Drugs, a sherlock fanfic

D – Drugs

Slap.

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with! And how dare you betray the love of your friends! Say you're sorry!"

Molly hadn't spoken to Sherlock since that dreadful day in the lab. She couldn't bring herself to go and visit him in hospital after he had been shot. When his face was plastered all over the papers, paired with the title of "Seven times in Baker Street" she shoved them away in disgust, not believing a single word (she knew better), but also feeling a pang in her heart. It wasn't until Magnussen's death was all over the news broadcast that she felt the cold snake of fear curl up in her belly. And when the text came, telling her that Sherlock was being sent away, she knew what he had done. It was then, and only then that she allowed herself to at last break down and cry. Cry over everything that had been lost, what might have been.

Miss me?

The all too familiar Irish voice floated through the hallways of the hospital. She stopped, frozen in place, as the face of Moriarty filled every screen in England. That cold snake of fear had now enveloped her entirely; it was a Boa Constrictor, clasping her, surrounding her completely, binding itself to her. She could not free herself from its tight grasp.

Struggling for air she fled from St. Bart's. She had nowhere to go. She had nowhere to hide. If Moriarty wanted her, he would find her. Sherlock may have twice saved the lives of those he loved, but she knew that he was far away now, far away from her; there was no one who could save her now.

And so she went home to her flat, huddling in the darkest corner of her bedroom. Toby mewled at her in confusion, not used to her being home at this hour, but pleased none the less to see her. She was blind though, to his presence. She was also blind to the fact that her mobile was repeatedly going off; text tones and phone calls.

It began to grow dark. She was still huddled, with her knees to her chest, her forehead resting upon the tops of her knees. Toby left her alone once he realized she wouldn't be giving him her usual pets and feedings. All was quiet, all was still. Perhaps she'd only dreamt of seeing Moriarty's face upon the television screen. Yes, perhaps it had all just been a bad dream.

She was about to begin moving, her back aching terribly, when a noise caused her to freeze. Someone was picking the lock to her front door. She'd always cursed her impeccable hearing, but now at this very moment, she was rather glad for it. She lifted up her head, realizing that if it was in fact Moriarty he would not waste his time in dealing with picking locks. He would have had her door broken down, men rushing in, grabbing her and dragging her away. But none of this had taken place.

No. There was only one person who would pick her lock; one person who had rather enjoyed the act, a bit too much really. But he was far away from here. Very far away. It could not possibly be him.

Ever so slowly she rose to her feet. She reached out and searched blindly for the cricket bat that had been her father's. Clasping her fingers about it she held onto it tightly and slowly stepped out of her bedroom and down the hall. Toby danced about her feet, pleased to see that she was moving about. She moved closer to the door, still hearing the tell-tale signs of the lock being picked. Her heart was pounding, nearly drowning out all other sounds. But she stood her ground. Whoever was about to come through that door was going to end up with an extremely sore head.

She braced herself as the lock popped open, widening the distance between her feet to hold her stance. The doorknob began to turn. She took in one deep steadying breath just as the door was slowly pushed inward. As the lock-picker became revealed she felt her grip on the cricket bat loosen. It fell to the floor with a bang. Her heart momentarily stopped beating. Her mouth dropped open in shock and amazement. She stepped back as he stepped in, closing the door behind him.

"No."

This was the only word she managed to croak out before Sherlock pulled her into a tight embrace, practically crushing her to him.

"No," she whimpered. "No, you can't be here! This can't be real!" She struggled to release herself from his grasp, at last managing to step away from him. She took a few more steps back, hugging her arms around her middle, instantly (and cursing herself for this) missing the loss of warmth from him.

"What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be gone; sent off on some pathetic deadly mission," she bitterly spat out her words.

Sherlock stood there, silent, panting slightly. His arms were held out in front of him from when she stepped away, but now dropped back to his sides.

"Molly … please …"

She shook her head. "No. You didn't even have the decency to say goodbye to me. I had to find out through a text from John! What the hell is the matter with you?" She stormed towards him; her hand held high, pulled back, ready to slap him again.

This time was different though. His mind wasn't clouded with drugs; he could stop her now if he wanted to. And he did. He reached out, grabbing tightly onto her wrist before putting his other arm about her waist and pulling her close to him once more. But this time not just to hold her, to kiss her. She struggled yet again. His hand on her wrist slipped upwards until their hands were palm to palm and he could lace their fingers together.

"Let go of me!" she cried.

"No." He spoke this into her neck, where he buried his face after breaking the kiss, breathing in the scent of her.

She stilled in his arms, her forehead coming to rest upon the lapel of his coat, he could feel the hot puffs of her breath even through his layers of clothing.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

Her voice sounded so small to him, so frightened, so unsure. He tightened his hold on her.

"Moriarty," he answered.

Sherlock felt her start to tremble. He carried her to the sofa, holding her as close to him as physically possible (well as close as their layers of clothes would allow). She still had her face buried in his chest.

"I won't let Moriarty hurt you Molly," he murmured to her. "He won't be able to get anywhere near you."

"How Sherlock? How can you be so certain of that?" she asked.

She at last lifted her head, her gaze locking on his. Her eyes were devoid of tears.

"You are coming to stay with me at Baker Street," he told her. "Mycroft has upped all security levels. You will have full twenty-four surveillance. You will be driven to and from work, and there will be an armed guard near the morgue while you are there."

She let out shaky breath, allowing every single word that he had spoken to sink in. It was only then that she realized that his hand was still clasping hers, their fingers still laced together, and that she was satin his lap. Her eyes slowly rose back up to meet his.

"You're doing all of this, because of him?" she asked.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed for a moment, then widened as he considered her confusion. "No. I'm doing it for me. For my own peace of mind."

It was her turn to narrow her eyes. "Peace of mind?" she questioned.

"Yes. Your safety is of utmost importance to me. Molly." He took her other hand in his. "I meant what I said to you that day, you are the one that mattered most. You do matter the most, to me." He leaned forward slightly, his forehead coming to rest on hers.

She let out another shaky breath, closing her eyes. "How can I believe you? After all that you've done to me, how can I believe you?"

Sherlock's answer was silence. She opened her eyes and leaned away from him. "I helped you fake your death, willingly did so. I gave you the comfort you needed, welcoming you into my bed. I kept your secrets, for two whole years. I moved on, found someone that I thought would make me happy, but then you had to come back, had to screw it all up again. If I am so important to you, if I matter so much, why didn't you tell me before?" She moved to get up off of his lap, but he tugged her back down, his hands still clasping hers.

His gaze was locked on hers. "I was scared. You know how I am. I don't do sentiment, I don't do feelings. I was afraid I would crush you, destroy you, make you miserable. I know I'm not good enough for you, that you deserve so much better."

"Did you ever once consider that I didn't care about that?" she asked bitterly.

"Yes. Exactly the reason why I didn't pursue you. I had hoped that you would find someone better … but when I saw that you had settled for Tom," he spit out the name as if it left a sour taste in his mouth, "I realized that I had to do something, or I truly was risking losing you for forever."

She sighed, closing her eyes. "And now?"

"Now with Moriarty's return it has made me finally accept the fact that I want to be with you. That I need to be with you. Please, tell me that I still have a chance?"

Instead of giving a verbal answer she opted for a kiss. It was only then that he released her hands so that he could move his own on to her back, pressing her to him in order to deepen the kiss. She cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. When they at last parted for air she nuzzled his nose with her own. He began to leave feather-light kisses on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.

"Are we safe here?" she asked.

"Yes," he murmured between kisses. "Mycroft's men have the building surrounded."

"Then come on." She gave his hand a tug and she stood up, giving his hand another tug. "I need you, I haven't had you in so long."

He came to his feet and kissed her, walking her towards the direction of the bedroom. They began to remove each other's clothing as they grew closer to her bed. They collapsed upon it, now almost entirely naked. Sherlock's movements were slow, steady, calculated. So unlike the last time. Everything had been feverishly rushed, hardly any time given to enjoyment. He was too desperate for the release that he knew her body would grant him. But not this time.

He locked away in his Mind Palace every gasp and soft moan that escaped her lips as he touched her, kissed her, moved against her. She clung to him, digging her nails into his skin, kissing him deeply, rolling her hips against his.

It was almost unbearably slow, the movements that they were making with their bodies. But they needed it; they needed it to be slow. They needed to allow their minds to be only focused on each other and nothing else. There was too much that lay ahead that would distract them, endanger them; they needed this time to be together, alone.

He kissed her deeply, slowly, as they lay together, their legs entangled, both panting for breath. One of her legs was hooked around his hip, as if she was afraid that he would try and move away from her, that he would leave.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured against her lips.

She broke away from the kiss, hiding her face in his neck. "I'm still mad at you."

He rolled them, slipping his arms over the small of her back, pulling her almost flush up against him, on top of him. "You have every reason to be," he said.

"You should not have done what you did to Janine. You went too far."

He sighed into her hair. "You know how I am Molly, focused on only the means to an end."

She lifted up her head and looked at him, "Most of the time that way of thinking is perfectly all right, but when it involves another person …" She shook her head. "You should not have done that to her."

He sighed again as he lifted up a hand to stroke her face. "I only regret doing it because it made you upset."

"Just me?" she said. "'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!'"

Sherlock snorted in derision.

"I did warn you," she noted.

His only response was a grunt.

"I told you not to take it too far. And proposing to her was taking it too far!"

He threw his hands up. "Oh for God's sake! How else was I going to convince her to let me in to Magnussen's office?"

Molly didn't reply for a moment. "I don't know who the bigger idiot is."

Sherlock studied her, not entirely sure if she was still speaking about Janine.

She shook her head again, knowing that to try and reason with him would be futile. "And then you had to go and get yourself shot," she said.

He grimaced slightly. "That was unavoidable. Mary did it because she thought it was the wisest thing to do. She was desperate to stop Magnussen."

Molly moved herself upwards slightly, pressing a kiss just below Sherlock's chin. "She didn't kill you."

"Mmm … no. I am grateful to her for that."

Molly moved her mouth up along his jawline, nipping at his earlobe. "I am grateful to her as well." She ran the tip of her nose along the shell of his ear.

"You didn't come and visit me in hospital," he stated.

She froze in her movements. "No. I-I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to; I was too upset and angry with you. I was afraid I would say something I would regret."

He moved his hand up her back, stopping when it came to her shoulder, massaging it slightly. "It's all right. I don't blame you."

She sighed into his skin before picking her head up again and looking at him. "And Magnussen, what about all of that?"

"He needed to be stopped. He would have destroyed Mary, destroyed John."

She shook her head. "But by killing him he almost destroyed you."

Sherlock cradled the side of her face in his hand and kissed her. "He didn't."

"Thanks to Moriarty."

Sherlock let out an annoyed huff. "Yes. I'm not entirely sure if I am pleased by the fact that my exile was ended by his return."

"How did he return?" she asked. "How could he have returned? I did the autopsy on his body! I don't understand."

She held tightly onto Sherlock, never having been more frightened by that which she couldn't comprehend.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't like not knowing. But I'll figure it out."

"Yes … you always do, don't you?" she asked.

He chuckled as he kissed her again. She laid her head down on his chest, drawing lazy circles with her fingertip over his pectoral muscle.

"Why the drugs?" she asked. "And don't, DO NOT say they were for the case. That's absolute shite."

She felt him grow tense beneath her. She knew that she was overstepping boundaries by asking him, but she had to know. She wanted to hear it from his own lips. She steeled herself from the furious expression she was certain he would be aiming at her. Ever so slowly she turned her head until her chin was propped up on his chest. Then her eyes met his. There was no anger there, only hurt, sadness.

"Sherlock?"

She lifted herself up, moving upwards until her face was directly above his. "Please tell me."

He closed his eyes. "I was upset."

"Lonely."

His eyes flew open, meeting hers. "Lonely?" He all but scoffed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You were. Don't deny it. John was married; he had been away on his honeymoon. And I, I was busy with Tom. You were lonely Sherlock."

He humphed. "Fine, I was lonely!"

"That's not a good enough excuse to start using again."

The furious expression was there now, she was shocked that he didn't shove her away from him. Within a few moments it faded away though, the hurt and the sadness returning.

"No. It isn't," he agreed. "But it was for me. John had reminded me why life was worth living, that it was good to be happy. That having a friend was an advantage, not a disadvantage. With him gone, I felt a massive loss."

"But he wasn't going to be gone for forever," she noted. "He came back."

"Yes, but things are different now. He has a wife and a baby on the way. It will never be the same."

She sighed, dipping her head down until her forehead touched his. "I knew I should have followed you that night at the wedding, when everyone was dancing. I saw you leave. I should have gone after you."

Sherlock shifted slightly, his hands coming to rest on her hips."You didn't. You couldn't. You were there with … meat dagger."

She horrified herself by letting out a snort. "Mmm, yes."

Some minutes passed where neither one of them spoke.

"Things change Sherlock," she said. "People change. And there is nothing that you can do about it. The only thing that you can do is try and make the best of it."

His hands moved from her hips, up her back, to her shoulders before moving forward and cradling her face. "I know. I had to learn that the hard way. I understand that now. And this, this right here, what we are doing, this is me making the best of it."

She tried to fight back the tears, but a few managed to leak out past her barriers. He brushed them away with his thumbs. She kissed him hungrily, deeply, trying her damndest to let him know how important he was to her.

I'm quite proud of this one!

Reviews make me smile :)