Sherlock had spent a lot of time writing that letter…. but Molly could never see it. Ever!
He had written it believing he was being sent off to die. She just couldn't even know it existed. Why did he even send it? Well, because if he was going to die, he wanted her to know how he felt.
It was surprising easy to slip away from Mycrofts spies and out of his house arrest once a day for about an hour. Although, he was getting a bit distressed…. he hadn't found the letter in her mailbox. It could have gotten lost in the mail, or she might have broken her pattern and gotten her mail before he got to it. No, no… she would have said something by now. Besides, he'd even let himself in her apartment every day and it was amply nowhere to be found.
It had been five days, though, it should have arrived.
He couldn't do too much investigating, though. Being lost for more than an hour would definitely be a problem, he had to allow what his brother referred to as 'babysitting' for the time being. He needn't rock the boat any more than necessary.
Opening the box today cemented his worry. The post does not take five days. Where in the world was the letter?
"Sherlock?" He turned from the letterbox up to the stairs, observing a sleepy looking Molly… she'd obviously been out late night… with a date… who had just left recently. "What are you doing?"
"I just popped over for a visit, thought I'd grab your mail for you."
"How did you know I was off today? Its not my normal day off."
"Lucky guess."
"You just invite yourself over for coffee and break into my letterbox?"
"I just haven't seen you in nearly two weeks and I hadn't yet apologized for.."
"John having to drag you to Barts high as a kite?"
"Yes." The word was spoken slow and carefully. "That." Molly crossed her arms and leaned against the banister. "Should I go?"
"You don't have to." She relented with a deep sigh. "Come on, Sherlock. I have a fresh pot in the kitchen. Did I have any mail?"
"Nope."
At least in the flat, he can maybe double check for the letter.
"Here, black two sugars." She reached over the sink and placed it on the breakfast bar with a bit of force as he situated himself on tall chair.
"Thank you."
"So," Molly added cream to her coffee. "Talk."
"Oh, right. I'm going to talk about the drug… thing." He'd been a bit distracted, scanning her small apartment. Molly was wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts that barely covered her behind in fact, if the fabric hadn't been as thick as it was, they could have been mistaken for underwear. "Listen, I needed to give Magnussen something he might be able to use to blackmail me. Drugs was simple enough. It was something I could pretend to be ashamed of, if need be, but it wasn't something I would've cared if he used."
"So, you got high so this guy that was blackmailing Mary would have something to blackmail you with?"
"Yes."
"You're an idiot." Sherlock only shrugged and returned to scanning the room. "Would you look at me, please." With a sigh, he obliged. "You know, Lestrade and your brother did so much to help get you clean… how could you?"
"I felt the ends justified the means."
"But, it didn't even work right, did it?"
"Not everything goes as planned."
"You need to give them proper apologies."
"What about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, are you forgetting how you met my brother?" Molly cleared her throat.
"Yeah, I'd like to not have another experience like that with you." The mug was at her lips and she paused, giving Sherlock a stern and meaningful look. "Ever."
"Mycroft is no ones favorite person." He chuckled.
"I was actually talking about you." On his feet again, he could scan the room better. "You scared me, Sherlock. I had to call him because I was worried about you and scared of you."
"You were scared of me?" Everything stopped and he turned all of his focus back on Molly.
"You were pretty freaking high, Sherlock, and angry." Was that shame repainting his face? Could he feel shame?
"I'm deeply sorry, Molly won't happen again." He leaned down and kissed her cheek and she gave him a sweet smile in response as he turned and headed to the door and paused before exiting into the hallway.
"You can't promise that, Sherlock, but I'm really glad you're trying again and your sober now." She didn't expect much, but the smile he cast back up at her made it obvious to her that he'd been listening no matter how distracted he had seemed.
—
The lost post was eating at him. For the most part, little worried him, but this letter contained confessions of a man who truly believed his death was imminent or, at the very least, he could never come back to London and never see her again, so he was more interested in random tabloid articles about him and meaningless gossip. He'd had a select few members of his homeless network actual do what little investigating into the matter he couldn't…. nothing. The letter was gone. If only he knew for certain that it was gone for good.
"Hey, Sherlock." John smiled at his friend as he strode into 221B. "How's the house arrest going?"
"Hmmm… its not really a house arrest…. its more like…."
"Being babysat." John finished, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I can't stay long, Mary's expecting me and, funniest thing, I got a letter for Molly in my mailbox at Barts. So, I have to pop off her place and bring it round." He scoffed. "I mean, how does that even happen?"
"Wh…where is this letter?" The stutter he fought was obvious and, as he met Johns eyes, he desperately wanted to kick himself for asking outright. He could have deduced it was in his laptop bag.
"Its in my bag, if thats any of your business."
"Can I see it?"
"What for? It's not your letter."
'Please."
"Why?"
"Well, because Moriarty is back and I want to make sure its safe for you to give her." John bought this and passed it off to tall, lean friend who, upon recognizing it, immediately tossed it into a drawer. "Thank you, John." His smile was met with a frown.
"Aren't you going to inspect it?"
"Oh, yes, of course, but it'll take some time, I'll let you know when the tests are done."
"What tests? You just tossed it in a drawer. If you thought it really might be dangerous, I would think you'd start swapping and weighing and whatever the hell else you do." Did Sherlock just fidget. "Right, ok. Why did you want Molly's mail?"
"Could be dangerous." John sighed.
"Give it back so I can take it to Molly, Sherlock." he reached his arm out. "Now, please."
"Or what?"
"Or I'll ask Mary to help me." His smile smug, the detective simply relented. Not that he couldn't hide the letter or destroy it, but Mary might be able to deduce what was in the letter and Sherlock couldn't have that. "Thank you." He stayed until he finished his coffee, guarding the letter like a watchdog. Even when Sherlock thought he had outsmarted him, John announced that he'd have the letter back before striding out the door, full of self satisfaction.
Of course, Sherlock had to find a way to intercept the letter. She couldn't read it or know it was from him. While he was debating how best to handle this situation and stalking….well, following, John, his text alert went off.
Roses are red, Violets are blue. Weren't you listening when I said I'd burn the heart out of you? - JM