This is a multi chapter that I believe will be 12 chapters long, - maybe 13 if an epilogue is necessary.. Sherlolly with a side of mystery/suspense. I have it all planned out but not yet written, I have written three chapters and I post those one each day as soon as I have them formatted and ready to post, if I get time I will post early.. After the third I will post as I write them.
Im sad to report that I own nothing, all hail the great and cruel Moftiss..
Please be kind, this is my fourth story so I'm still quite new..
~o0oo0oo0o~
Sitting in his chair, his back straight, poise of a soldier, John was deep in thought. Sunlight, shining weakly through the window, glinted on the tips of his – greying – golden, shorn locks.
Worry for Sherlock consuming him, he had made up his mind to approach him - never a good idea – now, with the broadcast hanging in the air, thick and oily, expressing worry would be something akin to wilfully plunging your hand into a nest of vipers.
Clearing his throat he dove in even as he cursed himself for a fool. "Sherlock?"
Supine on the settee, his robe on, long, pyjama clad legs stretched out, hands steepled under his chin and his tea long since forgotten next to him, Sherlock was in his signature position. Though he gave the appearance of being relaxed, he was a coiled spring, waiting for the slightest provocation. Sleep, if capitulated to at all, was done so with great resentment, the body treated as a traitor, a prisoner of war. The toll this had already taken was clear in his razor sharp cheekbones and the shirt buttons that no longer strained.
Sherlock's eyes followed John, though his head didn't so much as twitch, "Mmm?"
Feeling like a farm animal being sent up for slaughter, he took a breath, eyes ricocheting side to side, unable to decide which angle to take, "..."
"John," his name a clear warning, "Your thinking is disturbing me." Well aware that John was about to offer advice or compassion, or some combination of both, he sighed, An annoyance, a mosquito buzzing around his brain, taking his attention from what's important.
"Uh, ahem-hmm.." Placing his hands on the arms of his chair, John sat forward, building up the nerve for what he was about to say.
Sherlock's head swivelled toward him, eyes pinning him with palpable force, "JOHN! Just spit it out, your mind is spinning like a hamster in a wheel, it's distracting."
"Well, you, ah...you don't ever have sex? Are you asexual? Cause it's fine - I mean, it's all fine, but I just..?" John held out his hands palm up in a supplicating gesture.
What am I doing? What am I hoping to achieve? He's going to open like a pretty flower in the sun and we're going to have a heart to heart and he's going to confess that he just wants to be loved?!
"If it's all fine then why are you asking?" Sherlock sighed, conveying his disdain at such a ridiculous topic. "It's boring John, why the hell do you care?"
Standing up, he clenched and unclenched his fists, needing to move, his frustration and disgust at John's perceived idiocy fuelling an adrenalin surge."It's infuriating," he spat through clenched teeth, "We're dealing with Moriarty's resurrection, or at the very least a person wanting us to believe we are dealing with Moriarty."
Sweeping his gaze upwards, he looked as though he were pleading for the strength not to strangle his good friend John Watson, although he'd only be pleading with his own ego if he were to plead.
Noticing John's look of barely concealed terror, he forced a measure of composure he didn't actually feel, and modulated his voice into a more patient tone, "Someone who is capable of hijacking England's air waves in their entirety, someone who also had access to the exact location of the Special Ops plane on which I was a passenger, heading to my exile. A madman who possesses enough flair for drama to delay the broadcast until the plane had already begun taxiing down the runway. We've heard nothing for a week, by my calculations, we will be hearing from him tonight, tomorrow at the latest, which is why I why I need my mind clear to think! And the big question in John Watson's mind is why is Sherlock not out shagging?" He flopped back down theatrically.
Thoroughly chastised, feeling ridiculous, he flailed, "Sherlock, you're so wound up, we're all worried.. Mary is such a solace to me, that I.. Well, you know - "
Shifting around uncomfortably, John's eyes pleaded for Sherlock to understand, he didn't want to see him come undone as he had during the Magnussen case, they were all so afraid they'd lose him.
"No John, I don't know, why don't you educate me?" Eyebrows raised, his voice sharp, eyes a cool blue flame.
Romantic love, always circles back to romantic love and sex and kids and why is Sherlock such a freak?
Rolling his eyes, "Right then, sorry I asked, never mind, obviously the fact that people love and care about you is a hindrance and a nuisance," his voice flat as he busied himself with picking an imaginary piece of fluff off of his trousers.
Closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath, Sherlock reminded himself that this is John, not some manipulative reporter, not some moron laughing at him behind his back as he turns away after he shows them his 'party trick.'
Gathering his patience, he steepled his fingers under his chin, sat up and spoke softly, "John, it's irritating to be constantly badgered about sex, would you go to a Catholic priest or a Buddhist monk and question them on why they're not having sex, informing them that they require it for stress relief? That abstinence is not relaxing? The work is my religion and my mind my temple, if spend my time fixating on romantic or sexual liaisons my mind will not be free to function at full capacity. I simply cannot afford to be distracted by a pair of pretty brown eyes. Do you see?"
Frowning in concentration, John tapped his foot and thought over his friend's statement, trying to pinpoint what had caught his attention.
Leaning back with a sigh, Sherlock hoped that he'd conveyed enough for him to drop the subject. He remained oblivious to the slip about brown eyes, he was so tired that he had forgotten that no one but himself knew that he was being haunted.
Plagued by Molly Hooper, she was everywhere in his mind palace but always just out of reach. Turning a corner, he'd catch a glimpse of the hem of her jumper as she rounded the one further ahead, every time he entered a door she would be exiting through its opposite, many times he had caught a slip of fabric but it had simply melted like snow in his hands. Mind Palace Molly wouldn't talk to him until he had spoken to the real one, and his heart - he was surprised to realise - was broken.
Seizing on the thread, he tugged, Brown eyes, Hmm? Oh, Molly! Wow. "Mmm, I think I do mate, for once I think I see and observe more than you do Sherlock. Good luck not getting distracted by those pretty brown eyes. I'd better go anyway, Mary texted me about some chicken wings, if I'm home late when she's made us dinner she'll unleash sound and fury." Happiness bubbled up in John's chest at the thought of Sherlock happy, with Molly to care for him.
"She is growing an entire human John, she's likely somewhat tired." Sherlock informed him, raising an eyebrow as he sprang to his feet and plucked up his violin and bow.
Nodding in agreement, "Mmm yep, it's tough," But this will certainly cheer her up, ah, how the mighty have fallen. Mary needs to take Molly shopping for an outfit that'll knock the smug right out of him, we'll see who's thinking about sex then..
Staring at John, his eyes narrowed, he asked, "You find thoughts of your pregnant wife's suffering amusing John?"
"Ah, nothing, no, I mean, no… " What are you doing? He's a human lie detector! Think, think, think.
"Mary wants sex a lot because of the hormones," he blurted, Shit, shit, shit. John gave himself a slow clap in his head, Oh well done, that's going to be fun to explain to Mary. I need to get out of here, this day cannot get any weirder.
Sighing, he raised his Strad to his chin, "Well thank you so much for sharing that John, I'm sure Mary will be pleased." Turning to play in obvious dismissal, he retreated into his traitorous mind once more.
"Bye Sherlock." Responding with a grunt, he positioned his bow in readiness.
~o0oo0oo0o~
In the half an hour it took John to get home, he managed to restrain himself from calling or texting Mary with his news, this was big, this needed to be done in person. He wanted to see the gob smacked expression on her face when he had finally figured out something that she was unaware of; he would revel in it, but he would remain graceful, magnanimous even.
"Mary?" Fiddling with the key in the dead bolt, finally the lock relinquished its hold on the door and he burst in, his heart hammering.
Calling out ahead as he walked in, "Are you upstairs? I have to tell you about a pair of pretty brown eyes.. MARY?"
"I'm pregnant John, not deaf! I'm coming! Just slowly." Mary's disembodied voice came floating down the stairs ahead of her.
"Shall I put the kettle on for a cuppa?" He could certainly do with a drink himself, and in the absence of a beer or a whiskey - in support of Mary, - tea would have to do.
The stairs creaked under the weight of Mary's slow descent, her hips were giving her hell, the joints softening in preparation for the birth, the stairs had become Mary's nemesis.
Slowly and carefully, she made her way into the kitchen, her waddle had become more pronounced every day, she had never had felt less attractive; even in her C.I.A. days, hiding in dumpsters for days when tracking a target she had been fit; a quick shower, a shake of her blonde hair and operation seduce any man she pleased was all too easy. Now operation climb the stairs was the stuff of tactical planning.
"Ooh, lovely, thanks John, peppermint tea will really hit the spot, this heart burn just will not budge," she pounded her chest lightly, "I think a certain little girl is using my stomach as a trampoline." Smiled softly, she caressed her bump lovingly. Mary adored being pregnant, the little baby inside her represented all the innocence in the world she had been trying to help protect when she was an agent.
Leaning in, he gave her a peck before admonishing his daughter, "Come on little lady, wait till you're born, then you can jump on the beds and get in trouble for it like every other kid since the invention of spring filled mattresses." John placed his hand on her stomach and rubbed gently before telling her, "Okay love, sit down, and prepare to have your mind blown."
Looking up at him lovingly, she pondered, How the hell did I get such a lovely man to love me, I'm so lucky, he's gorgeous, brave, he's dynamite in bed, you did well kid, you did well, the voice she heard was an echo of her barely remembered grandmother, whom she had lost when she was eight.
John gathered up the tea things almost laughing out loud in his glee, all the way home it had spun in his mind like a top, Sherlock and Molly, Molly and Sherlock.
"Okay darling, Peppermint tea for the lady, black for the gentleman," Placing the tray on the table with fanfare, he sat down with his wife ready to razzle, dazzle, and amaze.
Watching her husband, she put together what she knew, She'd sent him to Sherlock's hoping that he could talk some sense into him about his eating and sleeping and he'd come back in a flap about brown eyes, so either Sherlock had confessed to feelings for Molly or he'd slipped; judging from the way was leaping around like a puppy with a new ball it was the latter and he was preparing to surprise her.
A bit of teasing was in order, grinning, she asked lightly, "So whose pretty brown eyes exactly have got you in a lather? I remember a time when a pair of pretty green eyes used to get your heart racing love; of course now that they peer out of a pudding face, maybe they don't sparkle quite so well as they once did." Shaking her head, feigning sadness, "You still love me though, don't you," she whispered to her bump.
"What? No! I'm not in a lather, I still love your pretty green eyes, and you don't look like a pudding," he tilted his head giving her a tender smile.
Bullseye, ah John, you make it too easy, no wonder Sherlock plays with you like a cat does a mouse before it has its meal.
Smiling softly, she held out her hand to him.
Caressing her hand gratefully, he reassured his wife, "Mary, you're carrying my baby, there's no one in the world more beautiful to me, no one can compare to that," tilting his head for a kiss, he saw the teasing light in her eyes.
Mock frowning, he lay his hands flat on the table, "Oh, you're teasing me, right, you can pour your own tea then."
"Oh, ah, Mary? I uh, - I may have said that you want a lot of sex at the moment due to hormones.. He had me on the spot and I.. Sorry." John's expression was pinched and he hung his head looking embarrassed.
"Well, I do want a lot sex John," Mary agreed bitterly, turning the handle of the tea pot towards herself, " I just can't get any, good luck when he finds out I have placenta praevia."
Looking miserable, he agreed, burying his face in his hands, "I know! I just needed to get out of there!"
"Don't worry about it love. I doubt it's a subject he'll pursue.." Smiling wickedly, Mary decided it was time, "So Sherlock let slip about Molly's eyes did he?" Looking thoroughly pleased with herself, Mary waited for John to register what she had said.
John did a double take, "What? How did you...?" His brow furrowed in confusion and disbelief, "You weren't even there Mary!" Irritation crept in as he realised that once again he had been beaten to the punch..
"Oh John, how is this a surprise to you? You were there for the slaps, think John, this is Sherlock." She poured out her tea, calmly waiting for John to catch up. He really was adorable when he was thinking, her eyes remained on him as she watched him sorting through what information he had that may be relevant.
"Mmm," John thought about how Molly had been so angry, eyes spitting ice chips, her hand had raised with purpose, it had not been a sucker slap. "He once catch a pen without even turning his head," he offered, heading towards where Mary was steering him but still not quite there.
"Exactly, reflexes of a cat." Mary nodded, taking a sip of her tea, before filling John's cup from his own pot.
Taking the lid off the honey pot, he retorted. "But Mary he was high, even the great Sherlock Holmes is affected by drugs."
"Of course, so we factor that in, maybe she could have gotten in…say, one but he certainly knew the second and third were on their way, for goodness' sake John, she changed hands for the last one!" Mary tilted her head, giving him her version of Sherlock's 'we both know what's going on here look,' and waited for him to catch on.
Anticipating Mary's next point, he went on, spoon in the air, "Okay, so he let her do it, maybe he felt like she deserved to get one in, I dunno, but he definitely said he was grateful for the lack of a ring due to pain," pointing his spoon at her he went on, "he said that Mary."
"John, he was high, he'd been kipping in a flop house where anything could have happened, someone," giving John a hard look, "Had just sprained that Billy's wrist,"
John cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat in an attempt to look inconspicuous before spooning honey into his tea and stirring slowly.
"Do you really think a ring would have made the all the difference? It's not like she turned the stone in. Anyway, you've missed the point, love, Sherlock's right, you see, but you do not observe."
"Well, what have I missed?" Throwing his hands up in frustration, he waited, between Mary and Sherlock he felt stupid a lot more often than a doctor should have to.
Eyes lit with triumph, she played her trump card, "Molly never wore her ring at work John, so how did he know?" She sat back victorious, point proven, case closed, stack the chairs away and go home, Mary Watson, detective of the year.
John's eyes widened comically, "Oh my God, of course she didn't." Slumping back in his seat, his mind reeled, any minute a voice over would begin: 'You are now entering the Twilight Zone.'
She always seemed to be two - okay, ten - steps ahead, far from her having her mind blown, she had in fact, blown his.
"He's in love with Molly?" His brain had shorted, he had been downright amazed at the thought that Sherlock found Molly to be distracting, like he had The Woman, but in love? A thought occurred to him, "Mary, how long have you known?"
"Since the night I met him." Mary took a sip of her cooled tea and sighed appreciatively, "Well, it's not a cocktail, but it'll do."
"Since the night you met him?" He asked incredulously, "Mary you hadn't even met Molly then."
"The night I met Sherlock you asked him who knew he was alive, he told you Mycroft, some of his homeless network, and Molly." She said with significance.
Shaking his head slowly, "He needed Molly to process the body, he couldn't have faked his death without her on the inside," he explained.
"He needed Mycroft to fake his death, he didn't need Molly, he wanted her there. He wanted her to know he was alive. They didn't need a body to fake a death John, and even if they did, this is Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, you're telling me they couldn't pull it off between them without Molly Hooper? John, can you still not see?"
Still skeptical, "But he's always dismissed her, been cruel to her."
Giving him her sweetest smile, she asked, "What exactly has he done to her to be cruel, John?" Leaning back in her chair in an attempt to get comfortable, she grimaced when nothing seemed to feel right.
"Well, he told her Moriarty was gay when we met him, Molly was furious, she yelled at him and then ran out with tears in her eyes, it was awful, - he thought he was being kind." John stopped short, continuing slowly he added, "Sherlock misses nothing but he managed to somehow miss Moriarty being a criminal mastermind, but didn't miss his relationship with Molly. Huh."
Mary winked at John in encouragement, "Mmm, what else John? When else has Sherlock pulled Molly's pigtails?"
"He tore her apart at our Christmas party, really ripped into her about a gift she had brought with her that he had deduced was for a love interest, told her that she was compensating for the size of her mouth and breasts. He actually used those words. When he pulled the card out with a flourish like a magician finishing his trick, the dickhead saw his own name and just stopped, stunned, - he must have been, stood there swallowing hard. Then Molly told him off. He apologised, and kissed her cheek, it was so normal."
Comprehension dawned slowly, feeling rattled, his eyes darted around the room as if the mystery of Sherlock and Molly could be further deciphered with the help of the light fixtures and mouldings.
"Anything else John?" She prompted.
"Ah, when we were chasing down Moriarty he interrupted her about to go on a lunch date, he told her she would be having lunch with him, pulled bags of crisps out of his pocket like a gift, the wanker. Tried to guilt her, told her he needed to defeat one of her old boyfriends, then he told her to not date anymore." John broke off, looking around him in amazement at his own blindness.
"How have I not noticed this before? Then there was the engagement snark. Oh my god, if any other bloke did all that..." He trailed off looking like his world had just tilted on its axis.
Nodding, Mary added, "Not to mention he practically lives at the morgue. So yes, I've known the whole time he's in love with Molly Hooper, I've just never known whether he'd ever realise it himself."
As she poured herself another cup of tea, she decided, Time to push things along, and what better time to do it than when his defences are compromised due to the broadcast, from her point of view the timing was perfect.
John sat staring into his cup, lost in his own thoughts, Am I a traitor if I push Sherlock into something he thinks he doesn't want? But I know he'll be happier for it, he eschews happiness, but only because he thinks he isn't capable or deserving of it - And Molly, she's been in love with him since before I met him, she risked everything for him, for all of us, if anyone deserved to get her man it was Molly Hooper, and she'd be perfect for him, a balm for his rough edges, a soft place to land.
"John?"
"Mmm."
"Let's do it." Their eyes met over the table, gleaming with anticipation.
"Yes, let's do it Mary." They held their hands out to each other, grinning madly. Mary began talking low and fast and he nodded along eagerly, ready to do his part.
Thanks for reading!