Sherlock Holmes sat motionless in one of Molly Hooper's comfortable chairs. His head was tilted back and he was drumming his long fingers on the arms of the chair. It had been seven months since his infamous fall, and he had been in this position for about two hours.
He considered all the options, let each one of them play through his mind. This was a daily, perhaps even hourly, ritual he did. Every time he came to the same conclusion: this was the option with the least amount of heartache. For everyone.
Sherlock tented his fingers and rested them under his jaw, propping up his head of curly hair. He was so bored. He didn't have his violin, he didn't have any cases, he didn't have John. He could barely admit to himself how much he missed John.
Molly was a blessing to him. She was there when nobody else could be. She asked only the questions she needed to and nothing more. She got everything done, and done right, with no mess and no fuss and absolutely no complaints. Molly was Sherlock's angel. Not that he would ever tell her that.
With all this spare time on his hands Sherlock found himself reflecting. He didn't like that. It made him realize how selfish and arrogant he actually is. It dawned on him that he never even thanked Molly for all that she has done; it was one thing to never thank her for the favours she did for him in his cases; she should have been honoured to work with the great Sherlock Holmes. But this was different. She risked her career and, if you really got down to it, her life in helping Sherlock fall.
But Molly never wavered in her loyalty. Never asked for a thank you. Never asked for anything; she just did what was expected of her. There was a melancholy in her eyes that Sherlock began to notice after moving in with her to hide out. And yet, in the past two weeks it seemed to have disappeared. Indeed she seemed lively, perky, and generally happy.
Sherlock sighed and dropped his head again onto the back of the chair. He heard the door downstairs creak open and heard Molly's familiar footsteps coming up the stairs. She was returning from running some errands...most of which were for Sherlock. As usual.
Sherlock raised his body from the chair, hoping that Molly wouldn't realize that he had not moved from that spot for the past several hours. She came through the door, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and that new light shining in her eyes. Sherlock felt himself grow…excited…at seeing her. Like a dog when its master returned home.
"Hello Sherlock!" Molly chirped, bustling into the kitchen with her bags. Sherlock began to sit down, but managed to stop himself just as his hips lowered to the chair. He took a few long strides over to Molly and took the bags from her fumbling hands. He caught a faint whiff of a new perfume as his hands brushed hers, taking the bags.
Molly was clearly thrown off by Sherlock's gesture. This gave him an uneasy feeling of guilt; one small act of everyday kindness, such as helping someone carry the groceries, was such a rare act for him that in left other's shocked. Wow.
Sherlock set the grocery bags on the counter and began pulling the items out. As he picked up the box of tea he suddenly realized he had no idea where anything went...
"Let me do that Sherlock," Molly said. She took the tea from his hands and began bustling around the kitchen, putting everything away, a slight sway to her hips as if there was music only she could hear.
Sherlock stood there, uncomfortable. "My apologies Molly, I believe I've been a nuisance since I came here."
"Not at all, it's rather nice to have the company," Molly said, her caricature nervous laugh following.
Sherlock, displaying uncharacteristically nervous habits, began fumbling with the remaining groceries, intent to help. Molly approached him to take the items from his hands, until he put one of his hands over hers to stop her.
"Molly, I want to help. I realized today that I must be such a burden. I don't even know where the groceries go and I've been here for months. I haven't helped you once, after everything you've done for me..."
Molly stood there for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to say. She was always more of an awkward person, but now she seemed positively uncomfortable. After a few silent, squeamish seconds Molly handed everything over to Sherlock. "Alight Sherlock, let's do this together."
A few minutes passed as Sherlock and Molly put the remaining groceries away. Sherlock asked about Molly's day, and (after getting over the initial shock) Molly spoke freely. This domesticated bliss was something Sherlock had never experienced before; he was getting pleasure out of such a mundane task. He was, quite frankly, really enjoying Molly's company.
Molly spoke with such enthusiasm, her hands moving to convey her excitement, her body swaying with the words she spoke. For the first time Sherlock felt hypnotized by her. It wasn't quite the same feeling he had when he met The Woman, but it was still exciting.
Sherlock noticed the small changes in Molly, such as her newly found confidence and her new hair style. He even ventured to ask about them.
"Well," Molly began, obviously a bit uncomfortable, "do you ever just feel like it's time for a change?"
"No." Sherlock was blunt, as always, but kept his penetrating gaze on Molly.
"Oh," she laughed, her nervous laugh that Sherlock found...endearing. Not irritating like usual. No, this time it sent a wave of happiness through him. Interesting development.
"Well I get that feeling a lot, only I'm always too scared to go for it. But...I don't know, Sherlock, things seem to be going well for me lately. So I figured, why not?"
Sherlock mulled this over and refrained from dashing her dreams by scientifically pointing out the flaws in her belief structure. Molly smiled, as if she knew the inner turmoil Sherlock was going through at restraining himself.
The two of them moved into the living room where they chatted for a while, seated across from each other in two of the chairs. The sun was beginning to go down and the remaining light that shined through the windows cast a beautiful glow around the room. Sherlock would never admit it, but he adored this time of day, the time right before evening when everything has this glow. The glow seemed to be around Molly, it caught in her hair and reflected off of her eyes, it seemed to enhance her cute little smile.
The pair continued to talk as the hours dreamily went by, both sipping on some tea Molly had brewed. Molly opened up to Sherlock about her new confidence, owing it to a new man in her life. Sherlock felt his stomach drop when she told him this. Pardon him, but hadn't Molly always been in love with him?
"Ah, a new man?" Sherlock purred. He was about to go into a lengthy breakdown of all the reasons this man was only putting Molly on, all the reasons why it was obviously a sham. But he stopped. He saw the look on Molly's face, the fear in her eyes. She was preparing herself for...mental abuse. That's what Sherlock did to her. He belittled everything about her and everything she loved.
"He must be quite the man if he could capture a woman like you, Molly Hooper." Sherlock sipped his tea, pushing down the swirling jealousy and quiet rage building in him.
"Thank you so much, Sherlock." She was obviously shocked, but even more obviously grateful. Sherlock sensed that Molly knew he wasn't genuine in his compliment, but was grateful regardless.
"You know Sherlock, one day you'll make some woman, or man, very happy."
Sherlock choked a bit on his tea. As always, a million thoughts raced through his beautiful mind. Was she coming onto him? Was this an invitation? Why did everyone always throw "or man" into sentences like that?
"Thank you, Molly, but women and relationships aren't really my area." Sherlock was beginning to resume his steely, unapproachable countenance. This topic always made him extremely uncomfortable. He crossed one leg over the other and turned his head, away from Molly, to feign looking out the window.
"I know you don't like hearing things like that. I know you pretend to be this unfeeling machine of a man, but I know better." Molly was looking directly at him, despite his avoidance. "I know you have feelings, I know you have desires, I know you crave affection as much as anyone."
Sherlock could feel small waves of frustration, mingled with sexual desire, building in him. He was irritated that Molly insisted on discussing this, ruining a perfectly good (and the only) evening they've ever spent like this. But at the same time his inert curiosity was getting the better of him, and he was excited to hear what she had to say about the Great Sherlock Holmes. He turned his face towards her, and noticed she had sat forward in her chair, gazing right at him.
"Sherlock you know how I felt about you. I think you're the most amazing individual alive. You're...you're you. I can't even find the words." Nervous laughter. Ooh.
"You flatter me, Molly." Where was this going? Did she say felt? As in past-tense?
"But you're also the most frustrating human being I have ever met," indignation seemed to rise in her voice. "You're selfish, and sometimes downright mean. Horrible even. Now the selfishness, that's all you. But the mean? That's an act. You push people away because you're vulnerable and scared. I was scared too, but I never covered it up with being horrible."
Sherlock squirmed a bit in his seat and cast his eyes downward. Molly was doing what no other person, not even John, managed to do. She was making him feel bad. How did she suddenly have this effect on him?
"I really do believe that underneath it all you're something else," she laughed again, "well you're amazing regardless, you're Sherlock Holmes." A wave of pleasure rolled through Sherlock's body at the sound of her voice saying his name with awe. "But if you could just embrace life, embrace people not as lower forms of yourself but as people just like you, people looking for all the same things, I think you would be pleasantly surprised."
Sherlock set his saucer and cup down and moved forward in his seat, uncrossing his legs and subliminally lowering his defensive walls. His knees were almost touching Molly's when he moved forward, but he was careful not to cross that barrier of intimacy. He stared into her eyes, at a loss for the first time of what to say.
"You don't have to say anything, Sherlock. In fact, it's probably better if you don't." It was as if Molly could read him like a book. And yet, Sherlock could not read her. Not this time.
Molly stood up and looked down on Sherlock. Sherlock awkwardly stood as well, totally unsure of what to do or say. This was a feeling he would never forget. They stared at each other for a few seconds, before Sherlock was overcome with a mixture of emotions he had never experienced (at least all at once.) He felt guilt, desire, revulsion at his past actions, and adoration for Molly. He placed his hands on Molly, one in her thick hair and one on the side of her face, and bent down to kiss her.
Sherlock knew Molly had wanted this for a long time. But as their lips touched and he felt her mouth open to receive his kiss, he realized, with growing passion, that it was something he had always wanted as well. It was just another one of those things he repressed, pushed deep down inside and refused to acknowledge. Molly's body moved closer to his and Sherlock brought her face closer, taking advantage of this moment of self-discovery. Molly placed one of her hands on the side of Sherlock's face, and used the other to caress the side of his neck, sending waves of longing through him.
When Sherlock broke away, Molly stumbled a step backwards from him. Sherlock let out a shaky breath and dropped his hands to his sides, unsure of what to do next. This was really not his department.
"You really are amazing at everything you do," Molly laughed. "I think you know how long I've wanted to do that. But the timing couldn't be worse, Sherlock." He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.
"I...don't understand." Those words were like a knife cutting his mouth.
"I met someone, Sherlock. And I think there's a real possibility with him..."
"I see. Well," but Molly stepped forward and forcefully kissed him again, shutting him up right there. Sherlock had never been so confused in all of his life.
Pulling away from his mouth, but keeping her body pressed to his, Molly spoke. "Don't ruin it, Sherlock. Don't ruin it with more of your hateful, spiteful words. I met someone. And I like him. But if I believed for one moment that there was even the slightest possibility of something with you, I would, like always, drop everything and come to you."
Sherlock was confused. He had been confused more times this evening than in his entire life. Molly was pressed against him, and it made him uncomfortable knowing that she had to be well aware of his growing desire.
"Sort yourself out Sherlock. Figure out what you're doing and what you want, and when you know, tell me. But until then, don't lead me on." She placed one final, tender kiss on Sherlock's lips and moved away from him. Without saying another word, or even glancing back, she picked up her bag and left the flat.
Sherlock stood there, utterly confused and defeated. It was a few seconds before he slowly lowered himself back into the chair. There he sat, motionless, reflecting.
What did he want?