Yeah, I don't know. Another completely AU Sherlolly one shot that sort of has the same undertone as Down This Road but with a darker Sherlock and a happier ending. Inspired by my sister who randomly suggested the idea before it built a nest in my mind and refused to leave until I wrote it. Let me know what you all think, it would be amazing! Fair warning, I have no real knowledge of casinos or gambling, especially in the UK (is there really much difference? That's probably a stupid question so forget I asked) although I tried to research as much as I could. Either way feel free to correct things where you see fit.
Warnings: Bit of language, drug use, and some sex.
I own nothing sadly.
All In
When Molly thinks about it, this isn't exactly what she had planned for her life.
Long hours serving drinks in a skimpy skirt, the eyes of drunken gamblers following her across the room and barely enough pay to get her through the week are far from what she expected when she left home at eighteen and the sound of cat calls echoing in her mind long after she's managed to break free and escape the chaos she calls a job are slowly driving her mad. In simple terms she is a cocktail waitress; in a casino in the heart of the city, a seedy little hideout tucked away where few people regularly frequent but enough to keep the place from sinking like the doomed ship it is. She serves drinks and the task is hypnotizing and monotonous, replacing the empty glasses with fresh ones, watching people make fools of themselves before slinking home to families who probably didn't even know they were here. It's pathetic, she knows it and so does everyone else.
She's young, the tender age of twenty with her entire life ahead of her, stuck in a job that does nothing but undermine the potential she carries inside of her. She doesn't see it and none of the people in here do either. Her friend and roommate Mary, studying to be a doctor and get away from the life she has right now, tries to get her to see the world through different eyes. It's a desperate act to ensure Molly isn't just going to throw her life away when Mary moves in with her fiancé, John, in just a few short months. She tells her there's so much more to life than desperate men throwing away their paychecks and coming back to her flat reeking of alcohol and cheap cigarettes, slowly developing lung cancer thanks to second hand smoke (Mary was just optimistically cheery like that), but of course it's easier to think about walking away from the only thing you've ever known than actually doing it and she's a coward for not having the strength to get up and leave.
The same urge runs through her with a ferocity she's becoming all too familiar with, but still she finds herself behind the bar tapping her fingers restlessly against the counter. She glances at the watch on her wrist, the seconds seeming to tick by so agonizingly slow as she loads her tray with more pungent smelling alcohol, trying with one hand to yank down the hem of her skirt before she walks back onto the floor.
She's different from the other waitresses; her breasts are small in comparison and her face still a youthful note to it that the other girls have long grown out of. Her complexion is pale, skin almost the color of alabaster and her hair is always in a ponytail instead of curling around her shoulders. She doesn't fill out her uniform the way the others do but men notice her all the same, their hands sometimes coming to rest on her arm, their touch burning her as if they've just put a lit cigarette to her skin. Sometimes when she stares at herself in the mirror she wonders what they see but she pushed it to the back of her mind and considers herself lucky to have the job because it pays her bills and keeps her out of her parents' home. In reality she knows if they ever found out about this they would turn her away, she's a disgrace to a high class business man with clients who make more money than she thought possible.
Holding back a sigh she picks up the tray, balancing it on one hand as she makes her first stop. She hands the man his gin and tonic quickly, avoiding his eyes and letting her heeled feet carry her as fast as they can to the next table. In her daze she doesn't realize it, is oblivious to the shouting and the spew of curses coming from the small group of people to her right and when she does realize it, it's far too late. The impact takes her by surprise, the tray falling from her hands and the sound of shattering glass erupting before she hits the floor as well. She mutters under her breath and keeps her eyes glued to the red carpet, can already feel the heat of everyone's gaze on her.
She sits up and hears a low voice beside her, looking over and meeting a brilliant pair of cloudy blue eyes, glazed and filled with annoyance and anger. She blinks, still frazzled from the sudden collision with the floor, and focuses on the face in front of her. He's young from what she can tell, probably only a few years older than herself and he has a mop of curly black hair that's currently disheveled.
Molly opens her mouth to say something, embarrassment washing over her and making her cheeks burn but suddenly there's a hand in front of her and she looks up to see one of the bouncers staring down at her in concern.
"You alright?"
She nods quickly, accepting the outstretched hand and coming to her feet, regaining her composure with less grace than she was capable of. As soon as he's sure she's alright the beefy man looks over at the dark haired boy, gripping the collar of his coat and jerking him upwards, ignoring his protests and the stream of words he was throwing around like a weapon.
She can see just by glancing at him, with his pupils dilated and the sweat sticking to his skin that he must be on some kind of drug, just coming down from his high if her suspicions were right. She listens to him argue and yell, struggling against the strong arms that were restraining him. She wrapped her own arms around herself as she watched the scene unfold; feeling like a spotlight had been placed over her.
Mentally she scolds herself, bends down and starts picking up the shattered glass while feeling her curiosity grow. She watches the mysterious man go, all of his struggles fading as he calmly walks out the door, looking over his shoulder for just a second and letting his eyes fall on her before she blinks and he's suddenly gone and she actually wonders if he was just a trick her mind was playing on her.
In the end, she'll learn he's not.
(The first time she meets Sherlock Holmes he's already long gone and higher than a kite and she finds herself pitying a man whose name she doesn't even know.)
When her shift ends Molly practically runs for the door, exhausted and sweaty. She made four more rounds after she managed to clean up all the glass and refill the orders she hadn't gotten around to. She pulls her coat tighter around herself, feeling the chill of the wind biting at her face as she slings her purse over her shoulder. Her heels click against the sidewalk, audible to anyone within a few feet of her and she inwardly curses the red shoes, desperate to just take them off and launch them into the nearest dumpster.
The bus stop is just a few yards ahead and she has about ten minutes before it arrives. She can faintly feel the presence of someone else as she walks, like a ghost looming over her. She looks up, seeing a man with a cigarette between his lips smiling at her in a way that makes her stomach clench in an all too familiar way. She recognizes him under the glow of the street lamp, a regular at one of the blackjack tables who always whispers things to her when she hands him his drink. He always smelled of cigarettes and booze, didn't know how to keep his hands to himself. Looking at him she suddenly feels vulnerable and alone.
"Hey there, love, I've been waiting for you to get out of there." He slurs the words, taking another sloppy drag before he throws the cigarette butt on the ground and steps out onto the sidewalk, catching her by the arm.
Molly jerks it away but his grip is strong, the pads of his fingers pressing deep into her skin. No doubt she'll have bruises in the morning. Fighting to keep the panic at bay she looks up, her eyes hardening as she keeps her voice low and firm.
"Let go of me."
The man merely smirks at the whine in her voice, roughly pulls her closer and lets his lips skim the sensitive skin of her ear lobe.
"Now don't be like that. I've been waiting a long time to talk to you, no need to be so rude." She tries to break out of his grasp but his hold is too tight and her chest is quickly constricting with panic and the increased intake of oxygen as she pulls in deep breaths. They do little to actually calm her.
She's ready to call out for help or hit him with her bag when she feels his fingers suddenly slip and hears him call out. It leaves behind a dull ache and confusion. Looking around she sees the dark haired man from before looming over the drunk, whispering something she can't make out from where she is. He's at least a good three inches taller than his opponent, muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt.
Molly pretends it doesn't make her heart race.
She watches the exchange with baited breath, not even feeling the cold air that is assaulting her exposed skin where her coat had fallen away and nips at her bare shoulders and chest. She's completely transfixed on the man standing on the corner, eyes burning into her with fierce emotion she can't seem to explain. With her breath hitching in her throat she watches him take a few steps towards her, the feeling of his breath ghosting across her skin as he bends down making her dizzy.
"You shouldn't be out here alone. Especially not at night." The words escape as a snarl and she recoils, opening her mouth to fire a retort back at him but he's already taking off down the street, his coat billowing behind him like something out of a comic book.
And for the second time that night Molly watches him go, not able to ignore the curiosity this mysterious man ignites inside of her and the uneasy feeling that settles in her gut.
She takes the next night off to recover from the incident. She doesn't tell Mary about it, doesn't want to hear yet another lecture about how dangerous it is to be in that part of the city and how she should just get a job in an office making the same amount of money while wearing more clothes.
She rolls her eyes just thinking about it.
The mystery man is on her mind more than she wants to admit, his voice echoing in her head and making her blood boil in a way no one else has managed to do before. She was grateful he had come along, wasn't sure if she could have handled the man by herself but at the same time she didn't need warnings from a junkie who was nothing more than a dead man walking and she feels angry that someone has this much control over her. She fidgets in her spot on the couch and pulls her knees to her chest.
Mary seems to sense the change in her mood, plops down on her couch beside her with a container of takeout and a twinkle in her eyes that makes Molly groan.
"So," she says around a mouthful of stir fry, "what's his name?" Molly pokes at her chicken with her fork, refusing to look up at her best friend.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit." Mary deadpans, eyes like fiery blue daggers. "There's a man in your life and I want to know his name. Are you shagging him? Please don't tell me it's one of those low lives you're around every day because I thought I taught you to have higher standards than that-"
"I don't know his name." she blurts suddenly, and she's almost sure Mary is about to choke. "I don't even really know him. I've only seen him twice and the first time he was high and being thrown out by security."
"And the second time?"
She can tell Mary is actually curious but she doesn't miss the skepticism in her expression. Maybe she's crazy. (Yes, she must be crazy because only crazy people obsess over men they don't know.)
Molly fumbles at the question, "Outside when I was waiting for the tube."
But it's more than that, it's so much more and Molly doesn't know why he's able to do this to her even when it's so obvious this man wants nothing to do with anyone. Suddenly she's not hungry anymore and she chooses to ignore her dinner and collapse onto her bed, hoping to keep his face out of her dreams.
She goes back to work the next day and it's every bit as boring as it normally is.
Molly looks for him, eyes scanning every table she passes but there's no sign of him and she goes back to listening to cheesy pick up lines and handing out beers like she's been doing it her whole life with a heavy sense of sadness she doesn't even deserve to feel.
It's a few weeks later and Molly's slowly losing her sanity. Everything she does seems to drive her crazy, the way she can just forget that there is more to do than pose in a skimpy outfit and stand behind a bar pouring drinks. The way she can't seem to walk away even though she wants to so badly.
Her shift wraps up a little after two that morning and she weaves through the throngs of people crowded around tables and machines, the sound of bells and excited shouting from someone who's finally caught a break assaulting her. She fumbles with her purse, trying to get to her cellphone and check the voice mail Mary had left her a few hours ago when something catches her eye.
He's leaning against the wall, watching the other patrons with such intensity it almost hurts. Molly just stares, can't move or speak because her head is spinning and she doesn't know what to do. If she was smart she'd leave him alone and she knows this, knows he wants nothing to do with her. But she's not as smart as she thinks she is and she stalks toward him with determination and she swears she can see his eyes roll when he sees her and he turns on his heels to get away.
She speeds up, her bag smacking against her hip, and follows him outside. He's ready to turn the corner but she reaches out and grabs a handful of his coat, the fabric warm beneath her fingers. He whips around and suddenly he's towering over her, intimidating and so very beautiful all at the same time. Molly gasps and takes a step back.
"What do you want?" he asks, his voice dark and raspy and the dark marks under his eyes are a startling contrast. She swallows and crosses her arms.
"I, uh- you saved me a few weeks ago and I never got to thank you. So… thanks." She sticks out a hand and he looks down at it. "I'm Molly Hooper."
It's an agonizing ten seconds she counts in her head, her cheeks blushing when she thinks he's simply ignoring her and hoping she'll just go away. But suddenly she feels warm fingers wrap around hers and blue eyes have yet to look away from her.
"Sherlock Holmes."
(The second time Molly meets Sherlock Holmes he's sober and his touch is as warm as the fire burning in her veins despite the ice in his gaze.)
They go for coffee in an attempt to get away from the cold air and the smell of stale cigarettes. Sherlock knows a little place not too far and the bell on the door chimes when they go inside and the atmosphere is warm and inviting. There's a middle-aged woman working behind the counter who smiles at Sherlock and instantly starts making a cup of tea.
She turns to Molly and her eyes carefully look Molly up and down. "What can I get you, dear?"
She orders tea like Sherlock and slides into one of the stools next to Sherlock who's already made himself comfortable. When the cups are put down in front of them they find themselves alone and the questions are festering in Molly's mind. He can sense this and she's slightly shocked and embarrassed when he sits back and offers her answers she wasn't even aware she wanted.
"I attend the university," he says plainly, sipping at his tea and avoiding her gaze. Molly's mug stops just short of her lips, eyes bulging.
"I uh- I didn't ask…"
"You were thinking it." He shrugs, looks back at her and she feels the heat slowly inching its way up the back of her neck.
"Why do you work there?" he asks suddenly.
Taken aback Molly stutters and he hides a grin. "I just mean, it's obvious you are unhappy and those people have no respect for you. So why keep subjecting yourself to it? Why not just go somewhere else where you'll be appreciated."
"It's not that easy," she says. He scoffs and picks at the frayed end of his coat sleeve.
"Of course it is. You're young and eager, you could easily get a job somewhere else… or you could go back home." Molly laughs at the mention of home and suddenly Sherlock looks uneasy.
"There's a reason I left home. My father, he thinks he knows what's best for me but I don't think I'm cut out to live my life in high class meetings and talking down business owners with over inflated egos." She glances at him before looking away.
"And what about you? Not a lot of people actually get kicked out of that place, so what's your story?" she studies him closely but the mask he holds up is almost impenetrable.
He shrugs again. "Nothing exciting. I get bored, I play cards, gamble occasionally. It's a hobby if you will."
"And the drugs then?" she challenges, ignoring the shock in his eyes because she knows the one thing he manages to hide from everyone else and that scares him. Of course he doesn't let her see this and his face is once again a mask of tranquility.
"They're an escape."
Molly comes home that night and Mary tackles her at the door when she sees the smile that's making her cheeks ache and the obvious light that's entered her eyes. She chokes on a laugh as the blonde drags her to the couch, throws her down and collapses beside her while gripping her hand.
"Spill," she says loudly, in the demanding way she is always so capable of. Molly wonders where her courage comes from but pushes the question out of her mind and twirls a strand of deep brown hair around her finger.
Molly bites her lip and looks down. "His name is Sherlock. He took me out for coffee."
The discovery is met with silence. Then it's met with laughter and her smile turns to a scowl and she watches Mary cackle beside her with her hands covering her face. She's gasping when she manages to calm down and she looks at Molly like she's crazy.
"Sherlock? Molly, what kind of a name is Sherlock? God, he's probably some sort of conspiracy nutter who likes to get high and preach in the streets!"
Molly reaches out and lightly smacks her arm.
"He is not."
Mary quirks an eyebrow and runs a hand through her hair. "You said he was high the first time you saw him."
"Oh, come on, practically everyone in that shit hole is high, you can't just single him out. He goes to university and he'll graduate soon. If anything he's doing better than me." She folds her arms across her chest and watches Mary's face melt into one of sympathy. She strokes Molly's arm and her touch is warm.
"I'm just worried about you is all. I don't want you bringing home all sorts of weird 'friends' when I'm not around to check them out first."
A few weeks after Molly really meets Sherlock, Mary moves out of the flat and in with her fiance, and the next day Sherlock shows up outside Molly's door with a greasy bag of takeout and rain soaked smile that she can't seem to turn away. She holds the door open and he swishes past her and instantly makes himself at home.
Molly sits down on the couch beside him and takes her share, not realizing how hungry she was until the first bite. She eats and watches Sherlock, her mind abundant with questions she wants to ask but instead she just keeps eating. She can't actually bring herself to ask any of them.
But, like at the diner, Sherlock can sense her thinking and he puts his food down with a slight thud and turns toward her with a quirked eyebrow, trying to hide a smirk.
"You can ask me anything you know, I have nothing to hide."
The blush practically explodes across the apples of her cheeks.
"Well, I…" She stutters and falls over her words like only she knows how and Sherlock just tips his head back and laughs. He manages to catch his breath and without her need to utter a word he opens up like a book.
"I grew up just outside of London with my parents and my brother Mycroft. We moved to the city shortly after my father's death but nothing between us has been right since his passing, always with the arguing no matter what. I go to university to please my mother but if it were up to me I wouldn't be there, when I graduate I'll be a consulting detective for the Yard anyways. I-"
"Wait, consulting detective?" Molly interrupts him with a raised brow and Sherlock just rolls his eyes, apparently he has to explain this more often than not.
"Yes, a consulting detective, the only one in the world. I assist with cases because most everyone in Scotland Yard is too daft to do it themselves."
Molly nods in understanding and keeps her eyes on her food. "Interesting. And what about a girlfriend?"
Sherlock's eyes flash and she quickly adds in, "Or a boyfriend?" but secretly hopes that's not the case. Much to her relief he shakes his head to both.
"I don't have time for relationships nor would I be much good in one. It's easier being on my own."
Silently, Molly chews her mouth full of food and ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach. She has no reason to feel that way; this was still a stranger no matter how beautiful or kind he was to her. He wasn't made for her, that much she could tell.
"And what about you?" he asks suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts of self-pity.
He was looking at her expectantly and all she could do was shake her head.
"I supposed I just haven't found someone I'm willing to give up everything for, you know?"
Sherlock continues to grace Molly's flat with his presence on several more occasions, always bringing food and always willing to share anything with her if she were daring enough to ask. Sometimes he brings his school work and Molly watches him as he sits hunched over a book at her tiny kitchen table. Sometimes he brings her copies of his favorite novels and sits with her feet in his lap, reading out loud until she dozes off after a long shift and becomes hypnotized by the deep baritone of his voice.
And then sometimes she finds herself watching him from afar and wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to feel him, to have him as her own and shield him from every one of the bad things he's recalled in his life.
But then reality sets in and she reminds herself she's praying for a lost cause (because Sherlock Holmes would be crazy to love a girl like her) and she pushes the thought away with an exhausting mix of frustration and heartbreak as she dresses for work.
After a rather long weekend away in early spring to attend Mary and John's wedding (Sherlock's been in her life for eight months now and much to her surprise he had actually managed to look upset when she revealed she would be leaving) Molly comes back to work before the usual evening rush and finds the place alive with a commotion that piques her interest. There are two bouncers holding up a bloodied and bruised man that Molly easily recognizes and she drops her bag in shock when Sherlock's blue eyes are calling out to her. She sees the pit boss pacing back and forth in front of him and her heart sinks when she realizes the depth of the situation.
She's worked there long enough to recognize when someone was in the man's debt. Most of them left with reminders that wouldn't be easy to hide and her mind travels back to the conversation they had in the diner and her living room and a feeling of betrayal washes over her when she realizes she poured her heart out to this man and in return he had lied to her.
This was suddenly bigger than either one of them.
Still, she couldn't watch the pain that flashes across his face and she keeps her eyes down and lets her heels click loudly against the floor. Scathing eyes are on her now and she can tell the boss is pissed at the interruption but he doesn't say anything to her. Molly would be surprised if he didn't even know her name. Breathing a sigh of relief she watches him whisper one last thing in Sherlock's ear before the other two drop him and he scrambles towards the door without even looking at Molly. Angry, she goes after him as fast as her heels will allow her. In the end he's not too hard to catch and when he stops to spit a mouthful of bright red blood onto the pavement she waits for him to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before he straightens up and keeps his back to her.
"I thought this was just a hobby?"
He grits his teeth against a wave of pain and his voice cracks. "It is."
Molly huffs out a small laugh and the sound is cold and bitter. "You could have fooled me. You just got beat to shit and you expect me to believe this is just something you do in your free time? How much do you owe him?"
Finally he turns around and looks at her and if she weren't so angry at him she would be the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. He shakes his head and spits out a little more blood.
"Enough," he says but she's far from satisfied.
"How much Sherlock?"
"More than all of my student loans combined." He growls and at the sound she remembers the night they first met.
"Jesus," she breathes, running her hands through her hair before she looks up again. "How are you going to pay it?"
"I don't know!" he explodes suddenly, "Christ, Molly, I don't know." He stalks towards her and all of a sudden she can't breathe .
"Why do you care anyway?" he asks, his voice almost a sneer. "Do you really think you can save me? Do you think you can just take me away from all of this and we can live happily ever after like the misfits we are? Because it's not that easy and I don't know what fairy tale world you're living in but this is reality and I am far beyond saving."
He spits the words at her and they burn like a fire she can't seem to stay away from, she can feel her throat closing up and the sobs clawing their way up and all he does is stare at her, waiting for a comeback or anything he can use against her. She's seen him do it before but she was never the target of the hate he was capable of and no matter how many times she tries to tell herself that it's the drugs talking she can't shake the hurt and the ache in her chest from the knife he's just launched at her. So Molly Hooper does the one thing she does best.
She runs.
When Molly gets home she cries until she can no longer take it and crawls to the bathroom where she empties her stomach and curses Sherlock Holmes to every hell that exists and yearns for the days when she could crawl into her mother's bed and forget everything that happened to her.
But those times were long gone, a bittersweet memory she can only cling to and tonight she settles for calling Mary and pouring her heart out to the only person left to listen. Because Sherlock Holmes has broken and scarred her in ways she didn't think were possible and for the first time in her young life Molly Hooper learns that not everyone is capable of being rescued.
It's late when she is roused from a fitful sleep and hears the sound of someone pounding on the door. She doesn't remember even closing her eyes but after finishing a tiring shift she had come home and fallen on the couch, sore and irritated. It had been some time after the fall out with Sherlock and little by little she was moving on and trying to forget the man who had pushed her away.
Dressed in her flannel pajamas and her hair tied up she trudges towards the door, missing the warmth of the couch already and she mutters under her breath angrily; whoever interrupted her night of peace had some serious explaining to do. Standing on her tiptoes she looks through the door's peephole to see a mop of dark, familiar hair and agitation bubbles inside of her before she pulls the door open and Sherlock practically falls into her arms.
He was mumbling, words slurred and Molly couldn't understand what he was saying as she tried to drag him across the room before letting him fall on the couch as her anger melted away and was replaced by sheer panic. His skin was flaming beneath her fingers as she pushed the hair from his face that was soaked with sweat. She grabbed his face with both hands, making her look at him.
"Sherlock, what have you taken?" He answers with a moan and he thrashes around desperately and his limbs are flailing against her attempts to hold him down. He turns his head toward her and his lips part slightly.
"Molly, I think I'm going to be sick." She tries to move quickly enough towards the kitchen to grab the rubbish bin but she hears him retching before she even makes it there and she brings back a few things and drops them on the table next to him before she grabs the phone.
Her heart is pounding and it takes a moment to realize she's feeling fear and it's constricting her in a way she's never experienced before. She vaguely remembers recalling Sherlock's condition to the operator who keeps telling her to stay calm and all she wants to do is tell them to go to hell because the man in front of her is dying and she can't do a damn thing.
What she does remember is stroking his hair and whispering in his ear, trying to keep him here with her until help arrives and when it finally does she prays to every god she can think of and watches them carry him out of her flat and past a bewildered neighbor whose eyes suddenly fill with pity when they look at her. Molly promptly slams the door and presses her back against the cool wood, sliding to the floor and choking on tears she didn't even know she had left and they fell with mercy as she buried her head in her hands.
(Because this time when she meets Sherlock Holmes he's long gone and high as a kite and she finds herself pitying a man who has fallen farther than she ever thought possible.)
She calls Mary a few hours later and lays sobbing in the blonde's arms when she comes storming through the front door twenty minutes after their phone call ends. When she leaves sometime the next morning for work Molly gathers everything in her flat that reminds her of Sherlock Holmes and seals it in a box she hides in the back of her closet.
Then she goes to work and pretends her heart hasn't been shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.
Sherlock's brother sends him to rehab (two days after the incident she finds an envelope in her mailbox with a rather large check and a note that she crumbles up and angrily throws away) and he stays there for three weeks before he finally shows up outside Molly's flat after one of her shifts.
After overcoming the initial shock it takes all of her control not to drop her things when she sees him smile at her from across the street and he looks so healthy and alive. She manages to get off the bus and weaves in and out of the mass of people in front of her, throwing herself into his arms for reasons she can't even explain because this man has managed to break her heart in more ways than one but something about almost watching him die on her couch has stirred something inside of her and it's inexplicably addicting.
Much to her surprise she feels him returning the embrace before she wriggles out of his arms and her gaze turns stony.
"You scared the shit out of me Sherlock." His eyes turn soft and he sighs.
"I know, I'm sorry." He runs a hand over the back of his neck and she wonders if he's blushing the way she always seems to when he's around. She feels the heat building in her stomach, the goose bumps ghosting across her arms when his breath hits her face and she holds her breath when she grips the front of his coat and pulls his face down towards hers.
His lips taste like coffee; she imagines they'll taste like cigarettes and regret. Molly can feel the tension in his body and internally she wonders if she's made a mistake she can't return from but it's quashed when Sherlock buries a hand in her hair and pulls her closer.
They end up in her bed and Molly is thankful Mary moved out some time before because she's never made love like that before and the way his name tore from her throat was an experience she's already cataloged in her mind as he draws patterns on the milky skin of her bare back. She shivers beneath his fingertips, lips curling into a smile and she rolls over so she's facing him.
"Thank you," she breaths, tracing his lips with her thumb and smiling at the crinkle that forms on his forehead when his eyebrows knit tightly together.
"For what? The sex?" She gives a throaty laugh and shakes her head, hazel eyes turning serious in a matter of milliseconds.
"No. While you were gone I started looking up schools, anything close by that will eventually get me out of there." Sherlock's eyes are wide and a smile is playing on his lips.
"I almost watched you die," she croaks, "I saw the life leave your eyes and honestly Sherlock I've never been so scared to lose anything in my entire life. So I thought I'd give you an ultimatum when you got back. If I leave, so do you. No more cards, no more drugs, no more gambling your life away because you think it's worthless. I need you, Sherlock, it took me longer than I would have liked to realize it but I'd give up everything for you."
She feels the tears slipping down her cheeks, hot and heavy and he wipes when away before he pulls her into him and he holds her closer than anyone ever has before.
"I know Molly. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."
The first time she asks Sherlock Holmes to stay he tastes like coffee and feels like home and she finds herself madly in love with a man whose past will not be his future.