This was just a plot bunny that popped into my head and I just HAD to write it.
Trigger Warning- SPOILER: Mild Violence/Character death
Special thanks to celeryy on FF/aesthetic-dissonance on tumblr :)
All rights to BBC Sherlock. (except for the lil' plotline i imagined up)
Sherlock stepped closer to Molly, causing her to back up. Molly looked back and forth between his eyes, searching for some clue in his gaze as to what was going on. She came up with nothing. She felt her shoulderblades press against the brick wall, yet he came closer still. If I could only figure out what he was doing I could stop him... Molly Hooper became scared. What was he going to say? He got closer and closer, his blue eyes fixed on her. Molly turned to her only defense. "Sherlock, I— I'm not afraid of you!" Molly voiced. She saw a glint of surprise in his eye, then hastily added, "…not anymore." Lies.
Sherlock faltered, and backed up one small step. His eyes widened slightly and he took a breath. "Wha—I, uh… Molly, I wasn't intending to frighten you." He had only meant to inform her of his— feelings. He did not mean to cause harm in any way. He felt protective of her. Plain and simple, he had a very strong urge to kiss her. Sherlock had never felt this way about anyone before, save John. The one time he felt like kissing John was short-lived. At the pool, the relief of John not exploding into a million pieces made him desire to kiss him, as if it would save him from blaming Sherlock. (A quick, "What are you doing, mate?" from John put the kibosh on that attempt right away.)
But Molly was different. She was his pathologist, his pathologist, and he had this twang in his stomach everytime he saw her. His fingers would get all tingly and his heart would beat about 4% faster for every minute he was near her. He didn't even know that he had wanted to kiss her until today. He found himself glancing at her mouth just a few too many times.
He had asked Molly to meet him outside of St. Bart's. The phone in his pocket felt heavy. Sherlock had received a text message from Moriarty less than an hour ago. Sherlock knew right away what he needed to do, and he knew that all he needed was Molly's help.
So here he was, in this moment, about to ask Molly to help him, and she was telling him that she was not afraid? Well, he would hope not! He hadn't given her any reason to be, right? What was he doing wrong?
"I'm going to try again, okay? I am in no way trying to frighten you, Molly, and I am in no way angry at you," Sherlock stated, more confidently, moving in on her once more. As he got even closer, he placed his right hand on the wall beside her head. "Molly," he said.
"Ah, yes Sherlock?" she spluttered.
"I need your help."
That was odd. "Why would you need me, you never-" he cut her off with a finger to her lips and a stern glare. She was making direct eye contact with him for one of the first times ever. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She tried to speak again, muffled under his slender finger. "I'm just saying, I don't quite understand how…" she trailed off when she noticed him edging closer to her.
"Molly, do shut up," he whispered, before placing his hand on her cheek and pulling her into a kiss. Molly began to melt under his touch. Suddenly, she opened her eyes. He had never treated her this way. She had assumed that the only reason he was acting like this was to get something from her. Flustered, she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away with the energy Sherlock hadn't yet siphoned from her.
"Sher—Sherlock! Stop, please!" she huffed, out of breath from his—startlingly skillful—kiss. Her ears were ringing with the feeling of being… used. "Sherlock, what do you want from me? I know you can usually get what you want with just a mention of my lipstick, but this is too far! I have to go. Catch you later, Sherlock."
Sherlock, still high off the kiss, fished for what to do. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. "Hands off!" she shouted.
"Really Molly, don't cause a scene. Can you just… can you just listen to me for a minute?"
"Don't talk down to me, Sherlock! I don't want to hear it right now. Now I have to leave!" Molly extracted herself from underneath his arm and started walking to her flat.
"Molly, no, I—" he realized what he needed to say. "Molly, I love you. I always have. You do count, and I've always trusted you." She stopped walking, but didn't turn around. She waited. Sherlock continued. "And… and I just wanted you to know that before you left me and I left you and I couldn't see you again." He was going to ask her to help him fake his death, but he was debating whether faking it was really necessary at this point. Everyone hated him anyway.
Molly ran back to where they were standing before, and looked up into his eyes. "Sherlock, I mean, you can't just say that to me if you don't mean it. You know I—"
"I do mean it."
"What?" Molly questioned.
Sherlock decided to show her. He swept her into his arms and held her close. "Molly. I mean it. I love you." He kissed her delicately,
and had the urge to run his hands through her silky hair and hold her close for as long as he could. He pushed his jaw forward slightly, coaxing her to open her mouth. Molly caught on, and lightly ran her tongue along his lips.
Sherlock was just about to ask her if she wanted to go inside, out of the cold, when he heard the sound of gunshots. They cracked through the air, and he couldn't figure out what direction the bullets came from. Molly let go of him and screamed. Sherlock looked down at her and realized she was clutching her stomach. "Molly? Molly!" She slid out of his arms and hit the pavement. She was screaming and crying and her hand on her gut couldn't prevent the bleeding.
Sherlock felt all of the fuses break in his mind. He fell into panic mode. He got down on the ground. "Molly? Molly, can you hear me? You have to hold on! You have to— You have—" He didn't even realize that tears had started streaming down his cheeks. He was pressing his hand on the wound on her stomach and trying to speak to her. "Molly, I love you. You have to hold on."
"Sherlock…" she groaned. He tightened his grip on her hand, comforting her. He had texted John within two seconds and his phone was discarded on the ground.
"Shh, Molly, help is coming, it's coming, I promise," he murmured to her. She shook her head. "No, Molly, I promise, it is! Help is coming," he encouraged. Again she shook her head.
"I love you, Sherlock," she whispered, face wet with tears. "But I think this is it. The help won't… the help won't help…" Molly gave up on speaking.
"No, Molly, it will be okay, I will make this okay!" he nearly shouted at her. His grip on her had grown tighter and his eyes stung. "I will make this okay… I love you… I love you…"
"I love you too."
Molly's hand lost its grip and fell to her side. Her eyes lost their light. So did Sherlock's.
Thanks. Let me know what you think! Not sure whether to continue yet.
EDIT: Still not sure whether to continue, but a few of you put this on Story Alert... does this mean you want more? Let me know!