Work Text:
~~~
I’m Molly and he’s Sherlock. The realisation struck Edrisa the same moment Gil yelled something at Malcolm about ignoring yet another rule and putting himself into harm’s way, again. Just like her pining for Malcolm, the pathetic display of authority was getting to be boring, really. Gil should have accepted what he couldn’t change and if anyone was beyond change, it was Malcolm Bright. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was unable to.
She’d been watching him. That was nothing new, because she’d been watching him from the first moment she laid eyes on him. She had instantly known that something was amiss: a switch that for every normal human being was set to “off”, in Malcolm’s case was “on” with full force. Not that he didn’t behave like a perfectly normal guy. He was all affable and elegant, almost suave in his suit, if a tad standing out in the atmosphere of casual my-only-care-is-catching-the-perp that permeated the NYPD. There was something in his eyes that threw her off and gave her an almost perverse thrill. Something sinister, and yet vulnerable. The overall effect was a gigantic contradiction which she only deciphered when she found out that Malcolm was the Surgeon’s son. Then, all of it fell into place and if there was an attraction before, she fell for him so hard and so suddenly that she almost stumbled over her own shoe. No one paid any attention, because Edrisa was everyone’s favourite clown and weirdo. No one expected anything more than her keeling over, losing her balance, dropping inappropriate remarks and bad jokes.
In fact, her jokes were not bad. She knew they weren’t. She got the largest number of likes in a secret Facebook-group. Granted, all the members were on the periphery of mental sanity, but it was the only community that made her feel at home. Accepted. Appreciated. All that is, until Malcolm entered the scene and in one fell swoop took possession of her mind, her heart and her body.
And now, it occurred to her that she was only a weak imitation of a globally popular fictitious character. The knowledge that Molly was a simpleton compared to her was not one bit reassuring. As to how Malcolm compared to Sherlock, there was no question. The latter may have been a broken genius himself, but in Malcolm there was warmth despite the cold, feeling despite the callousness. Edrisa would pick Malcolm over Sherlock every minute of every day.
She stared at the rim of her coffee cup, merely to break the habit of gawking at Malcolm’s lips. It was starting to affect her work and that was something she couldn’t let happen. Her work had always been her pride and joy, the one thing she infallibly succeeded at. After the long solitary hours spent with mutilated corpses she had always been able to go home with the one certainty that she had done a good job that day, and every other day.
“Edrisa.”
She looked up. “…Huh?”
“Are you sure about the cause of death?” JT was asking.
“Am I sure that the vic was kept in a freezer for days and then broken into splinters by being dropped from the tenth floor? Yuh, I’m pretty sure”, she said, taking a furious sip of her coffee.
That silenced them. The freak was not throwing jokes any more, but glaring into her coffee, suddenly longing to be somewhere else. Somewhere far. Preferably in Malcolm’s arms but if that couldn’t happen, then she just wanted to be away. Out of the picture.
“Is everything alright, Edrisa?”
His generally gentle voice was softer than usual. It produced a literal electric shock, which made her jump and spill the remnants of her cold beverage. “Everything’s peachy. I’ll get back to playing with the 3D corpse puzzle and get answers that should work for everyone”, she muttered and walked out of Gil’s office.
Shit shit shit. Shit. It was getting out of hand and it probably stopped being funny for everyone who was a witness to her pathetic writhing. Honestly, she was surprised Malcolm hadn’t notified HR. Those stiletto boots and the black dress with a lace top surely qualified as sexual harassment. She felt ashamed for putting her heart on her sleeve like that and forcing Malcolm into feeling, well, if not disdain, then annoyance. He had enough on his plate as it was and the one thing she would never want to cause him was pain, any more than he had had to endure.
It was past eight when she decided to stop work. She felt sufficiently exhausted physically to know that she would slide into sleep as smoothly as Malcolm slid into her in her juicy fantasies. Yawning, she looked over the good work she had done in one afternoon: the man in his forties was in one piece once again, at least from the waist up. His lower extremities and genitals were still neatly aligned on several trays, to be reassembled the next day by Ms Takana, the biggest criminal nerd in the state, right after Malcolm. He had overtaken her in the race but she couldn’t begrudge him his no. 1 spot. After all, he had every reason to lead. Serial killer dad, numerous childhood traumas, several near death experiences at the precinct and in the field, and that was only what she knew of. But she? She had no bloody excuse. Her parents had treated her well, her first boyfriends too. She couldn’t give an explanation for her inexplicable attraction to the gory, the morbid, the sinister.
Maybe there had been unaccounted for pathologies running in the family. The thought was reassuring, something to lean back on, a future plan she could always resort to. She might dig a little into the family history. Maybe that could provide her with clarity and peace of mind.
Who are you kidding.
Nothing would give her peace of mind, other than Malcolm being in her close proximity, their bodies touching, preferably without clothes but clad was fine, too, as she knew she would come at one flick of his finger.
She knew this was beyond funny, even beyond ludicrous. Probably past pathetic. She felt she was constantly wobbling between the despicable and the loathsome. That was it. Adding the triumph of managing to pinpoint just how ridiculous she was to her daily accomplishments, she hung her lab coat and closed the morgue door on her way out.
She was already crossing the street to get to the parking lot when she heard her name being spoken.
“Edrisa.”
Fuck.
“Bright,” she said, swirling around goofily, as was her custom. “You still here?”
“I could ask the same thing, except I won’t, because I know you,” Malcolm smiled.
Of course you do. I’m a fucking open book. “It’s not every day I get to reattach hundreds of body splinters together, so, you know, it felt nice to put in the extra hours,” she said.
“Quite a case, right?”
“Yup.”
He was looking at her, scrutinising her. She loved and hated that. She loved being looked at by Malcolm, by those large, candid eyes, but she knew that she literally had no secrets before him. He could probably see that her insides were churning and twisting and she was certain that he could see the sweat collecting between her shoulder blades. No one had ever seen her like Malcolm Bright; it was exhilarating and humiliating at the same time.
“I know something’s wrong,” he said, taking a step closer.
Her first impulse was to retreat an equal amount but her brain forgot to fire the signals to her legs. “It’s not true”, she replied, but she knew the twitch in her lower lip betrayed her, as per usual.
“That something’s wrong, or that I know?” he asked with a sly little smile. Fucking jerk. Fucking, lovable, irresistible, utterly, ridiculously fuckable jerk.
“Fuck you.” The words just came out before she could stop herself and she inhaled swiftly, as if trying to suck them back, hoping he hadn’t heard.
He didn’t smile, but it wasn’t because of spite. He was simply looking at her, probing her with his eyes, literally eye-fucking her, which was probably not true, but that’s what it felt like in the moment and if she wanted to be honest, in every moment that he had looked at her, ever. Her legs were jello alongside her brain and all her motor functions had stopped working.
“Is this going to be a problem?” he asked.
“What?”
“This. Us.”
She almost choked on her own saliva. Us. What did he mean? Did he mean, is it going to be a problem that we might end up fornicating like rabbits in the restroom and the janitor’s closet and then after work at my place, OR is it going to be a problem that you’re unilaterally salivating over me? Of course this wasn’t a funny repartee with one of the colleagues, she was inside her own mind so she had to face it: the answer was clear, as clear as Malcolm’s eyes whenever he was hurting. Dear death almighty, how I crave thee now, please free me from further mortification. The drop of sweat lost against the gravity of her resignation and it rolled down all the way to the small of her back. She saw from the resolution on his face that he wasn’t going to let her leave without an answer. It all had been going on from the get go. The tension had been boiling and seething and seeing as she felt like an erupting volcano every day (and not only because of the quick furious self-aided release at nights in her bathtub), she knew that the breaking point was imminent. She knew that he also knew.
“I don’t know,” she said, which was literally the opposite of what she was thinking, because of course she knew. But it was the least difficult and most honest thing she could muster without spilling her transparent guts completely and making a miserable fool of herself.
He emitted a slow sigh. He was visibly struggling, probably collecting words that would inflict the least amount of pain, because underneath the pseudo-psychopathy he was so keen on displaying at every opportune occasion, he was the gentlest soul she had ever encountered. The problem was that she only loved him all the more for it. Fucking jerk. “I’m sorry for making this more difficult than it should be”, he spoke, and the ambiguity of his words was sending her brain into overdrive.
“What do you mean?” she asked, furious with him for always being so nice to her, with herself for not being able to stop doting on him, and for the random bitch who walked by and gave Malcolm a shameless stare from head to toe. He didn’t notice the rando and that definitely gained him a few extra points, which, again, for all intents and purposes was literally making it more difficult for her. She almost screamed at him to act more like a jerk. It was the only thing that could, maybe, but probably not, stop her from loving him. He was clearly focused on her and her only, and she almost felt sorry for him. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter,” she quickly added, wishing to put an end to the whole ordeal, and longing to sit in her bathtub with the candles and soft music and all the delicious fantasies playing out in her mind of her and him, intertwined. At least in her fantasies, disappointment was never on the table. Only her, and him. Sometimes not only figuratively speaking.
“It does matter,” he retorted, taking another step. He was now a mere two steps away. So close, and yet so far. “I know that last week you dressed up specifically for me. When I asked you for that favour.”
“The porcine blood,” she said, hoping that talking shop might take the edge off the humiliation, which was building inside her at frightening speed. She felt her cheeks burn, which luckily (hopefully) didn’t show under the dim evening light.
“You looked very… different,” he spoke, looking her straight in the eyes, clearly disregarding her attempt at distracting them both from the point.
“Stilettos and a bodycon will do that,” she nodded. Might as well get it out of their system. She had prepared for that stupid meeting an inappropriate amount of time, choosing the right boots and running through five stores until she found the dress, which in her view possessed an uncanny combination of allure, playfulness and elegance. She had applied more make-up than usual and she was super happy with the end result. She even took a selfie with puckered lips and posted it on her secret Insta page, only shared with her secret Facebook pals. Funny, now that she thought about it, everything about her social media life was secretive. She got so distracted by the overwhelmingly positive response she received on the photo that she almost forgot about Malcolm and was just zipping up her boots when he emerged in the door. Despite the rushed scenario, she knew she looked hot. Maybe not by his standards. But by her own, definitely.
“You were radiant,” he said, contradicting her train of thought. She leaned against the lamppost to stop herself from dropping and turning into a puddle of goo.
“But?” She knew the question was leading her to her own perdition but she was tired of beating about the bush. The bush had been overbeaten to a fucking pulp, was beyond recovery and would never be a bush again.
His lips parted, his eyes were brimming with emotion. It was coming. The definitive no, the final twist of the dagger that was hashing up her insides. The sexual connotation almost made her whimper and she propped herself against the post, finding good footing with both feet, bracing herself for the impact.
“We’re like two peas in a pod,” he finally said, exhaling.
She frowned. This was not the answer she was expecting. She expected a firm and gentle thank you but no, thank you. Instead, he was simply tightening the string that tied them together. “Not to repeat myself, but what the fuck does that mean?” she asked.
“We’re too much alike,” came the reply.
“Like twins?” she said with a giggle.
“Like two kindred spirits who are oddly fascinated by everything grim and related to death,” he smiled again, which was all delightful, just like the phrase kindred spirits, but the tone and sad little droop of lower lip conveyed that this was ranking low on the scale of acceptability in Malcolm’s view. Yup, there it was. The definitive no.
“I don’t see the problem but sure,” she shrugged. Just for show. She knew that the battle, and in fact, the entire war had been lost. At least they were talking a little while longer, alone and outside work.
He bit his lower lip, looking slightly more exasperated. “You enable me, Edrisa. You never say no. You always say yes.”
“And that’s bad because…?”
“Because I need someone who calls me out on my bullshit, someone who… someone who grounds me.”
“Someone who puts you in cuffs at night,” she joked.
He chuckled, albeit a bit sadly. “Words no sane human should ever speak, which only shows how massively fucked up I am.”
“I’m equally fucked up and can definitely put you in cuffs, no problem,” she threw a wink toward him, trying to pull a seductive smile. Based on his reaction, she was failing miserably. She looked away from him, her eyes focusing on the cars and the pavement and the building and on the lights that seemed to flicker. When did it start drizzling? She held out her hand, but her skin didn’t register the rain.
“I hate making you cry,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
She looked back, startled. Fucking hell, so that’s what it was. She angrily wiped her cheeks.
“The air inside is always so dry, plus I forgot to use my eye drops,” she explained. “Anyway, I get it. I do,” she added, nodding in recognition.
Malcolm exhaled, looking slightly relieved. She knew his reasoning made total sense. Of course she was useless to him as a companion, when the best she could do concerning everything related to Malcolm Bright was giggle like a schoolgirl and blurt out gross innuendoes of someone infatuated beyond help. He needed someone in his life who could fight his demons, if not for him, then alongside him; someone who could hold him when he was crumbling like paper and someone who was strong enough to sustain him in his darkest hour. She wasn’t even sure what Malcolm’s darkest hour was. His father dying, or he killing someone. The options were probably numerous and equally frightening. Maybe he could even hurt her, unintentionally, during a night terror. All she knew that her darkest hour would be the day she would not see him again. So she had to make sacrifices and swallow her pride and start making fucking lemonade, all day, every day, till one of them would be out of the picture.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“What could you be sorry about?” he asked, a sad smile on his shapely lips.
“For being inadequate,” she replied, loathing the sound of the words. She wasn’t aiming for a pity party, however tempting it was to picture Malcolm consoling her.
“You’re everything but,” he said, the smile gone from his face.
It was her turn to smile. “Just not adequate enough… for you.”
To this, he offered no reply. She should have rejoiced over silencing him, although she would have preferred keeping his mouth shut in other ways. But that had always been a different dimension of her existence, a parallel world where him and her made sense. The way that him and Danny made sense. It was obvious. He liked Danny, he was attracted to her. Shit fuck fucking shit. Danny was his grounding. She had been from the first day, when she hugged him and saved him from being shot by police during his night terror.
“While this has been delightful, because what girl doesn’t love her heart being torn out of her chest and trampled on, I think I’ll call it a day now”, she looked at him with a smile as wide as she could stretch it, ordering her zygomaticus major to prod her brain into releasing dopamine. She needed to feel positive if she wanted to stop herself from crumbling every time he walked into her vision.
“Edrisa…” he started but she bridged the physical gap between them with two swift steps and put her finger on his mouth. The gesture surprised them both and she almost cackled at her own audacity.
“Bright. It’s okay. It really is. And to reply to your question earlier, it’s not going to be a problem. You know as well as I that I’ve been dealing with this from day one. I have experience”, she said, feeling her facial muscles relax a little into the smile.
He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it. “I think we both have experience in things we’d rather not, don’t we?” His eyes were full of pain and it took superhuman effort on her part to not kiss him right then and there.
“What doesn’t kill you… right?” she said, enjoying his candid comfortable gaze. It was a good day, after all. She made him smile.
“I must be Superman then,” he chuckled.
“You are”, she pulled her hand away and turned to leave, but remembered something and looked back at the man of her dreams. “You know, Bright… I may not be able to give you what you need, not like Danny… but trust me… I know… exactly… what you want,” she said slowly, looking into his eyes, forcing herself to hold his gaze, at first questioning, then steadfast, finally comprehending. She waited for him to get there and while he did, she enjoyed the sight of his liquid eyes and infuriatingly full lips.
I’m the Molly to your Sherlock, she thought with an inward grin that transformed her walk into a light, carefree saunter. She had always wanted to give him food for thought; after all, providing intellectual fuel to a genius profiler was nothing short of a miracle, and looking back, she knew that she had done that as a colleague more times than she could count. And now, before she left him alone with his musings, she knew she managed to do it again, on a whole new, exciting level.
~~~