"Halloween?" Molly questioned as she awkwardly craned her head against her shoulder to make sure her cellphone didn't drop while she balanced a wine glass and a bowl of food for Toby in one hand and a platter of cheese in the other.
"Yes, Halloween! Let's go out and paint the town red!" Mary gushed on the other end of the line.
Molly made a non-committal hum while she bent down to feed Toby, who was looking positively unimpressed given the delay in his feeding. However, he wasn't being particularly picky (thank God) and he ate (after meowing one last time to show his displeasure).
"Aren't we a bit old to dress up and drink the night away?" Molly asked after taking a sip of her wine. 'Maybe not the drinking the part.' Molly thought to herself. Although not an alcoholic, Molly did enjoy the occasional (or frequent) glass of red wine with a plate of cheese.
"Nonsense, we aren't in the nursing home quite yet. C'mon Molly, please! We don't have to dress up; we can just go to a pub and have a couple of drinks. It's been ages since we had a night out, and especially after…" Mary trailed off but didn't need to finish her thought. Molly already knew that it's been a trying year for Mary, and really for all of them. After Mary nearly died, John was an absolute wreck for weeks. He could barely be around anyone, especially Sherlock.
And then Sherlock, in a typically stupid yet noble effort to save John, went off the deep end, into "hell," to reveal that Culverton Smith was in fact a serial (and cereal) killer. Molly was quite unhappy with Mary's choice of phrase in asking Sherlock to go to hell for John, but was even more upset with Sherlock for his choice of poison.
Of course it all came to a head when Eurus was revealed as Sherlock's long-lost and forgotten sister. That, in fact, the Faith Smith that Sherlock met was Eurus. That, in a surprise twist, John actually met Eurus, only she was the pretty woman on the bus, known infamously as "E" on John's cellphone. Needless to say, it's been a difficult year for the Watson family and friends.
"Molly?" Mary's voice pulled Molly out of her train of depressing thoughts. Mary probably knew what Molly was thinking, and while sincere in her intent, was using it to her advantage. "Please, I need this."
'Oh, Mary is good.' Molly thought while smiling.
"Oh, alright. Let's go out and paint the town red. Girl's night?" Molly finally acquiesced, but if she were honest with herself, she needed a night out too.
"Yes! John can watch Rosie, and we ladies can go out and have our own drunken adventure."
The two then discussed plans on where to go ("The new pub near Soho with that really cute bartender?" "Yes, please!") and whom else to invite ("Wow, we really need more girl friends."). With Meena and Janine added to the list of ladies, the itinerary was ready and set to go. Feeling lighter than she had in months, Molly realized that it has been a while since she let go and had some fun. Although no longer in the springtime of her youth, Molly felt that she could still party on. 'Get turnt as the youngsters say,' she laughed to herself.
Later that night while Molly was getting ready to sleep, she wondered, for the millionth time, if she could ever move on from Sherlock, and if she just needed a decent shag with no strings attached to push her over the edge. After the devastating call, the "vivisection" as he so lovingly (no joke intended) put it, Molly wasn't sure where they stood in relation to one another. Everything felt the same and different all at once.
They had a difficult conversation, but Sherlock explained that it wasn't a silly game, and that he never intended to hurt her.
"I would never intentionally hurt you. You're my… friend." Sherlock looked unsure, as if she would reject his explanation. But before he could continue, Molly interrupted and reassured him that she understood that Sherlock only asked her to say it in order to save her life.
She told him, "I get it, really. You don't have to worry about me. I'm just glad you're safe. If you need me, I mean anything, if you need anything, I'll be here." It was true. It's always been true.
Then he gave her that look that always made her want to cry, kissed her on the cheek and said, "Thank you, Molly Hooper."
After that, it was like nothing happened. His flat was slowly repaired; he kipped with John in the meantime, while helping him care for Rosie and Mary. He came by Bart's when there were cases or experiments. He would stay at Molly's flat, bringing Indian or Chinese food with him as a gesture of thanks, when John and Mary would have another row (or if they need privacy for other reasons).
And while everything might have seemed normal, Molly felt as if she couldn't breathe. It wasn't easy being near him everyday without wanting to hit him (or kiss him). He was still a complete prat at times, like when he texted her from across the lab asking where she was. She would never let him forget, try as he might to delete that particular faux pas.
He did try to act gentler with her, as if he was afraid that if he pushed too much, she might really disappear. Molly understood why. He must still feel guilty, or at least regretful that they were pushed to confront the elephant in the room when neither was ready.
Molly had to admit, however, that he was being apologetic and sweet in his own way. He would bring her coffee from the fancy place across the street on days he knew she was working the morning shift. And he would just happen to be at Bart's on her night shifts, and then just happen to be going in her direction, so they could share a cab together. She would sometime catch him looking at her with sweet eyes and a soft smile. But then that look would disappear into an impassive mask, as if nothing changed.
He never mentioned that call again, after that initial conversation. He never took her hand when they worked side by side, or held her close, like she wanted. He stared at her, like a lost puppy, but he never said anything to indicate that his feelings changed. But she didn't want to push him, not if he wasn't ready, and especially not if he didn't feel the same way. She didn't want to be pitied for her feelings, and she wasn't ready to ask him for anything he wasn't willing to give.
So six months later here they were, walking on eggshells and acting as if there weren't a million other things left unsaid and insisting that they had said all that they wanted to say. Molly knew that he either didn't feel what she felt, or just didn't know if what he now feels is love or guilt. And she was either too much of a coward or too emotionally tired to ask him to make up his mind.
And so another fitful night passed, with nothing to show for except a stomach full of wine and cheese.
A couple neighborhoods away, in the newly built 22lB Baker Street flat, a certain consulting detective was in a slightly similar conundrum. Lying on a new settee, although identical to the previous one, was proving to be unfamiliar and uncomfortable. It might take years, even more, before the wear of the new (but identical) settee would have the familiar touch and feel. Although everything seemed the same, it was markedly different.
It was quite strange to be alone again. After staying with John, Mary, and Rosamund, Sherlock wasn't quite accustomed to the silence he once thought he preferred. Although he now recognized that he was, indeed, a social creature, it still felt odd that he didn't want to be alone. In fact, he wished that he weren't alone.
He wondered what Molly was doing, but fought the urge to go over. After the dreadful call, the awkward conversation, and the resulting six months of learning how to be around each other again, Sherlock wasn't sure if he could barge into her place like he once did. 'Boundaries' as John calls it.
'But she's not currently seeing anyone. Nor is she on a date tonight. Maybe she wouldn't mind watching crap telly and eating crisps.' Sherlock wondered, but mostly wishing that he weren't so much of a coward that couldn't go to her. Yes, he went over occasionally while he stayed with the Watsons, but now he had no excuse. But perhaps he didn't need one?
"No!" he bellowed out, suddenly leaping to his feet.
"Boundaries…" he bit out, while definitely not sulking towards the window. What if he texted her? God, when did he turn into such a teenager? Sherlock groaned into his palm, unsure of what to do next.
He knew that it was unfair of him, dragging this on. He knew that they needed to clear the air, and he knew that he needed to tell her that it was true, that he meant every word. But after that "conversation," in which he tried to tell her everything, she looked so tired, as if she wanted to be anywhere but there with him. And so, with a chaste kiss on the cheek, he left it at that. Nothing resolved, nothing the same.
And she shouldn't want to be with him. Of course, being Molly, she forgave far too easily and readily, but she didn't want to be near him. Her eyes didn't quite light up like it once had. Instead, they were hesitant and unsure, never quite knowing where to land. It was plain as day, even John noticed. And why would she want to be around him? All he's done is cause her pain. Always.
But they're finally on their way to normalcy. It might take some more time, but their relationship is bound to be as it was. Time heals all wounds. He didn't want to rock the proverbial boat, and risk losing Molly Hooper forever.
Only, if he said nothing and she did finally move on, wouldn't he be losing her forever? If she finally fell in love with someone worthy of her, wouldn't she be lost to him? There would be no more late night experiments at Bart's, and there would be no more takeout while watching crap telly. There would be no more lingering glances and hopeful stares.
Instead, the Worthy Man, who would care and love for her like she deserved, would monopolize Molly's time and heart. The Worthy Man wouldn't hesitate to tell her he loved her everyday. The Worthy Man wouldn't say awful things. No, the Worthy Man would be everything that Molly deserves, and would make her very happy.
Sherlock knew, most definitely, that he was not the Worthy Man.