Who has two thumbs and an entire weekend to do whatever they want and instead decides to spend it writing fanfiction? This girl. Seriously, I have no life but I guess that's a good thing for you guys because it means more corny little stories like this, which is just one way I thought of for John to figure out about Sherlock and Molly so hopefully you all like it as well.
Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
If John Watson was being honest, he would say he had been waiting for this call since the day he stepped out of Baker Street and moved in with Mary. It wasn't really a lack of trust that brought it on per say, it was more like years of knowing Sherlock Holmes and learning to expect things like this because that's just how the man functioned. It was dangerous but it was part of his eccentric (he uses the world lightly) personality and John knew there was no changing it.
Still, even knowing what he does it didn't stop the gnawing worry when he sees Lestrade's name on his ringing phone, especially at nearly three in the morning.
"'Ello?" he mutters sleepily into the receiver and hears Mary shift beside him as he sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"John?" Greg's voice is booming, making John wince and the sound of sirens wailing in the background is breaking through the sound of panicked chatter.
Of course. He should really expect these things by now.
"John?" Greg's yelling again and by now John is halfway down the hall to put the kettle on, holding the phone a few inches from his ear.
"Jesus, Greg, what's the matter?" he nearly yells back but the last thing he needs is to wake his wife before her early morning shift and he decides against it.
"I'm at Baker Street," the inspector explains quickly. "There was a fire in the complex but everything's alright. You may want to stop by though, the damage is pretty bad and you may need to gather up Sherlock."
He stops pouring water into his mug, the tea bag still on the counter as he bypasses the sugar and grabs his keys instead and a coat from the back of one of the kitchen chairs, slipping on his shoes and throwing the door open. He momentarily thinks about leaving a note for Mary but the explanation would just leave her panicked.
He'll call later, he decides.
Even though he's managed not to ask question and promises Greg he'll be there in twenty minutes (he's not actually sure he hears him though because the line goes dead before he finishes) he is internally panicking. Despite the voice in his head that reminds him at least once a day that Sherlock has lived alone before he came along John can't help but think that one day he will get a call and it won't be asking him to come check on his best friend who has once again escaped grave injury or death and in the end it will be his fault.
Of course it was a ridiculous thought, he wasn't Sherlock's father or personal supervisor, yet since the day he had agreed to live with the strange robotic man he couldn't help but come to the conclusion that he had signed on as the world's only consulting detective's babysitter. It is not a title that comes with a great deal of demand either. Still, he had a loyalty to Sherlock he couldn't ignore and he decides that is the only explanation for what he is doing right now.
When he gets to Baker Street it looks more like a riot than an outright emergency. The block is lined with fire trucks and a few ambulances, and on the corner he can see Greg with a puzzled look on his face that only seems to deepen when he spots John getting out of his car. He can't actually make out any of the building around him due to the flames and the continually vomited black smoke but he can tell that the damage is as bad, if not worse, than Greg had originally described.
Ignoring the snort that comes from Donovan at the sight of the Doctor in his pajamas John raises his arms in question and this is when he begins to yell.
"Jesus, what the hell could he have possibly been doing this time? And where is Mrs. Hudson? He's lucky he didn't get her killed as well as himself!"
"John-"
"If this is some sort of cry for attention because I haven't been round in a while than he is going to have a lot of explaining to do."
Greg shifts uncomfortably and tries to speak up.
"John, please-"
"The bloody ignorant twat-"
"John, it wasn't Sherlock this time. I didn't know at first but..." Greg finally spits out the fact that's been troubling him since arriving on the scene and watches the Doctor's face crumble into one of confusion.
"What? Not his fault? How do you know?"
Greg kicks at spot on the sidewalk and looks over at Sally, who just shrugs with a slightly disgusted look on her face before turning to another officer. John ignores the urge to snap at her and looks expectantly at Greg again.
The inspector sighs.
"He was… a bit preoccupied when it happened."
John furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side.
"Preoccupied? With what?"
Instead of offering an explanation Greg takes John by the arm, leading him to the ambulance a few feet away where the back doors are open and he can see a mop of dark, messy curls, although his back is to the two men. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the man is Sherlock.
There's a grey blanket around his shoulders and an oxygen mask pressed against his face which slightly worries John but it all seems to meld into shock and disbelief when he finally notices that there's a woman sitting beside him, clad in what looks to be only an oversized t-shirt as she holds the mask in place. John looks at Greg who just shakes his head.
"It gets better," he says and John wonders what the hell he's talking about.
Suddenly, once she hears their voices, the woman turns her head, eyes growing wide when she sees that Greg now has company and Molly, being her normal spirited self despite being covered in soot and barely dressed, waves at him with a half-smile. All he can do is gawk.
"What the bloody hell?"
Apparently, John asks this out loud because Sherlock turns his head and in the way only he can rolls his eyes as if John was the most ignorant person in this country before he swats away the mask.
"Honestly John, I could be halfway to lung cancer right now and you're asking ridiculous questions you already know the answer to?"
The doctor bites his tongue and counts to ten, taking a deep breath and fixing Sherlock with the coldest glare he can muster in his exhausted and utterly confused state. He holds in a laugh when Molly swats at the hand holding the abandoned oxygen mask and presses it against his face once more.
"Keep it on," she scolds and John is waiting for some sort of sharp remark or hurtful comment but the detective just rolls his eyes and does as she says. There isn't even an argument.
John has part of a mind to give her some sort of medal.
"Where is Mrs. Hudson?" he asks, remembering the elderly woman who was nowhere to be seen yet.
Molly answers him in a quiet voice. "Out with her sister, thank goodness."
Well, she'll be in for a definite surprise when she gets back.
They all fall silent after that, Greg retreating back to Sally's side with his phone pressed to his ear and John at an honest loss for words as he tries to sort through this new information and watches Molly tenderly brush back Sherlock's hair and wipe at the stain on his cheek.
Finally John sighs and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "How long?"
Molly looks back at him sheepishly and tugs at the hem of the old shirt she's wearing, trying to cover the pale skin of her thighs and failing miserably. Sherlock notices and shrugs off the blanket, covering her with it and eyeing John with a look that warns him to be careful.
Protective, he muses.
Eventually Molly whispers, "Almost a year," and John nearly chokes on air.
"A year? You've been seeing each other for an entire year and I'm just finding out now?"
Molly nods sadly but Sherlock interrupts, voice muffled and distorted.
"If it helps I was technically dead for the first six months."
Now it's John's turn to roll his eyes. "No Sherlock that does not help but thank you for the input."
There are a few grumbled words the doctor can't hear but he decides that's probably a good thing and looks back at Molly. She looks scared, but whether it's of his reaction or the obvious hurt on his face he isn't sure. Of course he is upset that his best friend didn't care to share his relationship with him, only because he is the only one he knows won't judge and honestly it's something he's been waiting for since Christmas nearly five years ago. But, he decides, both of them look relatively happy despite Sherlock's occasional hacking and the black covering their alabaster skin and if anyone deserves happiness it is them.
So in the end, he relents with a sly smile.
"You'll be careful with her won't you?" he crosses his arms and directs the question at Sherlock who blinks in surprise while Molly blushes but there's a hint of obvious annoyance playing on his face.
"Of course I will."
John nods with satisfaction. "Good, because honestly I'd hate to have to actually kill you."