A/N: So this fic was inspired by Cath... by Death Cab For Cutie. :) I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading and thanks to those who review! Also, extra points if you catch the Torchwood quote.
As Molly stares into the mirror, she knows she should not be doing this. She knows that this is a mistake and she should walk out of here and not look back. She cannot do that though, it's too late for that. She smooths her long white gown as Mary pins a flower into her pulled back hair.
Molly has not said a single solitary word since she got to the hall. She does not look happy, and Mary has told her from the day she got engaged that this is not a good idea. That she does not love him, and that this may be too quick. Molly only dates Christopher for eight months before he proposes. Molly smiles and says yes because what other option does she have?
No one else will have her. No, no- that's not quite it; there are men that she dates that want her. But they are not him. None of them will ever be him and she does not want any of them. She loves him so much that she has no room in her heart to love them in the way she loves Sherlock. But that does not matter, because he isn't here. He has been gone for two years now, and Molly has not heard a word from him since he left her flat so long ago.
Everyone wonders why Molly is so persistent to have the wedding on this exact day. They don't understand why it has so much meaning to her. Two years ago on this day, Sherlock walks out her front door, and most of her heart is taken with him (he does not know that, no, because she cannot force the words out before he disappears behind the door- she chokes on them as she sits on her knees on the floor of her flat, crying because she already misses him and he has not been gone for more than five minutes at that point). This is a dark way for her to grieve; dressed in white, a forced smile on her face, giving away the rest of her heart because it does not matter who takes it.
It is not that there is anything wrong with Christopher. He is perfect, wonderful- he loves her whole-heartedly and treats her well. She is incapable of loving him that way, and for that she does not deserve him. He deserves to have someone that will be loving and caring. She is being selfish, trying to force herself to move on, but she never truly will. She cannot live with the fact that Sherlock may never come back (he could be dead for all that she knew), so she drags herself along broken glass, pretending that she has moved on when she isn't anywhere close to that.
It takes Molly a few minutes to realise that Mary has left the room. Molly is ready early and now all that she can do is wait. She wishes that she had gotten ready at the last minute so that she doesn't have to stop and think about the mistake she is making. About the fact that she will have to try every day to make herself happy, try to make her soon-to-be husband happy, and that she will probably break his heart in the process. No matter what anyone says, she is not the sweet, kind Molly she is perceived to be. Not after doing this- it is probably the worst thing she will ever do.
Well, excluding what she does for him. This is only legally speaking. She has lied on official medical records, filed a false autopsy report, and lied to the police. Everything she has worked so hard for was morally thrown out the window that day. Well, morally in a judicial sense. In another she has no choice. She will always do it for him, a thousand times over because she refuses to watch him die. She was the only hope for him.
She hears a knock at the door, and a feeling in her chest constricts. There is no way to confirm it; she has no way of knowing it is who she is thinking. But somehow she knows it's him. She knows that this light knock would not have been heard if the room was not deadly silent. She also knows that he is walking away so she runs through the door to the room connected with hers and opens that one instead. He stops when he hears the doorknob turn and sees her dressed in white, a shocked look on her face as she stares at him.
"Sherlock?" she says, her throat constricts; a lump in her throat has been permanently stuck for two years. She knows that it is him; she knows that he is here and actually safe, but she is afraid to believe it because maybe she will wake up and be forced back into reality where he is not back.
Sherlock looks her over and Molly already forgets where she is and why she is here as she stares. Her eyes are filled with moisture, she looks both terrified and relieved, but he notices how incredibly beautiful she looks too.
He should not have come here; he knows he is somehow going to ruin this, as he ruins everything for her (she reminds him of that one day when he ruins a date for her, trying to push back embarrassed tears as he deduces a man until he is so angry he tells Molly it isn't going to work out). She is mad that day, but she forgives him like she always does.
It is selfish that he knocks on her door, but he cannot help but smile. He thinks about her every day while he is away, and can never come to understand why she is so loyal to him, why she has done so much for him. But what is done is done, and now all he can focus on is that he can finally see her.
Before he can reply to her, she pulls him into the room and closes the door. Her hands come up to touch his face, to clarify that he is not a figment of her imagination. A few tears spill down her cheeks as she smiles at him. She wants nothing more than to kiss him, but she knows doing that is inappropriate in every sense of the word. Two years away from her hunting down a criminal network is not something that normally makes someone decide they all of a sudden actually feel something for someone.
What she does not know is that there was no need for his feelings to change while he was away, because they were there buried deep within him before he even thought about leaving London. He may be damaged, he may not jump with glee at the thought of sentiment, and it may have taken him longer than most people to realise how he felt about Molly, but that does not mean that he does not feel for her. It is quite the opposite, and now seeing her has intensified the feeling in his chest exponentially. He wants the thought to sicken him, but it does not, because Molly standing in front of him is all that he wants to think about.
She feels incredibly warm against him when she embraces him with a hug, her worry dissipating and her body relaxing and he can only close his eyes and inhale. Her scent is still the same as it was two years ago, and is incredibly intoxicating. When she pulls away, he realises that his hands are on her hips, and does not remember when they found their way there. She looks comfortable in that position with him. Molly Hooper does not seem shy in this moment, but maybe because she is so desperately happy to have him back; she is, more than he can imagine.
"I missed you so much," she mumbles as she presses her face into his chest for a second, a sob coming from her throat that she fails to hide. He pushes a small lock of hair out of place behind her ear.
When she pulls back he looks into her face, rememorizing the structure of her jaw, her nose. It was all clear in his head, something he had catalogued and never deleted. He did not need to see her face again to recall the way it looked, but that did not mean that he does not want to. He has wanted to for so long. "I came to see you first," he tells her. He could not bear to be away from her longer, and knew if he waited she would be married by the time he visited her.
"Why?" she asks, because she can see in his eyes that he wants her to ask. He cannot say it on his own and if he needs encouragement, Molly will always grant him that.
Sherlock looks over to the door because he hears the doorknob turning. Molly feels a panic rising in her chest because she has a feeling that she knows who it is.
Of course, Christopher walks through the door and Molly can only feel guilty. She can only thank him that he is a man of tradition and is covering his eyes because it is bad luck to see the bride before she walks down the aisle. She feels another pang of guilt because keeping tradition may not be the biggest worry for him right now.
"Molly?" he asks, his back turned away from where she is. He's an idiot, Sherlock decides immediately. No matter whom it is Sherlock would think the same thing. Sherlock does not move though, nor does he does not make a sound.
She does not move from her close proximity to Sherlock, but she does answer him. "Yes? I'm here," she confirms.
"Cold feet yet?" he asks, letting out a nervous laugh.
Molly lets out a small sigh, loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but not so Christopher can. "Course not," she frowns as she looks to the ground. She truly is a terrible person. "I'm still getting ready though. I need a few more minutes." She is letting the lies build up again, another situation tied to Sherlock where she has to lie through her teeth.
She does not love him, which is the more important part. Her face does not light up the way it does when she sees Sherlock, and she lacks the rapid beating of her heart, the flutter in her stomach. It was a filler to help her lie to herself. Sherlock sees through her fake happiness she tries to play it off. She looks so unhappy and he can't stand it.
"O-okay," Christopher says just as he reaches the door, smiling like an idiot. "I love you."
"Mmm," Molly mumbles non-committally, trying to sound cheerful, "I'll see you out there."
As soon as the door closes, Molly has barely a second to feel guilty anymore lying to her fiancée. She is pushed up against the door and his arm is wrapped around her waist. His eyes are closed as the side of his head, his temple is pressing against hers. He craves her touch more than he ever has, and every inch of skin touching hers is tingling. "I am selfish," he says, a growl practically ripping from his throat.
It is quiet, but there is so much strain in his voice. Molly is confused, but silent as she listens. It goes without saying that she would never refuse his touch against hers; she presses herself impossibly closer against him, waiting.
"Molly…" he trails off, wincing. He has never been able to say the words that he should have said to her. He is a fool if he does not say them now, because after this he will not get another opportunity. Molly can hear the pain in his voice because she knows him better than anyone. There is something wrong and she does not understand what it is, because she can't think that it is what she wants it to be.
"What is it?" she whispers, her face still pressed against his. Sherlock shivers as he feels her warm breath against his ear, her voice filled with concern. She can only wonder that he is still in danger, that he is about to ask her for help again. She will give it willingly if he needs it, she always will.
"You don't love him," is all that Sherlock can manage to say. It is the truth, so easy to see that he cannot call it a deduction. He knows there is more that he should be saying, but the words are caught in his throat. His grip around her waist only becomes tighter; holding her closer if there is any space left between them (there isn't, but at this point, he can never be close enough to her).
If this had been before everything happened, after she kills him and watches him leave her here alone for two years, she would yell in his face. He is always pointing things out, trying to blatantly ruin her love life. But that statement is so true that she cannot even deny it, she does not want to because she denies it to everyone else from day one. It is both stressful and relieving to let her silence confirm this.
"I- I don't-" he starts, but is struggling to find the proper words, if he can even get them out. It is the first time the tables are turned and he is fumbling over his words, and Molly has been patient until now.
"Just ask me," she whines, a cry releasing from her throat. She's trying to wait, but she can't anymore. He either needs to tell her, or to let her go. It is becoming painful to the point where she wants to let go, but she cannot. She never truly will because it's Sherlock and that is not even manageable if she tries.
His eyes don't open, but he moves his face away for only a second before pressing his forehead directly against hers, his hands come up to touch her face, to stroke his fingers along her jaw. If he is going to truly say it, she has to be real, to be there. She always will though, because it is Molly and she loves him unconditionally. She will never disappear as long as he asks her to stay.
"Don't go out there," he pleads to her. He wants her, and willing is not a strong enough word to describe how much he will try to be different to her, treat her as she deserves. "Please." Sherlock claims he is a man that would not beg, but that is exactly what he is doing right now. He needs her, even more than before but in a different way. Christopher does not deserve her and she obviously does not want him. This is not something he can let her do if that is the case because he has never wanted her so badly.
In any other instance, Molly would need more words from him, more confirmation that he was asking her this. She knows that he means that he does not want her to get married, and she has never not wanted to more than now. He somehow always shows up at the right time.
Sherlock's eyes flutter open when hears another cry from her throat. Her whole body is shaking and her eyes are still closed, nose almost touching his. The tears down her face contradict the fact that she is smiling. "Never." It is a pleading and confession of her love, and she open's her eyes because she needs to see his face. "I won't go anywhere ever."
Her lids close again when his lips meet hers; gentle and desperate, asking for things that he can still not bring himself to ask out loud. It is okay because even though he is damaged, Molly makes him feel that he does not need to think of himself that way. She will always try to understand what he says through actions, and one day may be granted with words she wants to hear.
Her hands are ruffled into his hair as she presses her hips against his. She is making small mewls into his mouth and he captures them with every single kiss. His hands are moving all over, desperate to touch her skin, scorning the white dress she is wearing and what it is supposed to mean. Molly does not care, she does not even remember what she is wearing because all that matters is his lips on hers; the taste of him on her mouth, on her tongue and she practically cries for more of it. She has wanted it for so long and will never want it any less.
He cannot convince himself to break away from her to catch his breath. He does not want to; breathing is boring and Molly is fascinating. He nibbles down on her lower lip as he snags the hairpiece holding her hair up so that it falls to her shoulders. She is a right mess, but she does not have a care in the world; she would rather look like a mess in the hands of Sherlock than perfect on her wedding day (not so much of a wedding day anymore anyway).
His fingertips stroke up her spine from the small of her back to the top of her dress, making Molly shiver against him. She gasps into his mouth as her hands tug a little tighter in his hair. He does not pull the zipper down, but hovers his hand over it while his attention focuses on her face. He places kisses on her cheeks, her brow, her nose, along her jaw.
It is only when they hear a loud bang that they are able to break their mouths away, gazing to the other side of the room. John is leaning against the door, almost falling over as he looks at the scene before him. "I guess the wedding is not happening then…" he trails as his eyes flicker from Molly to Sherlock and back again.
It only takes a few seconds for Molly to remember that Sherlock has not told John yet that he is alive. Sherlock breaks away from Molly and takes a step away from her because knows what is coming. John is approaching him and one hand is balled up into a fist. He wants to punch Sherlock, and Sherlock only stands there; he is not going to defend himself because he deserves this.
And John has all intentions of punching Sherlock, but before his fist rises he takes one glance at Molly who is wincing with her head turned. Before that moment Molly looked happier, more relaxed than she has looked in months. The scared look for Sherlock is the only thing that causes John's fingers to stretch out as he restrains himself. "We," John points to him, his eyes blazing with both anger and hurt, "need to have a chat," he spits. Sherlock only nods at him as the two look to Molly who finally relaxes.
John has always been nice to Molly, but Molly has been even kinder to him. Before she introduced him to Mary, she checked up on him every day, she spent time with him when he needed someone to cry on, and tried to the fullest to be as good of a replacement best friend as she could be. She has also been through hell for the past months (John and Mary saw that clearly the second after she got engaged). So for her sake, on this very odd day for her, he won't do it.
Tomorrow may be another story if he is still pissed.
Molly can only blush when she remembers what John walked in on, but John is just grateful that Sherlock saved her from this mistake. Better late than never, but of course he has to have a dramatic entrance.
When Molly looks back up at John he is giving her a sympathetic smile. "You have a bit of explaining to do out there."
Molly sighs now that is finally back in reality, but she is still happy. When John leaves the room, Sherlock is close to her again, pressing gentle kisses to her lips, holding her against him. Another sigh escapes from between her lips, but this time it is in content.
Her arms are wrapped around his neck as she smiles up at him. "So you're back for good then, right? Not going anywhere?" she asks, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it.
Sherlock looks at her to see how happy she seems. He knows they both have a lot of explaining to do to many people, but that it will be worth it in the end. "Never," he repeats her words to answer her second question before pressing his lips to her forehead.