Once again, this fanfiction contains spoilers for season 3, mainly the Christmas episode and promo pics.
A short piece that wouldn't leave my head. I'm not too happy with it and I honestly don't know why I wrote this, as it's spoilery, but most probably AU as soon as season 3 comes out.
Mainly Molly appreciation and a view on Sherlock's possible struggle to improve his social skills.
Please tell me if there are any grammar or spelling errors, I'm really trying to improve – in school I had English class for about a decade, but that's been awhile. Any form of feedback is greatly appreciated, really. Oh, and I don't own anything related to BBC Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes in general, obviously.
Sherlock was grateful. It was a strange feeling, but it was true. Molly Hooper had done more for him than anyone ever before, more than he could have expected.
She hadn't only saved his life, but also the ones of the people closest to him, and helped stopping one of the most dangerous criminals the kingdom had ever seen. If he was honest to himself, which he was disturbingly often these days, he knew he couldn't have done it without her. She had gained his trust, and even more surprising, she had also gained his respect. Though it proved to be very useful in the past, he would try not to use her infatuation with him for his cases anymore. He'd already stopped mocking her after this awful Christmas party two years ago.
Sherlock had been back in London for not yet five months. Things had changed in the two years he'd spent solving cases all over the world. Most of those things weren't exactly interesting, but John had gotten himself engaged, for God's sake. Knowing John, Sherlock doubted this marriage lasted more than a few months, a year at most. John had been changing too, though... Sherlock didn't mind Mary, she wasn't less capable than most. John seemed to care deeply for her, and Sherlock had decided to accept the changes that had occurred during his absence, anyway. Not that he coped with changes lightly, but much to his dismay, he seemed to have developed a conscience over the years.
Still, this was ridiculous.
Sherlock had met him only twice. The first time he was in her flat when Sherlock came to show her he'd come back. He avoided thinking of that evening; the memory left him with a feeling he couldn't categorize.
The second time he was there when John celebrated his birthday with all of his friends and family, another annoying custom he had acquired while Sherlock was away. Of course, there was that one time when he'd gone with a few people to a restaurant in Soho, having 'birthday dinner', but most of the time it was enough for him to spend such days with working on a case and being dragged in by Mrs Hudson for an hour of tea-drinking and chatting about irrelevant things, at most grabbing a beer with Sherlock late at night. This had mainly sufficed for the time he'd spent in Sherlock's companionship.
It was at that birthday party that she had showed him off like a trophy. That seemed to be a habit of hers; Sherlock was reminded of the way he had first met 'Jim from IT'. And everyone knew how well that ended.
It was embarrassing, really. The exaggerated way John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson congratulated her did nothing to conceal what everyone in the room must have thought. Politeness seemed to be their way to go in all situations, and even though it was hard, Sherlock thought of the embarrassment he'd caused at the Christmas party and forced his mouth shut.
That evening, after everyone else had gone home and Sherlock only lingered at John's to talk about the case they were currently working on (a joke of a case really, but John was determined to ask the victim's wife yet again), John had even continued with the farce. "Alright bloke, that boyfriend of Molly's, isn't he?" John had said as he put the rest of the birthday cake in the refrigerator. "Didn't seem to be an evil mastermind, at least. They looked quite happy. If you were anyone else, I'd probably ask whether you are relieved she's finally gotten that crush on you out of her system. But as you're Sherlock, you'll probably be huffy since now you've got one person less to stroke your ego." Sherlock had even managed to stay silent after that, to only roll his eyes and take the bag with the victim's ear out of his coat.
Right now, Sherlock was sitting at St. Bart's. John's suspicions had proved to be not entirely without reason, as it was, and the case had quickly become interesting.
It was well past midnight. Molly was still here as well; not that he'd need her, but seemingly her boyfriend had distracted her during the day, which was why now she had still work to do.
They didn't talk. The silence was only interrupted by the sounds of jars, microscopes and Petri dishes being used, as both were concentrating on their work. Usually, this was Sherlock's favourite kind of working atmosphere – if being alone with it wasn't an option, of course.
Still, if he wanted to talk to her about it, this was the perfect moment. They could talk discreetly and quickly get that annoyance out of the world. Calm, between two mature human beings. John would approve of his way of action.
"He looks just like me. You're making a fool of yourself."
Molly froze immediately. "What?" she asked.
Sherlock frowned. She sounded upset. He had expected that, yet this was where it would become difficult.
"Your new boyfriend. The one at John's birthday party?"
Molly stared at him. "What's your problem?"
He'd hoped she would catch on to it immediately. Blush, stutter an excuse, maybe even leave the lab. But nonetheless listening to him, changing her demeanour accordingly, like she used to do. She'd never been so slow.
"Oh come on, Molly, do I really have to go into detail? His height and stature are approximately the same as mine, he's got a similar facial structure and even his hair looks alike. Not to mention his choice of clothing. Say, did by chance you pick the scarf he was wearing the other day?"
Molly placed the papers she'd been holding on her desk, saying nothing. She turned to face him fully, her expression incredulous. Sherlock went on.
"Look, I'm... grateful for what you did for me, so I want to help you in return. Everyone knows you've had an... unfortunate infatuation with me, but I'd thought you would finally start moving on. Now you've got this... this person and it's nothing but embarrassing for everyone around you. Besides, I can't help being offended – his appearance may be similar to mine, but he couldn't hold a candle to me in every other regard, which I'm sure you're very well aware. I heard him talking with Lestrade. That boy couldn't even keep up with Anderson. He's like a bad copy, a dumb version of me, so do us all a favour and end this foolery. If you don't fall back into the patterns of bland diffidence you had when we first met, you could get a better suited one, I guess. "
Silence followed his advice. Sherlock waited; surely she'd understand the reason behind his words.
When Molly spoke, her voice was calm, but determined. No desperation or urgency lay in it. She looked him straight in the eyes, without any trace of colour creeping up her cheeks or tears forming in her eyes. Interesting. Maybe she had changed over the last two years as well.
"I don't know why you're suddenly so interested in my life, but do you know how much this kind of personal conversation would have meant to me three years ago? Now, I'm just happy that while you were away, I found what I really need. I'll admit once somebody looks at Nathan, he could notice superficial similarities to you. Maybe I do have a 'type' or whatever you want to call it. Nathan has it, and more importantly, he is everything I used to see in you. But anyone who cares to spend time with him realizes very soon how different the two of you are. Because you know... you may be a genius, but you are wrong in one aspect.
To me, Nathan isn't a dumb version of you. You are a rude, arrogant version of him. Someone who keeps hurting me. And if it's too 'embarrassing' for you to be in a room with us, it's always your choice to leave. Just this time, you won't ruin everything."
She didn't sound really angry, only tired. Molly took her papers and hung her lab coat over her chair.
"Now if you excuse me, I think I prefer finishing my work in the morning. Good night, Sherlock."
It didn't often happen to Sherlock that his mind went blank, but he found himself staring at the door for several seconds after she had left. Little Molly Hooper actually had changed – without him to the better, as it seemed.
It was quarter past one. Sherlock felt the sudden urge to go find John, to talk with him about the case, the two years he'd missed, anything really. But John was already fast asleep in his new flat with his wife-to-be. Well, of course Sherlock could keep looking at the evidence they'd found the afternoon prior. Once he brought everything into his mind palace he'd undoubtedly find the answer. Not so long ago he'd always preferred working alone, after all. It wasn't like he needed someone to be around. High-functioning sociopaths were the most productive in this kind of working atmosphere.
Alone. In silence.