"You won't be needing much," said Mycroft, an indifferent cover over his somber tone as he glanced at his pocket watch. "Just the bare necessities once you arrive. I'll see to it that your toxic dump of a flat is left alone, and Mrs. Hudson is provided for so that she need not rent it out. A car will pick you up at dawn precisely to take you to the airstrip. I have arranged for Dr. and Mrs. Watson to meet us there tomorrow morning to say goodbye before your plane takes off, as you requested."
"I have one more request," said Sherlock, his voice quiet, almost flat, but firm. He stood at the window, his back to his brother, in his classic posture of his hands behind his back. Only the slight rigidity in his shoulders gave away that he was anything but relaxed.
Mycroft sighed, putting his watch back into his waistcoat pocket. "Always the prima donna, aren't you? Is it not enough that I am able to let you spend your last days in England here in your flat? That your friends will be able to see you off?"
"No," said Sherlock, his tone even more firm. He still faced the window. "You will take me to Molly Hooper's flat. I will spend the night there, and your car will pick me up from there at dawn."
The British Government let out a snort of pure surprise. "What? Why on Earth – Sherlock, what possible reason could you have to spend your last night in England at one of your many bolt holes?"
A pause for three seconds; Sherlock still faced the window. Finally, he said almost to himself: "There is something that I need her to know before I leave."
Mycroft gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "As I have told you before, Sherlock, I have already informed Miss Hooper of your…unfortunate situation…this afternoon. She took it quite bravely, in spite of her…rather emotional nature." He said the last three words as though something foul had been shoved under his nose.
Sherlock turned quickly and sharply to face his brother, warning ferocity in his eyes.
Don't you see what she's endured, brother?
What that woman has endured:
My rejection, my disgust, my indifference, my anger,
My contempt, and yes, my ugliness.
What that woman has endured, brother…
"I am perfectly aware that you have informed Molly about my fatal exile and your reasons for doing so, and I expected nothing less from her than bravery in the face of this nightmare. Nevertheless, there remains something it is imperative for her to know before I leave…and it can come from no one but me."
Mycroft looked very closely at his little brother, and then gave a very heavy sigh of disapproval and disappointment. "Oh, Sherlock. How perfectly melodramatic and yet dull. Letting your judgment be clouded by worthless sentiment and emotions yet again. Granted, you've never done so at such an extreme level before, so the circumstances are a major factor, but even so I must remind you again: Caring is not an advantage."
In less than a second, Sherlock was standing almost nose to nose with his brother, having just shoved his brother's back against the front door, the lapels of Mycroft's blazer in his tight fists. This was not the first time that Sherlock had done such a thing, but the fact that Sherlock was not high somehow made Mycroft even more afraid than he had been than last time.
No one has ever loved me as that woman has.
No one has truly loved me till Molly…
Love without reason, love without mercy,
Love without pride or shame,
Love unconcerned with being returned,
No wisdom, no caution, no judgment or blame.
"You, brother mine, are the biggest hypocrite ever to have walked this earth. All of my life, you have told me that, to follow your example, showing me that life is much more simple and straightforward without such petty things as emotions. But can you deny that you have the best security at your disposal to look after Mummy and Daddy, so they are free to have their little vacations anywhere and anytime they like? Can you deny that, if ever I have been hurt or succumbed to the needle, you drop everything when you learn of it and are there for me right away? Can you deny that you made sure my punishment would not be wasting away in a cell, but doing what I do best?"
Mycroft said nothing.
"Exactly. You always were the smart one to know not to deny the truth when shoved right in your face. So hear this, brother mine: no matter the circumstances or reasons, however justifiable, you are sending me to my death. The 21st century's Cain and Abel, if you will. So, the very least you can do for one of the three people who matter to you for is to help him spend his last night in his homeland with the one person who matters the most to him."
No one has ever known me as that woman has.
No one has truly shown me what love could be like until now.
I was wrong, I was wrong…
Mycroft and Sherlock stared at each other for a few tense minutes that seemed to last for hours. Finally, Mycroft raised his hands and wrapped them around Sherlock's wrists. Slowly, he lowered Sherlock's hands to his sides, and surprisingly, Sherlock offered no resistance.
"Get yourself ready, and then come down to the car. I'll see that you get there." With that, Mycroft turned, opened the front door and left 221B.
Never before had Sherlock seen such an expression, such a full expression, in his brother's eyes or voice. Stunned, Sherlock walked to the coat rack and put on his Belstaff coat and cobalt scarf slowly, mechanically. At the front door, he paused and turned around to look at the place he had called home for six years for what he knew would be the last time. It pained him less than he thought. Perhaps because it wouldn't be until tomorrow morning that he would say goodbye to his true home.
I was wrong…Love's a demand, I was wrong:
Love needn't grow…Love can be sudden surrender,
Not tender, not slow, and I know now that I love Molly!
Not the way that she loves me, but I love Molly,
And nothing will come of it!
The short drive to Molly Hooper's flat was spent in silence; neither brother felt any need to speak, so they didn't try. Both kept their gazes out of their windows, not really seeing the architecture and people that sped past, both lost in their own thoughts. When the car stopped outside of the building, Sherlock made to leave the car immediately, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.
Sherlock turned to look at his brother defiantly, but Mycroft's expression caused him to soften.
"Dawn, Sherlock. Not a minute later." He paused, and his tone soften just a bit. "And not a minute sooner."
All Sherlock could do was nod once, an immense understanding passing between the two brothers. Mycroft's hand left his shoulder – after squeezing it just a bit – and Sherlock left the car.
It took no effort for Sherlock to enter Molly's building and arrive at her front door. He couldn't deny how nervous he felt in this moment. This was his last chance, last opportunity, and last period of time with Molly. How many others had gone before? All wasted, all thrown away, all passed by, because of his stupidity and his assumption that there would always be more. He knew the magnitude and importance of what he needed to tell her, and how important it was that he did it correctly…whatever that may be.
He had already caused Molly so much pain when she deserved none; the last thing that Sherlock Holmes wanted to do was cause her more. So he wouldn't. He couldn't.
His hand trembling slightly as it formed a fist and softly knocked on her door. He heard no movement or sound inside. He knocked again. Nothing. Without hesitation or regret, Sherlock picked her lock and silently slipped inside the flat.
They had so little time now, growing smaller and smaller as each second passed.
And if I should die tomorrow, or live and be forced to go,
No one has ever truly loved her but me…
And I want her to know…
No lights were on, and all of the blinds were drawn. The stillness of the flat sent a stab of fear through Sherlock's heart until a soft meow broke the stillness. Looking down, he saw Toby, Molly's calico cat, approach him. Meowing again, he rubbed against Sherlock's leg purring. He couldn't help but smirk as he bent down to scratch Molly's faithful pet behind his ears. He'd always felt that they were kindred spirits.
Toby's welcome eased the pounding of Sherlock's heart somewhat, and made Molly's flat feel more like what it had always felt like: a sanctuary. Silently, Sherlock kicked off his shoes, hung up his coat, scarf and blazer, and walked across the sitting room towards the hallway that would lead to her bedroom.
The door was closed, and Sherlock heard no movement inside, but he instinctually knew that she was in there. Slowly, he turned the knob and opened the door, walking inside.
Molly sat on the edge of her bed, facing her closed and curtain-covered window. She was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts; her long hair fell in disheveled waves down her back. Her profile revealed the defeat, sorrow and heartbreak that radiated from her. Though Sherlock could only see one side of her face, he could clearly see that she had been crying many tears.
He felt sure that his heart literally twisted in his chest.
As he stepped into the room, Molly turned her head and saw him. She blinked hard several times, seeming to come out of the numb daze she had been in. Finally, with a slow gasp, she shakily got to her feet, her eyes widening and a hand pressing to her heart. "Sherlock?" she breathed. "Is that…how did…what are you…"
"Yes, Molly, it is me," Sherlock said, his voice soft and low. "Mycroft has arrange that I can spend the night here…if I am welcome?"
"Oh, um, of course, it's…if you really want to…" Her eyes still wide and slightly unfocused, she made to walk past him out of the bedroom. "You'll be wanting this room, then, like usual –"
Sherlock stepped in front of her and shut the bedroom door behind him. "No, Molly. Stay, please, I…there is something I need to say to you before…before I…"
Molly closed her eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath to calm herself. He watched in pure admiration and adoration as Molly pulled herself together. What a strong woman she was…When she opened her bloodshot eyes, she nodded slightly to show that she was listening.
Though Sherlock felt completely out of his depth, looking deep into Molly's eyes and being so close to her pulled all of the right words straight from his heart.
"For as long as I can remember, I have believed that emotions, especially sentimental ones, were useless and only created problems, so I vowed that I would not let them affect me. But…as much as I have tried to deny it, I am a human being – and not a psychopath – so those feelings are unavoidable. So I ignored them, tucked them in the furthest and darkest corner of my mind palace where they could not do any harm or get in my way." He took a deep breath, and took her hand. "But I was wrong. You proved me wrong, so slowly but surely over all the years that I've known you, until now when it cannot be denied at all."
Molly held onto his hand tightly, as though he might disappear if she let go or broke his gaze. "How…did I do that?"
"By loving me, unconditionally and completely. No matter how many times I put you down or crushed your hopes, you always came back, strength winning over your hurt. You saw through every façade and disguise I used to try and make myself less human, refusing to see me for anything other than my true self. You told me off when I needed telling off, made me want to be better when no one else could, not even John. And when I turned to you for help, when I needed help most of all, you were strong and brave and saved me in more ways than one."
His other hand reached up, and touched her hair, something he had wanted to do for longer than he cared to admit.
"You love me, Molly Hooper, for exactly who I am. You have never want to change me or make me better, but you made me want to be better for those I hold dear, especially you. For too long I refused to see, to understand, what I gift I have in your love, Molly, because I didn't want to understand what it was. And now I do…and before I go, I needed you to know that…and never forget it."
No one has ever loved me as deeply as you.
No one has truly shown me what love could be like until now.
Not pretty or safe or easy, but more than I ever knew.
Love within reason – that isn't love,
And I've learned that from you.
Molly's eyes closed, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She lowered her head and was soon crying softly, shaking with sobs she tried to keep in.
"Molly!" Sherlock, alarmed, raised his hands to her face, trying to wipe her tears away and stroke her hair, trying to calm her down. "No, please don't cry. Please don't be even more sad. I'm sorry I took so long, and that I'm saying it now, when there is no time left, but I had to, I…I couldn't leave without you knowing that and believing me."
Molly opened her eyes and looked at him. "I'm not sad, Sherlock. Well, not just sad. I'm also happy…so happy to hear you say this. Oh, Sherlock, all I've ever wanted was for you to know, understand, respect and maybe appreciate how I feel. I know you don't feel the same for me, in that way, but that's okay. As long as you know how much I –"
"Molly, don't talk nonsense," Sherlock whispered fiercely and, her face in his hands, he kissed her. He could taste the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her lips. She was still with shock for a moment, but soon sighed and reciprocated. Her body fell against his, clutching his shoulders, and an arm wrapped around her waist while one hand sank into her hair.
When they broke apart, panting and dazed, Molly caught his eyes again. Sherlock could see her seeing him, straight through to his mind and heart, as no one else could.
"Oh, Sherlock…" she breathed, a light growing in her brown orbs. "You…you do love me, don't you?"
"Yes," he responded softly, without hesitation or shame. "I love you."
She smiled; a shaky and small smile, but a smile that was brighter than a star to Sherlock. "Say it again."
He kissed her a second time. "I love you."
"Once more!"
Each word he spoke was followed by a soft kiss. "I – love – you."
All this happiness coming when there's so little time…
Too much happiness, more than I can bear…
I pray that I have the strength to enjoy it!
Molly walked backwards, leading them to her bed. "When do you have to leave?" she whispered, not daring to speak that terrible truth any louder than she had to, for fear that time would suddenly move at triple speed.
"Dawn," he replied just as quietly, his hand slipping under her t-shirt and stroking her waist.
Her nimble little fingers unbuttoned his shirt. "Then let's not waste one minute of our time left."
And with that, they became lost in each other, every word, sound and action coming naturally as only love can. Both were determined to show their lover, beyond a shadow of a doubt so that it would never be denied or forgotten once they were parted, that they were loved. Without reason, judgment, blame, or doubt – but truly and unconditionally loved.
And that is just what they did.
A/N: Hello, my dears! I know it's been a really long time since I posted something, but huge writer's block and starting a new job have prevented me from doing so. Having read the lovely darthsydious's fic "What Comes From Being Loved" I remembered how much I love the Sondheim musical Passion. Like her fic, this one is based on a song from that musical, but is otherwise unrelated. Listen to it, and I'm sure you'll agree: if Sherlock were ever to sing a song to Molly, this would be it. Review please!
P.S. I just created a Tumblr account and have no idea how to navigate around that site. Any help would be appreciated!