A/N: As if I needed any more WIPs to pile on myself *sigh*. If I do go through with this story, the rating might later change to M.
Full Summary: Robert Gladwell, Molly's first love has re-entered her life and much to Sherlock's dismay, threatens to be her ever after. The consulting detective's hatred for the man is matched with equal intensity when he comes to understand Sherlock's motivation. Unsolicited feelings aside, Sherlock can't shake off the feeling that something is very wrong with Robert, but their uncanny similarities and sentimental involvement hinders his objectivity in pinpointing the problem. Until he is able to do so, Sherlock, Robert, and Molly will be locked into a dangerous conflict where they will come to learn how destructive it is not to draw a line between love and obsession.
Sherlock had never really been concerned with her suitors in the past, always confident that with or without assistance, they would run their course. Tom had a been a close call, but despite their engagement status he had estimated their fallout to take place well on before a wedding date was finalized. Robert Gladwell would prove to be different. He was no Tom, nor like any other romantic partner of Molly's he had ever come across. It may have been because of their history, but it didn't matter.
He should have never brought her along to that case. It hadn't even been a five, why had he insisted on bringing her along? Even a different route would have been better. He should have done something, anything to delay or avoid their encounter. Sherlock knew every turning point he ever had in his life but nothing would prepare him for the irrevocable change that Gladwell brought on.
"I know I've said the police are almost always out of their depth but that was ridiculous!"
"Sherlock don't be mean. I could see why they jumped to the conclusion."
"But a suicide Molly? Who shoots an arrow through their own head?"
They were walking down the street away from the crime scene where Sherlock had to have met the most idiotic human being to walk the Earth. The new forensics scientist in charge of the case made Anderson look like a genius.
The look of utter disdain on Sherlock's face teased out a laugh from Molly, a mistake she now realized when it became more difficult to keep up with Sherlock's brutal pace.
"Well don't take it out on me!" She finally huffed out upon realizing that Sherlock was not going to slow down. From the look on his intense face, he was probably too busy insulting the IQ of the forensic in charge, or expanding the vicious deductions he had made. Poor Johnson, she thought. Did Sherlock need to point out the man's preference to wear lingerie in front of his colleagues?
Having not caught on to her predicament, Sherlock turned back to give her a puzzled look. "You and your long legs." She gestured pointedly towards the space between them. "You really need to be considerate of us little people."
Sherlock snorted. "You're not that vertically challenged," he said while gracefully dodging a playful kick from Molly. He did consciously made the effort to slow down to a pace that didn't require Molly to jog.
For what it was worth, Sherlock wasn't entirely upset about wasting his time doing the forensic team's work for them. It had been fun to see Molly work, rapidly shooting observations for the incompetent idiot to fawn over. The memory caused him to no end. It was bad enough Johnson was an imbecile, but the unwanted interest in his pathologist had been unacceptable.
He personally has zero patience for stupidity, even if or not it was trying to woo his pathologist. Tom had been the great exception, given he had to take Molly's feelings into consideration but Johnson had been open game. He admits may have enjoyed the utter horror of him revealing his preference for wearing knickers a bit more than he should have. But as far as Sherlock was concerned, he should be considered gentleman for holding back on man's evident signs of having an Oedipus complex. Molly might not have appreciated him revealing that much about the imbecile, especially since he suspected she reminded the man of his mother.
"Oh, come now, Johnson wasn't so bad," she chided. He realized from Molly's grin that his thoughts must have been apparent on his face."I could almost hear insults." Sherlock opened his mouth to offer a few choice examples of just how 'bad' he was when she shook her head. "I might start feeling sorry for the poor sap."
"So you admit he was a moron!" He exclaimed, quite happy to know that she had no interest in the specialist at all.
"I would go as far as saying that, though someone might want him to stick to the lab work" she admitted. Even in the face of mediocrity Molly was polite. How she managed to keep those social niceties was beyond him.
"Please. He shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a microscope, let alone forensic evidence. Scotland Yard should have his salary reimbursed."
That burst a dam in Molly as she fell into a fit of giggles; they even had to stop walking so she could recover. Just the fact he was so tickled because of warmed his chest and a goofy smile tugged at his lips as he watched her try to catch her breath."He was awful, wasn't he." She said in between her gasps.
Sherlock liked her laugh. To his ears it sounded like a bubbling stream; it was unrestrained and absolutely genuine. She laughed a lot more around him. Apparently she thought him to be hilarious. He supposed it was an indication how far she had come since he first met her. No longer was she the stammering mess that answered his every whim. He suspected the Molly he has come to be very good friends after Moriarty's second defeat was her true self, the character she always had been when he wasn't around her.
He found his earlier irritation at the case fade as he watched her eyes crinkle in amusement, beads of tears threatening to fall down her very flushed cheeks. They appeared to be rosy red, especially in light of the cold November afternoon. It took him several seconds to realize he was gawking at her and quickly looked away and resume his walk—although much slower—to encourage her to follow.
Great, now he felt flustered. "Care for some Indian food?" he asked awkwardly. "I did see a promising restaurant on our way here and I am aware of you're now very keen to ethnic flavors." He could feel himself calm down as he kept walking; it did help not to look at her face.
"I suppose I should thank you for expanding my palate. I've tasted the weirdest things ever since I let you order my takeouts." She was walking alongside him now that he had found the perfect pace for her to follow.
"You're more adventurous than you think," he said, still trying not looking at her.
"I should hope so given the kind of cases you've—" Her feet stopped as abruptly her words did. The suddenness of it all caused Sherlock to turn back to look at her, momentarily forgetting that he had been avoiding her face.
Her smile faltered to one of utter surprise as she looked across the street, where a lone man was standing with an equally shocked look on his face. In one glance he registered the grey toque and matching scarf adorned over the the pea coat he was wearing. Those details were irrelevant compare to the emotion that etched his face as he looked at her. It was a look he had seen time and time again when Molly had subjected him to watch her silly movies; although the scene playing out before his eyes wasn't silly at all. In fact, it felt like a chunk of lead had settled in his gut that made an unpleasant twist when he heard her whisper what could only be the stranger's name with so much familiarity, it almost physically hurt. Sherlock was quickly coming to recognize the encounter for what it was.
A lovers' reunion.
He didn't realize it then, but Sherlock would come to relive and regret this moment. As unintentional as it had been, he should have never allowed them to meet.