A/N: Inspired by an online prompt: "oh hey there fellow shopper I hope you enjoyed my rendition of bohemian rhapsody in the produce aisle at 2 AM sup." It just screamed "high!lock" to me.
Molly Hooper was in the bottled water aisle of the grocery store at 2 AM one Wednesday when she could hear someone singing loudly.
"IS THIS THE REAL LIFE? IS IT JUST FANTASY? CAUGHT IN A LANDSLIDE, NO ESCAPE FROM REALITY!"
Who is singing Queen at this hour in the middle of a grocery store? Assuming it was one of the employees, she decided to find him and get him to stop. She walked in the direction of the continued singing. He has a good voice, at least. Nice and deep.
She found the man in the produce aisle, juggling three apples while he sang. "LITTLE HIGH, LITTLE LOW! ANY WAY THE WIND BLOWS DOESN'T REALLY MATTER TO ME, TO ME!" He was tall (though anyone over five-foot-four was tall to Molly) with curly black hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in days, at least two days' worth of stubble on his face, and striking blue-green eyes that were marred by bloodshot and dilated pupils.
He's high, Molly realized. I have to help him. She approached him slowly. "Are you alright?"
The man suddenly looked at her, two of the apples falling to the floor. He looked down at them, then at the third one still in his hand, then back at her. Now that he no longer looked crazed, he looked … lost. "No," he said quietly, "I don't think I am." He took a bite of the apple in his hand then picked one of the apples off the floor, rubbing it clean on his expensive-looking coat before offering it to her. "Apple?"
Half an hour later, Molly and the man, whose name she'd learned was Sherlock Holmes, were standing on the front steps of a building he claimed to live at, but didn't have a key for. He finally found it in one of the pockets of his coat, but his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't get the key in the lock. Molly gently took the key from him and unlocked the door.
Sherlock led the way into the foyer. He was halfway to the first landing when he suddenly stopped, turned around, and went past Molly back down the stairs. He took his coat off and hung it up, then started up the stairs again.
Molly followed him, watching him worriedly. "Is there someone I can call for you?" She had offered to take him to the hospital but he had adamantly refused.
"Dr. John Watson. He's … a friend," he said as he walked into his sitting room and flopped onto the sofa. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and tossed it at her. His toss was wide but Molly still caught it.
She scrolled through his short list of contacts until she found Dr. Watson's number. She pressed the button and waited. It rang four times then went to voicemail. "Dr. Watson, this is Dr. Molly Hooper. I'm at 221B Baker Street. Mr. Holmes is here and he is in very bad shape. He won't let me take him to the hospital, he insists on only talking to you. Please come." She hung up then set the mobile on the coffee table and looked at Sherlock. "How long will it take him to get here?"
"Anywhere from half an hour to half past never, depending on how angry he is," Sherlock muttered.
Molly blinked in surprise. "Is his anger the reason you're high?"
Instead of responding, Sherlock turned onto his side, his back to her. Molly sighed quietly.
"I can't leave you alone in this state," she said.
"Kettle's in the kitchen," Sherlock muttered, raising a hand to point in the general direction.
Rolling her eyes, Molly went into the kitchen. She nearly turned around and left when she saw the drug paraphernalia on the kitchen table. I have to get rid of that but I assume Dr. Watson will want to see it first. She put the kettle on. Molly had to search three cabinets before finding the tea, then she had to throw out two boxes of tea that was well past its expiration dates before finding a box that was still good.
She was on her second cup before Sherlock's mobile chirped. Molly picked it up and read the text aloud.
3:13a Sherlock, if this is some kind of game, I'm not interested. JW
"Tell him it's not a game," Sherlock muttered, his back still to her. "It's a case."
"Case?" she asked, confused, as she typed.
3:15a He says it's a case. Molly
He finally turned onto his other side to face her. "I'm a consulting detective. Dr. Watson's late wife has posthumously given me the most important case of my life, but don't tell him that."
She stared at him. "You went on a bender because a friend you lost has given you a case?"
"It's … complicated."
3:21a I'm coming over. JW
"He's coming. I'll stay with you until he gets here."
Sherlock assessed her for a moment, long enough to make her squirm under his scrutiny. "You can stay longer if you want, a pathologist doesn't get many living patients."
"I never told you what kind of doctor I am," she said, confused. "How did you know?"
"I didn't know, I observed."
"What else did you observe?"
He squinted at her left hand. "You were engaged, but the engagement ended last year." His gaze moved to her cherry-patterned jumper. "You have two … no, one cat that sheds enough for two. You are surrounded by death at work so you counteract it by wearing bright colors and 'cheerful' patterns." His grimace told her all she needed to know about his opinion on that. "You are self-conscious about your figure so you hide it in baggy and shapeless clothes. You are currently not dating anyone, despite the 'best' efforts and intentions of friends and family. You always try to see the best in everything and everyone. I'm afraid those efforts are wasted on me."
"And why is that?"
"I'm the person responsible for the death of Mary Watson."
Molly watched from a chair at the table as Dr. Watson checked Sherlock's vital signs. Both men were silent. She had the feeling that Sherlock was simply at a loss for words while Dr. Watson seemed to be quietly seething.
"You should be in hospital," Dr. Watson muttered finally. "I'll take you to A&E myself."
"No hospitals," Sherlock said firmly. "You're a doctor, a good one, you should be able to keep me alive all on your own."
John glanced at Molly then turned back to Sherlock. "What is this really about, Sherlock? And don't say it's for a case. I've seen you on drugs for a case and it was nowhere near as bad as this."
Sherlock turned to her. "I'm afraid this is privileged information, Dr. Hooper."
"I understand," she said, though she really didn't understand any of it. She scribbled her name and phone number on a notepad on the desk. "Please call me when this is over and let me know how you are."
Sherlock made a noncommittal sound then, after seeing Dr. Watson's expectant look, muttered, "Thank you for your help."
She gave him her friendliest smile. "You're welcome."
The look Sherlock gave her was unreadable. She decided that was because of the drugs still in his system. Dr. Watson offered to walk her out and she accepted. When they were at the front door, she turned to him.
"Dr. Watson, I'm very sorry about your wife," she said gently.
He didn't say anything for a moment then he sighed painfully. "Thank you. Please, call me John."
"Molly." She hesitated for a moment. "What did he mean when he said he's responsible for what happened to your wife?"
John's expression hardened. "Sherlock vowed to protect Mary and now she's dead."
"How did she die?"
"From what others have told me, a criminal Sherlock was goading decided to kill him. Mary…" He swallowed hard. "Mary took the bullet for him instead."
"If I may, that sounds like Sherlock isn't responsible, the criminal is."
"He made a vow," John said firmly. "Failing to protect-"
"Isn't the same as being responsible," Molly said gently. "I wasn't there, of course, but it sounds like Sherlock didn't have a chance to act."
"He shouldn't have goaded that woman," John said vehemently. "He should've known!"
"I'm sure he's going to regret what he did for the rest of his life," Molly said gently, "but that doesn't make him responsible for Mary's death. Please, forgive him. You need each other right now."
John didn't respond and she hoped, prayed he was thinking it over.
Molly heard nothing from either man for six weeks. She was in her office at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, just finishing an autopsy report, when her mobile chirped.
5:49p Dinner? SH
SH? Molly thought, confused, then it hit her. Oh! Sherlock Holmes. He's asking me out?
5:51p I'll have dinner with you on one condition – are you clean? Molly
5:52p Clean, sober, and starving. So, dinner? SH
5:54p Sure, my shift's almost over. Molly
"I know," came the deep and already familiar voice from the doorway.
Molly looked up to see Sherlock standing there, smirking at her. Good God, he looks amazing... Sherlock was meticulously groomed and dressed in a black suit and an aubergine shirt, and she wanted to relieve its poor straining buttons. "You … um … you look-"
"Clean? Healthy?" he asked, smiling a bit. "I am."
She felt her cheeks flush. "I was going to say 'incredible.'"
He smirked again. "I'm glad you approve. Shall we?"
Molly shed her lab coat and grabbed her bag in record time, Sherlock chuckling throughout.
"If I had known you'd be this eager," he said, grinning, "I would have offered lunch instead."