That finale was crazy...
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or scenes referenced to. They belong to ACD & BBC Sherlock. This story however, is my own.
He was shivering despite the blanket. But it was probably due more to nerves than the cold. The adrenaline wearing off. Standing there in the dark, watching the policemen moving about with flashlights. Taping off various areas "of interest".
He was a bit at a loss.
Of all the peculiar, horrifying situations he seemed to find himself in, he couldn't quite understand this. It was surreal. If he wasn't sopping wet, he'd wonder if it happened at all.
Culverton & Magnussen were on one level. But people like Moriarity… Eurus. They took the cake. The whole damn cake.
He watched as Sherlock walked along, talking to Lestrade, who then gave instructions to his people. Appearances were deceiving. Sherlock Holmes, the calculating machine, moved about as if it was just another day, just another case. As if the entire ordeal had no affect on him.
He saw two sides of a coin. On one side, Sherlock. The other… the other of what could have been. What everyone accused him of being. Once in a while, Donovan's words would ring through his mind. Those words ate at him. Doubt a fleeting thing but it always crept back from time to time.
But that was then. This is now. And Sherlock Holmes was certainly not that.
He was not his sister.
Pieces to the puzzle. That's what he got over the years. Little by little. He learned about his friend. Not an easy task. But in that time, certain tells came to light, albeit, John may have been slow on the uptake. Even Mrs. Hudson knew some. Shooting things. Stabbing things.
But those were a bit superficial. A small glimpse into the man underneath.
But Eurus. Eurus saw something John could have never fathomed. Eurus saw the "weakness" in the heart of the detective, something Sherlock himself couldn't see. And probably still didn't understand.
Awakening a muddle of truths that Sherlock had to face in the span of three minutes. An awareness of something Sherlock hid from everyone. Even himself.
John had been certain. That Irene Adler was the one to capture the heart of Sherlock. Mycroft had believed it too.
What might we deduce about his heart?
John didn't know then. And surely hadn't known since. Not until he witnessed his friend rip apart a casket.
He could see the realization dawn on Mycroft in that moment. Similar to his brother, their expressions the same when faced with a deductive challenge. Realizing that they had both been misled.
He'd seen Sherlock in many moments. He'd seen how protective he could become. How powerful he could be. But not like that. Never like that.
He'd never seen him so vulnerable. So much so, that he had to confront him. To tell him to keep it together. It was usually the other way around.
Tugging the blanket tighter around him. He couldn't stop the shivering. His eyes followed Sherlock & Lestrade, watched as Sherlock gave Lestrade a few final words.
"Thanks, Greg." John could see it on Lestrade's face. The change in Sherlock. Subtle, but there.
Their journey back was long. Each in their own thoughts. John was afraid to say a word. Now wasn't the time. Too much had happened for one day. Too many questions answered.
Before they parted ways though. He left Sherlock with this, "She's been a loyal friend to you all these years. Moreso than any of us. She'll forgive you."
It had been weeks. And they still weren't talking.
Molly was coming to look after Rosie. But he had already dropped her with Mrs. Hudson. So he sat at his kitchen table, two cups of coffee already waiting.
He wasn't sure if this was a good idea.
But that moment, when he and Mycroft were walking out of the coffin room, surprised to see that Sherlock held back. Watching as he slid the lid back over. The gentleness, the softness in his face. His eyes, the only giveaway to what came next.
And they couldn't stop him. Couldn't stop the rage, guilt, or sadness mixed into those moments. His screams bounced off the cement walls. The impact of each strike as the wooden chips clattered across the floor.
And then he stopped, just as quickly as he had started. Stepping back to the wall, sliding down till he was sitting. John hadn't dared approach him. Not until his breathing slowed. He hadn't dealt with Sherlock in this state before. He didn't know what to do.
The knock came through the door. She had walked to the sitting area, expecting Rosie in her play pen. But when she realized Rosie wasn't there at all. She knew.
"Don't. John. Just, don't." She grabbed her coat and bag, making for the door.
"Molly, wait. Please." He stood up walking to her. "Let me explain."
She pulled her ponytail out from the coat, buttoned it quickly. But when he wouldn't budge.
"I know, John. We… spoke already." That was news to him. He'd figured Sherlock had ignored her. Left things unsaid.
"Wh…" He started.
She had let out a sigh, her eyes downcast.
"I've known him longer, John. There. There are things…" She stopped. "We just need some time. Everything will be.. is fine." A small smile came to her face, forced. Moving past him, "I'll see Rosie this weekend then." And that was all she said and she was gone.
For the most part, things were okay. Cases came and went. Molly still helped in the ways she could. But there was a tension that filled the air whenever they met her at the lab. Or in the morgue. And at the very least, Molly didn't loathe him. But she wasn't exactly happy either. Sherlock treaded easily. No harsh words. No feelings of disrespect. He was careful.
"Is everything alright with them?" Lestrade had asked. And John didn't know the answer to that. Just giving Greg a shrug. Sherlock had interrupted them before the conversation progressed.
But that's what he did. If someone even uttered the name Molly. He'd change the subject. Created a distraction in a moments time.
At least with Adler, there'd be some denial, a retort to counter whatever John implied. But with Molly. He was silent.
"She's your friend. You said so yourself. You can't…" The exasperation evident in his voice. He didn't know how they found themselves in this conversation. Only that he wouldn't let it drop now that they were here. This situation with Molly had been going on longer than John had even realized and now that he knew… Sherlock needed this. He needed to sort this out.
But Sherlock had been avoiding it. Never bringing her up. Never going to Bart's unless it was necessary.
"She doesn't deserve…" Sherlock nearly yelled, but promptly shut his mouth. His words were loud. Clear. He looked to the side. He clenched his right hand. Then relaxed. John could see the conflict. Similar to the time in that room. Only this time, he held it in.
Calmly, and quieter, John started, "Eurus saw something. It surprised me. And I know it surprised you too."
A beat of silence passed before Sherlock spoke.
"She deserves… more." Sherlock's voice gave way then, lost to deprecation.
Sherlock's inclination to fall towards self-loathing, destruction was obvious in retrospect. He was a better friend than he realized. Accepting a fault for something that he couldn't have stopped. Taking on the consequences for the choices of another. I don't want to die. He hadn't thought much about what those days after Mary did to him. But this seemed different… yet similar somehow.
He didn't press the conversation. Just letting it drop. He knew it was difficult for Sherlock to discuss this. Which is why he was surprised at Sherlock's next words.
"I didn't see. I didn't see past Eurus' intent. I didn't see it. What good am I if I couldn't see that? It was simple. So simple."
John wasn't sure to what Sherlock was alluding to. But it was clear. That challenge wasn't an experiment. It wasn't. Eurus knew what would happen. She knew what Sherlock's reaction would be. Yet, she did it anyway.
"Just try. All you have to do is try."
Months went by and things got better. Almost back to normal. Get togethers with Molly, Rosie, Mrs Hudson. The clients, the cases. It was like nothing had ever changed.
Sherlock eventually found his way back into the lab. Doing experiments, sometimes related to cases, more often not.
Then there came a case. A copycat. But still utterly convincing. Even to the final moments. John could see the cracks come to light in Sherlock. Pushed to the limit. But it ended. It was solved.
Mycroft warned him it was a danger night. So he, Lestrade, Mycroft. Even Anderson, scoured the city looking for Sherlock. But they couldn't find him.
It wasn't till John was at Bart's, that Mary's voice came to him.
Pulling his phone out, he found the name, and pressed "call". The phone rang.
Ring.
A memory from one of those late nights. When sleep evaded them both and they'd find themselves talking, sometimes about nothing. More often about Sherlock. But Mary mentioned something from the last time Sherlock disappeared, escaping hospital.
Ring.
"Funny thing. Sherlock. Using Molly's place." Mary was obviously humored by this fact, but she hadn't dwelled on it.
Ring.
He walked out to the street, intent on hailing a taxi.
"Hi, this is Molly at the dead…" She really needed to change her voicemail, pressing end before being prompted with the beep to leave a message. He tried again, climbing into a taxi.
He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it sooner. They hadn't even called her. Too bogged with worry, the what ifs drowning out their reasoning and logic. They hadn't thought of her.
The last person you'd think of.
He realized then. The cleverness of Sherlock. Eurus saw it. Not many did.
Ring.
Ring.
When he thought she wouldn't pick up. Sherlock's voice came over the phone.
"I'm fine, John." He paused, his voice tired. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Hanging up before John could get a word in.
It really was a funny thing. The signs had always been there. All these years. John admittedly never thought much of Molly back then. Just some poor girl that Sherlock had manipulated into helping him time and time again. He underestimated her. Each time.
But Sherlock didn't.
Sherlock was complaining,… saying.
It took a while. To see her as a friend too. But John came to trust her. To rely on her. Just as Sherlock had. She was Rosie's godmother after all.
Who else?! Molly. Molly? Molly Hooper.
But Sherlock knew. Knew early on how much he could trust her. To rely on her to keep him on track. John realized, later than he'd like to admit, that she knew Sherlock. Could see beyond the facade.
You're really not going to like this.
He always went to her. So many things, gone unnoticed.
Sherlock always said no one else would work with him. But, perhaps it was the other way around.