I – I'm Sorry
Molly was in the morgue. The slabs were empty. Not a body bag in sight. She was sat upon a stool, staring blankly ahead, while worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She was currently alone, but she knew that that wouldn't be for long. A few minutes ago she had received a text; a warning.
He's on his way to talk to you. I think you know what about. – MM
Mary Morstan. She and Molly had conveniently become very good friends. Molly liked her, a lot, and she was glad that John had found someone. It had hurt her to the core to see him so lonely.
John.
John Watson.
The man who was coming to talk to her. And yes, she knew exactly what he wanted to talk about. She bit down so hard on her lip that she tasted blood. She sucked on it, welcoming the metallic taste.
Molly knew that eventually this day would come, deep down inside she always knew. But what she didn't know was what he would say to her. How he would act. Would he be angry? Upset that she knew all along that Sherlock was still alive and didn't tell him?
The sound of the morgue doors opening brought her back to the present. She slipped off the stool, steadying herself on her feet as John approached her. It was strange to see him here alone, without Sherlock. He never once had come to visit her after … it would have been too hard, too many memories.
Molly opened her mouth to speak but John silenced her with a look. His hands were twitching; he paced for a moment before stopping directly before her. Their eyes met.
"You knew." He paused, calming himself. "You knew he was alive. All this time."
She couldn't bring herself to say anything.
"You helped him with … with all of … that." He waved his hand off to the side.
She could see that he was struggling to keep his composure. "I'm sorry John." Her voice came out no more than a whisper. "I'm so sorry."
He nodded, looking away from her, his jaw tightening. "That must have, must have been very hard … for you."
"It was," she admitted.
"How did you do it? I don't think I could have."
Her eyes filled with tears. "How could I not? You know how I feel about him. It's so horribly obvious. I couldn't say no. It wasn't easy, I knew it wouldn't be easy. And as time wore on, it grew harder, lying to you, to Greg, to Mrs. Hudson. Didn't you ever wonder why I stopped coming to see you as often as I once had? I couldn't bear it, to see the grief he caused you, and that I had the power to bring it to an end! I didn't trust myself."
John closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing. "He asked too much of you. Like he always does."
Molly had no answer for that. John clenched his fists then opened them, stretching out his fingers. He appeared to struggle to get out his next words.
"Thank you." He paused. "Thank you for keeping him alive." He gave a slight nod, tapped his fingers on the metal slab before he turned and walked out of the morgue.
Molly slowly let out a breath; a breath she didn't realize she had been holding in for two years. She closed her eyes, swaying slightly on her feet as she struggled to calm herself down. First one, then two tears slipped out from beneath her eyelids. She jumped when she felt a pad of a fingertip brush the tears away. Her eyes flew open meeting two ocean blue ones.
"How long have you been in here?" Her own voice sounded so small.
"Long enough," Sherlock replied.
He stayed there, stood before her, his hands having dropped back down to his sides. He was studying her, deducing her like always, but silently.
"Did I ask too much of you?"
She closed her eyes again for a moment before opening them. "Sherlock, we've been over this already. I wanted to help you. I knew it would be difficult. I was entirely aware of how illegal and dangerous it was all going to be, and still I did it. I don't regret it. Not at all."
She took a step closer to him and tilted her head back so that she could look directly up at him. "If I was given the chance, I would do it all over again. Yes, it was hard seeing everyone be so upset, but I knew deep down that their sadness wouldn't last forever; that you would come back. It was painful, and there were days when I hated myself, questioned as to why I had done it. Why I had agreed to help you. But those days passed, and for the most part I was proud of what I had done. I was happy to know that you were out there, saving the world. You didn't ask too much of me."
He closed the space between them, the tips of his shoes touching hers. He pressed his lips to her forehead, murmuring so softly that she almost didn't hear the words, "I'm sorry."
Her eyes fell closed and when she opened them again, he was gone.
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errr ... sorry for the feels?
It just kind of hit me that this would be a good one for this letter :-/
I really wish that they had given us a scene of this, it would be very interesting to see how John would have handled it.
Reviews make me happy :)