A/N: This has been languishing in my drafts folder for a while so I decided to finally complete it. Set some time in S3 but, as it was written before that series aired, has no mention of Tom. It was also inspired by a scene in the Elementary episode "Details." Big thank you to beautywithin22 who looked over this for me. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
I'm Better With You
Sherlock didn't need John to tell him that what he'd done was 'not good,' but he had dutifully listened to the lecture anyway.
Lecturing obviously made John feel better and it gave him time to think about what he had done to Molly and how he could make it right, because he had to make it right. She was too important.
That was the trouble really.
He hadn't meant to launch into a diatribe about her latest boyfriend or her appearance (something ever since that Christmas he'd sworn he'd never comment on again) but he hadn't been able to stop himself.
He'd been jealous.
And that had angered him, clouding his reason.
He didn't want to be jealous, not of Molly or anyone else, but he had been.
From almost the very first time they met she had been his pathologist, the one he trusted to come to for experiments and even the occasional help on the case. Gradually she had stopped being just a pathologist and he'd allowed her the luxury of a name, then she had even been allowed the dignity of a first name. Until, most disastrously of all, she had become his Molly.
He'd thought that after all the time they had spent together following his 'death' and all the effort he had put into trying to show her that she did count that she might have come to realise this.
But then Barry – or was it Gary? – had shown up, proving how wrong he had been and he'd felt threatened.
Molly Hooper belonged to him and no one else.
He had never learnt to share, nor did he care to learn how to now.
No, his only concern was how to repair the damage he had caused to their relationship and how to consolidate his claim now that he had realised how undefended it was.
"Are you even listening to me?" John demanded, breaking Sherlock from his thoughts.
"Actually I stopped listening after you accused me of being insensitive," Sherlock admitted.
John threw his hands up in despair, "I give up," he said, flopping onto a nearby stool, "you're impossible."
Any response Sherlock might have made was silenced by the reappearance of Molly, Sherlock winced inwardly as he realised she had been crying.
"You…you can't keep doing this, Sherlock," she said finally, lifting her chin in defiance but without meeting his eyes, "it's not fair," she added softly, her eyes brimming with tears again.
Sherlock stood up and took a step towards her, "I'm sorry Molly," he said in a low voice, "I never meant…you…I…" he broke off, frustrated at his inability to form a coherent sentence and tried again. "I meant what I said to you that night, Molly, I need you," he paused, making sure she was listening, "not your help, not your lab, you."
Molly bit her lip as she studied the floor and Sherlock glanced to the side at John's stunned expression, he wished the other man would leave, but decided to plough on even with the audience. She deserved the truth and, maybe, if he said it in front of John she would have an easier time believing it.
"I admit that, at first, you were merely the audience I needed," he continued, "just someone to astound with my brilliance, to show off to. I never thought about why I was showing off, not until I realised that I wasn't showing off exactly, I was trying to impress you. I needed to impress you and that made me push myself harder, I'm a better detective because of you Molly," he confessed.
For the first time since he began his speech, Molly looked up at him.
"You make me want to be a better detective," he added sincerely. He paused for a brief moment as he tried to find a less maudlin way to continue. He grimaced inwardly as he failed to do so and caught her eye, "You make me want to be a better person," he admitted, a touch grudgingly.
Molly blinked in surprise, trying to process what he was saying. John stared at the consulting detective in disbelief.
"I can't change who I am, not even for you, but don't leave me, Molly, please," he continued, his voice taking on a pleading edge.
Molly held his gaze steadily, "Why?"
It was Sherlock's turn to blink in surprise and he bit back the retort that he'd just told her why as he realised that he hadn't. Not really.
Well played, Molly Hooper, he thought approvingly as she continued to look at him expectantly; a hint of a challenge in her dark eyes.
Sherlock had never backed down from a challenge in his life and, taking a deep breath, he drew himself up to his full height, "Because I love you," he said simply.
Off to the side, John looked like he was going to die from shock but Sherlock barely noticed as he watched the slow smile creep across Molly's face.
"Don't worry, Sherlock, I'm not going anywhere," she said finally.
Sherlock's shoulders slumped a little in relief at her words, before he frowned as she didn't continue. "Isn't there something you'd like to say to me in return?" he asked, suddenly reverting back to a petulant child.
Molly bit back an impish grin, "Thank you?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and she couldn't help the giggle that escaped, "Oh Sherlock," she murmured as she came up to him, "of course I love you," she assured him, reaching up to peck him on the cheek.
The consulting detective and pathologist smiled warmly at each other for a few moments before turning their attention back to the autopsy they'd been working on before everything had gone off the rails.
Still frozen in shock in his corner of the morgue, John watched the pair with his mouth hanging open.
He'd seen some strange things in his time with Sherlock, but this was definitely to strangest experience of his life.