Two things... Number one: This story was inspired by the Killers song by the same name basically because Molly's got soul but she's not a soldier. Also because that song rocks me so effing hard.
Number two: This story will be entirely from Molly's perspective (not POV.) A bit of a departure for me, I hope you all like it. It's a two shot.
**A huge thanks to my dear friend MrsMCrieff because she betaed and Brit-picked this story. She also had some amazing ideas. She is truly an inspiration, I'm lucky to have her.**
I own nothing-Enjoy- Remember there's more to come...
Molly was standing near the counter of a video store wearing a Star Fleet uniform (original series) waiting to pay for her movies (videos, not DVDs.) Evidently she was renting The Barkleys of Broadway and Beetlejuice. She was third in line behind her high school boyfriend and a couple she didn't recognize. The couple were being married by Master Yoda at the checkout. Odd. She heard someone calling out her name and turned to see who it was when she started to wake up...
She rolled over in the bed and saw Sherlock standing in her doorway. He looked like a demon for a split second, completely back lit by her hallway light. She couldn't make out any features except the cut of his coat and his curls. When she turned her bedside light on, however she saw something she had the privilege or misfortune (depending on how you look at it,) of seeing a few times in her life. Sherlock was feeling something.
Sherlock had learned one night many years prior that Molly Hooper could keep a secret. He had always trusted her, but when he asked her to fake his death and help hide him from the rest of humanity, he learned just how far he could push that trust. So at times when he felt like his world was closing in on him or he was one bad decision away from visiting the friendly neighborhood heroin dealer, he would find himself at Molly's flat instead.
He popped round several times during his mission, mostly to get a few stitches, a hot shower and a meal. There were a couple of times he had no physical injury at all, it made Molly wonder, but she never asked, she simply took care of him. He came by frequently while he was 'dating' Janine before he finally gave into the temptation around him and felt the glorious euphoria of the drugs that had been calling to him for years (she really wished he had come to her that night.) Just being around the lifestyle once again must have been affecting him more than he was letting on. He never told Molly what he was doing, simply that he was undercover and she couldn't say a word about it. She had to piece it together later, after everything fell apart.
Then she slapped the shit out of him.
That was the real reason for the slaps? He could have come to her, he always did. What was she if not the alternative to that? But using again after dozens of trips to her flat? It invalidated everything she had done for him. The best part? He knew her engagement was over. He was there that night 'sleeping' when Tom exploded at finding another man where he should have been. Ah, those slaps felt good and horrible and amazing and awful.
Then the bastard went and got himself shot!
The worst night... the worst night for Molly had been the night before the Moriarty broadcast. He came by, he had this far off look in his eyes, a look that made her wish for that night in Barts so many years prior when he asked for her help. He never told her he was leaving; he just came in looking lost. So she made him tea and they sat on her busted sofa and watched TV until she fell asleep. She woke up the next day and found that he had gone, but this time he had left her a note.
Molly,
I'm sorry for all the hurt I've caused you and I dearly wish I could take it back. I'm also sorry you've had to be my safe haven all these years. Please take it as a compliment, no one else was strong enough to withstand my fury and weather my storms. You always were, and you had to do it in silence... all alone. You've been remarkable, truly. I couldn't repay you if I lived to be a hundred.
There are many other things I deeply regret but this isn't the time or the place, just understand that your importance in my life has not been overlooked. Should you ever need anything, anything at all don't hesitate to call on Mycroft or my parents.
Live well Molly Hooper. This world doesn't deserve you, and I certainly didn't either.
Sherlock
PS... cash that damn cheque!
The mini breakdown that Molly suffered after reading that note was nothing compared to what the rest of the week held for the pathologist. Several hours later a very much dead James Moriarty seemingly came back to life and turned her world upside down for the better part of eight days. The single bright spot on an otherwise harrowing experience was that Sherlock was back from whatever caused him to show up at her flat and leave her that wonderfully, awful note.
They never spoke of it. Not once.
As a matter of fact this was the first time he had shown up since that night. She had assumed that Sherlock was no longer in danger of slipping into old habits (even though she knew that danger never really goes away,) or he had found someone else to go to when he needed help.
Whatever the reason for his absence Molly, like always, smiled and went forward as if it was completely normal. Like saying those things to someone and then ignoring them for five months was an everyday thing to do. Oh, she still saw him at work; she helped with tests and went over autopsy results but nothing more. She wasn't his safe harbour anymore, just his pathologist. And even though it hurt, Molly was quite experienced at being what Sherlock needed when he needed it. So she never brought it up and never once betrayed his trust.
A few people may have known that he used her flat as a bolt hole, but no one would know that Molly Hooper had been his safety net. That was a secret she'd take to her grave.
She couldn't help but think tonight seemed very different. Not only because he had been keeping his distance, but for the first time in their acquaintance Sherlock Holmes looked like a lost little boy. He stood there looking at Molly but not really focusing on anything at all.
She finally found her voice. "Sherlock, what's happened? What's wrong?"
He didn't speak for several minutes, just stared. Finally after what seemed to Molly like an eternity he said, "My mum's died."
Molly rose up onto her knees on the bed (without one thought to the fact that she was wearing a tank top and bright pink knickers) and covered her mouth as she gasped. Sherlock's eyes were still so unfocused she was starting to wonder about his sobriety.
"What...?" She started to ask what he needed when she realized that he would have no idea what he needed right at that moment. So she simply motioned for him to come to her, he finally looked at her face.
Slowly Sherlock made his way to the bed and stood in front of Molly where she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pushed his head down to rest on hers.
"I'm so sorry." Is all she said and they stayed that way until Molly pulled back and asked him to lay down. He did and she was shocked at how compliant he was being. That's when she realized he wasn't high, just in a state of shock. She moved to the end of the bed and removed his shoes then asked if she could take off his Belstaff and suit jacket. Sherlock nodded and she buzzed around him trying to make him comfortable. As she was hanging his coat on the back of her door his phone rang from the pocket, she pulled it out.
"That will be Mycroft and I don't care." He said facing away from her.
"Sherlock if you don't talk to him, he will assume the worst."
"Will you- will you just tell him I'm here and I'm fine? Not at all high."
Molly was shocked to say the least but she answered the phone.
"Hi Mycroft." - "Yes he's here, he's fine." - "No, not at all. I think I'd know." - "Well I don't think he's going anywhere for a while at least." - "Okay, I'll talk to him about it." - "Of course, oh and Mycroft I'm so sorry. Please give my love to your father." - "I promise I'll try, bye."
"I suppose you're to talk me into going to Surrey." He still wouldn't turn around.
"Well the British government just commanded it, so..."
"Screw Mycroft. Come lay with me... please."
Molly took a deep breath. This was the hard part and she knew it was coming. Because as much as Sherlock seemed to avoid physical contact (unless absolutely necessary and initiated by him,) when he was deeply emotional, he thrived on it.
It ripped Molly's insides into tiny little shreds.
She stopped grabbing her sleep pants first and slipping them on, then got into bed. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock shook his head. "Okay, fine. Can you sleep?" He shook his head again. "Do you want me to do the hair thing?" He nodded. "Come here."
Sherlock shifted over and lay his head on Molly's chest and she started carding her fingers through his hair as he wrapped his arms around her torso. She took a deep cleansing breath and tried (as always) to steady her heartbeat since she knew he must be able to feel it.
"Mycroft's knows you're here." She said after about ten minutes.
"You don't think it was ever a secret do you?"
"I should call work and take tomorrow off. Hand me my phone." Molly said.
"I emailed Stamford and asked him for a week of bereavement for you. I need you to come with me to Surrey. I can't do this alone Molly." He tightened his grip on her.
Molly closed her eyes and felt tears gathering for the first time. She cleared her throat then said, "Of course Sherlock, whatever you need."
"I promise I won't ask for anything else after this. Just this one last thing and you can..." He didn't finish because what? She could what? He knew as well as she did she'd always be waiting for him to show up and need her, hell she lived for it.
"Don't Sherlock, you know I don't mind."
The trip to Surrey took much longer than it should have because Sherlock insisted on taking Molly dress shopping (apparently it wasn't appropriate to wear the dress she wore to his funeral.) So after staying awake half the night cuddling the broken hearted consulting detective,she went with him to Baker Street as he readied himself and packed. They picked up a rental car and headed to the poshest shop Molly had ever been to in her life.
Sherlock busied himself explaining that Molly was indeed a size eight not a ten and picking out clothes for her to try on. It was frankly one of the more mortifying experiences of her life. In the end they left with two new dresses (he couldn't decide and she would most likely need two anyway,) and three new tops (that actually fit her... his words.) It had been an exhausting day and it was barely two pm. She was asleep almost as soon as they pulled away from the shop.
She awoke hearing her name and feeling something soft on her cheek.
"Molly, we're here." Sherlock was gently rubbing her face.
"Oh, yes, we are." She looked around. "Sorry about that."
"It's okay I kept you up all night." He said as he surveyed the house, then returned his attention to the groggy pathologist. "So are you ready?"
"I think so. Are you? Should we set up some kind of code in case it gets to be too much?"
Sherlock smiled for the first time in eighteen hours and mumbled Vatican Cameos under his breath.
"What's that mean?" Molly asked.
"Nothing, you'll know. You always know Molly Hooper. Always."
As they walked toward the house Sherlock said, "It seems we've missed everyone. Mycroft and dad will be in town taking care of the arrangements. No one else has arrived yet."
They went inside and Sherlock proceeded straight upstairs. When he realized Molly wasn't following he stopped. "Are you coming? We should get settled before everyone else gets back."
"Of course." She followed.
He went down the hall to the room at the farthest end. "We'll be staying in my old room."
Molly's heart stopped. What? "We? Is there not a guest room?" She asked from the doorway. Sleeping cuddled around an emotional Sherlock Holmes in the privacy of her flat was one thing, but here... here where the occupants would all be aware of their odd unnamed arrangement was very different.
"Yes, but Anthea will be using it." He said as if she should have known.
"Why would Mycroft's PA be staying at your parent's house?"
"She's our cousin. I thought you knew that."
"No, though it does explain some things." Molly said and finally moved into the room putting down her purse and bag of toiletries. "Sherlock, how will this look? Us bunking in together I mean?"
He looked at her, pulling his attention from his task of hanging their clothes in the wardrobe. "No one will question it Molly. Anthea doesn't care one way or another, Mycroft will be too busy sneaking off to visit Gerald to concern himself with us, and dad, well if he notices it would only serve to brighten what will certainly be the worst week of his life."
Molly was trying to wrap her brain around that sentence... "Gerald? Mycroft has a boyfriend?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Molly, for someone so intelligent you do seem to miss the obvious. Yes. He does."
"Oh, well that's nice. I can't wait to meet him."
"Meet him? You've known him for nearly seven years!"
Molly looked at Sherlock like he'd lost his mind, "Sherlock I don't know anyone named Gerald."
"Lestrade, Molly... Gerald Lestrade!"
"Oh my God! Greg's gay?" She exclaimed, much louder than intended.
"That's usually how these things seem to work." He went back to putting things away.
"He asked me out several times. I-I'm just a bit shocked."
"Well he seems to be an equal opportunity letch. I'll leave you to put away your... well your underthings. I'm going to make tea."
Molly put her things away and freshened up. Her hair needed a good brushing and she also touched up her face. After making her way downstairs she found Sherlock in the sitting room with two cups of tea.
"Thanks." She said sitting down next to him.
They sat in silence for ten minutes before Sherlock finally spoke. "I know you have questions Molly and I appreciate you not asking them." He wasn't looking at her; he was facing the unlit fireplace. "I don't know what shape my father will be in and... well Mycroft isn't exactly a fountain of emotional stability, so..."
Molly reached out and took his hand, "Sherlock, you don't have to explain anything to me. My offer was a blanket one with no exceptions and no explanations needed. I'm here just as long as you need me."
Sherlock was looking at her like he was about to deduce her when he picked up her hand and placed a gentle kiss to her palm. "They're back." He said never taking his eyes off of her. Then he got up and went towards the front of the house.
Molly let out a deep breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Wonderful, a whole week of this and I may just spontaneously combust, she thought as she finished her tea and let the Holmes say their hellos in private.
Molly's moment of peace didn't last long though.
"Miss Hooper. So good of you to come. And thank you for persuading Sherlock, that couldn't have been easy. As always, you are a great asset and I find myself once again in your debt." Mycroft Holmes said dripping with is usual patronizing tone.
Molly schooled herself, "I didn't have to persuade him Mycroft. He asked me to come with him and I was happy to accompany him." Remember this man just lost his mum, don't punch him.
Mycroft looked at Molly in complete disbelief. "Well, nevertheless your assistance is always appreciated. You've been able to deal with my little brother's idiosyncrasies in ways I fear even Dr. Watson would have failed. And for that I'm grateful."
She stared at the brother of the man she loved and didn't for a minute wonder how Sherlock ended up so emotional stunted. "Sherlock's my friend; I will always be there for him. He knows that."
"Of course, and Mummy was ever so fond of you she would have appreciated your presence as well."
Just then Sherlock walked into the room. "Oh please, Mycroft, Mummy was more fond of Molly than she was either of us." He walked over to stand between Molly and his brother. "Dad's laying down for a bit. Care for a walk?" He asked her.
"Sure." Molly said putting down her tea cup that she had been holding just to keep her hands busy and jumping at the chance to get away from Mycroft. "My jacket's upstairs."
"I'll get you one." Sherlock said as they walked toward the foyer. He grabbed one of his mum's jackets and draped it over Molly's shoulders then they went out the door.
They didn't really talk. Sherlock lit a cigarette and they walked for about fifteen minutes. Molly suspected this was more about escape than being alone with her. One doesn't spend time alone with Mycroft Holmes unless one has to. It made her wonder what Greg saw in the man. What did they talk about? Was he actually affectionate? Then she suddenly pictured Greg and Mycroft holding hands, which led her to imagining Mycroft making Greg use hand sanitizer first... this, unfortunately, led Molly to a sudden burst of laughter.
Sherlock stopped walking, "What on earth is so funny?"
Molly tried to compose herself. "Sorry, I-I... sorry. Completely inappropriate but... Greg and Mycroft? I-I just can't..." Her giggles started again. "Mycroft's so..." More giggles, "He's just so..." She doubled over and tried to stop herself.
Sherlock finally broke.
Molly didn't recognize the sound at first. Then she realized he was laughing. She straightened up to see Sherlock laughing harder than she was, wiping tears and trying to speak. Finally he composed himself enough to form words. "The word you looking for is evil Molly. It's like the Sheriff of Nottingham dating Robin Hood."
That caused another outbreak of laughter.
"Like Senator Palpatine and Han Solo." Molly said.
More laughter.
"Like Pol Pot and Gandhi" Sherlock said.
Molly stopped laughing, "Oh my God, that's so fucking awful," She cackled again. "I love it!" She grabbed his arm as she broke out in a new fit of giggles. Sherlock put his arm around her and laughed right along with her.
"Come along Molly, we should be getting back to Mein Führer."
Molly was too caught up in the moment to realize they were touching as they walked down the path. Only when their laughter died down and his arm dropped away did she realize it had even been there.
When they got back to the house they found Anthea buzzing around the kitchen setting up dinner that she had brought from a local restaurant. The group ate and made semi comfortable conversation; Sherlock's father barely spoke then retired shortly thereafter. Molly helped Anthea clean up the dishes, Mycroft wandered off to make some important phone calls and Sherlock went back outside for another smoke.
Everyone seemed to be taking care of themselves so Molly decided to have a quick shower since she was going to have to once again share a bed with Sherlock. She went upstairs and grabbed her toiletries.
Clean and dressed for bed and looking forward to having some time to herself to read alone in Sherlock's room, Molly made her way down the hall only to find the detective already there waiting for her. He was thumbing away on his phone.
"Oh, you're here. I, ah was going to read for a bit." She stammered.
Without looking up he said, "You can still do that Molly. I didn't feel like being followed around by Mycroft anymore, he keeps trying to start a fight. I'm not in the mood. He's grumpy; Lestrade's not coming until tomorrow, so..."
"Of course. Don't blame you there."
Thank heavens the bed was a double. Of course Molly had slept with Sherlock and she understood the need for a large bed even as an adolescent he must have been all arms and legs. He tended to sleep like his limbs weren't under his control. Then there was the tossing and turning. One would assume that since he slept so little that when he did it was like the dead, not in Molly's experience. It was a bit more like an amusement park ride. He had knocked her out of her own bed at least twice. She was not looking forward to this.
Molly retrieved her book and got into bed seemingly unnoticed by the detective. She managed to get through a half a chapter before he put his phone up and turned his light off.
"You ready?" She asked.
"You don't have to stop reading Molly." He turned away from her but Molly couldn't read anymore knowing Sherlock needed to get some sleep. She put her book away and turned off her light.
She lay on her back, wide awake. Normally when she couldn't sleep she'd read or play with Toby. She spared a moment to hope he was doing okay with her neighbour, he didn't adjust to change very well. Of course there were other things she did when she couldn't sleep but that was completely out of the question since she was lying next to Sherlock and well... Molly took a deep breath trying to clear that thought out of her mind. Sherlock suddenly turned around.
"You can't sleep." He said. There was enough light in the room that she could see his otherworldly eyes and bed-hair.
"Yes, well no, different bed and all. I'll be fine. Get some rest Sherlock." She started to roll over away from him, looking at the man wasn't going to help the situation. Sherlock's hand was suddenly on her hip, holding her in place.
"Molly?"
"Oh, do you need the hair thing again?" She asked.
Sherlock just stared at her, his hand still holding her in place gripping her quite tightly. He shook his head. He moved his hand until he pushed her top up just a little and found a bit of skin, maybe an inch. He scooted a bit closer. Molly was completely frozen, this felt different than their other soothing sessions. There was no way she could analyze it since she was having trouble breathing for heaven's sake, but it was different. Not breaking contact with that inch of skin Sherlock moved his hand to Molly's back. Molly's skin broke out in goose flesh and a cold chill shuddered through her.
"You're cold." He said.
Not really, she thought. "Um, yeah."
"Come here, we need sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day Molly." He pulled her closer. She scooted over to him as he wrapped his arms around her and she practically melted into his chest. They sighed almost at the exact same time. Molly closed her eyes and suddenly realized she couldn't be more comfortable.
Molly woke to an empty bed the next day. A blush formed as she recalled the events of the previous night, falling asleep against Sherlock's chest had been wonderful if not completely confusing. He almost seemed to be comforting her for once. She had no idea what to make of it, but that wasn't exactly a new feeling for her, she often times felt confused by Sherlock's actions. She sat up and stretched just as the door opened and the man himself walked in carrying a coffee mug.
"I thought this might help." He handed it to her. "There will be visitors today, family." He said the word as if it were poison. "Also neighbours I suppose. I'm going to take a shower and get ready. Dad's feeling a bit better and he asked to see you when you've woken and feel up to a talk." He wasn't looking at her, going through a drawer pulling out socks and other clothes.
"Okay." Molly said.
He finished gathering his things and turned to leave. Molly reached for her phone to check the time and saw that she had several text messages.
Have you heard from Sherlock? Don't know if you've heard, his mum died.-JW
Look if you hear from him just let me know, he says he's fine but I'm worried.-JW
Are you going to Surrey for the service, you can ride with us if you like?-JW
Never mind, Mycroft says you're in Surrey already. Why did Sherlock make you go with him?-JW
Molly sighed. The third degree from John Watson wasn't what she was looking forward to this morning.
I think he just wanted my support.-Mxx
Are you okay?-JW
Of course, I'm not the one that just lost their mum. Don't worry about me John, worry about Sherlock.-Mxx
I always worry about Sherlock, Molly. I'm just sorry he's dragged you into this. He has his whole family there though. It's not as if he's alone and we're coming tomorrow. -JW
You've met his family, I'll leave it at that.-Mxx
Fair point, see you tomorrow.-JW
She made her way to the kitchen and found Anthea putting away breakfast. "Do you need some help with that?" Molly asked.
"Oh, no Dr. Hooper. Uncle Si is in his study, would you take this to him?" She handed Molly a fresh cup of tea.
"How are you doing Anthea?"
The woman looked up in surprise. "No one's asked me that. I-I'm fine." Molly could see the tears in Anthea's eyes.
"Are you sure?"
She cleared her throat, "Of course," She said looking away getting back to the dishes.
Molly sighed, "Is it the door off the sitting room?"
Anthea nodded her head.
It seemed emotional instability was some kind of a family trait. She found the open door to Mr. Holmes' study and gently knocked on the door frame. He appeared to be reading or at least looking at a book.
"Ah, Molly good of you to join me. I haven't really been myself since you arrived." He walked to the door and closed it behind her.
"This is for you." She said as she handed the tea over.
"Of course, courtesy of Thea I assume. She fusses." He put it on his desk and sat down in a high back chair next to it then he motioned for Molly to sit in one across from him.
"How are you feeling today Mr. Holmes?"
"Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to call me Si?" He chuckled, "I suppose not, well I'm... taking it a day at a time dear. But I wanted to see how you were faring?"
Molly was taken-a-back, "Me? I'm fine. I-I mean I cared a great deal for Mrs. Holmes but, it's Sherlock I'm concerned about. And you of course."
Mr. Holmes smiled, "Yes, I suspect you are." He leaned in, "You and I are in a very exclusive club. He doesn't confide in many people but he does us, doesn't he Molly. I know he comes to you."
She just stared, not sure how she was supposed to respond.
"I'm his father you know, he talks to me... occasionally. So, my original question, how are you doing?"
Molly took a deep breath, "I'm fine Mr. Holmes. I... Sherlock's never asked me for anything that I couldn't give him. I-I don't mind being here and if he needs me I'll stay. If that's what you're asking."
He smiled sadly, "I understand that after you helped Sherlock fake his death Mycroft gave you a rather large cheque. I also understand you never cashed that cheque."
Molly looked down at her hands trying desperately to understand where this conversation was going. "No, I didn't."
"Why?"
She looked up, "I helped Sherlock because he's my friend and I-I..." She realized her breath was laboured and she tried her best to control it. "Because I care for him. I care for all my friends Mr. Holmes."
"Of course you do Molly. You care a great deal for my son don't you? So much so that you allow him to use your home to hide out in when things are too hard for him. You comfort him when he just can't take it anymore. But at what cost Molly?" He looked down as if he was gathering his thoughts.
Molly was frozen, it's not as if she had known what to expect from this conversation, but it certainly wasn't this.
"I didn't intend to talk to you about this today, although I have been meaning to talk to you for a while. But after what happened, I-I realized time could be running out and... if I didn't, well..."
Molly shook herself, "Are-are you suggesting I give up on your son Mr. Holmes? Are you saying that I've been wasting my life?" She sounded a bit hysterical, but her control was slipping.
He looked at her with the eyes of a broken hearted man, something she could completely understand. "Dear, you seem to understand Sherlock better than most people, yet you hold on. I don't mean to be cruel, I don't, I just don't want you to wake up one day and realize you've not had a life because you were waiting to be needed."
Molly broke, she sobbed into her hands, Mr. Holmes leant forward to hold her. She thought he was crying as well. They were both completely broken. Finally Molly managed to get herself under control, cleaning her face with the handkerchief that had suddenly appeared in her hand.
"I understand what you're trying to tell me you know. I'm not completely stupid. You're right to assume that I understand Sherlock, but there is a problem. Even if I were to get my heart back, I don't know what shape it would be in at this point." She got up and walked to the door and let herself out only to run into Sherlock in the sitting room.
"Have have you been crying? Why?"
"Just had a bit of a cry with your dad. Your mum was a wonderful woman Sherlock. I'm going to take a walk, if you don't mind."
Molly practically ran out of the house. She walked and walked not really knowing where she was going, just trying to get away. She remembered seeing a bench, near a very small pond, the day before with Sherlock so she tried to find it again. When she came upon it she was almost surprised. Sitting down, she tried in vain to compose herself.
What the hell did I think he was going to say? That Sherlock was secretly in love with me and all I had to do was hang in there... so completely pathetic Molly. Even his dad knows it.
It's not as if that's what Molly was hoping to get out of their situation. Most of the time she wished she could be strong enough to tell him to find someone else to turn to, but she knew trust wasn't something Sherlock took lightly and once given, if betrayed... she shuddered at the thought.
That thought caused another crying fit and feeling weak and suddenly worthless Molly lay down on the bench. The memory of the first time she met Sherlock's parents suddenly flashed into her mind.
It was two days after they had had their day of crime solving. She had spent the entire morning cleaning her flat and was taking a break, having a mug of tea and thumbing through the latest copy of Journal of Clinical Pathology when she heard a knock on her door. Looking through the peep hole she saw an older couple arguing in her hallway. Okay, strange.
She opened the door, "Hi, can I help you?"
"He didn't call, did he?" The woman asked.
"Sorry?"
The man cleared his throat, "I told you this would happen, Vi."
"Well I don't care. I wanted to meet her anyway. Violet and Siger Holmes. Sherlock was supposed to call you." The woman said extending her hand.
No freaking way... Molly was wearing her nastiest sweat pants and t-shirt and must have looked a fright.
"I'm so sorry," Molly said taking Mrs. Holmes' hand. "Please come in. I-I was cleaning. I haven't checked my phone in a while, he may have called."
She showed them to the sofa, "Can I get you some tea, the kettle's just boiled." Molly prepared the tea and took it in. "Do you mind if I change really quick?" She scurried off to her bedroom. The first thing she did was check for missed calls or text messages from Sherlock... none... bastard... Fine but he was getting a phone call. He picked up on the first ring.
"Molly."
"You're an arse."
"And hello to you too."
"Sherlock, why are you're parents in my sitting room?"
"It would have been rude to leave them in your hallway?"
"What am I supposed to do with them?"
"I don't care, but I have a case. Very important."
"Liar."
"What?"
"You answered your phone."
"..."
"Fine, but only because they seem lovely. God, the things I do for you Sherlock Holmes."
"It was inevitable, they want to thank you for helping fake my death. They would have tracked you down with or without my help and this way they are out of my hair. Don't keep them out too late and don't let mummy drink too much."
He rang off, and Molly changed her clothes and ran a brush through her hair. She joined Sherlock's parents they chatted and decided to go to a museum and have some dinner. She did end up having a wonderful day. Damn him.
From that point on Molly would receive weekly phone calls from Sherlock's mother. Mummy clearly had the wrong idea about her relationship with Sherlock. But Molly couldn't completely dash the woman's hopes (most likely because she shared them.) They took her out any time they were in London. She loved them dearly. Oh, I miss her, Molly thought just as she drifted to sleep.
Molly woke once again to the sound of her name and something brushing against her cheek. It was Sherlock. She slowly opened her swollen eyes. He was crouched down in front of her looking at her with concerned eyes.
"I expect this from my homeless network, not my pathologist. Why are you sleeping outside, on a bench Molly?" He asked.
"I-I didn't mean to, I..." She stopped because Sherlock was still stroking her face and she couldn't find her words.
"Sit up for me?" He said taking her hand and helping her.
Sherlock sat down next to her and looked across the pond. Molly ran her hands over her face trying to wake up and get some sense of what was going on. She wondered if Sherlock had talked to his father or if he had just deduced why she was actually upset. She wrapped her arms around herself against the chill in the air then suddenly felt Sherlock's suit coat enveloping her. She looked up at him and smiled he nodded back.
"You weren't talking to dad about my mum, Molly." He finally said.
Molly closed her eyes. No,no,no! Please don't! Molly's mind begged. But she didn't dare speak.
"And no, I didn't talk to him. I didn't have to." He kept his eyes on the pond. "I ask too much of you Molly. I take from you and never give back. Everyone else gets something from me. I saved John's family, I solve cases for Lestrade, and I'm the son that Mrs. Hudson never had. But you never ask for a thing. Why is that Molly?" He turned to look at her.
Molly couldn't meet his gaze, she stared straight ahead silent tears falling.
"Please, for once I'm honestly trying to understand. There's so much here I don't understand."
She took a deep breath and turned to him, he looked so sincere. It broke her heart even more. "Because I know you're giving me all you can, Sherlock. And it's okay."
She looked away quickly before she did something stupid like tell him she loved him, but Sherlock grabbed her face in both of his hands and turned her back to him.
"That's not all of it Molly, there's more..." Then the most remarkable thing happened, Sherlock Holmes kissed her. It was forceful and artless and very nearly painful but it was perfect and she kissed him back. Somehow, not knowing how it happened, Molly was suddenly straddling his lap and he was holding onto her like she was keeping him alive. Sherlock's jacket fell off her shoulders as he gripped Molly's hips hard urging her down onto his growing erection. He growled as he moved his mouth to her neck lavishing it with attention. Molly's hands were in his hair pulling and scraping his scalp in turn.
"Oh, God!" Molly gasped when Sherlock's hands found her breasts kneading them through her jumper. She ducked down and licked and kissed his neck causing him to buck up into her center pulling another cry from her throat.
Molly was grinding down and Sherlock was bucking up as they kissed and moaned into each other's mouths. The desperation of it all should have been disturbing and maybe if she had time to think about it, it would have been. It wasn't enough, not nearly. Molly moved her hand over the bulge in Sherlock's pants.
"Oh, fuck Molly!"
He suddenly stopped, Molly froze. She jerked her hand back like she had touched fire. Everything had happened so fast she couldn't process that it was happening let alone why it was happening... now she felt like she needed to get away, far and fast. She tried to get up but his grip was tight.
"No!" He growled. His breathing was still erratic but was starting to calm down. "That's not why I stopped." He swallowed. "I stopped because I-I..." He looked at her pleadingly.
Then she realized what he was trying to say. "Oh, I th-thought you..."
"I know what you thought Molly. And I don't regret what just transpired. I just have to, ah cool down a bit. We are outside, on a bench at my parent's cottage, attending the funeral of my mother, after all. I shouldn't have gotten so... carried away."
"I should get up." Molly said trying once again to disentangle herself from Sherlock's lap, but he held on tight.
"Logically I know that's for the best, however, I prefer you right where you are." He looked at her with bright lust-filled eyes.
Molly giggled, "Things won't improve until I get up Sherlock."
"Hmm, I suppose you're right." He kissed her again, this time with more finesse, then finally let go of her hips. "I presume you will want to talk about how this will change the dynamic of our relationship."
Molly straightened her clothes and finger-combed her hair. She studied him for a moment then answered, "No."
Sherlock looked at her in shock, "Sorry?"
"I said no, not right now at least. I assume there will be family to receive and your father will need you, we've been gone far too long as it is. We can talk later, I'm sure." She smiled.
"Not what I was expecting."
"Come on, I never got any breakfast. I'm starving. You might want to do something with you hair. Looks like you've been snogging." She giggled.
"I have been snogging." He laughed as they walked down the path.
Don't worry, there is a part two...
So, funny thing... the dream in the beginning of the story is a dream I had literally twenty years ago. I have no idea why I've remembered it all these years later, however I thought I should use if it emblazoned itself in my mind so well. I didn't embellish, those were the movies I was renting, Yoda was performing a wedding ceremony, it was an odd one.