Synopsis: Molly's emotions are a mess post The Great Game. Will Sherlock do anything to clean up the pieces?
Molly slid down to the tiled floor with a thud. Eyes squeezed shut, she rested her head on the grey door of her office, making no effort to conceal the flow of tears trickling down her face. Gathering her knees up to her face, Molly folded her arms on her knees to act like a pillow, before lowering her head onto them. She wasn't aware of the sob rising in her throat until it had bubbled up and filled her office, echoing off the tiles.
She recalled his tender touch and suddenly she was back in that moment.
"So I'll meet you at the Fox, around six?" he asked, wrapping a strong arm around her. She nodded.
"Yeah."
"It was nice meeting you." he said to Sherlock gingerly. Sherlock didn't reply. John Watson saved the moment, pointing a finger at Sherlock.
"You too." he said, interpreting Sherlock's silence.
Jim. He was everything Molly had ever wanted. He listened. He made her laugh. He could sing along with a delicate harmony when she hummed whilst doing the dishes. He was perfect. But he wasn' once thought that Jim- no- Moriarty, cared about her. He was a psychopath, but she had loved him.
Was that how naive she was? That a serial killer could act like he loved her, and so easily work out what she found attractive without her even raising an eyebrow? She should have known. Everything was too perfect. Perfect didn't happen for people like her and it wouldn't start with her.
She knew being cut up about a failed relationship with a psychopath wasn't a sign of being too healthy in the head, however her tears were spent for more than Jim. She- and she alone- was purely responsible for Moriarty being able to get so close to Sherlock. He used her stupid crush to get information about him and she had happily obliged. She should have known something suspicous was afoot. Who else would have listened to her talk for hours on end about another man? She let Jim into Sherlock's life- she introduced them- and she wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock found another willing pathologist and never set foot in St. Bartholemew's morgue again.
Just as Molly's internal racket was about to subside, a voice could be heard beyond the door.
"Molly!" the voice called, "Molly I need access to a body!" Knowing that that voice could only belong to one person, Molly stood on her wobbly legs, wiped her eyes quickly and opened the door, not bothering to give herself a once over in the wall mirror. Opening the door revealed Sherlock, standing with his hands in his pockets, pacing the morgue.
"Sherlock?" Molly said, exiting her office hesitantly. She loved Sherlock, but she just wanted to go home and sleep so she could move on.
"Ah yes, Molly-" Sherlock began walking towards her. He stopped when he saw the state of her, "Molly, are you alright?" Molly nodded, patting her hair down self-consciously.
"Yes, Sherlock, I'm fine. I'm okay." Sherlock's gaze rested on her for a few seconds and then he continued talking.
"I need to see the body of Genevieve Bower. I realise that the paperwork has gone through, however given the abnormality of the murder, Lestrade has granted me clearance." Molly nodded..
After wheeling out the body, a rather pretty woman with blonde hair, Molly settled down with some blood samples. Her focus, however, was always drifting to Sherlock and to Jim.
Sherlock kept quiet in his inspection of the body. Usually his deductions were voiced in a rushed, incoherent murmur behind Molly, but today his lips were still. For as long as he could, Sherlock kept stealing glances at Molly. He knew she had been crying, but for what purpose he couldn't puzzle out. Her hair, despite her habit of brushing it with her fingers, was unusually knotty and hair from her pony-tail stuck up and out, frizzy and untame.
Sherlock had finished analysing the Genevieve Bower's body and turned around to a Molly whose hands were buried her face. Sherlock hurried over and placed a tentative hand on one of her shaking shoulders. She looked up.
"Oh, Sherlock," she sniffled, using the back of her hand to remove the tears from her blushing visage, "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be like this." She stood up and added softly, "Not here." she began to hurry away in the direction of her office, but Sherlock trailed her, his strides long enough compared to hers that he caught up and took her elbow, spinning her around.
"Why are you sad?" he asked, the genuine concern written all over his face. Molly's forehead creased in disbelief. Sherlock never asked after her. Asking if she was okay was a stretch for him.
"You really want to know?" Molly asked in return. He nodded.
"I am upset because I went out with a psychopath serial killer," she counted the reasons off on her fingers, "I introduced him to you which in turn got John into a situation where he was strapped to a frightening amount of Semtex, and I can't deal with the fact that I played a significant role in Moriarty learning about you."
If Molly had to describe Sherlock's expression then and there she would have said shocked, however in hindsight, she would have thought bewildered was a more fitting adjective. Bewildered by the fact that for a few seconds he didn't know what to say. When he spoke again, it was barely a murmur and Molly had to lean in to hear.
"It isn't your fault, Molly. I don't know how to convince you that it isn't but you have to believe me it's true. I also do not know what the social convention is for when one has been dumped by a serial killer-" Molly let a lot of things Sherlock said slide, but she wasn't going to not correct this.
"I broke up with him" Molly said, folding her arms.
"It's all the same. However I think this should cover it."
Sherlock stepped forward, the speed of Molly's breathing increasing with each centimeter he drew closer. Finally, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him, and squeezed. Molly, after momentary paralysis, uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around him. She held her breath for 3 seconds and exhaled. She breathed in. Sherlock smelled like smoke and sugar and milk.
"Sherlock?" she asked, lifting her head from its residence in his coat.
"Hmm?" he replied.
"Thankyou."
A/N So I needed a fic where Molly is all upset and Sherlock fixes her up. How do you think my sentence length is? I know I have a tendency to put a lot of 'stuff' in my sentences. [Note the abundance of commas in all of my fics :)] Review and let me know!