Fandom: Sherlock
Title: After The Fall
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama/Romance
Summary: Set after "The Reichenbach Fall." Spoilers, obviously. John and Molly cope the best they can. But Molly has a secret John never sees coming.
Author's Note: My first venture into Sherlock fanfic, so I hope I do the characters justice, as I love them dearly. I also owe them and this show, for inspiring this and getting me out of a six-month battle with writer's block! I don't own anything you recognise, either. That goes to BBC and the brilliance of Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat.
Chapter One
It was sleek and black, with very simple engraved lettering. It was absolutely fitting, and morbidly beautiful.
It was the tombstone of Sherlock Holmes.
As John Watson stared at it, at is own reflection in the black marble, he fought the tears that threatened to come. He fought them because he was a military man, because he didn't want Mrs. Hudson to see him cry, but mostly he fought because he knew if Sherlock saw him cry, saw him showing such human emotion ... well ... he would never let John live it down.
"Be alive. For me."
John managed to say, and the words hurt, literally hurt him from the inside out. He had never known pain like this, or loss that cut this deep. Looking at the tombstone, he felt like he was looking at a patch of Earth that covered a casket that held a piece of himself.
It hurt.
"Oh .. sorry .."
The voice was small, quiet. Mousy. But John recognised it instantly. He turned, a complete one-eighty spin, and there, stopped several yards before him, stood Molly Hooper.
John was ashamed to say he had completely forgotten about her, and how she might have been feeling. She had loved Sherlock in her own way, as they all had. As they always would.
But John looked at Molly, and felt sorry for her. He hated that he felt sorry for her, but he couldn't help it. She looked so sad, and lost. Like a child who gets separated from her parents. She looked at John awkwardly, then averted her gaze to the ground.
"Sorry." She muttered again, clutching the bouquet of flowers she held tightly. Her dark red fingernails bit into the stems, threatening to break them, the plastic wrapper making a loud crackling noise.
"Molly, why on Earth are you apologising?" John asked, surprised at the anger in his voice, "You're always apologising, always. For the stupidest things, too! Do you think it's your fault Sherlock didn't like how you made the coffee or that he paid too much attention to your damned lipstick?"
Molly stared at him, eyes wide and fearful. Tears threatened to spill. She opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped. She swallowed, looked to the ground and back to John. "Sorry. I mean ... " She shut her mouth, inhaling deeply. A snap echoed in the silence as several of the flower stems broke.
John's lips formed a thin line as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them quickly. He stood in front of her for a moment, taking in the sight of her. Her brown hair was pulled back in a braided ponytail that hung over her right shoulder. Her make up was natural, except for the lipstick, always the lipstick, because Sherlock had told her once that it suited her, made her mouth look bigger, her lips fuller. She wore a knee-length skirt and sweater, both black, with a grey jacket over it, and high-heeled boots that were sinking into the damp earth. John moved to stand beside her and slipped his arm around her shoulders, reaching over to take her hand in his to guide her over to the grave.
To let her say goodbye.
xxx
John didn't want to go back to 221B Baker Street. In fact, he didn't think he physically could. Instead, he went to a small, homey cafe a few blocks away. One he had found on his own. One that didn't hold some sort of memory of Sherlock.
It was warm and toasty inside, and smelled like cooked pastries and the wood of the fireplace that burned on the opposite side of the room. He and Molly had chosen a seat by the window, overlooking the grey, rainy London day. Molly removed her coat and sweater upon entering, revealing the ridiculous long sleeved shirt she wore underneath - John thought there were cats on it, but he couldn't be sure, and he didn't really want to ask.
"You know, it's funny ..." Molly began, looking out the window as she nervously tugged at the sleeves of her shirt, "Well, not really funny, but ... ahem ..." She inhaled and looked at John, a small smile touching the corner of her lips, "I don't think I've ever really talked to you without ..." She stopped.
"Without Sherlock." John finished for her.
"Alone." She corrected him, "I've never really talked to you alone."
John chuckled softly. At that moment, the waitress approached, setting their cups in front of them and pouring them full off coffee and then taking their orders. John ordered the special, which was some kind of soup he'd never heard of, and a cheese toasty. Molly ordered a slice of pie.
"Pie?" John asked when the waitress left.
Molly nodded as she began pouring creamer into her coffee. "I always eat pie in places like this, don't you?"
"Well, sometimes ... " John thought a moment, "But not before I've had ... you know ... regular food."
Molly smiled sweetly, "Well, who's to say what's regular food?"
John shook his head, smiling faintly. Molly was probably the quirkiest girl he'd ever met, and he'd met some pretty quirky in his life. And some odd ones. And some crazy ones. And some bitchy ones. Too many of that last one, he thought.
He suddenly found himself thinking of Sherlock, which he found himself doing a lot lately, naturally. He thought if Sherlock had a better grasp on his feelings, his emotions, his humanity, that he and Molly would have made the perfect couple. Both quirky. Both neurotic. Both odd. Geniuses at their own talents - Sherlock's being mysteries, Molly's being post-mortems. John could just picture Sherlock going off on one of his deductive tantrums while Molly cut into some Westminster murder victim. It was oddly perfect.
"What is it?"
John looked up when he heard Molly's voice, "What?"
"You're smiling." Molly told him, a smile touching her lips, "What are you thinking about?"
He was smiling, and he hadn't realised it, being so lost in his vision of Sherlock and Molly coupled in a weirdly wonderful sort of way. He held the smile as he looked at her.
"I mean, you don't have to tell me, of course .." Molly said, shaking her head and averting her gaze to the spoon she was using to stir her coffee.
"No, I was just thinking .." John began, and decided it best not to tell her. She was very fragile, very sensitive, especially about matters pertaining to Sherlock, the man she had loved, and still loved as far as John knew. Sherlock told him once it was a silly crush she had on him. John knew better. "I was thinking I'd have a slice of pie."