Chapter 1, Molly and Sherlock on their way back from the lake district, back to Molly's House and some more Sherlolly action ;)
I apologise if I don't quite capture sherlock, perfectly, this is only my second fic and I've never written as sherlock before. But I would much appreciate comments and criticisms :) - Thank you x
Chapter 1
Sherlock
I wasn't just that Mycroft knew. As I had said, on many an occasion, Mycroft was the British government. So, if the British government knew, It wouldn't be long until everyone else did.
That was definitely some sort of weight lifted. I hated being alone (most of the time). Of course I wasn't alone now. I had Doctor Molly Hooper as my 'Companion' (as she put it). I had told her I loved her, and I do; nevertheless, having a 'Companion' isn't the same as having John. I was never going to make Molly run around after criminals with me. Stare death in the face. No. She was far too precious to risk loosing. John was precious too, of course, but not in a such a precious way. If he was shot in the arm, leg or in any other body part, I could get over it (as long as it didn't kill him), fairly quickly. However, if Molly were to be shot, God knows how I would cope. I would be in some sort of ridiculous state of trauma and grief for at least a couple of months.
I winced slightly at my own weakness.
The past few months had been unstable, however, to think now that there was now a light a the end of this (what had seemed, a couple of weeks ago, endless) tunnel of loneliness and solitude increased that small feeling of hope within me.
I looked over at Molly. She was scrutinising the passing scenery with furrowed eyebrows. The hoodie (which was far too big for her, but suited her immensely), that I had worn on the way up, was laid across her lap like a blanket.
"Do you want anything to drink, or eat, Molly?" I asked. I was going to buy myself a small snack for lunch. Molly's eating habits; which she had drilled into me after I became wearily thin a few months previously; were more normal to me now. I could probably go without, however I thought that I would almost probably upset or worry Molly if I didn't.
"A tea would be nice, please." She replied, smiling at me gently.
I walked through several carriages until I reached the small Kiosk/Cafe. A couple, about a similar age to Molly and I, were ordering.
"What will you have, chooeybums?" enquired the man, cooing at his fully grown, other-half as if she were a newborn baby.
"Ooh, I haven't a clue." Replied the woman in a squeaky, immature and irritable voice.
"Um...I think I'll have the...Oh no, actually I'll have the...no..."
Oh for Pete's Sake.
"I'll just have what dumdums is having!"
"Two Colas and a large packet of skittles." Finalised the man. As one of the bar staff got their order, the girl who was working behind the counter asked me in a drone-y tone, what I would like. She obviously didn't want to be working here. She was at least 16 and thought she had better things to do than earning a minimum wage at a Kiosk on a train.
"I'll have a tea and this." I said abruptly, placing the banana onto the counter. I tried to keep my face as hidden as possible, without looking suspicious. I should have really made Molly go, however, she seemed to be comfortable and settled where she was and I wasn't going to uproot her.
The attendant passed me Molly's watery tea and the banana and I paid her the due amount. As I walked back to my seat, for some reason all I could see were couples. I didn't know whether there were genuinely lots of couples on this train, or I was just noticing them more. As I now know how being in a relationship of this sort feels like and what it entails, I began to realise that I didn't find many of the things I previously found strange and inconceivable, as profoundly so. The pet-names and cooing - perfectly demonstrated by the couple at the bar - I still found vulgar and practically sick-making, however the kissing seemed understandable. It wasn't exactly a horrible experience. To be perfectly honest, I thought I was quite good at it. I hadn't had much practice, however there is always some sort of science behind everything, and kissing wasn't an exception. Holding hands; I still had some doubts on, however as being as close to Molly as possible did have it's advantages.
I reached where she was sitting and just as I put the tea down, I noticed she was asleep. The gentle rocking of the train had probably triggered her snooze, also, neither of us had gotten much sleep last night. That was another thing I didn't mind about this sort of relationship, I pleasantly enjoyed that.
All in all, it had been a long couple of days.
I sat down next to her, pulled the large hoodie that was on her knees around her shoulders and added my coat for extra comfort. She looked charming with her hair falling across her face and a silent yet content expression on her features. As I tucked my coat around her, I placed a kiss on the top of her forehead and settled myself next to Molly.
My Molly.
Molly
"Wake up Molly..." was the first thing I heard after my apparent slumber on the train. I opened my bleary eyes and Sherlock was staring down at me, brushing wisps of hair out of my face.
"Where are we?"
"St. Pancras Station." He replied. I had slept that whole time? Well, who could blame me, I had had a very eventful night.
Sherlock had put his coat around me like a blanket and was now taking it off again. I didn't really want to move from my seat or be back in London. I was surprised at how well Sherlock was taking being back here. Normally, he would probably just be off his face on drugs by now or if not, very close to doing so.
He was getting our bags from the overhead storage and I got up out of my curled position on the seat.
One of the main reasons I din't want to be back in London was because, in that house, I didn't have to pretend. Neither did Sherlock; however, I felt more confident around him there. I don't know whether it was actually because I was back in London or because there were definitively more people around, however, I felt as if I should hold back on the romantic gestures and the 'gazing-wistfully-at-him' that I had tended to do when we had been alone. I also felt as if I should be wearing some sort of disguise, or hiding my face.
I pushed those thoughts aside as I got up onto my feet again and pulled on the excessively large, hoodie that was on my lap. I grabbed my bag that Sherlock handed me and we stepped onto the platform of St. Pancras.
"Home." Sherlock said, breathing in deeply. I smiled briefly at him as he looked down at me and grabbed his hand to make him move from the bustling crowd that was filling the platform.
We walked up a couple of flights of stairs and managed to reach the platform for the Hammersmith & City line to Baker Street from St. Pancras. We hopped on the train and waited a couple of stops. When we got off at Baker Street, I immediately felt Sherlock tense up. He had to be careful. This road carried so many memories. I lived at 142 Gloucester Place, just around from 221b itself.
It had been hard for Sherlock living so close to his friends and past. However he had coped, initially. Now, though it seemed as if the reunion of Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes wasn't so far out of reach. We stepped out onto the busy London high street and walked with the crowd. I was on look out, Sherlock kept his head down. If John or Mrs Hudson caught a glimpse of me they would most definitely want to have a word and they would also want to know who the brooding stranger was that seemed to be oh-so-fond of me. We had to risk it, we crossed over and I tried to just keep walking, however, as soon as we came across the door of number 221b, Sherlock stopped, I tugged at his sleeve to make him move, however, he was big and I was small and my actions were useless. I stood next to him, staring at the door too. I looked around the front of the house and there, withered by the rain, tied to the front fence was a small, handwritten poster. I could just make out a photo of Sherlock in his unmistakable deerstalker and the black, felt tip writing read: 'SHERLOCK HOLMES WAS REAL': running down the weather-beaten page. I tapped Sherlock on the shoulder, he looked round and I held the paper flat so he could see it. The weakened expression he wore after seeing the house was lifted and he smiled, gently at me.
"See Sherlock, I'm not the only one who believes in you." I barely whispered at him. Making sure anyone else couldn't possibly hear. He kissed me on the cheek and we walked back to my flat abruptly. I thought I heard someone call his name as we turned the corner onto Ivor Place, however no one was there as I looked back.
Sherlock
Molly insisted she opened the door.
It was only a matter of seconds after we got inside her flat.
I wasn't completely sure how, but after taking her coat, I had her pressed up on the kitchen counter, with far more than her coat missing.