Look! Another take on what happened after Reichenbach~! Well, not really. But this is what I think happened between Molly and Sherlock after he 'died.' And, just to put my own opinion in this, I think that Molly is a really sweet and caring person, but she cares too much for Sherlock. She's also pretty smart, so of course she knows this. My love for her character has lead to his.
Enjoy my little dumplings!
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. If I did, there would be more than 3 episodes a series. :T
Molly Hooper swung the door to her flat open and let Sherlock walk inside. It was almost one in the morning. As the consulting detective walked through the threshold he continued to hold a bloodied ice pack to his head. There was gauze wrapped around his stitches from the fall.
He groaned as he fell back into Molly's armchair. She frowned at him and hung her coat on the hook. "How long are you staying?"
Without looking up he replied, "Just for the night."
"Are you paying me for my hospitality?" Molly almost spat out, and immediately gasped at her own audacity. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't—" she stopped herself, and took in a long strand of air. Today had been so stressful…
Holmes looked over at her through his stormy eyes and quickly studied her. She was nervous, ashamed, wondering where her cat was, needing a drink, probably a glass of red wine, maybe two if necessary. She was going to visit her father tomorrow, there were flowers made for a grave sitting in a bundle on the dining table, and afterwards she was meeting her mother for tea, for her fingernails were painted a mute mushroom color.
As Dr. Hooper padded into the kitchen to fix herself a glass of red wine, he called after her, "What would you want in return?"
The flat was silent, save for the sound of wine sloshing into a glass. She came back into view, the full glass in one hand and the other cradling her elbow. She sat in the couch opposite of Sherlock and took a small sip of her wine. Molly swallowed and, without looking up from swirling her wine, asked, "How do you do it?"
"Do what?" he asked, a bit too fast. "How do I figure out things so fast? How did I fake my death? How—"
"How do you cut emotions off until you feel almost nothing?" Molly Hooper cut in bitterly.
For a second Sherlock just sat there, the cool ice pack on his forehead, astounded. He hadn't expected that from Dr. Hooper.
"I mean, you have people who care about you, Sherlock, but you keep pushing them away for the sake of this little bubble of protection you've created around yourself." She continued. "You've stopped feeling, and in turn you don't get hurt. You just hurt the people around you. The ones who actually care about you." Her eyes glistened slightly, but Molly refused to look up from sloshing her wine. She raised the glass to her lips and drained the rest of the alcohol. She slammed the glass on the coffee table.
Sherlock Holmes, for once, had no answer for Dr. Hooper.
Finally, after a minute of silence, Molly closed her eyes. "Will you…teach me?"
Still, Sherlock just sat there in the armchair, ice pack clutched tightly in his hand. He winced at her query. She wanted to know, he knew, how to shut him off effectively so that when he left, she wouldn't break down. She wouldn't have her heart broken by a man that didn't love her.
Molly Hooper would be able to keep herself safe.
But she wasn't like the younger Holmes. She wasn't a sociopath that needed to feel close-to-nothing in order to function properly. She was a simple human being that needed emotions to survive. Molly Hooper was a normal person, nothing in comparison to Sherlock, he knew.
As annoying as she was at points, she was insightful. She understood and saw things others didn't, although she didn't communicate her findings in a way Sherlock could accept. If she had found a way to correspond with Holmes in a suitable manner, maybe their friendship would've gotten somewhere.
Not getting an answer, Molly started to repeat, "Will you—"
"No," the answer broke in.
Dr. Hooper still had not opened her eyes. "Why not?"
Sherlock had gotten up and was now looking down at her. "Be…" he faltered when he realized he didn't know how to exactly put into words how he felt on the subject. Think, dammit, think. "Because…you are…average." He started slowly, softly. "You can't cut yourself off, Molly." She began to shake slightly at the sound of her name. "You don't deserve a fate such as mine. You're too…" he trailed off once more, not able to grasp the words needed to finish the sentence without letting his own emotional protection fall.
Not knowing what else to say, he leaned forward and planted the whisper of a kiss upon Molly's forehead and withdrew himself from the room.
She opened her eyes, startled by the cautiousness of the kiss. The renewed shining in her eyes made her shudder. Without saying any more, Sherlock had said it all.
You're too special.
Despite anything Sherlock says about Molly Hooper, he still cares. Thoughts or questions or anything? Click that little box down there(:
Thank you! ~~AgentAva