The streets of London ease by and instead of amusing myself by deducing pedestrians I find myself thinking what I should say to Molly. When I left her a few hours ago she was very angry with me. I rub my cheek as I remember the slap. If I am going to convince her to go ring shopping I will probably need to apologize properly. I sigh at the thought. I hate apologizing when I have done nothing wrong. I am on a case. I am not in the middle of a relapse. There was no cause for her to slap me, repeatedly, in front of everyone. Technically she should be apologizing to me for the pain and for embarrassing me with her scolding. I am not a child.
However I don't need Molly's apology, only her assistance, which means I will need to say sorry and probably listen to her grievances. The last month with Janine has been most instructive about women. The most important lesson being that women like to express their emotions and feel validated. If I give Molly this consideration I am sure she will be happy to help me pick out an engagement ring.
The morgue is quiet. Mary left hours ago with the two addicts from the crack house. Which allowed me to get back to the job that St. Barts pays me to do. But I am having a hard time focusing; my mind keeps wandering back to Tom. The broken look on his face when I placed the ring in his hand. The break-up wasn't loud or messy, Tom and I aren't loud or messy people. It started with a simple text 18 days ago when I was working the night shift.
We need to talk.
When I got back to my flat in the early hours of morning he was waiting with breakfast and tea, just like he always did when I worked nights. We didn't live together yet, we were waiting out Tom's lease, but he spent a lot of his time at my place. As I sat down to eat, he began.
"I found Sherlock Holmes in your bed." he said.
"Oh. Well he sometimes hides here. It was probably for a case." I explained as I chomped down on some toast.
"Is he in there now?" I asked.
"No. He left while I was making breakfast. And you know what he said before he left? He told me you don't like cooked tomatoes." When Tom finished speaking he was clearly upset. Maybe I was still too foggy from my long night shift but I couldn't understand why. When I didn't respond Tom asked:
"Is it true? Do you hate tomatoes?" A smarter, more experienced, less exhausted, woman would have lied but I answered truthfully.
"I don't like them. I think they are slimy." At his crestfallen look I immediately backpedaled. "But…but I love that you make them for me!" But I could tell that he wasn't listening anymore, his face had hardened.
"I think we should break-up." he said it so quiet I didn't think I had heard him properly. "We need to break-up." he said in a regular volume.
I was shocked. I didn't want to lose Tom and couldn't understand why he want to break-up. We talked for most of the morning. I tried to convince him to stay and he explained why he had to leave. In the end it came down to Sherlock. He felt that he was in second place to Sherlock and didn't want to be second in his own marriage. When he left I crawled into my bed, which still smelled of Sherlock, and cried myself to sleep.
Today was the first day I had seen Sherlock since things ended with Tom. Although he had clearly been using my flat to sleep in when I worked nights. Which implied he was avoiding Baker Street or hiding out for some reason. When they walked in I couldn't help the angry feelings of resentment I felt. The man had ruined my engagement and had used my apartment to sleep off his drugs. He left destruction in his wake and never faced any consequences. Slapping him wasn't enough, which is probably why I slapped him three times and yelled at him for good measure. Of course instead of being chastened he lashed out, taunting me about Tom.
Even now, hours later, the memory is making me shake with frustration. Partly at Sherlock and his behavior but partly because I realize that no matter how angry I am with Sherlock there is still a part of me that pities him. Part of me is worried about his drug use. Part of me wants to help him because, despite what he said after I slapped him, I saw the brief look of vulnerability on his face. It's those small glimpses of the humanity he tries so hard to hide that give me hope.
I shake my head realizing that Tom was right. Even when Sherlock treats me badly, pisses me off, or ignores me I still want to help him. Not just because of how I feel about him but because I trust that whatever he needs will help others.
Despite his flaws Sherlock is a force for good in this world.
Suddenly the door bangs open, shattering the silence. Sherlock steps from my mind and into the room.
"Ah Molly. Here you are." he says.
Can we just talk about the slap, and Sherlock's face when she slapped him! I am so excited Moffatiss is giving Molly more to do! This was short I know; but it seemed a good place to break it up. Thoughts?