Everything You Never Gave

Authors Note: The last time I posted anything on this site was back in 2012. I cannot believe I've finally done it. The latest series of Sherlock has inspired me so much. I've been gone for so long mostly due to the fact of university, which I graduated from last July (whoop!), but partly it's just because the inspiration to write hasn't been there. I really hope you all enjoy my creation and that Molly and Sherlock aren't too out of character.

THERE ARE SPOILERS FROM S4E3 IN THIS STORY. DO NOT CONTINUE, IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED.

You know where to find me.

SH

She does. But she won't. Not this time. Not after the humiliation he subjected her to. That one phone call made her crumble like a house of cards; two empty wine bottles, discarded on the coffee table, with fine shards of glass left behind from her attempt at cleaning up the flute she'd broken. Upon looking at her reflection in the screen of her phone, she could tell her lips were stained a deep red from her messy consumption. So how he could expect her to come running to their place, she didn't know. How he could expect her capable of it when he would have to know the aftermath of his destruction, she didn't know. And right now, she didn't care. She placed her phone facedown on the coffee table, ignoring the buzz of a second alert.

He waited. Until the sun delivered rays of first light through the windows. But she never showed. For half a second, he almost suspected Eurus had blown her flat, her life, to kingdom come. Perhaps it was his sisters gift to Moriarty – making good on his promise to burn the heart out of him. After all, he'd always known what Sherlock blocked. That's why he chose her to get to him in the beginning. He knew it was the best way to crush his heart.

He couldn't fathom why she hadn't showed. There was no one new. There couldn't be. Not after her declaration this afternoon. It was time to give in. It was time to return to 221b. It's hardly likely someone else in the world could discover the mysteries of it after all. With a swift tap of his fingers, he sent another text before leaving their sanctuary.

Next Sunday.

SH

She returned to work the next day. Apart from the faint stain of red lingering upon her lips, there wasn't a single sign of damage. Perhaps he'd see it, if he stopped by the morgue later; how he'd extinguished the light from her eyes and executed the saccharine tone of her voice. However, just to be on the safe side, she had painted her nails. He'd know what it meant. He'd know not to bother her as soon as he saw the blue smeared over them. It was a rich shade with a hue of a light, glittering blue imbedded. It made her feel dejected and destroyed, but yet a touch of hope filled her heart every time the glitter caught the light. Yes. He'd definitely understand her message.

She wasn't wrong. He appeared, John-less, towards the end of her shift.

'Any hearts available today, Molly?' His voice startled her from her paperwork, and she swivelled to face him on her stall. The look in his eyes wasn't lost on her. There was a deeper meaning to his question. A deeper meaning, they would both pretend didn't exist. That's how it had always been, and that dynamic would not change even with their threads barely hanging on.

'Yes, but not available to you,' instantly he noticed the lack of cordiality in her tone, and with her now facing him, he glanced her over.

Her eyes were missing their usual brightness, a brightness she regarded only him with, her lips were ever-so-slightly tarnished with the tell-tale signs of a few too many wine glasses, and she sat with a tense, upright posture that he hadn't seen since before the night everything changed. It was at that moment the light glinted off it and his eyes fell to the colour splashed across her nails. He stilled. The colour raised goose pimples upon his skin. Of all the colours she had worn in the past, he'd never seen one as dark or soul crushing. This wasn't the first time she'd worn one to represent her anger at him, but it was the first time she'd worn one this… dark. She couldn't mean it.

'Molly,' he used the voice he saved for her and only her, while stepping an inch closer to her and placing his hands on the counter behind, trapping her to him. He had to push the limit, to see how much damage had been done, 'for me… please help,' he bent his head towards her, waiting for the hitch in her throat. It never came. Instead, her dainty hands pressed against his chest and shoved him backwards.

'I'm busy, Sherlock. I don't have time for this,' she swivelled back to the counter and resumed her paperwork.

She meant it. The darkness, she meant it. They are a ship in the midst of a turbulent sea, being drawn into a perilous whirlpool. For a moment, he watched her, and then he left.

Tears spilled free and left reckless streaks in their wake across her face. He was gone, for good she assumed.

I'll be there.

SH

The buzzing of her phone woke her up. She sat up instantly and switched on the bedside table light. The clock next to the lamp read 4:00am and she grabbed her phone.

There was only one possible person who'd text her this early on a Sunday morning, especially a Sunday she was free from work.

She opened the message and stared.

Was he serious? Why would he go to their place? Had he not got the message? She was sure he had. He hadn't attempted to contact her since the day at Bart's. Did he really think everything would just be okay if he gave her a little space, that she'd turn up at their place as soon as he wanted her? If he did, well maybe he wasn't as much of a genius as everyone assumed, including her.

She threw her head back against her pillow, with her eyes to the ceiling a hefty sigh escaped from her lips.

Or maybe he was hopeful? Hopeful that everything would just go back to normal? After all, he is human. The world may not always think so. But no one knows so better than her…

Meet me in 30 minutes.

SH

The heat that spread through her body, as she took in the message, surprised her, even though it happens every time he sends her one of these texts. It captured her attention for a little while longer before she was up and out of bed, searching for clothes to exchange her pyjamas for.

In the madness of her rush, she failed to glance at the clock, but the time wasn't important. It never was in these situations. She would forget this life, for him, for her, for them… for their place because it could never compare to their stolen moments.

Within ten minutes, she was in a taxi and on her way. A shudder coursed through her and delicate goosebumps prickled her skin. It had been awhile. This case had taken him abroad for two months. She had seen him on his last night in London. He had craved the silence he knew he'd be without for too long. Apparently, that's what her presence offered his mind: stillness. For some, what they have wouldn't be enough but for her, it was everything. She knew no one had even glimpsed this side of him before. She was honoured the opportunity fell to her. She would never have guessed at his feelings. But then again, they do always say that the little boy who teases the little girl only does so because he likes her. And he certainly is a big child after all.

A small chuckle is elicited from her at the thought just as the taxi pulls up to her destination. She pays her fare and exits the cab. The stillness of the night air immediately hits her. It always feels different here compared to the depths of central London. She can breathe easier. Whether that's to do with the air or what waits for her a few steps away, she doesn't know. She takes a moment to appreciate the small house in front of her. It's a ritual she par takes in every time she arrives here. A ritual for both of them as the curtain in the upstairs window is slightly ajar. They aren't too far away from the city but far enough for seclusion. The house is enveloped in a soft cream with a thatched roof, tiny windows, fitted with shutters coated in a sea green and a door to match. She'd never asked him how he'd known that this was her dream house. He is Sherlock and that was explanation enough.

She made her way to the door and with her keys, she let herself in and was greeted with the smell of berries. Her favourite candles were dotted throughout the house, their flames flickering and producing an ethereal glow everywhere her eyes fell. She shook off her coat and hung it upon the free of the two hooks. Her shoes followed her coats lead and were placed beneath it before she made her way into the living room.

He was sat in an armchair, embroidered with pale green and cream flowers. His fingers were steepled and eyes tenderly closed.

'You've cut your hair,' they shot open as he gave his pathologist a once over.

'I had to. I tried to home dye it and it went wrong,' a shade of crimson begun to rise up her neck.

He said nothing as he stood from his chair and moved towards her.

'I read John's blog. I see the case was a success,' an uneasy, nervous feeling took over her stomach as he continued to approach her.

'When are they not?' A slightly self-assured look fell upon his face causing her to giggle as he stopped in front of her, 'I missed you,' his words caused her to miss a breath.

'I missed you too,' she uttered out, her eyes never leaving his.

'I prepared dinner, if you're hungry,' he said.

'Famished,' she replied.

He turned her around to face the door and with his hand pushing on the small of her back, directed her to the dining room where their dinner awaited them.

Hours passed between them and the sun had now risen to it's full height in the sky. She was certainly going to be in trouble for skipping work. Her phone was most definitely going to have at least 20 missed calls from Mike. But she didn't care as she looked down at the consulting detective, whose head was lying in her lap. His eyes were closed and she was positive he had fallen into a peaceful slumber as her fingers danced their way through his curls, massaging at his scalp. She treasured moments like these, where the quiet overtook them both and the world beyond could not harm them. They were few and far between. After all, he is Sherlock Holmes. The world needs him. Maybe not more than her, but she knew when they started this it was not going to be like any of her previous relationships. But it's Sherlock, and she will take all that she can get, and relish in the knowledge that she is the only one to have him in this manner.

His phone blared to life with the sound of an alarm. He jumped awake and up from her lap, silencing it. Sleep still controlled his eyes as he squinted at the screen to make sense of the time.

He turned to her, placing his hand on her thigh and squeezing it gently. She knew what that meant. It was time for their other world to take back over. It was time to leave their place and pretend there was nothing between them. She placed her hand over his one resting on her thigh, and squeezed his fingers. Their eyes locked. A look of longing in hers and something she couldn't quite put her finger on passing through his. Whatever it was sent a thrilling wave of heat through her body. The moment was over before it had barely begun. He was up from the sofa and leaving the room to dress in his coat. This is how their time together always ended. She was sat, alone, on the sofa while he redressed in his outwear and left their place in a taxi first.

However, this time was different as he reappeared in the living room. He made his way towards her and bent down to place a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

Then he was gone, and the real world took over once again.

…she needed to go. She needed to go to their place, and she needed to do it today. She had to sort this mess out for her sake, for his sake, and for their sake.

She climbed out of bed and set to dressing herself for the occasion. While rummaging through her wardrobe, her nails caught her attention. She had to change the colour before she went there. She needed to make sure her message got through to him.

Once clothed, she sat down at her dresser and wetting a cotton pad with remover, she went to work on their code.

Within half an hour, she found herself in a taxi, like so many times before, but this time it felt different. Throughout the journey to their place, she sat with the side of her head pressed against the cold, glass of the window and her eyes tightly shut.

The taxi driver pulled her from her mind with the news that they had arrived. She thanked him and paid her fare before leaving the car.

As she walked towards their place, she didn't stop to take it in as she normally would. Instead, she made her way straight to the door and opened it with her keys.

She stepped inside the hallway and wiped her brogues across the doormat. She shucked off her coat, and placed it on the only free hook, before making her way to the living room.

'I knew you'd come,' the words came from the man, sitting in the armchair with steepled fingers and closed eyes.

'I had to,' she replied as she sat down on the sofa.

His eyes shot open and he gave her a once over.

Her skin was a ghastly shade of grey and dark circles lay under her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping well. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail compared to it's usually sleeker appearance. Her mind had clearly been elsewhere as she readied herself this morning. A frown fell upon his face as he noted she was still wearing her brogues. She always took them off at the door. Of all the times she had been here, not once had she left her shoes on after she'd crossed the threshold. And that's when his eyes saw it, the foreboding shade of black that coated her nails. He licked his lips, then returned his eyes to hers.

'I wish you hadn't have done it, Sherlock,' she whispered, breaking eye contact.

'Your life was in danger, Molly. I had to,' he stressed, sitting up straighter in his chair.

'I know,' she sighed and leant backwards, 'I've read the blog. I understand why you did it, and I'm grateful you'd save me,' she snorted, 'and you did,' her eyes fell back to his, 'you saved me from you,' a frown settled upon his features.

'I don't understand,' his response elicited a chuckle from her. How ironic? The genius who knows all doesn't understand something so simple.

'What you made me do that day… what you made me… admit… well, it made me realise that I just – I just… can't do this anymore, Sherlock,' she threw her head into her hands and her body shook. When she looked up again, there were no tears, just raw emotion rocking its way through her.

'Molly, I had to do it. Please know that I would never play with your… feelings for fun. I couldn't do that to you, but I thought your life depended on it. I wasn't going to let her kill you. I would not allow her to take you away from me,' he stood up and began to pace due to the intensity of his words.

'It's too late, Sherlock,' she whispered.

'I don't understand why you're acting this way. You know I care for you… deeply,' he stopped pacing and facing her.

'It's no longer enough for me,' she looked towards him again, 'hearing you say those words to me and knowing you didn't mean them, well I realised that I need more. I need something more that you're never going to be able to give me,' her voice broke off in a choke and he moved towards her, kneeling down in front of her.

'What do you need, Molly?'

'I need something real, in the real world. I – I can't be with someone who only wants to be with me in our place. I need someone where our place is in the real world and not something I have to pretend doesn't exist,' she looked into Sherlock's eyes that were slowly glazing over, 'I need to feel loved, Sherlock. I need to be with someone who wants to hold my hand in the street, capture me in the tightest of embraces, and someone… someone who wants to… kiss me,' she turned her head away from him as tears broke free of her eyes.

He sat quietly, knelt in front of her, mulling over the words she had just spoken. After a few silent moments, he placed a hand on her knee and rubbed it soothingly.

'I can't give you that.'

'I know…' she murmured, 'but I can't continue this,' she pushed his hand away from her knee, and her eyes fell to his.

'I don't want this to be it,' she'd never heard his voice sound so defeated.

'We both knew it couldn't last forever. We both knew eventually I'd need more and you wouldn't be able to supply it,' she reached her hand out and let her finger swipe away the solo tear that had broken free of his eyes.

'But I need your quiet,' he closed his eyes, uncomfortable with his current vulnerability.

'And I need your love,' as she said that, he knew there was no way he was going to win this. He wasn't capable of giving her that. So, he stood up from his knees and moved to the window, moving the curtain aside and looking at the world beyond.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock,' she rose from the sofa and started for the door.

'Wait,' her heat stopped beating.

He moved towards her in the doorway and captured her face between his hands. He bent his head to hers and placed the softest, first kiss upon her lips.

'Just so you know,' but she didn't know.

However, due to the surprise of it, she simply nodded and left their place for the final time.

He watched her from the window. The opaque colour resting upon her nails, as she opened the taxi door, took over his vision. It was all he could see, as the tug of the whirlpool grasped at their ship and dragged it into it's swirling depths.

Then, she was gone.

As she stepped through the door to her welcoming flat, she felt her phone buzzing in her coat pocket. She pulled it free, and wiped at her eyes to read the message clearly.

I'll always wait.

SH

Authors Note: So, there you have it! I really hope you enjoyed it and as a tease, I do have an idea for a prequel AND a sequel... so, perhaps you'll get a taste of them soon. ;) Thank you so much for reading and please, any feedback or comments are welcomed!

Petal.