Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock BBC.
WARNING: OOCness in abundance ahead!
After the phone call she had with him, or what Molly would like to refer it as the Bloody-hell-I-said-I-love-you-to-Sherlock-Holmes-call, they came to an understanding.
Exactly what type of understanding, Molly was not very sure but they did come to one.
A kind of understanding between two people who had said three unmentionable words to each other but were supposed to mean nothing, words spoken only to save her life.
So Molly tried to brush it off, like how she did when Toby's fur had gotten onto her clothes.
But the conversation replayed tirelessly in her mind like a cliché broken recording machine.
And to add on to the clichéness, Molly doubted that was a real word, she suspected her heart was also broken.
"Ha! You are downright pathetic, Molly Hooper." The pathologist gulped down the remaining wine from her glass and went straight to bed.
She was not a drunk, no matter what Sherlock had implied (said).
Just someone trying to brush off cat's fur.
That would not come off, no matter how hard she had tried.
Understanding.
Sherlock unconsciously gritted his teeth.
What did that even bloody mean?
Molly seemed to be under the impression that they had somehow managed to come to one without actually talking about it when in truth, the pair had simply tipped-toed around the subject, around each other like two high wire artists because if they were not careful, they would fall to their figurative deaths.
Sherlock could not lose Molly's friendship.
He could not lose her.
Not after all that had happened, after everything he did to save her and Sherlock could not help but wonder if 'everything' included himself, his heart.
That would explain the strange emptiness in him since that call.
Today was one of the days where Molly truly felt like a bad god-mother.
One who had drank the night before and hoped that she would not wake up with a headache, she did not and Molly thanked the wine god for that, and showered before stepping out of her house so Rosie or John would not be able to smell the ethanol from last night.
The pathologist however was not worried that Sherlock would comment about it.
"Molly, you are finally here! We are nearly down to our last grain and someone," throwing a stink eye at the consulting detective fully engrossed in one of his experiments, "is too busy to pop over to the store for groceries."
It earned a quick retort from the man who had no time for food, "I told you I am fully capable of looking after a toddler, my god-daughter, while you are out without landing her in the A&E."
"I am more worried about you landing yourself in the A&E," muttered John after giving Molly a peck on her cheek and left 221B.
The doctor closed the door behind him and all that was left was the sound of Rosie happily playing with her stuffed toys on the floor, oblivious to the tension between her god-parents.
Tension stretched on and neither was eager to break the silence.
A moaning did.
The pathologist inwardly flinched at the text alert, knowing full well who it was.
Sherlock glanced at Molly before checking his phone.
The consulting detective typed a short reply and put the device back into his pocket.
Silence resumed albeit painfully.
Not to Sherlock's surprise, the experiment proved to be a failure, distracted mind and all, but at least he did not blow up the flat.
Refurbishment, he had learnt from prior experience, was a chore.
"Hey Molls, um, are you free this Friday night? I need someone to look after Rosie for the night, a couple of hours that's all." John shuffled his feet and was looking distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation because he retracted his words at the very next moment.
"Never mind, let's just pretend I didn't say that. How could I be thinking of going out on a date when Mary was just gone? I cheated on her, Molly, with Eurus of all people. Nothing beyond texting but it was still cheating. God, I'm such a horrible husband and father."
John ran one shaky hand through his hair as remorse, shame and regret seeped through his battered walls and drowned him.
Molly, without judging him, wordlessly hugged the man struggling to stay afloat.
John had already punished himself well enough without needing anyone's help.
"So why are you here, Miss Hooper?" She picked up her violin and walked up to Molly, as near as the walls separating them could allow. The Holmes' always had a flair for dramatics and Eurus was not the exception.
"To know if I can forgive."
Eurus' face was emotionless, "I did not recall asking for it."
"You didn't but I just want you to know that sometimes it's easier to forgive yourself once others have forgiven you. Your brothers want your forgiveness just as much as you want theirs and like you, they felt that they have no right to ask for it."
"I look forward to our next meeting, Miss Hooper," Eurus then started to play her violin, signalling the end of the visit.
Molly might not be a music connoisseur but the music was not sorrowful or dark. It sounded light and perhaps a touch hopeful.
Molly would always be a romantic at heart.
"Thank you, Mycroft, for bringing me to see Eurus." After the helicopter ride, the British Government, ever the gentleman, insisted on sending Molly home.
"You are welcome, Miss Hooper. Might I ask for the reason behind your visit?" Mycroft tapped his fingers on the empty seat between them.
"If I didn't, I would always think of what would happen had I did and I have too much things on my mind as it is, Mycroft. I have enough of what-ifs in my life. You can only go forward if you stop looking back. Better to fail than never try. Trust me on this one, I have failed spectacularly but I have never regretted it."
Like what Molly had said about herself earlier on, she was an incurable romantic.
Hence surrendering her heart to him the moment they first met.
"You should go out sometime, John."
The doctor looked at his wife, confusion evident on his face. "What are you saying, Mary?"
"I am saying that you should ask her out for dinner sometime," Mary leaned on the doorway, giving her husband a 'You-know-what-I-am-saying' look.
"I cheated on you, Mary! The only reason you are saying this is because you are a figment of my imagination so of course you would say such bullocks. You are not my Mary." John shook his head in denial, hoping that she would go away.
"My Mary is gone forever." John whispered as he finally admitted the truth to himself. "She would not know how sorry I am, how much I love her. She died thinking I was the perfect husband to her, the perfect father to Rosie. Boy, how wrong she was. It's too late, it's all too late. She would never see Rosie grow up. Hell, I would never see Mary grow old with me…"
"Your Mary is not that perfect either, no one will ever be but we all like to try to be the best version of ourselves for our loved ones. You deserve to be a good husband and father only if you allow yourself the chance to be so. For that to happen, you need to stop lamenting for what you did and didn't do. If all you can see is your guilt towards Mary, you will eventually lose sight of Rosie." Mary knelt in front of John and kissed his forehead.
"Where are you going?" The doctor asked, panic rising in him as she stood up.
"You don't need me anymore, John. You have Rosie, Sherlock, Molly, Mrs Hudson – your Baker Street family and those whom we truly love will never leave us unless we let them. Mary will always stay right here," she pointed to his heart, "Oh, I think Sherlock is calling for you. A new case, how exciting! Good luck!" Mary gave John two thumbs-up and stepped out of the room without looking back.
And John realised she did not need to for Mary never really left.
"Is there anything else you need help with, Sherlock?"
Can you help to fix me? To fix us?
Instead, the consulting detective merely stared at Molly like an utter fool.
Sherlock was at his wits' end. It was as if nothing had happened and when something did, like saying 'I love you' to save her life, it did not appear to affect their relationship, ahem, friendship, but nothing felt right to him ever since. His mind palace was in shambles because he did not know what was wrong with him, with them and he was a consulting detective, it was his job to know.
It was downright frustrating, no, maddening and even made him contemplated the idea of reverting to drugs. Not that he would, his cheeks still stung at the recollection of her slaps from several years ago.
"Are you in your mind palace again?" Not when his mind palace was in ruins, not when she was here with him.
"Well, good night then, Sherlock." Molly was annoyed by his lack of response and began to leave the lab so the consulting detective said the only thing that was on his mind for a very long time.
"I'm sorry."
She froze in her steps.
"I don't think I have ever properly apologised to you, Molly."
But he did not have to courage to go up to her.
"I'm so sorry, Molly. Please forgive me."
It was déjà vu for them except this time it was more than a mere apology.
It was a plea.
One that Molly could not ignore so she walked back to him and kissed him on the cheek, "You are forgiven, Sherlock. See you tomorrow," and Molly had slept a little bit better on that night.
Ask for forgiveness, forgive yourself, move on.
However, it was not that simple.
Things worth your while never were but it certainly did not stop us from trying.
John was on his first coffee date today with a fellow doctor he met on a medical seminar six months ago although he did protest the word 'date'.
Mycroft was looking at the card Lady Smallwood had given to him when Anthea informed him it was time for the meeting with the Prime Minster. He proceeded to slip it back into his pocket, a huge significance for someone with photographic memory who yet still kept the card with him.
Greg announced that he was back with his wife and congratulations were made while Sherlock's unwarranted remark, "Nope, still sleeping with the P.E teacher," fell on deaf ears.
As for Molly, well, not much had changed.
Except that she would find a cup of hot coffee on her desk every day whenever she went to work.
Author's note: I do have mixed feelings about this fic (OOCness and Sherlolly even more subtle than the other pairings in here) especially when I have stopped writing for quite some time so please excuse my rusty writing skills.
Louise once asked Benedict if there is any hope for Molly and he replied that there is always, always hope for Molly but before I could fangirl about it, he then added on, that's the cruel thing.
Maybe my other title for this story can be 'Hope is a cruel thing', lol.
Still, thank you for reading till the very end!
**To Guest, yes, our dear Molly does deserve a lot better than free daily coffee but I also like to think that Molly don't regret loving Sherlock or think it's a mistake, it was her choice and Season 4 ending did not say much about them so who know? ;)