Ever since Mary's death and Sherlock's downward spiral, John had become a creature of habit. Since life with a toddler and a crime-fighting detective was unpredictable, John was determined to control whatever normalcy he had left. As a result, his non-case days were normally the same, filled with watching the same programs on the telly, eating the same few meals, and reading the same few books to Rosie.
The routine kept him sane, and allowed him to feel like he had some, albeit small, say in his life. This desire was what pushed him to grab the same cup of coffee and croissant from the same bakery down the street from his current job.
Every day that the clock struck 11:30, John would race down the street, excited for the taste of warm buttery goodness and a desperate dose of caffeine. Coincidentally, this routine was what mimicked by a little old lady, one who always found herself sitting at the counter, drinking a cup of tea and eating freshly cut fruit.
Her name was Ruth, and boy did she love John. While he used to just exchange pleasantries with the women in an attempt to preserve his alone time, he soon began to enjoy his daily conversations with the bright, albeit eccentric woman.
Today was no different.
"Truth be told, sometimes I do regret not starting a family. But, I do enjoy my dogs, and I spoil my nieces and nephews," Ruth explained, delicately biting into a bit of melon.
John nodded and sipped his coffee. "Raising a child is difficult. I love Rosie but some days she's just a monster. Not to mention, I've got no time to myself."
Ruth made a face, as if coming to a wonderful realization. "I suppose you're still single then? A man as handsome and sweet as you should not be alone."
He couldn't help but laugh. "I don't have time to date. I would love to meet a nice woman, but you know how it is. I come with baggage."
She squeezed his hand and shook her head. "The right woman will not care about such things. In fact, I think you'd make an excellent match with my grandniece."
John smiled. "Yeah? What's she like?"
Ruth smiled fondly. "Oh, Margaret is wonderful. She has the biggest heart. She's an adorable little thing. Loves animals and children. I reckon you two would suit each other well."
He considered her words, his eyes staring into his coffee cup. His brain reminded him to be picky. His heart reminded him to be cautious. But his cock, at the reminder that he hadn't shagged in a year, won out.
"I'd love to meet her."
Ruth smirked. "Splendid. Give me your mobile number and I'll set something up."
Xxx
Molly sat on the old sofa, her lap occupied by two tiny, fluffy white dogs. Her fingers were busy dragging through the fur, her eyes locked on the equally as fluffy white-haired woman across from her. That same woman took a dainty sip from her elegant tea cup.
"I insist you give him a chance. He's wonderful. Most men his age would not willingly sit down and chat up little old ladies such as myself, dear," Ruth explained, breaking off a tiny piece of her biscuit to nibble on.
Molly sighed and shifted on the sofa. "I'm sure he's lovely Aunt Ruth, but it's just… I haven't felt much like dating, recently. I have some unresolved feelings to sort through."
Well, at least she admitted it. Molly had been harboring under the delusion for months that she was well and over Sherlock. But, every time she saw him, her heart did the same flip. He never stopped sucking the air out of her lungs.
Ruth pursed her lips and watched her grandniece with slight disdain. "His name is John. He's quite handsome. Nice. He's a dentist, I believe."
Molly snorted. Then she'd really have to commit to flossing. She sighed and looked over at her Great Aunt, continuing to nibble on her lip.
"What's he like?" She asked, more curious than she would have liked to have been.
"Well, he's charming. A nice, normal gentleman. I don't think he has a hair out of line. Quite your type. Little excitement."
Molly sighed and shut her eyes, willing herself to say no. Her brain reminded her to be picky. Her heart reminded her to be cautious. But her libido, at the reminder that she hadn't shagged in a year, won out.
"I'd love to meet him."
Xxx
And that's how Molly ended up sitting in a nice restaurant in SoHo, wearing a new red dress, waiting to meet nice, normal John the Dentist. In true blind date fashion, her Aunt Ruth had set everything up, refusing to, as she explained, "let technology muck things up before you even lock eyes". Thus, Molly was told to wear red, and the Dentist was told to wear blue, the two without any form of communication.
She had her face buried in the cocktail menu, wondering what would loosen her up, when a familiar voice caught her attention. She glanced up and met the curious blue gaze of John Watson.
"Uh, Molly?" He began, staring at her with an eyebrow quirked.
Molly looked down to his blue shirt and blinked a few times. She looked back at his amused face and groaned.
"She said you were a dentist!"
He laughed. "Yeah, I don't know what that's about. She said your name was Margaret."
Molly blushed a bit. "It is. What are the odds?"
He smiled softly and shrugged before dropping into his seat. "We don't have to do this. I know it might be a bit—"
She cleared her throat and shook her head. "No. Let's have dinner. You deserve a night without Rosie, and I need a drink."
John laughed and nodded, quickly waving over the server. He ordered them a bottle of wine and looked back to Molly. "Your Aunt Ruth… She's something."
Molly giggled and bit her lip. "Yes. That she is. But, enough about her. Let's hear about your week."
He made a face that normally preceded a Sherlock story. Her heart clenched, and she could do nothing but smile.
"Where do I even begin?"
Xxx
Two hours, half a bottle of wine, and a lot of pasta later, Molly and John walked the streets of the city, the soft breeze giving the couple a pleasant chill. John laughed and zipped up his coat.
"I know I shouldn't. But… I think a puppy might be nice. I grew up with a dog. I reckon it would be good for Rosie," He explained, his eyes locked on the woman next to him.
Molly smiled. "A dog would be as much for you as it would be for her. If you think you can handle it, I fully support your choice."
He groaned but laughed. "I was hoping you'd be the voice of reason and tell me no."
She shook her head, grinning. "Not when it comes to dogs. More dogs are always the answer."
They continued to walk in silence. Although John was focused on the street and people around them, Molly could not take her eyes off him. The same thought was racing through her head.
Why not him?
She frowned and pulled her jacket closer. It was the same question she had since she met the friendly doctor. Why had she fallen for Sherlock, and not a sweet and charming man like John? Why could she not forget Sherlock, when the sensible choice was standing right in front of her?
John stopped his movements in front of Molly's building, turning to smile at the petite brunette. He couldn't help but laugh as the reality of their situation hit him. But, at Molly's unhappy demeanor, he frowned.
"Are you okay?" He asked, stepping towards her, "I'm sorry if this was uncomfortable. I just—"
Molly held up her hand, cutting him off. She smiled softly and shook her head. "Not at all. If anything, I was just thinking about how nice this was."
John swallowed and nodded. "Right. Yeah. It was nice. Why do you look so…?"
She frowned and looked away. "Why do you think?"
He just nodded. "Of course," He cleared his throat and forced a smile, "I had a great time tonight."
Molly stared at the man and took a deep breath. "Can you do me a favor, John?"
"Anything, Molly."
"I want you to kiss me."
John blinked a few times. "Molly, are you sure? I thought we just—"
She put her hand on his chest. "Please. Just do it."
He nodded slowly and leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Molly returned the touch and put a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself to feel something.
Anything.
And just as it began, it ended. John gave her a sad smile, already sensing what she was feeling.
"This would make sense," He began, watching his friend, "But it just…"
"Doesn't." She finished for him, her eyes sad, "Believe me. I wish it did."
He sighed. "Me too. You're great, Molly. Really."
She couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks. You're wonderful. Kind, charming. Sensible," She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down, "Unlike some people."
He gave her a sad smile and kissed her head. "You deserve the world, Molly Hooper."
John gave her one final goodbye before leaving to hail a cab. Molly sniffled and began the hike up to her flat, once again spending the evening with Toby and Toby alone.
Damn you, Sherlock. You ruin everything.
Xxx
He was a block away. He had felt especially lonely that evening. Especially restless. John was off on a date and while he had spent the first half of the evening with Rosie and Mrs. Hudson, he had grown bored when the child was put to sleep.
Molly was always around to provide entertainment. She was an avid listener and herself had fascinating stories of death to share. Not to mention, her flat had plenty of things to keep him company—her telly and fat tabby cat for starters.
He was still a block away, watching as the couple separated. He watched her soft lips part, speaking to the mystery man. He watched her brown eyes, filled with emotion, and love, and reverence. He watched her squeeze his arm, whisper words into his ears.
Sherlock felt sick watching Molly kiss another man. He felt sick watching her share so much intimacy with another person. Namely, a person who was not him.
So, he stayed that block away, watching as she drifted into her building, thankfully alone. Against the cold brick of the wall, he waited for the faceless man to approach. He just needed to see the man who under no circumstances would ever be good enough for his Molly.
But as the street light illuminated the face, he found that he couldn't breathe. Short stature, salt and pepper hair, his standard date shirt in navy blue. A content face, a pleased smile, a knowing stride.
John.
Sherlock watched him disappear down the street and moved away from the brick wall, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. He couldn't move. His feet were too heavy, his breath too staggered, his head too empty.
John.
He leaned over and suddenly vomited, the unwanted discovery too much on his stomach.
John and Molly together.
You did this to yourself, didn't you?
Xxx
A few days later, John showed up to Baker Street, a giggly Rosie in his arms. He strolled inside and set the toddler down, watching with a grin as she toddled towards the sofa. He looked around, until his eyes landed on a lump on his standard chair.
Sherlock was staring at the ceiling, his fingers tapping precariously against the body of his violin, which rested on his chest. John took note of the empty tea cups and biscuit wrappers before dropping to his own chair. He looked at Sherlock curiously.
"You alright, mate? You look a bit…" John began, his eyes focused on his friend.
Sherlock snorted and looked over to his friend, sitting up in the process. "I look a bit what? Am I not allowed to enjoy some tea in my own flat?"
John held his hands up and whistled. "Well, sorry I tried to show a bit of concern. I haven't heard from you since Friday."
His best mate scowled. "Mhm. I'm sure you've been plenty busy. Now, is there a reason you're here, or did you just fancy showing me how pleased you are?"
The doctor made a face. "How pleased I am? Sherlock, what are you talking about?"
Sherlock scowled. "As much I would enjoy seeing Rosie, I have a composition to write. You may see yourself out."
John blinked a few times before standing up. "Right. Fine. Call me if you get anything."
"We'll see."
That stopped John's movements. He turned back to Sherlock. "You'll see?"
He simply shrugged. "It depends on if such a case requires assistance."
John narrowed his eyes. "Right. Well, if you fancy being a dick for the day, then by all means. Have a good afternoon."
He picked up Rosie and stormed out, slamming the door in the process. Sherlock, in response, picked up an empty teacup and chucked it at the shut door. As it smashed and fell to the ground, he growled.
You're a traitor, John.
Xxx
Molly was finishing her final autopsy of the day when Sherlock strolled in, his coat billowing behind him. He had his normal scowl across his lips but seemed especially in a bad mood. She sighed and discarded her plastic gloves, preparing herself for whatever verbal lashing he'd throw her way.
"Molly," He began, his voice cold.
"Hello, Sherlock. How can I help you?" She asked, rolling her cart towards the sink. Sherlock followed her, his eyes locked on her form.
"I doubt you could. Based on your incredible lapse of judgement this weekend, I don't suppose you're capable of much. Do you understand the emotional vulnerability of someone who has lost a spouse?" He spat out, his eyes angry.
Molly, who had been washing a beaker, stopped to face Sherlock. "Wait. Sherlock. What are you talking about?"
He wasn't finished. "I mean, I suppose I get it. This way, you get to skip the hard bits. He knows your emotional trauma. He comes with a child and a steady job. Now you don't have to worry about your nightmare of becoming an unwed, childless 40-year-old in a few years' time."
Molly frowned and studied the detective. His words finally began to make sense. "Why do you thrive on being so… mean? And for the record, John and I—"
He held up his hand. "I don't need to hear how bloody happy you are and how you're having loads of sex. What you do with Watson in your free time is none of my concern."
With that, he turned on his heels and stormed out, incidentally passing an incoming John. Sherlock sent the shorter man a menacing look before disappearing down the hallway. John made a face before entering the lab and looking at Molly.
"Christ, what's crawled up his arse? He's been even more of a prat than usual this week," John explained, before falling onto a lab stool, "I came here hoping I'd find him and all he does is glare at me. What's that about?"
Molly swallowed and hugged herself. She looked over at John and bit her lip. "I um… I think…" She took a shaky breath and whispered, "He thinks we're dating."
John couldn't help but laugh, causing Molly to frown. Noticing her reaction, he quickly stopped and sat up. "I'm not laughing at the idea. I'm laughing because he's such a dick."
She sighed and began to nervously chew on her thumb nail. "He said that he understood me going after you. That you'd help prevent me from eventually being forty, unmarried, and childless."
John made a face. "He said that to you?"
"Among other things. He said he didn't care if you and I were happy and having loads of sex."
He swallowed and ran his hand through his hair. "Of course. It makes perfect sense."
Molly frowned. "What does?"
"Him being such a git. I don't know how he found out about our date, but I'm not entirely surprised by his response," John explained.
"I don't understand."
John bit his lip and studied Molly. "I think Sherlock has feelings for you. I've been pretty certain of it for a few years. I just don't think he's come to terms with it."
Molly whimpered and clutched onto the desk, her legs suddenly feeling like jelly. "Come again? A few years?"
John nodded. "He's jealous. Plain and simple. Seeing you with me might be exactly what he needs to pull his head out of his arse."
"There's no way that Sherlock could have feelings for me. I mean—"
John smirked and bolted out of his stool. "That's it! We need to fake date!"
Molly turned red. "What? What are you talking about?"
"With us together, he'll be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you. He'll be so jealous and angry that he won't know what to do," John explained, a smirk on his lips, "And I can have well-meaning revenge on him for ruining my first proposal to Mary."
Molly gulped and bit her lip. "Are you sure John? Us pretending? Won't that be uncomfortable?"
John shrugged. "We don't have to go on any real dates. I'm perfectly happy to watch telly or take a nap. And in front of him, we just have to snog a few times. Nothing crazy. Besides, I could use the excitement. Things have been a bit, in Sherlock's words, dull lately."
Could I do this? Fake date John and hope to make Sherlock jealous?
She shut her eyes and took a deep breath.
Nothing else has worked, has it?
She met John's amused gaze. She took a deep breath and nodded.
"Yeah. Okay. Let's make Sherlock jealous."
John smirked. "Splendid. You fancy dinner to chat this through?"
Molly gulped and nodded. She followed John out of the morgue, her thoughts going a mile a minute.
Damn you, Sherlock. You never make things easy.
Xxx
"Lovers' spat?"
The voice of his friendly landlord knocked him out of the confines of his mind palace. He'd been so deeply immersed that he hadn't even heard the woman enter or begin to make a ruckus in the kitchen. From his spot on the sofa, it appeared that she was doing days old dishes. It also occurred to him that she had not stopped babbling since that first question.
"—used to take our frustrations out in bed, but I suppose you're quite different. But sometimes it's worth taking the high road and just—"
Sherlock sat up and ran a hand through his messy curls. He rubbed his eyes and struggled to his feet, surprised by how heavy his limbs felt. He entered the kitchen and studied Mrs. Hudson as she began to prepare him tea. When she spotted him, she gave him a megawatt smile.
"Oh, so you can get up when I make tea and not when I'm worried about you?" Mrs. Hudson asked, an amused smile crossing her features. She dropped teabags into their cups and leaned against the counter, taking in Sherlock's appearance.
"So," she continued, "Was it a lovers' spat? Is that why you've been cooped up in here?"
Sherlock scoffed. "For the thousandth time, Mrs. Hudson, John and I have never and will never be in a romantic relationship. Is that understood?"
Mrs. Hudson poured milk into her cup before bringing it to her lips. She made a face.
"John? Who said anything about John?"
Sherlock blinked a few times, still watching his landlord. "I don't—"
Mrs. Hudson waved her hand. "You know, for such an intelligent young man, you really act like a stupid boy," she explained, setting her cup down to add a dash more of sugar, "As charming as you and John would be together, I know that isn't who holds your heart."
He continued to stare, his face giving away nothing. "Nobody holds my heart."
"That's not true, Sherlock! Didn't your mum teach you not to lie?" She chastised softly. She pushed a mug towards Sherlock and offered him a soft smile.
"I assure you," she continued, her voice calm, "Being in love isn't bad. It may be scary. A tad nerve-wracking. Unpredictable. But it's not an awful thing."
Sherlock brought the mug to his lips and took a gulp, shutting his eyes as the familiarly prepared liquid slid down his throat, providing a comfort that he hadn't knew he needed. When he opened them, he met Mrs. Hudson's loving gaze. He set the mug down and focused his eyes on anything else. In his messy kitchen, it happened to be the filled bin.
"You know I'm always available to chat, don't you?" She offered, reaching over to give his hand a comforting rub, "Although I reckon talking through your feelings isn't exactly your thing."
Sherlock glanced down at her hand and couldn't help the frown that reached his mouth. He let a sigh escape his lips before trudging back into the sitting room, his tea in tow. Mrs. Hudson just groaned and followed the man-child.
"Sherlock, darling, holding in your feelings is a naughty habit. It's only going to hurt you in the end," She hurried out, not knowing how much longer she'd have the man's attention.
He scowled and dropped into his chair. Once settled, he sipped his tea and glared at the empty chair across from him. Mrs. Hudson looked at the chair and back to Sherlock.
"Perhaps Rosie will cheer you up. John is dropping her off later. He has another date. Seems to like the girl quite a bit—second date within a week!" She explained, glancing between Sherlock and the chair he was sending daggers at.
Mrs. Hudson clearly realized that line of thought was the wrong one to communicate, if Sherlock's scowling and merciless squeezing of his arm rests indicated. She quirked an eyebrow and watched the man bring his knees to his chest and bury his face in them.
"Maybe I should call Molly, since she's the only one—" She immediately stopped speaking, as the pieces began to fit in her head together.
"Oh dear," She whispered, her eyes locked on Sherlock's curled form. She carefully squatted to the floor, cautious of her temperamental hips and aching knees. Once (barely) comfortable, she held onto the side of the chair for support with one hand and began to rub Sherlock's back with the other.
"So," she began cautiously, unsure of her words, "Molly's dating John, isn't she?"
Sherlock did not move nor speak, but she felt his back tense under her rubbing. She couldn't help but frown—she had seen Sherlock in many forms and levels of falling apart. Never, however, had heartbreak been the root of said emotional crumbling.
"I know this can't be easy, sweetheart. Maybe you could explain to John—"
Sherlock bolted up and glared at the woman, his eyes murderous.
"Explain?" He spat out, "Explain what? That he's emotionally vulnerable and in no position to be in a relationship? That Molly is using him as a shortcut to her family aspirations? That no one could ever be good enough for her, not even him, someone I respect immensely?"
He shook his head and sprawled out, his long limbs settling against the chair. He shut his eyes and tilted his head back, forcing himself to take a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he kept them focused on the ceiling.
"Yes, it may be possible that I have developed some form of…" He took another shuddering breath, "romantic feelings for Molly. But it may also just be an ill-advised, overactive libido brought on by years of celibacy."
Mrs. Hudson couldn't help but snort. "You may have romantic feelings?" She hit the back of his head and stood up. "Of course, you have romantic feelings! What you're feeling is not lust, Sherlock. It's jealousy. You're upset because the girl you love is shacking up with your best friend and playing house."
He looked over to the older woman and crossed his arms. He was fuming.
"I don't care what either of them do. If they'd like to shag all night, then they can do just that."
Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes. "Oh, darling, when you finally want to chat, give me a ring."
With that, the old woman left, leaving Sherlock to settle in his chair. He dropped his head to his hands and gave his messy curls a frustrated pull.
Xxx
"He probably thinks we're shagging all night," John explained, spooning another forkful of pad Thai into his mouth, "Must be driving him up the bloody wall."
Molly couldn't help but blush at the thought of Sherlock getting jealous over her sleeping with another man. Of course, she and John were not currently shagging. Not even close. Both were exhausted from work and John was looking forward to an evening not spent watching Peppa Pig or cleaning up Rosie's spilled dinner.
Not to mention that they weren't interested in one another.
As a result, they sat on Molly's sofa, eating Thai takeaway and watching Game of Thrones. She had once upon a time tried to get Sherlock to watch the series, but he was uninterested in the fantasy world. So, she was excited to know that John was willing, and given their necessary fake dates, she now had a great excuse to do nothing but sit on the sofa, watching the series.
"So, what's next?" Molly asked, nervously playing with the remaining noodles in her takeaway container.
John managed to respond, his eyes still locked on the fantasy epic playing across the screen. "I figured we'd watch the next episode after this one? I'd leave before nine."
"I meant in the long run. Did you have a plan of some sort?"
He looked over at her and laughed. "Oh, yeah. I had a few ideas up my sleeve. You know, aside from our dates. I got Greg involved. He's going to invite us all out for drinks on Friday."
Molly swallowed and bit her lip. "All of us?"
John nodded. "Greg wants to see him sweat too. I reckon this shouldn't take too long. Sherlock may be a stubborn arse, but he also doesn't do well not getting his way."
She stood up and placed her leftovers in the fridge, considering John's words.
Could Sherlock really want me?
"Are you sure that he has feelings for me, John? It just seems so… Unlike Sherlock," She shuffled back into her living room and leaned against the wall, watching him intently, "This is the same man that manages to insult me about eighty percent of the time he opens his mouth."
John ate another forkful of noodles and shook his head. "That's not true! It's more like forty percent, and it's declined annually, hasn't it?"
Molly sighed and gave him a slow nod. "This is the same man that comes to my flat simply for an audience when you've already heard him recount his incredible intellect."
He waved his hand. "He comes here because he likes seeing your pretty face. And Toby. He won't admit it, but he likes the cat."
She glanced over at the lazy cat, who was currently giving himself a tongue bath. Glancing back at John, she sighed.
"You really think he likes me?"
"No, I don't." John stretched across the sofa, patting his full stomach. At the sight of Molly's frown, he continued, "I think he loves you."
Molly swallowed. "You can't be—"
"I'm very serious, Molly. There are two people that understand him in the world. Both are in this room. One of them he uses to solve mysteries and chronicle his life online. The other, he fell in love with."
Her eyes welled up. "If he loves me, why won't he just say something?"
John sighed. "He hasn't come to terms with it himself, Molly. This is a man who used to proclaim that he had no friends. Admitting that he's fallen in love is not an easy task."
Molly sniffled and sat beside John. He gave her a soft smile and squeezed her hand.
"Believe me, this will work."
Molly wiped a few tears off her cheeks and tried to focus on the telly. After a few moments, she couldn't help but laugh, grabbing John's attention. He gave her an inquisitive look.
"Yes?"
"I wish I was attracted to you."
John made a face. "Jeez, thanks Molly."
She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful smile. "You're handsome and so sweet John. Unfortunately, I have a thing for emotionally unavailable men."
"Apparently so do I since I always put up with him," John added, now digging into a container of biscuits.
Molly leaned back to watch him and smiled softly. "Tell you what. Get me Sherlock and I'll introduce you to my cousin, Monica. She's gorgeous. Your type, I think."
He glanced over at her. "I like the sound of that."
"Then we have a deal. But first… We need to knock some sense into Sherlock."
John yawned and ate another biscuit. "No worries there, Molls. I promise, he's sweating it out as we speak."
Xxx
And John was certainly right.
Sherlock sent another kitchen knife into the wall, watching as the blade connected with the drywall and hideous wallpaper. He took a swig from the bottle of some sort of liquor dating back to his Christmas party years ago.
If Molly and John were going to have a fun night, why couldn't he?
Besides, all he really needed to have fun were sharp objects and alcohol.
And Molly.
Another knife went flying.
To be continued…