howard, this has got to stop! She's unconscious! Has been for almost 24
hours!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Howard had said, trying to duck
around Cyrus to get to his room. But Cyrus had grabbed his arm and pulled him
back.
"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about! You and the attacks on Molly!
It's gotta stop!"
And that was when Howard had started hitting Cyrus, yelling at him to keep his
nose in his own business.
There was a loud, hard knock on the front door that stopped Howard mid-swing.
He snapped his fingers at Ryden.
"Take care of him," he said, pointing to Cyrus.
Ryden knew all-too-well what that meant. He picked Cyrus off the ground and set
him on the couch, hurriedly wiping the blood from his lip.
Howard opened the door and immediately was tackled to the ground by three large
men in bulletproof vests.
Ryden and Cyrus jumped, but otherwise stayed still. What was going on? Ryden
groped around for Cyrus' hand, and when he found it, he gripped it tightly,
holding on for dear life.
"Put your hands behind your back! Put your hands behind your back now!" One of
the officers screamed at Howard. He pointed a pistol at his head while the
others wrestled cuffs onto his hands.
The woman Cyrus recognized as Sargent Donovan came running into the room, and
Cryus relaxed a bit.
She was an intense foil from the last time he saw her. Instead of heels and a
skirt, she was in jeans and a t-shirt, with her hair in a ponytail, a
bulletproof vest on her chest and a gun strapped to her thigh.
"Stop struggling, Mr. Hooper; you'll only make it worse," she said, stepping
around him to walk into the living room where the boys were. She knelt down in
front of Cyrus, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Hi, Cyrus. You remember me?"
she asked with a smile.
He nodded.
"Good. Don't worry, hon. We're here to help. You're safe now."
"Safe?" Ryden squeaked out. Cyrus could tell that he was as terrified as he'd
ever been.
"Yes. Safe."
Half of Cyrus wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but the other was thinking of
what would happen to them. Would he, Ryden, and Molly all go to separate
families? Would the courts let him take custody of his siblings?
As if reading his mind, Sargent Donovan stood and whispered in his ear. "Relax.
I will personally make sure that you three stay together. You just have to
promise to tell the truth. Can you do that?" She stood up straight and Cyrus
nodded. She gave him a soft smile.
"Bring him in here, guys," she called to the other officers. They picked Howard
off the ground and wrestled him into a chair in the living room. Sargent
Donovan pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and started reading it to
Howard.
"... is an official Search Warrant registered by Scotland Yard. We have been
permitted to search the residence of 425 Bluemound St. and all items inside. We
are searching for illegal firearms, illegal drugs, and any drug paraphernalia
including, but not limited to, pipes, papers, water bongs, scales, baggies,
grinders..."
Cyrus wasn't really listening. He was too busy basking in the knowledge that
his father would never lay a finger on him or his siblings ever again.
Sargent Donovan set the warrant on the table before asking Cyrus where his
sister was.
"In our bedroom. First door on the left, down the hallway."
"Thank you. Anderson, will you take these boys out to the van, please?"
"Sure. Let's go, boys." He motioned for the boys to go ahead of him.
Cyrus took one last look at his father; handcuffed, head hung in anger. Cyrus
felt absolutely no remorse for him. He'd had this coming for years. He deserved
every bit of what would happen to him. Cyrus actually smiled as he left the
house.
Sargent Donovan drew her gun as she searched for Molly. She knew it was
pointless, that the danger was already handcuffed in the living room. But it
was just a force of habit. She pushed the bedroom door open with her foot, and
flipped on the light with her elbow.
Molly was in her bed. She was bloody, as were her sheets. She wasn't moving,
and it looked like she wasn't breathing.
"I need an EMT!" Sally yelled down the hall. She ran to Molly's side. "Molly?
Molly, honey, can you hear me?"
Molly groaned so softly, Sally almost couldn't hear it.
"Are you okay?"
Another soft moan.
"Listen to me, honey. Your father is under arrest. We're gonna take you and
your brothers somewhere safe. Okay?"
Molly moaned again, and the EMTs rushed into the room. They gave her an oxygen
mask, but that was all they could do for now. They carried her to the van,
laying her down in the backseat. Sally got in the driver's seat and they left.
"We're gonna go to the hospital. Make sure she doesn't need stitches. Our
medics said she was well taken-care of." She looked at Cyrus in the rear view
mirror. "Someone obviously loves her very much."
***** Chapter 11 *****
Molly was taken to the ER as soon as they arrived at the hospital. Sally waited
with Cyrus and Ryden. They had only been there 5 minutes when someone else
joined them in the waiting room. Someone tall, with a mop of curly black hair,
in a long blue coat.
"Hi, Hoopers," he said as he walked into the room. Cyrus launched himself into
Sherlock's arms, and Sherlock hugged him as tightly as he could.
"Thank you. Thank you," Cyrus whispered into his ear. Sherlock didn't respond.
He just gripped Cyrus tighter.
****
There was a hand in Molly's. There had been for an hour. When she finally had
the strength to open her eyes, to her surprise it was Sherlock's, not Cyrus'
hand.
"Sherlock?" she asked weakly.
He stood slowly, and ran his fingers through her hair. Or well, he tried to,
but her hair was still matted with blood.
"Shh, shh, shh. Guess what? You're safe now. Your father will never touch you,
Ryden or Cyrus ever again. I promise you."
Molly tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace.
"Thank you."
"No, don't talk. Just relax."
Molly closed her eyes.
"Molly?" Sherlock asked softly.
"Yeah?" she breathed.
"I love you," he whispered.
She opened her eyes as wide as they could go. "I love you, too, Sherlock," she
said before closing her eyes again.
Sherlock pressed a gentle kiss against her lips, but she was already asleep
again.
***** Chapter 12 *****
"We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of all charges."
Molly's heart leaped, and she squeezed Sherlock's hand.
"I hereby sentence you to life in a federal prison."
The bang of the gavel rang through the courtroom like a gunshot.
Ryden, Cyrus and Molly all let out identical sighs of relief. They all watched
with smiles on their faces and joy in their eyes as their father was escorted
from the court room. Sherlock leaned over and kissed Molly on the cheek. Ryden
smacked him playfully on the arm.
"Hey! None of that in front of the overly-protective brothers!"
Everyone chuckled.
"Now, will the Hooper children please approach the bench?" the judge asked.
Molly's mouth went dry and Sherlock squeezed her hand in encouragement. The
three kids approached the bench hand-in-hand.
The judge held up a stack of papers. "I have here 3 letters from 3 Hooper
children, all asking that full custody be given to the Holmes family. Can one
of you tell me why?"
The kids exchanged glances, none of them wanting to step forward. Finally,
Ryden did.
"Your Honor, this is my big brother, Cyrus. He's been like a father to me for
most of my life. For as long as I can remember, he's been the only positive
male role model in my life. He's grown up much faster than anyone should have
to. He takes care of me and Molly. This is my little sister, Molly. She's been
beaten, bruised, broken and left to die more times than I can count. She is
stronger than anyone I've ever met. They're my family. And that," he said,
turning slightly and pointing to Sherlock, "Is Sherlock Holmes. He's known my
family for years. He's the only one outside my family that has ever given a
damn about me. If it wasn't for him, my sister might be comatose right now, or
maybe even dead. The Hooper children have been through the worst kind of Hell
for years. We've covered bruises, made excuses for broken bones, spent
countless hours crying in each others' arms. We lied to Britain's finest, not
to protect our father, but so that we could stay together as a family. After
almost a decade of working so hard to stay together, if we get separated now, I
think it'll kill that spark in our hearts. I don't know about my siblings, but
they're my spark. If I lose them, I'll lose the only love and happiness I've
ever known. I've done my research, and I know that the only chance of staying
together is to find a family that's willing to adopt three morally broken
children. The Holmes family has already offered us the sanctuary that we need.
If the Holmes family is our only chance of staying together, and they'd love
for us to be a part of their family, why would you deny us the parental love
that we so desprately need?"
When Ryden's speech was over, he stepped back and grabbed his sibling's hands
again.
Everyone looked on in shock. Ryden was always shy and quiet. For him to make
such a long speech, and such an emotional and heartfelt one surprised everyone.
"Thank you, son. I hereby grant full custody of all three Hooper children to
Michael and Madalyn Holmes!" the jugde announced, banging the gavel again.
Molly jumped up and down and hugged her brothers. She was picked up from behind
and spun around as Sherlock hugged her tightly.
"You happy?"
"Of course," she answered, kissing him.
***** Chapter 13 *****
"Your rib and lung are healing quite nicely. The stitches on your chest and
legs should be ready to come out by next week. All in all, you're gonna be
fine, Ms. Hooper. Ms. Hooper?"
The doctor snapped his fingers in front of Molly's face, bringing her out of
her trance.
"What?" she asked.
"I said you're gonna be fine."
"Oh. Thank you," she said absentmindedly.
"Is there something troubling you, Ms. Hooper? Perhaps something I can help you
with?"
"Yes, actually. There is."
****
One hour later, Molly walked out of the doctor's office. Sherlock was waiting
for her.
"How are you?" he asked. Then he got a good look at her. She was sweaty and
very pale. She looked like she was about to faint. Sherlock steered her toward
a nearby chair. "Molly? Molly, are you okay?"
"No, Sherlock, I'm not okay," she said, tightening her grip on his forearms so
hard, it was almost painful.
"Sherlock, I'm pregnant."
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