You'll Never Walk Alone

With a satisfied sigh, John Watson shut his medical textbook and the notebook in which he'd been taking notes. He didn't normally do any work on Friday evenings, but in the last month he'd had the hankering to get as much done before the weekend really started. Well, whatever the reason, it was nice to know that now he had nothing to worry about until Monday morning.

His attention now turned to his flatmate and best friend, Sherlock Holmes, who appeared to be anything but satisfied. The tall young man was pacing around their sitting room in his pajamas and favorite dressing gown, the very image of restless boredom. Knowing that there might be serious consequences if something weren't done now, John set aside his schoolwork and picked up the copy of The Daily Mail he'd picked up on the way back to Baker Street from his last class.

"Anything?" asked Sherlock, upon hearing the rustle of the newspaper.

"Hmm…not much, I'm afraid…military coup in Egypt…cabinet reshuffle…"

"Nothing of importance, oh God!" exclaimed his flatmate, collapsing in his chair in a fit worthy of any toddler.

Before he could beg John to get him some cigarettes, the medical undergrad said, "Why not start a new experiment? You've already turned our kitchen into a laboratory, and I'm sure you didn't do that for no reason at all."

"Of course not," snapped the chemistry undergrad. "I had every intention of analyzing the dirt from a pair of sneakers found abandoned near a recent murder."

John's eyebrows shot up. "How the heck did you manage to get them from police evidence?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. They never bothered to take the sneakers as evidence, even though the stains on the sides and soles are clearly more red in hue than would be the ordinary grime of this city. Idiots!"

John chuckled. "Shadowing Scotland Yard cars and digging through trash heaps again?"

"What else am I supposed to do until they take me seriously?" snapped Sherlock, throwing himself into his chair in a full-blown pout. "And now I can't start my experiment because Mrs. Hudson decided to go on a cleaning binge that included throwing away my chemical supplies!"

"Well, you shouldn't be keeping her up with the violin at all hours of the night."

"She should get some earplugs, like you, then!"

John sighed, knowing that when Sherlock was in a full-blown strop, the only thing that could do any good was to get him what he wanted. Getting up from his chair, John said, "Well, the last thing I want is for you to do something truly desperate to avoid boredom. Why don't I go to St. Bart's and get what you need, if you make a list for me?"

Sherlock's eyes immediately lit up in surprise and delight. Nodding, he grabbed John's notebook and pen, tore out a blank page and began making his list rapidly. "You may need the night security code to access the lab. I figured it out ages ago, do you need it?"

John shook his head as he slipped on his coat. "That's alright. Molly told me she'd been working there late anyway. We've got a project due in Dr. Harding's class next week."

Sherlock's hand paused as he looked up at John with an understanding look in his eyes. "Ah, of course," he muttered before returning his attention to his list.

His words could very well have been about John's reason for not needing the security code, but his tone was far more knowing, even teasing, than that. "What does that mean?" asked John.

"Usually, you grouse at least a little bit whenever I ask a favor of you; it's very rare that you volunteer to help in my experiments here, especially since I take over the kitchen in the process. But since this errand means seeing Molly, possibly sharing a coffee with her, it all makes sense now. God, John, stop being such an honorable gentleman and ask her out. You want to, she wants you to, so get it over with!"

For a moment, John was too surprised to speak. Never before had Sherlock given any indication that he knew of his feelings for Molly. John's first instinct was to deny it, that he only felt friendship for Molly, but the look in Sherlock's eyes told him it would only be stupid to deny what was true. So John sighed and ran a hand through his hair before replying.

"Sherlock…Molly's under a lot of stress right now. Not only with finals coming up, but her father's diagnosis a few weeks ago…she needs me to be a friend now, not for me to 'get it over with' as you put it."

The taller man sighed, and the impatient annoyance he'd had on his face during his last tirade disappeared. "I won't ever pretend that romance and relationships are my area, but I do know that I would like to know everything that I could know if surrounded by uncertainty."

With that, Sherlock folded up the paper and handed it to John. "Thank you for fetching them for me," he said before walking into his bedroom.

After a moment of stunned silence after a rare moment of sincere gratitude from the aspiring consulting detective, John snapped himself out of it, pocketed the list in his coat, and left 221B Baker Street.

As John walked through the doors of St. Bart's Hospital, he had come to the conclusion that Sherlock had made a fair point. Sherlock Holmes was certainly no expert on love and romance, but he'd helped John realize an important truth: that if he were in as tough a situation as Molly was now, he would want to know if he was loved. And Sherlock had said that Molly wanted him to confess his feelings, which could only mean that his feelings were requited!

So, John walked into the teaching hospital – where the two students had a few classes and labs, and where Sherlock frequently snuck into because their labs were top-notch – with the plan of asking Molly out to a late dinner and then walking her home. Whatever Sherlock said, John would stay a gentleman because that's what Molly deserved.

But when he stepped up to the elevator, the doors opened and there stood the woman who'd captured his heart. "Molly, hey!" he said, his heart lifting and already pounding.

Her head had been down, and had jerked up in surprise at the sound of his voice. But when he saw her face – the tear-stained cheeks, the red eyes, the ashen pallor – his smile immediately fell and worry replaced all his nerves.

"Oh, John, uh, I'm sorry, please excuse me…" she said shakily and rushed out of the elevator and passed him.

He only gave her a second-long head start before rushing after her and stopping her by blocking her path. "Whoa, Molly, something's wrong, what's wrong?"

"I-it's nothing," she muttered, her feet on her sneakers and her arms wrapped very tightly around her hunched, defeated form.

"Molly, it's not nothing, please tell me," said John, his voice rich with concern. He instinctively reached out to touch her shoulder, but she practically leapt back when she saw his hand approaching her. Now John felt true fear – something bad had happened, that much was certain. "Molly…" he entreated, putting his whole heart into his voice and eyes. "It's just me."

Molly looked up to meet his gaze, and her eyes filled with shame and tears. "Oh, John, I'm sorry." Then she seemed to collapse onto herself – head lowered, arms around her tightening, posture hunching further – and muttered something he couldn't make out.

Cautiously, John stepped closer to her and said, "What did you say, Molly? Please, tell me what's wrong."

She took a deep shuddering breath, raised her eyes from her feet to the collar of his shirt, and said a whisper more clearly, "Dr. Harding felt me up."

The words shocked John like a sucker-punch to the gut. His spine straightened, but he did not back away from her. "What?" he breathed. "He did what?"

Molly was shaking a bit now. "He found me working on my project in the lab, started telling me how well I was doing, and then how in this field I needed to be more…aggressive. Before I knew it he'd b-b-backed me up against the c-counter, p-pulled me to him and g-g-grabbed my…" Her hand hovered over her left breast, new tears falling down her face. "I p-p-pushed him away and he…he laughed and said I'd never make it in a man's world without being more…more…open." She spit out the last word like poison.

By now all John could see was red, and his hands had clenched into fists. His two strongest desires were at war with each other: either to hunt down Dr. Harding and break each of his fingers one by one, or take Molly in his arms and carry her away to a place she would never be hurt again.

But he was brought back to cold reality when he saw Molly wipe her cheeks and move to walk past him, saying, "He's right, I don't belong here."

Well, he couldn't have that. He wouldn't hear her say something so untrue, so blatantly untrue. He blocked her path, holding up his hands to her. "No, Molly, he's wrong, he's so bloody wrong. Look, we'll fight this, I'll do whatever it takes to fix it –"

"John, please." Her soft and desperate plea cut him off. Her brown eyes locking with his grey ones, Molly reached out and lowered his hands to his sides, squeezing them in a terribly final way. "I just want to go home…my Dad needs me…"

She appeared as if she wanted to say more, but it seemed that the words she wanted would not come. All she could do was squeeze his hands one last time and then walk around and away from him, out of St. Bart's and out of his sight.

But her presence had never been so heavy in his heart as it broke for her.

Nearly an hour later, John returned to 221B Baker Street. He'd stood in that state of heartbroken shock in the St. Bart's lobby for about thirty seconds before exiting the building. He followed Molly from a safe distance, needing to be sure that she made it home safely in her state. After seeing her enter her flat's building, John had taken a slightly winding way back to his own flat, needing to cool off (his urge to break Dr. Harding's fingers and worse had not disappeared). By the time he'd reached Baker Street, John had come up with a plan.

The door to 221B was opened loudly and forcefully, and slammed shut with equal force. Needless to say, Sherlock was surprised – John had never done that before. "John, where are my chemicals?..." was the first question that left his mouth, for his eyes had immediately searched for the bag John had said he'd come back with. But as his sharp and observant gaze took in the state John was in, his voice and manner immediately went from irritated to almost fearful. Something serious had clearly just happened. "What's happened?"

"You have a case," said John, walking up to the detective and practically slamming his hand on the kitchen table, where Sherlock was seated. "And turning it down is not optional."

Sherlock never once considered disagreeing with that.

The next day, as the afternoon was turning into evening on Saturday, Molly Hooper was scrubbing furiously at the tea dishes she and her father had just used. Just as she had used schoolwork to keep her mind off her father's recent diagnosis, she now tried using housework to escape the memories of what had happened less than twenty-four hours ago.

After returning to her flat that she shared with two other university students, Molly had shut herself in her room and started packing like a madwoman. However, when her eyes caught sight of a picture of her, Sherlock and John on her dresser, Molly's actions slowed. It wouldn't be fair to either of them if she packed up everything and left for good without even saying goodbye. She hadn't been able to bring herself to say it to John when she ran into him right after it happened; it had been all she could do to not beg him to hold her tightly and never let her go.

So, more calm now, she'd only packed enough for a weekend stay at home, and waited until morning to catch a train to Northampton. Her father had been a bit surprised at his daughter's unexpected arrival, but welcomed her without asking any questions. He could see how distressed she was, though she tried to hide it, and knew that his diagnosis was the culprit. Molly was determined that her father not know what the other reason had been for her visit. He didn't need to hear that. Seeing him again had also made Molly realize that she couldn't leave school, not now. It was her final semester before medical school, and it was nearly over anyway. She would just have to keep calm, carry on…and make sure never to be alone with Dr. Harding again.

A ring at the front door made Molly pause in her vigorous scrubbing of the tea cups. Who could that be? she thought as she dried her hands before hurrying to the door. The nurse who checked in on her father daily since his treatment had started had already come and gone.

When she opened the front door, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. There stood John and Sherlock, who smiled at her. Sherlock's looked quite pleased with himself, while John's was full of pure warmth. The latter made her heart fill with it as well. "Oh, boys, goodness! I…oh, please, come in!"

"Thank you, Molly," said Sherlock, strolling in as if it were his home.

John followed, his eyes not yet leaving hers. She could happily have looked into those warm eyes for much longer had not her father's soft calls sounded from the sitting room. "Who's here, my girl?"

Hastily, Molly led her two best friends into the sitting room, where her father was comfortably set up in his favorite chair. The more aggressive treatment had not yet begun, so he only looked a bit peaky. His eyes and smiled still held all of the sparkle it had always held.

"Ah, the famous John Watson and Sherlock Holmes!" said Mr. Hooper, looking pleased as punch. "Molly has told me all about you."

Both boys stepped forward and shook his hand. "Likewise, Mr. Hooper," said John. "It's a shame that we haven't been able to meet before this."

"Both John and I had no weekend plans, and fancied getting out of London for the weekend," said Sherlock. Molly immediately gave him a sideways look; there was very little in this world that could entice Sherlock Holmes out of London. But before she could say anything, Sherlock turned to her and said, "Now, Molly, you told me not long ago that your backyard had a few old beehives."

"Oh, yes, they're quite old," said Mr. Hooper. "Molly, why don't you go show them to him while I chat with John for a bit?"

"Um, alright, follow me," said Molly, still surprised by their surprise visit. Her eyes went to John, who had sit down in the chair beside her father's. Their gazes met, and his eyes held every reassurance that she was looking for: he would not tell her father what she was determined would not trouble him in his state.

One thing she had always known about John Watson: a more trustworthy young man did not exist.

Once outside and close to the hives, Molly turned to Sherlock and said, "Well, this was…unexpected, and it's so lovely for you two to visit. Now, what is it you want to say to me in private?"

Sherlock smiled, knowing full well that Molly had seen it had been his plan when asking about the beehives (though they did genuinely fascinate him). Their footsteps stopped, and Sherlock said in a quiet and firm voice: "You need not worry about Dr. Harding anymore. He has been fired from his post."

Molly's eyes widened in shock, and she reflexively took a step back. "W-what? How, I…I don't understand."

"My brother, Mycroft, who will tell anybody who asks that he holds a minor position in the British Government, is in fact well on the way to becoming the British Government. He has access to all footage from CCTV cameras, as well as all security cameras in the rooms of St. Bart's Hospital. Footage of last evening was put to Dr. Harding's superiors, and because he's had a long history of sexual harassment complaints, this solid proof resulted in him being immediately dismissed this afternoon."

Needless to say, Molly was in shock, When she opened her mouth again to speak, Sherlock held up his hand to silence her. "You needn't worry about word getting out. Dean Grant is quite fond of you, and knows of your father's condition. She asked me to assure you that this matter will remain private."

Relief beyond measure filled Molly, and she instinctively hugged Sherlock on the spot. He patted her head and then pulled back. His gaze was kind, as was the small smile on his face.

"I'm not the one you should be thanking, Molly. Of course I would have done this if John had not threatened bodily harm if I didn't; you are my friend, after all. But it was John who would not rest until this monster was no longer a danger to you…and it is John who would gladly see that no monster come near you again. Please let him know that his feelings are requited soon."

Her heart lifting, Molly grinned and pressed his cheek. "You have my word, Sherlock Holmes."

The four of them shared a very pleasant dinner in the Hooper cottage. John helped Molly do the washing up, and this was more than enough for Molly to find her courage. "Would you like to take a walk with me?" she asked him quietly.

John smiled. "I'd like that a lot."

The two young people walked back into the sitting room, where Sherlock now sat beside Mr. Hooper, regaling him with a story about his latest case he'd picked up on the streets of London. "I'm going to give John a tour of the neighborhood," said Molly brightly. "You want to come, Sherlock?"

Seeing in her eyes that she had every intention of fulfilling her word, Sherlock grinned and shook his head. "Oh, no thank you. I'd much rather tell my tales of adventure to an excellent and captive audience."

Mr. Hooper laughed. "You two have a good walk, and catch the sun while it sets and the first star when it comes out."

He smiled at his daughter, and then it appeared to her that he and John shared a small nod. What had they talked about? wondered Molly, but then resolved that she would eventually find out. Deciding not to speculate or wonder further, Molly led John out of the sitting room and cottage.

John and Molly were no strangers to talking walks together in London. Whether it be from campus to their flats, or just around the park, it was their favorite method of spending time together just to talk and be with each other. Now, walking through Molly's home village, neither had ever felt so tranquil and at ease. Both were joyous in that a monster had been slain, and happy just to be with each other. Molly did most of the talking as she showed John the familiar and most beloved spots of her hometown.

When they came to the park, Molly led John to her favorite spot underneath a hazel tree that provided a beautiful view of the sunset over the trees. As they silently watched this beautiful natural phenomena, Molly realized that they were holding hands with fingers entwined. How long had they been doing that? Why hadn't she noticed it before? Had one of them initiated it, or had their hands just naturally gravitated together.

Molly's gaze rose from their hands to find that John was looking at her. The love in his eyes was as boundless and beautiful as the golden sky above them. Her own heart overflowed, and she gave a shy smile. She didn't know a tear had slipped from her eye until John's hand reached out and gently brushed it away. Without words, his hand now cupping her cheek, they came closer together as naturally as their hands had. Their lips met, and they kissed for the first time. It was long, savoring, tender, and magical.

When their lips parted, their arms wrapped around each other as their foreheads rested together. In a soft and hoarse voice that reflected his heart completely, John said, "You're not alone, Molly, and you won't be alone in times to come. I promise you that."

Molly blinked back fresh tears, and smiled again just for John. "Good…because I do belong. With you."

They kissed again and again, holding each other until well after the sun had set. As a lark sang from the nearby trees, Molly and John began walking again, hand-in-hand, with the evening star shining down on them.