I don't know what this is, but every time I listen to the song 'Ghost' by Sky Ferriara I always think of Sherlolly. I've been trying to come up with a fic to write with this song and well ... this came to me the other night. I've kind of struggled with it a bit ... and I am not entirely sure that I am perfectly happy with it. This isn't a song-fic strictly speaking ...
Ghost
Sherlock was annoyed. He and John had been tailing a murder suspect throughout London when the man had ducked into a loud, patron-packed Jazz club. With a disgruntled expression Sherlock had followed John inside. His expression turned more sour by the minute as John made a bee-line for the bar. He quickly ordered a pint, Sherlock refusing to have anything. He busied himself with scanning the crowd, but their suspect was no where in sight. He was just about to turn to John and tell him that he was going to call it a night, when the sight of a familiar white dress covered in a spray of cherries caught his eye.
He stopped mid-speech, watching as the woman stepped onto the stage and approached the microphone. A spot-light honed in on her as a man's voice over the loudspeaker announced the evening's guest performer as, 'Miss Molly Hooper!' There was a polite round of applause before everyone grew silent. Even the bartenders mixing the drinks were careful not to bang too much.
The spot-light faded to a faint glow as the song began. It started off slow, the musicians playing for a few chords before she started to sing. She gently swayed in time with the music. Her voice was soft yet strong, and she was pouring emotion into the words.
Sherlock watched her as if bewitched. Unable to take his eyes from her. This was not the Molly he had ever seen in the morgue. Nor the Molly he would see in her flat (when he was using it as a Bolt Hole). This was an entirely different person. She seemed stronger, more confident, and yet also full of sadness.
Judging by the amount of feeling she was pouring into the words as she sang them, he deduced that it meant a lot to her, so he forced himself to focus on the lyrics. And when he did, he felt a strange sort of constriction, deep in the pit of his chest.
What did I do
to make you so cruel?
I've got this ache inside my heart
I know that it's you
What should I do now that
I know that we're doomed?
I loved you most
But now you're a ghost
I walk right through
It struck him like a slap in the face. She was singing about him.
He strode away from the bar, ignoring John's calls of concern. As soon as he got outside he took in deep gulps of air, before hailing for a cab. He gave the driver his Baker Street address before leaning back into the seat cushion and glowering as he looked out the window.
How could she? How could she still harbour such strong feelings for him, after all that he had done to her? He didn't understand it. He couldn't.
He ran up the stairs to his flat in a great flurry, not caring in the slightest if Mrs. Hudson hadn't yet taken her Herbal Soothers. He needed to think. After flinging off his coat and unwinding his scarf he dropped down into his chair and steepled his fingers.
The words she had sung continued to repeat in his head, no matter how hard he tried to stop them. The same feeling of constriction in his chest would return each time as well. What was this?
Surely it was not anger at himself for having never deduced the fact that she could sing? Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew that she could sing. He had heard it often enough while staying at her flat. She'd sing in the shower, while washing dishes, and folding the laundry. But he had never once deduced that she would do so in public.
No. That wasn't it. The words played in his head once more. Oh. That was it. She had sung them with such conviction. Could it be, did she believe them to be true? He had to find out, he couldn't rest until he did.
Popping up from his chair he pulled his coat back on, not bothering with his scarf. He hurried down the stairs, making more noise then before.
"Sherlock! What on earth! It's nearly the middle of the night!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked. "Here I am trying to watch late-night telly and you're pounding around like a great herd of elephants!"
"Not now Mrs. Hudson! I've got something important to do. But fear not, I won't be disturbing you again tonight," his voice faltered on the last word. "Or at least I hope not."
"Oh Sherlock, are you finally going to tell her how you feel?"
"What?" he nearly snarled.
"Molly! That's who you are going to see, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson said with a wide smile.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "How did you know?"
"I may be an old woman Sherlock, but I'm not blind!"
He sniffed and strode towards the door.
"Good luck!" she called out to him, directly before the door shut behind him with a bang.
Ignoring the uncertain feeling that was niggling in the back of his mind, he hailed a cab. After giving the driver Molly's address he settled back and looked out the window. He wasn't glowering this time, but he felt no less at ease than he had before.
Upon arriving outside her building he climbed the stairs to her flat and hesitated outside her door. He was about to pick the lock but stopped, instead opting for knocking. He heard her pad towards the door, shortly followed by her saying his name in surprise. There was a flurry of noises of the door being unlocked before it swung open.
"Why didn't you just let yourself in?" she asked him. "That's what you usually do."
He didn't answer, instead he stared at the white, cherry covered dress that she was still wearing.
"Sherlock? Is something wrong?"
He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. "Wrong? No. Noth-nothing's wrong."
Her eyes narrowed. "Well I'm not going to the morgue for you if that's why you're here. I just got in myself." She stepped away from the door, a clear sign that he was welcomed.
He walked in and she shut the door behind him. He was about to take off his coat when she asked him a question, and he froze before he turned and looked at her.
"Well?" she continued. "Why didn't you? It would have been nice if you had at least said hello."
"You saw me."
"Of course I did. You kind of stick out like a sore thumb when you wear such a disgruntled expression."
He humphed.
"How about you take off your coat? Or are you not planning to stay?" she said to him.
He quickly removed it.
"I was about to make myself some tea, would you like a cuppa?" She started to move towards the kitchen.
"How come you never told me about your singing?" he asked her as he followed her into the kitchen.
"Oh that," she said with a dismissive wave as she began to putter about getting the tea things. "I figured you'd mock me. I haven't sang in public in years, not since my uni days! I only did it as a favour for a friend. He owns the club, you see, and his usual singer got sick, so he asked me to step in for her."
"Ahh."
Molly finished filling the kettle with water and placed it on the heat to boil. She faced him. "So ... no mocking then?"
Sherlock frowned. "When have I ever mocked you?"
She silently thought for a moment. "... I guess ... never?"
"I've deduced you, cruelly ... but I've never mocked you."
She crossed her arms over her chest, her hands coming to rest on either elbow. "True."
An odd sort of silence fell between them. It wasn't an uncomfortable one, instead it was almost as if it was filled with electricity, and that if either one of them were to speak, it would set off a spark.
Neither one of them moved until the shriek of the kettle broke the spell. Molly turned her back to Sherlock and began to pour the water into the cups.
"Molly. We're not-we're not doomed, are we?" he asked suddenly.
She quickly spun about and stared at him, with those big brown eyes of hers. She knew exactly why he was asking that question. "I- I don't know Sherlock, aren't we?"
He slowly moved closer to her, taking one of her hands in his. "I'd like to think not."
Her gaze was locked on his. "You - you do?"
He slipped his other hand across her lower back, pressing her closer to him. "I do."
She stared up at him with wide eyes.
"I told you once before, do I need to tell you again?" He tilted his head to the side, his gaze softening. "You do count. You've always counted. You're the one that matters most."
She placed her free hand on his chest and leaned her head back in silent invitation. Their lips met, and as the kiss deepened he gently turned them about and nudged her in the direction of her lounge. They fell down upon her settee, the pair of them laughing slightly before they kissed once again.
"Not doomed," Sherlock murmured between kisses and gasps for breath. "Not doomed at all!"
Molly clung to him tighter, kissing him more deeply. "If I had known that this would be the end result, I would have sung that song so much sooner!"
"Hush..." he whispered to her, before kissing her gently, smiling against her lips.
Their tea continued to cool on the counter, forgotten.
.
.
.
Well ... there you have it!
As always, let me know what you think ... I'm sure you are well aware now how much I do love comments!
Also, don't forget that I'm on tumblr at Sherlockian87