Baker Street was unnaturally, uneasely calm given the circumstances. To Sherlock Holmes, it seemed almost like an anti-climax. From going to his wretched goodbye to his friends as he departed to his death in East Europe, to the rush of the supposed return of Moriarty, the barking orders and a race to Barts, to being back to Baker Street.
It wasn't as if it was empty- no, once they'd gotten to Molly, they thought it natural to convene back to 221B. Sherlock still felt this sick unrest, like a lead weight at the pit of his stomach, despite the reassurance of his dearest friends' safety. How could that be? If Moriarty was truly back, why hadn't he made a move before revealing himself? Got somebody to snatch Mrs Hudson on her morning paper run, pushed Lestrade into an unmarked van as he made his way to the pub for an evening drink?
The one that plagued his mind, that seemed to always creep to the forefront, was Molly. The moment he became aware of the message streaming around the country, he had thought of her. How foolish he'd been, to leave her behind defenceless after everything she'd done for him. He thought of her, or at least he thought Moriarty would think of her, as his retribution. In Moriarty's fairytale story Molly had been the knight in the shiny white coat and now he would make her a damsel in distress.
"Sherlock?" Mary prompted out his thoughts. She'd taken a seat on the chair across the desk for Sherlock, wiggling a bit to get comfortable on the hard wood.
He opened his eyes but kept his fingers steepled in his signature thinking pose. Rather than speak, he gave out a hum to indicate for her to continue.
Mary's face was very serious as she regarded him, hands clasped, eyes shifting to the kitchen where John, Molly and Mrs Husdon are sitting, giving him the necessary space and quiet to think.
"I think it would be a good idea.." Mary starts, with a delicate softness to her voice that contrast so deeply with the sharpness of her mind. "If Molly was to come and live with me and John for now."
It's not the proposal Sherlock was expecting. His eyes narrow in on her, to try to see the logic of her plan. "Why would that be a good idea?"
"We can protect her as well as any of Mycroft's agent could," Mary replied plaintively, her voice steady in the truth of her statement. "Plus it'll make their job easier, having the three of us under one roof."
"Four."
Mary's eyes light up instantly, managing her first real smile since Sherlock got off the plane. She rubs her swollen belly. "Yes, it will be four rather soon."
"It would hardly be convenient to have a new house guest and new born baby," Sherlock says, his tone marred by scepticism. "Molly can stay here."
"That what Moriarty expects you to do Sherlock," Mary says, with a calmness that Sherlock wishes he could have. "To worry about her so much you slip up. And that could put her in even more danger."
Sherlock mulls over that for a few seconds. Cool, blue eyes gaze back him and prompt him to ask a question. "Why are you so determined to keep her out of danger?"
Both their eyes fall back onto the kitchen, to the three sipping cold cups of tea, all unable or unwilling to fill the silence with mindless babble, all comfortable enough in each others company to leave each other to their thoughts. Sherlock's eyes shift from Molly to Mary. Both sunny in disposition despite their dark (former for Mary) occupations. Both with the innate feminine instinct to nurture, both guardians, with the strength and smarts to help others and themselves. Kindred spirits in a way.
"You gave your life to protect me," Mary remarks. Her hands return to her rest on her stomach. "To protect my family from Magnussen."
"I made a vow, didn't I?" Sherlock quips, the corner of his mouth lifting, to attempt to bring humour into a serious conversation. To forget about how far he'd went to protect his best friend and his wife, the ultimate price he'd been willing to pay to ensure their lives. He'd happily do the same again, for them, for Molly, if he faced the same choice with Moriarty.
"I still owe you. I always will," Mary reveals, her voice thick with emotion. "Even if I saved your life, it wouldn't be enough. Your own life means surprisingly little to you."
"Too many near death experiences do that to you."
This evokes a small, wry twitch of Mary's lips. She leans forward to catch Sherlock's eyes. "Molly's life⦠that means something to you. A lot, I would say."
Sherlock sees little point in lying to her, so makes an admittance of a truth he cannot hide, that he fears will put his pathologist at risk of an Irish madman out for revenge. "Too much."
"Well then," Mary whispers softly, not deriving pleasure or humour in Sherlock's vulnerability. "Molly stays with us. I promise I'll keep her safe."
"Is that a vow Mrs Watson?" Sherlock questions with a teasing smile.
"I suppose it is," Mary reaches out across the table, careful of her round belly, to squeeze his hand. Sherlock clutches on to it, his eyes flickering back to the kitchen where Molly sits, unaware of their discussion. Unaware of what her life, her safety, means to him. There is a woman who does- a woman he knows to be determined, loyal, loving and a hell of a shot.
He trusted a woman once with his life and she saved it. Maybe, this time he'd have to put his faith in another to save hers.
