I was going through my documents and found this little ditty. I had completely forgotten about writing it. Anyways, I hope ya'll like it!
Many, many thanks to Benedicted-Cumberbatched for helping me with it!
"You need to eat."
"I'm on a case."
"You've been on a case for a week and a half and have only had two pieces of toast and you only had those because Mary practically shoved them down your throat."
Sherlock Holmes sighed as he looked at the crime scene photos pinned to the wall above the couch, willing himself to find the missing link. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the form of Molly Hooper pushing off of the doorway she was leaning against.
"You can't keep doing this, Sherlock," she sighed.
"Doing what? I'm not doing anything?"
"That's the point. I've got to go soon, I've stayed too long as it is." Molly shook her head when he didn't respond. She turned and walked towards the bedroom. "Take a drink of water at least."
Sherlock looked towards her as she disappeared into the room. He took one last look at the photos, and made his way into the kitchen. He knew she was right, but he was so close to finding the answer. A few more days wouldn't hurt.
A few more days turned into a few more months. This case was almost unsolvable. There were no prints of any kind at the crime scene. No fingerprints, no footprints, nothing whatsoever. He was Sherlock Holmes, he should be able to solve any case thrown at him. Why was this one so hard? Maybe it just hit too close to home.
He opened his eyes and saw the sleeping form of Molly. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of her face as gently as he could, knowing that even the slightest touch would wake her. It was a risk he was willing to take, if only to see her face as clearly as he used to. She grunted and turned towards the hand, cracking her eyes open as she did so. She smiled sleepily at him.
"Can't sleep?"
"Do you know how much I love you? Really do you? I never say it enough, but Molly Hooper, I do love you."
She chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "Of course I do, you clot. I wouldn't still be here if I didn't." She leaned forward and kissed him. It started out gently, but when his hand crept around the back of her head anchoring her to him, all bets were off. The kiss grew deeper as their touches grew more frantic.
"I can't stay too much longer," she said when they parted for air.
"One more night, just give me one more night, please," He begged, holding her tight.
She flipped them over until she straddled his hips. "Will you ever quit asking? You know I can never say no to you." He slid his hands under her top, a not so silent question. She pulled it off in response.
He pushed himself up until they were chest to chest. "I'll quit asking when you quit telling me," he murmured into her neck.
She threaded her fingers into his curls and tugged lightly, forcing him to look at her, "One more night, Sherlock."
As John Watson exited the cab in front of Baker Street, he could hear the violin from the flat above. Sherlock had the windows open apparently. It had been a few weeks, since he had seen the detective. He had tried to stop by earlier but work had been busy and Hayley had been sick. He fished the key out of his pocket and let himself in. Mrs. Hudson was visiting her sister, so Sherlock was alone. Hopefully he had eaten something.
When he reached the bend in the staircase, John heard Sherlock's voice from the flat above. Maybe he was taking cases again. He slowed as he neared the door.
"One more night," he heard his friend say.
John reached out and tapped the door. Not waiting for an answer, he made his way inside. He wasn't surprised to find Sherlock by the window, but he was surprised to find the detective talking to the couch. It was like he didn't even know John had walked in.
"I can't, not yet." A beat passed. "There has to be something I'm missing, there has to be."
"Sherlock."
The detective jerked his head back. "John, what on Earth are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, looking him up and down. "I assume Hayley is feeling better?"
"Uh, yeah, she is. Who were you talking too?"
"Nobody, you know I talk out loud sometimes. Trying to work through a case." Sherlock said as he put his violin up.
"Mrs. Hudson said that you haven't had a client in months. What case are you talking…." Realization hit him, "this is about Molly isn't it?"
Sherlock's shoulders dropped slightly. "There has to be an answer." He said as he slowly sank into his chair.
John took a deep breath and went to sit and the armchair labeled as his. He watched as Sherlock's eyes flitted across the floor.
"Sherlock, it was an accident. It was wet, she lost control. It could have happened to anyone." John said gently.
Sherlock looked up towards his friend, the pain blindingly evident in his eyes. "Why her? Of all the people on the road that night, why did it have to be her?"
John sighed, shaking his head. "Sherlock, there are some questions that just can't be answered. 'Why' being the biggest. In the beginning, it's the easiest thing to ask. Believe me, I asked every day when you jumped."
"She's not coming back, John! She's gone! She's gone and I never got to tell her! She never knew how much I loved her, how much I've always loved her." Sherlock bellowed, jumping up to pace the room.
John wasn't shocked by the admission, but by how easily the detective admitted it. He watched as his friend paced in his pain, his face wet with tears. It had been eight months since the accident. Eight months the detective had been alone with the ghosts in his head. He knew how that felt.
"You've got to let her go, Sherlock."
Sherlock stopped in his tracks. His shoulders began to shake with laughter. "That's what she's been telling me. She's been telling me that for months now. How can I though? I'll lose her forever if I let her go."
"But you won't Sherlock not with all of those memories you have stored in that bloody mind palace of yours! Molly will stay with you for as long as you need her to. She would never leave you."
"He's right, you know." Molly smiled at him from her spot behind John, who was still seated in his chair. "Sherlock, you have to let me go. You have to get on with your life. You can't stay holed up here forever. I knew you loved me, at the end at least. You were the most important thing to me and I knew that I was one of the most important people in your life. I finally believed it. As miserable as you made me sometimes, you made my life worth it, Sherlock. I don't want you wallowing around in self-pity about what you did and didn't tell me. Take peace in knowing that I knew everything you wanted me to." She walked around the chair and went to stand in front of him. She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. "I've got to go now. No buts, no 'one more day'. You're ready to let me go."
"There's where you're wrong, Miss Hooper," he said, "I'll never be ready but I suppose it is time. Time to start trying at least."
"Are you going to let me walk out of that door?"
"I will, as long as you promise me that you'll come back."
"I'll never be too far away, Sherlock. All you need to do is call for me and I'll be there as soon as I can." She smiled and kissed his cheek. She turned and walked toward the door, but before she walked out she turned back. "Go see Hayley. It's been far too long since you've seen your goddaughter." With that, she turned and walked out of the room.
"Sherlock?" John finally said, having watched the detective stand in silence for the past ten minutes.
"John, yes, what time is dinner? I need to see that goddaughter of mine to make sure she is completely healed." Sherlock said as he made his way towards the bathroom.
"But, what about-"
"Molly?" Sherlock finished for him. "She finally talked some sense into me."
"Oh," John said, not quite knowing what to say to that. "Seven-thirty, but you can come by earlier."
"Good, I'll be by around five," Sherlock called out, closing the bathroom door behind him.
John stood when he heard the shower roar to life. It would be a bit before he finished and he needed to warn Mary that they would have company for the night. He laughed quietly to himself as he walked out of the flat and made his way down the stairs. Even in death, Molly Hooper had a way of making sure that Sherlock was protected from himself. She was taken from him too soon, but John had the feeling that she would never really be parted from the detective. She was his heart and his heart had returned.