Notes: This particular fic was inspired by the song "Fantasy Man" by The Swell Season, which was suggested to me by Lono. It could be seen as taking place in the same 'verse as my fic "Contact" but it is definitely not necessary to read that to understand this. As stated in the summary, each chapter will be unrelated but they'll all be filled with Sherlolly goodness. If you have any suggestions for songs, please leave them in a review! Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: The characters of Sherlock do not belong to me, unfortunately. The song "Fantasy Man" doesn't either.
Molly sighed as she pulled her i-pod out of her jacket and scrolled through the songs. She found the song she had been looking for and closed her eyes briefly as the soft melody started. She leaned her head against the window as train carried her on her way out to Cardiff.
She'd been doing this for two years now, getting texts at all hours and then rushing about so she could meet a familiar black car outside of wherever she was. For some reason, Sherlock would always inform Mycroft that he needed her and then Mycroft would text her a time and a destination. Occasionally he would also text her a length of time, if she would need to take off of work for any reason. Usually she was just providing Sherlock with some information and they would maybe go out for a meal, but sometimes he required medical attention and he usually refused the doctors that Mycroft had offered to provide, insisting only on her care.
She tried not to read too much into it.
Molly tapped her fingers in time to the gentle song playing in her ears. "And if everything is measured by the hole it leaves behind, then this mountain has been leveled and there's no more diamonds in the mine."
She used to think that it was sort of romantic, rushing off at all hours to assist Sherlock because he needed her. But she didn't feel that way anymore. She was tired, tired of the secrets and the shadows that lurked in Sherlock's eyes. She knew that he was tired of it too. But she kept on answering her texts and getting on the trains because she knew that Sherlock was ten thousand times more fed-up with his clandestine life and he just wanted to return home. She knew that sometimes, seeing her was the only thing that kept him going, even if he would never admit it.
She still loved him. Not in the way she had before, keeping him on a pedestal and untouchable. She thought she had known Sherlock Holmes before, but she had only known a part of him. Seeing him for the past two years, stripped and bare of all his trappings that made him so utterly Sherlock, she'd gotten to know the man that he was. She loved a man, faults and all, instead of an idea. Her heart didn't skip a beat when she saw him anymore, but she felt warm and happy when she saw his face, hidden beneath whatever disguise he had been donning. If anything, this whole situation had only increased her love for him, made it more real, more palpable than it had ever been before.
They were sort of stuck together, she and Sherlock. Everyone else had moved on. They had no reason not to. For all they knew, Sherlock Holmes was dead. John had met Mary about six months ago and Molly noticed that the light had returned to his eyes. Greg had finally been reinstated to full-time duty after all of the findings of the cases that Sherlock had assisted on had proved to still be valid. Mrs. Hudson hadn't rented out 221b, but that was only because Mycroft was still paying the rent for the place. She did have a new tenant in the newly renovated 221c, though…Molly's lease had been up and it felt right somehow. Sherlock appreciated it too, being able to visit his old stomping grounds on the rare occasions that he made it into London.
They were stuck in this odd sort of limbo, while the world moved past them. It didn't bother Molly as much as it should have, because at least they were stuck in it together. The train started to slow down and she gathered her things, wondering idly what Sherlock's disguise would look like this time. Usually when he was in the UK he was a bit more thorough in his disguises; when he was on the continent usually a bit of hair dye and new clothes would suffice.
She stepped off the train and spotted him almost immediately. The first few times they'd met like this, it'd taken her a while to see through his disguises. But now she could pick him out anywhere. Plus, there weren't many people on the platform that weren't waiting to board the train. She smiled softly as she turned up her collar against the wind and headed over to him. He was blonde now and his hair was incredibly short. It wasn't her favorite look, but it wasn't bad. He wore a nice pair of jeans and a gray shirt, with a leather jacket and a green scarf. He'd taken a bit of care in using some contouring shadows on his face and he had popped in a pair of brown contacts.
He stood up and embraced her briefly when she reached him, before grabbing her small bag from her and taking her hand, leading her down the platform to the main station. They caught a cab and Molly looked mildly shocked when Sherlock gave the cabbie an address to a hotel in the city center. He then proceeded to make a big fuss about how much he had missed her and how he wasn't going to let her out of the room all weekend. Molly flushed as Sherlock leaned in to her, practically wrapping himself around her, and began whispering all his deductions about the cabbie. "I always pay attention to cabbies now," he said as he finished his observations. Molly giggled.
He didn't move away from her afterwards though, keeping up the pretense he had created of the long-separated lovers. Molly began to calm down and settled into her role, whispering into Sherlock's ear about the interesting cadavers that had come in since he'd last seen her. Obviously, the cabbie was none the wiser, which only made Molly find more amusement in the situation.
They arrived at the hotel and Sherlock handed the cabbie a few bills and winked lewdly at the man while gesturing towards Molly and thanking him for getting them to the hotel quickly. He grabbed her bag again and led her into the hotel, his hand heavy at the small of her back. He checked them in under his name of the moment (and she couldn't help but smile and squeeze his hand when he told the front desk that the room was for John Hudson). They went up to their room and Sherlock immediately began sweeping for bugs in the small room. Molly sat down on the bed before fully examining the man in front of her.
She'd noticed the basics of his appearance at the train station, but he'd put on a mask while they were in the cab and the lobby of the hotel. The minute they walked into the room, he dropped it and Molly was privy to the real Sherlock. He looked exhausted, almost beaten down. There were dark circles under his eyes and a few wrinkles on his brow that hadn't been there before. She kicked off her shoes and pushed herself back against the headboard and waited patiently for him. Sherlock had finished his bug sweep and had moved into the en suite, presumably to take out his contacts and scrub his face.
Sure enough, when he re-emerged his face was clean of any makeup and his piercing blue green eyes were on full display. He hovered in the door briefly before Molly rolled her eyes and patted the spot next to her. "C'mere," she entreated.
Sherlock nodded and kicked off his shoes before climbing onto the bed and cuddling against her, his arms around her waist and his head cradled on her shoulder. She ran one hand down his back and the other wound through his hair, stroking and petting softly. "You didn't really need me to bring this file to you, did you?"
He shook his head, confirming her statement. "I needed to see you, Molly. I needed this," he whispered, his hot breath sending a shiver down her spine. His arms tightened around her briefly, before he relaxed further into her. She knew that sometimes, despite his many statements about being above humanity, he missed being around people. People that liked him anyway – and there was no person in the world that liked him more than Molly Hooper. Being forced into solitude like this had affected him more than he had guessed it would and it left him aching for this physical connection sometimes. The first time it happened had been about a year ago and Molly had been startled when, during one of their dinners out after an information drop, he had swept her up in an embrace so intense she could hardly breathe.
She nodded and barely brushed her lips against the top of Sherlock's head. "Mycroft booked me on a train back to London tomorrow afternoon. Can you stay with me until I have to go back?"
Sherlock nodded silently, his body relaxing as Molly eased them down onto the bed. She could recognize the signs of Sherlock's body shutting down now. He'd sleep for a few hours and be much better off when he woke back up. She didn't bother with trying to get him under the covers; it was practically a lost cause at this point, with Sherlock basically being dead to the world in her arms. She felt her own eyes start to close and she pressed one last kiss to the top of Sherlock's head before sleep claimed her as well.
