A/N: Now that I have The Admirer out of the way, I can start working on these really old prompts. My sincere apologies to the Anon on tumblr who sent this to me because it literally was years ago that you sent me this prompt. I can only hope that you find this story somehow. :( That said, thank you for your prompt. It's a very beautiful and dark song and wow it could be used to tell so many stories. I've kept with the times and written a post-TFP story focusing of course on the aftermath of the 'release code' scene. I hope you'll enjoy what I've done with it. xx

Prompt: Hey! I don't know if you're still doing prompt fills or anything, but I was wondering if you could write a Sherlolly prompt based on the song, "Far Too Young to Die" by Panic! at the Disco? That's like my favorite song right now and I just kind of imagined Sherlock watching Molly walk towards him through a crowded room. Thank you!

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CONTAINS

SERIES

FOUR

SPOILERS

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Grounds

I never so adored you
I'm twisting allegories now
I want to complicate you
Don't let me do this to myself

For two people who were rather averse to crowds, it seemed an odd choice for a meeting place. Lights of different colours, pulsing at random speeds tinted the ocean of people between them. Still, in their own paths, they walked calmly through the bubbling crowd. There were men, there were women and there were children. There were ice-creams, there was laughter, there were tears.

Molly knew exactly where she was headed, for this was a spot in the fairground she had been to since she was a child. This place had been the one exception in spite of her dislike for crowds. Even when her father had gotten ill and could no longer walk, she would push him along in his wheelchair, both of them determined not to miss their yearly tradition of ice-cream by the ferris wheel.

It seemed strange that now, this spot had also become their spot even though they had met here only once before. It happened when Sherlock had caught her by surprise, confronting her about her imminent departure which he had deduced. This was some time after the whole matter with Sherlock's sister and their exchange over that most peculiarly orchestrated phone call.

After that phone call, they had somehow naturally avoided each other. Molly left her god-motherly duties as often as she could to Mrs Hudson and made sure to take up more paperwork so as to keep herself at her little office desk instead of the labs or the morgue. Even when her supervisor had pleaded with her to take on a case, saying, you're the only who can handle him, she politely but firmly declined.

Then came another phone call, a call from a former colleague, now overseas, who sought Molly's advice on a piece of research. Eventually, the conversation led to Molly taking up a temporary research position at said colleague's university. It seemed the perfect opportunity at such opportune timing.

On her last evening in London, Molly paid one last visit to the fairground of her childhood. There was no carnival in operation at the time for the ferris wheel was not lit and the ice-cream stall, among others, was closed. Still, Molly took a slow walk through the grounds, finding a bench that faced the sea and sat herself there, grateful for the emptiness but wishing she could have had one more ice-cream.

It was then that Sherlock Holmes, after months of silence, appeared beside her, casting a shadow in spite of how dimly lit the place already was. He had asked politely if he could sit down, Molly replied by shifting to one side, making room for him beside her.

Are you— okay? he had asked her.
As okay as it gets, she had replied. And you?
I'm far too busy to not be okay, he had joked, temporarily bringing small smiles to both their faces.
That's good to know, she had answered.
What time is your flight?
How did you know I was leaving?
Sorry. Occupational hazard.
I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me.
So— you're really leaving?
It's just three weeks.
I see. Everything sorted?
Mmhmm.
Good.

To both their surprise, Sherlock had turned to kiss her gently on the cheek. How many times had he done this now? Molly remembered frantically trying to recall the occasions he had done so; there was the Christmas apology, there was the one wishing her well for her engagement by a stairway. This one? She had not been able to place.

Are you saying sorry? Molly remembered asking.
No.
Is this to say goodbye? she had asked again.
No, he had repeated.
What was that for then?

Molly could see the ferris wheel nearing. She was almost there. She wondered if he had remembered their appointment. After all, it had been his suggestion.

To be honest, Molly, I don't know— Sherlock had said, after a long pause.
Then you shouldn't have done it, she had interjected.
It's not that— he had continued, almost a little anxiously, I know why— I just don't know—what to say, how to say it.
Well, when you've worked it out, let me know.

There had been a pause before he turned to look at her.

I will. Yes— I will. Same time, same place, next month, he had replied, with a sudden streak of determination in his voice. You'll be back by then, won't you?
Yes, I will be.
Next month then. At the ice-cream stand by the ferris wheel.
How do you know about that spot? Molly had asked, amazed.
You told me once.
I did?
Yes, he had said, with a furtive smile in her direction. So, you'll be there?
I'll be there.

Here she was at last. Molly could not help but smile at the familiar blackboard display that had the day's ice-cream flavours written in coloured chalk. She was glad it was open this evening. She could have that ice-cream at last.

"I'm partial to the vanilla," came the voice she had been expecting.

Molly turned round and could not help but smile when she saw Sherlock. It had only been three weeks that she was away from London but it had been even longer that she had been away from him.

"Really? Well, I can't picture you eating an ice-cream anyway," said Molly with a laugh.
"Would you like one?" he asked, gesturing to the queue.
"Not now," said Molly, "Maybe we should take a walk."
"Agreed," said Sherlock with a nod

Offering his arm to her, Molly looped hers in his and together, they strolled through the same colourful, noisy throngs of people that had separated them before. The bench from where they had met a month ago was occupied, so they strode off towards the long metal railing that separated the fairground from the beach below and stood there.

Both of them leaned forward against the railing, resting their elbows on the sturdy metal and took a moment to enjoy what little they could see of the sea.

"How— have you been?" asked Sherlock, trying to strike up conversation.
"Good. The research thing went well."
"So I'd heard…"
"Have you been spying on me?" asked Molly in amusement as she turned to face him.
"A little bit," he answered, suppressing a smile as he continued to look ahead.

The pair of them continued to stare out into the sea, enjoying the calming sound of waves rushing to the shore then falling back into the water.

"I owe you something, don't I?" said Sherlock at last.
"You don't owe me anything, Sherlock," Molly replied with a soft chuckle.
"But I do have something to say, Molly," he continued, "Will you listen to what I have to say?"
"Of course," she replied softly, turning to face him.

With a gentle smile, Sherlock leaned over to whisper in her ear. The words were not new — for had he not said them before? Yet, they had new meaning since the first time they had been uttered. Now, under no duress, the words stood on their own, carrying the weight of their own truth.

Molly turned to him, watching him watch her as she processed these old words in new context. It perplexed her that he had said them again; that he had chosen to say them again. There was no perceivable motivation nor were there any grounds for him to have elected to do this.

"What was that for?" she found herself asking in an incredulous whisper.

Sherlock smiled at her question, staring into her bewildered eyes with bright eyes of his own.

"I don't mean to plagiarise but—" he paused as he began recalling her words to him that particular afternoon. It startled him how unadulterated hers had been and it almost frightened him that they had been true.

Now that he thought about it, however— it no longer frightened him. Not anymore.

"Because it's true, Molly Hooper," said Sherlock at last. "It's always been true."

Well I never really thought that you'd come tonight
When the crown hangs heavy on either side
Give me one last kiss while we're far too young to die

END