Disclaimer: Sherlock is not written by me but by the great Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. And this universe is made by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. (thank them for our precious pathologist)
only the plot of this story is mine.
A/N: As a person with english as second language, it takes me ages to write a 1,000 words story. You can picture it so clearly in your head but you can't tell it so smoothly in the pages.
This is not beta. Sorry for any bad grammar and typos.
"I'm sorry not everyone have parents that name their children Noonien or Smaug or ..." John burst out while entering 221b's living room, Sherlock hot on his heels, " or Stephen..."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. He removed his right glove, then the other, next his scarf, "Stephen is fairly common name, John."
The doctor crossed his arms and faced the detective, clearly not amused. He remained in his coat, while the other was struggling to remove his favorite belstaff coat. He avoided looking at the Army doctor, huffing and puffing removing his buttons, and finally he threw his suit jacket on the pile he made at the couch. He asked, "What do you want me to say?" Giving the other man a cold stare, clearly not letting him have the last word.
"Oh, I don't know great detective," His voice laced with sarcasm, "tell me that my late-wife, god bless her soul, is actually not the 'one', a lot sooner." he stepped closer to him, only a feet between them, "and by sooner I mean before I married her." Side-stepped and slammed the door shut. Shouting to Mrs. Hudson to take care of Rosie for the night before another door slammed shut, leaving Sherlock stood frozen in the living room.
Not long, rushing steps is heard from downstairs, "Oh Sherlock, what did you do?" Mrs. Hudson worried with all the yelling checked her tenants, little Rosie on her arms. Smiling brightly.
He looked at them, at Rosie, he gingerly lift his hand to tuck a stray hair behind her ears, "Your papa loves your mama very much."
Earlier that day, Lestrade called them to a case. It was a serial murders but not even a three.
All victims named Frederic.
Obviously the culprit is someone looking for their soulmate. Someone with the name of the victims written on their body somewhere.
Sherlock was extremely bored the whole time. He made such a show, the insults thrown to yarders was tripled and reduced to pettiness, just to entertain his self.
"Even a blind kid can see that!"
Lestrade had tried to shut him up a couple of times but gave up, realizing that it was his mistake he didn't pieced it together himself.
"This is your first case that have a big connection with soulmates," Donovan said from the side, she had a smirked that tells she have a sick bomb ready to drop to Sherlock, "you're just bitter that you don't have a soulmate, freak."
"Of course, I would've avoided this boring case if I knew this would come down to this." If he was hurt by that last word, he had hide it well. "Soulmates are rubbish." he grimaced, "Idiot romanticist like you believe the words spout by the government to avoid inflammation of divorce."
Donovan scoffed, "Oh please, drop this charade, Sherlock."
Sherlock scoffed back, "Oh please sergeant, stop dropping on front of a man married to his soulmate, you're no better than me."
Donovan's red and humiliated face, the gasp all over and the billowing of his coat while walking away was such a good exit. But this is Sherlock, he's not done yet.
"At least one of us found their soulmate."
And another round of gasps.
"What's so good about soulmate if you're going to cheat on them anyway." Sherlock asked, not really to John, but more of a hypothetical question.
True to his word, he had found his soulmate ages ago.
The Woman.
Even if they deny it, there was an attracion between them when they met. But the two didn't act on it. Irene was attracted to women, while Sherlock, already married, to his work.
"13% of the population never meets their soulmate." Sherlock continued on his rant.
John looked at his friend, his nose was red with the cold winter.
" Only 73% get married. 4% ends up in divorce."He counts off as they flag a taxi back to baker street. "And 46% lives their married life unhappy." As soon as Sherlock raised his arm a taxi stopped, Sherlock opened the door for John and he hopped in after.
"That leaves 23% happy married soulmate couples." John said as the cab starts moving.
"No, only 11% of them." John shot the detective a confused look. "Murder, accident, illness. There's no happy ending in real world." Sherlock gazed at the moving city.
The mood taking a dark turn.
This left him to think of Mary. He watched the blur city to go by. It was still early but the sun had already decided to go home.
After awhile of remembering his late wife, he cleared his throat, "That includes us," clearly referring to him and his late wife, "in the 12%, huh?"
"You have to be in 73% first." Sherlock murmured and his head immediately snapped to look at the other man.
"Can you say that again? I didn't hear that clearly?"
Sherlock look at his bestfriend, seeing him with a shock look, he knew it was 'bit not good'. "Nothing, John."
"No, no, you said something." John tried again. "I heard you."
"If you heard me the first time then stop asking." Irritated to repeat a second time, "But since you're my bestfriend I'll say it again. You're not soulmates." he said. That was a wrong move.
"What do you mean she's not my soulmate, I have Mary written on my back and she had John on her ankle."
"The way she smiled everytime you tried to bring out the ring says she knows that you both are not fated but her body language says she was going to make it work anyway." Sherlock stated flatly.
"What do you-"
The cab had stopped in front of baker street. And Sherlock was already unlocking the flat's door. But waited at the stairs foot. Leaving John to pay the cab making him more infuriated.
"How common is John and Mary anyway?"
Rosie was playing with Toby in her godmother's living room. Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock was not the godparent, but Molly.
"What do you think Molly?" Molly was preparing dinner at the kitchen. She was wearing a pastel orange jumper and a pastel pink apron on top, her hair tied in a loose pony behind her head.
Sherlock is sitting near the counters, keeping a watchful eye to the toddler.
Mrs. Hudson had plans tonight. Leaving the child to Sherlock's care, who immediately ditched his angry flatmate. He left a note incase John decides to come out his room and look for them.
"I'm confused." Molly stopped from what she's doing to look at Sherlocks profile. "So Mary knew John is not her soulmate, all the while John thought they were soulmate?"
Sherlock nods without looking directly at her, "Stir."
She immediately went back to the soup. Molly bit her lip while processing all this since this is the first time she's hearing that the couple was potential partners. She brushed it off and went back to the current issue, "I can see why he's mad, Sherlock." Molly smiled to herself, it was rare for Sherlock to seek her to talk. Normally he'd just put Rosie down and go to his mind palace while sulking.
He scowled, "You're not helping."
She giggled. "Just tell him why you never find it important to mention."
He turned to his seat, piqued at her suggestion, "What do you mean?"
She stopped stirring again, and put her hands on her waist, ladle still in hand. "You're a genius but you could be very stupid at times."
"That's why you're there, Molly." He offered a sickly sweet smile, "You're so full of emotions."
She blushed but scoffed and rolled her eyes, "So full of weakness. Apparently."
He frowned. She's the only woman he can stand, excluding mummy. She's amazingly bright but too much affection confuse him. He tries to break and reduce that overflowing care. He's not an expert to it so you can't fault him.
"Did Mycroft said that?" Even Mycroft uses the same defense. "He doesn't mean it."
"I know, I know." She removed the soup from the heat and started preparing the table, him helping. "You two are genius but not in that division." She turned to him and put a hand on his arms with the smile he was so used to. " That's why I'm always here for the both of you."
He hates the society for encouraging and letting people believe that your soulmate is your happy ever after. He hate how he met his soulmate he never asked for, how his brother found his but never found the heart to acknowledge it. He hate the world for giving the two of them soulmate they would never love, and yet the person who deserves every love and can give it back, hasn't.
"Don't give me that look, Sherlock." She clicked her tongue and let him go.
"What look?" He moved to pick up Rosie, who had fallen asleep.
"You pity me. And you think you don't deserve to meet your soulmate." She went back to the kitchen, to feed her cat.
"I don't pity you." He said as he tuck Rosie in her basket.
Before she could rebut, there was a polite knock at the door, but the person let himself in anyway.
"Good evening, Molly, Sherlock." He greeted as he shrug off his coat and hook it up with his umbrella. "Didn't know you were going to join us. Got kicked out?" He entered the living room.
"Good evening, Mycroft." Molly greeted back.
He saw Rosie, then looked back at Sherlock, "I see, the good doctor finally discovered his mistake."
"It wasn't a mistake, dear brother." Sherlock said moving back to the table.
"Come on, before the soup gets cold."
John had woken up the next morning. The cold weather didn't help cool his head, he was extremely pissed. If he weren't going to tell it from the start, then at least don't tell it at all was what he thought.
He was thinking it through again, he'd been awake for almost two hours, just sitting at his bed, his blankets keeping him warm. A knock removes him from his thoughts.
He dove on his bed, pulling his blankets over his head, "I don't want to talk, Sherlock!" he shouted like a petulant child.
His door clicked opened. He could smell the food.
"You haven't eaten right?"
"Molly?"
"Yeah," she said making her way to the bedside table, the floor creaked, "Sorry, I'll leave after leaving it here." as she put the tray.
He removed the blankets and sat up, "Sorry. No, thank you..." he cleared his throat, "Uhm where's Rosie?"
"They're downstairs," She motioned to the door, she didn't really need to tell Sherlock's there since he was playing his violin, "This is just left over from yesterday, but please enjoy." She motioned to the table.
He nodded, "Thank you." he move to sit at the edge of the bed.
She was already at the door, but looked back to John, "I heard from Sherlock."
This made his dark mood turn back.
Noticing, she squeaked an apology, "I'm sorry." She stood there for a few moments, deciding if she should leave. But she walked back beside the bed. "He's insensitive, doesn't know what's right to say and how to say it." She was wringing her hands. "He's a jerk." She looked him straight in the eyes, "He could've word it better, but John, tell me. Wait. No. Don't tell me. You don't need to." She stopped talking for a moment, looked to the side, bit her lip, thinking, sighed and looked at him again, he felt that her eyes were warmer than the newly heated soup beside him, "Are you not glad you met her?"
He was left speechless. He could barely remember her telling him the soup will get cold.
After finishing the food, and changing clothes. He mustered all his courage to go downstairs and talk to Sherlock.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He said from the doorway. He scanned the room, Molly must've taken his daughter.
Sherlock had stopped playing when Molly left. He was sitting on his chair "Would you believe me?"
He walked to his own, he leaned back. Honestly, he doesn't know. He rested his head on his palm, he didn't answer for awhile.
They never really discussed soulmates. Why would you if it's clearly written on each other's body.
He would have doubted Sherlock if he did tell him. His fake death left a great impact on him. There's a reason for that though, and Sherlock doesn't have a reason to tell him she's not his Mary.
He raised his head to look at Sherlock. He was waiting for his answer, patiently waiting.
He chuckled and shook his head. Sherlock grinned.
"I would've believe you." He smiled. "But I would've still married her."
"I doubted myself when I deduced her." He admitted. "But it all made sense when we discovered her real identity."
John wiped his face with both hands, "Why didn't I realized it by then?"
"Because she'd always been Mary Watson." He stood and grabbed his violin again, playing a soothing melody.
This is the second time he's left speechless that day.
"Hello baby Watson." Mycroft greeted the toddler.
Sherlock tried to pass Rosie to his brother, but ended with Mycroft quickly dodging the two and taking the plate of turkey from mummy.
John and Sherlock's father watching the whole ordeal with mirth from the sofa.
"Thank you for bringing Rosie here." He said.
"Oh no," He quickly answered, "Thank you for welcoming us."
He smiled, "You're always welcome here." He looked at his sons, "I don't think we'll have grandchildren of our own."
He too, don't think so but decided to remain silent. He was staring blankly when his mind drifted back to his last visit here. With his wife. Their reconciliation.
"I'm sorry for your loss." He's mind went back, he looked at father Holmes, who wasn't looking at him.
He really doesn't know what to say. Rather than answer he asked, "What does it feel like to find your soulmate?"
"They say soulmates are half of your soul. Finding yours doesn't mean you'll need to be with them." he nodded at the two bantering, "Both of them found theirs, but none of them chose to be with them." he gave a kind smile. "Some chooses to be friends with them. 76% of the population have found their soulmate and have claimed their soulmate is the best person they could rely on. Do you still want to find yours?"
Looking back at the dining area, Sherlock have Rosie on his lap, playing with her uncle's mop hair, while the three adults were in the middle of a discussion from the look of it.
"Where's the harm of it? I already have great friends to rely on but sometimes I wonder, does she have anyone to rely on, too?"
He nodded with a twinkle on his eyes.
John stood up and went to pick up his daughter.
"She's worse than Mycroft." Sherlock said to his mum as he handed Rosie.
Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"Who is worse than Mycroft?" John asked.
"Aunty Molly." Rosie giggled to her father's chest.
"Molly?"
"Yes, John. She always work during holidays." Sherlock said facing his mum.
"She haven't been home for Christmas for almost 5 years now." Mummy said with a pout.
He raised a questioning brow to Sherlock. "Please explain."
Sherlock made a dramatic sigh but before he could launch into how slow John is, the person itself entered the room with Father Holmes behind.
"Merry Christmas!" Molly is wearing a very Christmassy jumper, green with white Christmas trees lined up. Her hair left to cascade down to her shoulder, adorned with matching green and white ribbon as a headband.
"Molly!"
"Merry Christmas!"
"Finally."
"Told you there'll be traffic."
"Aunty!"
was said almost at the same time.
Mummy Holmes moved to hug Molly which she returned tightly too.
After a while of cooing from mummy, and eyerolls from the siblings they finally let go.
"You're so thin, are you eating properly?" mummy said with a tone she uses when scolding Sherlock.
"Sherlock's thinner!" She pointed like a child trying to blame her brother.
Then mummy started lecturing Sherlock and Molly while Mycroft was making a funny face at the background and father Holmes was merrily chuckling.
Somehow, a thought he didn't know where had came from surfaced.
Home.
He looked down at Rosie, and she was looking at him with a smile, like they have the same thought.
Then Molly came hugging both of them for a brief moment before pulling back. "Rosie, my sweet angel." She cooed and pinched her cheeks. Then she looked at him "John. I'm glad you're here. I don't think I'll last a day with only those two."
"More like, I'm glad you could finally take a holiday break."
He heard from behind her back, which she ignored completely.
"Uh... Yeah..." He said, still confused.
"If you need a break from those two, my house is just next door. The brown one."
"What?" He uttered while processing what she just said.
"She's our childhood friend." Sherlock said, standing directly behind her, due to their height differences, he could still see him with no problem. He enveloped his arms around her shoulder, like a kid bragging his favorite toy.
Dumbfounded, "Why are you just telling that now?"
They tilted their head, "Have I not mentioned?" they said in unison.
"No!"
a/n2: Formatting got ruined by the app! but anyway, sorry for any bad double spacing.I already tried to fix it... (insert sad face)
Holy guacamole~! I have so much Sherlock fanfic in my phone that i haven't edited yet... I plan to post this during Molly appreciation week. But wth, I'll give you your treats~ This is written before waaaay s4 was out.
btw, this was supposed to be a slight john/molly. but whatever.