Hello ! So I finaly watched S4 and I just had to write this. It's my first time writing a Sherlock fanfic, hope I did it justice.
Molly sat on her couch with a cup of tea and her favorite book. It had been an eventful week and she needed the calm. Sherlock had visited the day before and explained everything about his newly remembered sister, about her "experiment", about the bomb he thought was threatening to explode didn't she say these three words. The story sounded too far-fetched to be true, but not for Sherlock Holmes. It wasn't like the man would bother with lies anyways.
And yet, there was one question she hadn't dared to ask. "Did you mean it?" Because she'd been waiting to hear him say it for years now, beating herself over it every time she saw the way he looked at John. Mary's loss had changed the doctor though, and she'd seen him drown. She'd seen Sherlock spiral down too, always searching for more stimulation through cases, drugs, cases while on drugs, and only John seemed to ground him. And finally hearing him say the words after she had given up on them, after she had almost given up on him, it had been like pouring acid on her heart. She knew she wasn't the one that could save him but she had savored the declaration, she had allowed herself say it too. I love you.
She put the book down. She wouldn't be able to focus anyway. She took a sip of tea and grabbed her phone. Nothing. She'd hoped more than expected a text from Sherlock, but of course the detective had other concerns. She unlocked her screen anyway, then thought better of it. Molly sighed. This was ridiculous. She had been pinning over the same man for three years now and where did that lead her? Absolutely nowhere.
She was about to go have another cup of tea when she noticed a piece of paper sticking out of her book. She pulled it out carefully and opened it. It was a letter.
Dear Molly Hooper,
He doesn't love you.
Molly felt her heart skip a beat, her vision blurred. She folded back the letter, blinked furiously and stood up to make more tea. By the time she came back with a burning cup in hand, her heartrate had gone back to normal and she had mentally braced herself.
Dear Molly Hooper,
He doesn't love you. Of course, he doesn't want you to die, as he has some sort of affection for you, but this isn't what you want, is it? You want Sherlock Holmes to look at you the way he looks at Doctor Watson, you want him to really notice you. Caring is not an advantage, we've been taught very early. Sherlock was the most caring of us three, probably the reason why he is so interesting. Emotional background alters his abilities in a way that has never affected Mycroft. Which brings us to our game.
He has refrained for years, it is obvious from the way he crosses his arms, but I have seen through his shell, whether you say the release code won't change that. There will be no sudden realization, no outburst of sentimentalism. Of course, I have very little understanding of love, but watching you has enlightened me on that matter. He doesn't love you.
Exx
PS: I have also observed your strong morals and I hope you will play with us next time!
Molly sat still, trying to process the letter. She read it again, then called Sherlock, but as usual the oh so busy detective didn't answer. She took a deep breath to calm her frustration and called John instead. By the time he picked up she had read the letter a third time and decided to keep it a secret.
"Hello John, sorry I dialed the wrong number. Good afternoon!"
She hung up in a hurry, not even giving him time to speak. She read the letter again. At least she had an answer.
The letter stayed with her for the next few days, even at work, so the next time Sherlock visited she instinctively pushed it deeper in her lab coat pocket. But the detective was so focused on his case he didn't even notice. John approached her as Sherlock was deducting over the victim's body.
"Last time you called me and Sherlock seconds apart. It wasn't a wrong number, was it?"
Somehow, John had managed to be more observant than the man she loved. Caring about people wasn't Sherlock's strong suit, neither was dealing with aftermaths, so of course he had thrown himself in the first case he could land hand on. He hadn't even looked her in the eye.
John was waiting for an answer; she shook her head but refused to say more.
"How are you holding up after everything?" she asked instead.
"We manage."
"I know what happened, we have to see his wife." Sherlock said as her walked toward the door.
"You go ahead, I'm right behind you."
Sherlock turned around to give John a quizzical look.
"It's about babysitting." he lied.
The detective knew better than to insist, he left the pair to talk.
"Is it about the call?"
Molly shook her head again and touched her pocket as a reminder.
"He doesn't love me. It doesn't take being Sherlock Holmes to know this. I'm just… I'm just tired, that's all. But you should go, he's waiting for you."
After a short hesitation, John took her in his arms. She needed the comfort.
"Hey?" she called as he was leaving. "What's her name? Sherlock's sister I mean."
"Euros."
"Do you think I could visit her someday?"
"I'll ask Mycroft."
She nodded in thanks and waited until he was out of sight to retrieve the letter. So that was what E stood for… It was an original name, but then again so were Sherlock and Mycroft. Seeing her hadn't been part of the plan but if she had the chance, well that could be interesting. "He doesn't love you". The words stung a little less, Molly noticed. It was time to let go of her love for Sherlock and get a new start. She shoved the letter back in her pocket and went back to the open corpse on the autopsy table.
The next day, after Sherlock solved the case, John visited her again. It was the end of her shift, she invited him to walk with her. They stopped to get coffee and Molly waited for John to speak.
"You seemed a bit off yesterday so I just wanted to be sure you're okay."
"I am, it's just… It gets lonely in the lab. Dead people don't have that much conversation and Sherlock and you just seem to spiral down and I wish I could do more to help. Help anyone." She had obviously overshared, her cheeks were getting redder by the second.
"You do help us."
"You mean by giving Sherlock a free pass to the morgue and providing body parts? That's not what I call help."
"Is that why you want to meet Euros? To try and help her? Because you can't. She's got no heart, no soul, she thinks she's God toying with insects."
"A true Holmes, then" she snarled.
The doctor passed his hand in his hair. He understood her resentment against Sherlock and this seemed like a way to get back at him but just thinking about Euros reminded him of the weight of yet another gun in his hand, trying to take to decision to kill an innocent man. He felt his chest tighten and chills run down his spine. He couldn't picture someone as human as Molly around her.
"Believe me, she's a hundred times worse. And Sherlock never meant to hurt you."
"I'd like to see her" Molly reiterated.
John sighed and nodded. He gave a thankful smile when Molly steered the discussion toward Rosie. The rest of the walk was smooth, she invited him up to try the cake she'd made. John accepted, glad to see his friend back to her jovial self. Besides he had noticed her reach out to her pocket quite often and he was curious.
They were sitting around a second cup of tea when Molly's phone rang, giving John the perfect shot. Molly left the room to take the call and came back to John reading the letter she'd kept in her coat.
The heavy silence that settled was broken when Molly sighed, trying to ease the lump in her throat.
"Get out."
"Molly we need to talk about this."
But she remained silent, simply motioning toward the door. How dared he? They were supposed to be friends, but she had become a case, someone to investigate. She wanted John as far away as possible, at least as far as Sherlock. Exhaustion washed over her, she was too tired to speak, too tired to get mad, too tired to cry. After John left, she called in sick for the rest of the week and went to bed.
Later that night, she received a text.
It was wrong of me to invade your privacy, I'm sorry. I'm here If you want to talk about the letter or anything else. I haven't told Sherlock, it's your call.
JW
She answered immediately. John was thoughtful, he hadn't meant to hurt her and most of all, he had apologized.
It's okay, just don't do it again. I don't want to talk.
MH
A couple of days passed before Molly stepped out of her flat, only to find a black limo parked in front in the building. She was heading back inside when a voice called her name.
"What do you want, Sherlock?"
"John told me you wanted to see my sister." His voice was unusually humble and Molly found herself unable to give him the cold shoulder.
She followed him back to the limo where his brother was waiting. Surprisingly, Mycroft offered her pastries. She ate slowly, watching the two Holmes bicker like always. When the trio settled in thoughtful silence, Molly spoke for the first time.
"What is she like?"
"Mad" Sherlock said.
"Mad" Mycroft agreed. "Why would you want to meet her?"
"Well she managed to have a Holmes say 'I love you" so I guess I owe her at least a thank you."
"Doctor Hooper, this is not a joke. Euros Holmes is a dangerous specimen, in fact, I can affirm you that she fits the clinical definition of a psychopath: egocentric, lacking empathy, manipulative. You will not get anything from her."
"Thanks for the warning." She nodded.
The car came to a stop about a hundred feet away from a helicopter. Molly's stomach churned at the sight of the engine, but she was too close to let her fear of heights get the best of her.
She vomited two times during the flight and was paler than ever when they landed in Sherringford. Sherlock patted her back, careful to remove his violin from the perimeter.
Mycroft left as soon as they passed the security checks, business as usual.
"How did you make him agree to this?" Molly asked.
"I called in for a favor."
"You did? Thank you."
"I owed you that. You've always been there despite my sometimes… rude behavior, and this is the first time you've requested anything."
Her friend's gratefulness moved her, she had to touch her jean's pocket where the letter was tucked to remember her newly found resolution.
The elevator arrived, and within seconds they were facing the cell. A pale woman was sitting on the floor, jet black hair framing her frail face. Her piercing blue eyes met Molly's, she tilted her head and she smiled. Despite everything she'd been told, Molly found something innocent about the woman, mixed with something akin to omniscience that made her feel vulnerable.
Sherlock walked closer and took his violin out of its cover, but Molly was still frozen by the prisoner's gaze on her. When Euros reported her attention on her brother, Molly sat on the floor, afraid her shaky legs would give in.
Molly watched Euros close her eyes and rock herself back and forth as Sherlock started playing something she'd never heard before. Then the younger Holmes stood up, picked her own violin and joined him. The two women's eyes locked again and Euros led the melody toward something even more tender. That was closure, Molly realized. She still had affection for Sherlock, but it wasn't love anymore. The sick game of the evil Holmes had given her closure.