Author's note (revised 7/9/19): This is the first story I wrote in my "Realizations of Love Dreams" series of dreams that take place after my Journey Sherlock and Molly's honeymoon, during the timeline of my current story, A Journey Through Molly's Diary (although chronologically it is the second dream). Although they tie into that universe, they can be read alone as AU's. If you are not interested in reading my multi-chapter epic, perhaps you will give these shorter stories a try. They all begin with a canon scene that then becomes an AU. Please note that certain elements from my personal universe of Sherlock and Molly remain consistent in these dream stories. Molly is a Christian and a virgin as well. Therefore she is not the "typical" Molly you will usually see in the fandom. If that bothers you as being too out of character for your perception of her, read no further.
Sherlock stared down at the ring on Molly's hand in disbelief and shock.
She was engaged.
How did I not notice this earlier?
Of course, he couldn't tell her how shocked he was. His heart was pounding in his chest as he forced out the words, "I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it."
He couldn't tell her that his heart was breaking. Instead, he gave her a farewell kiss on the cheek, as any good friend would do. A kiss to that impossibly sweet, soft cheek that would never be his to touch again. He left her standing there and went to get his chips alone.
Sherlock was back home in his flat eating the chips that suddenly had no flavour when his phone pinged. Rather disinterestedly, he pulled it out of his pocket and looked at two text messages. The number was unknown to him and the words were strange:
Save souls now! Molly or Moira Hooper?
This was immediately followed by another text.
Saint or Sinner? James or John? The more is Less?
Sherlock's expression changed as his mind palace immediately registered the cipher as a skip code, and he translated it at once in his mind -
Save Molly Hooper. Saint James the Less.
He was familiar with the name, it was the name of a church located twenty minutes away by car.
Without further thought, Sherlock dashed out to the street, feeling a sense of urgency. He wasn't thinking clearly, in fact, he had no idea how he was going to get to the church. Vaguely he registered a motorcycle coming along the street, and he flagged it down, spouting some nonsense to the man about needing it desperately, that he was Sherlock Holmes, the detective. He was on an urgent case and would compensate the man for his motorcycle, if he sent a bill for it to his address at 221B Baker Street. The country would be forever grateful.
The discombobulated man got off the motorcycle and handed Sherlock his helmet.
Sherlock wasted no more time but started calculating in his head the fastest route to the church, as he put on the borrowed helmet and sped off on the motorcycle.
Fear gripped him in a way he had never felt before. Molly was in danger. He had to save her, at all costs.
She had always been there for him. Now it was his turn to be there for her.
He received several more taunting text messages as he rode, disregarding traffic rules as he made his mad dash to the woman he had now realised he loved.
Finally, he arrived at the church. To his horror, he discovered that a bonfire had just been lit. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he knew that Molly was inside it, possibly burning to death.
He slid off the motorcycle and let it drop unceremoniously onto the ground, then tossed aside the helmet. He immediately started pushing people out of the way, yelling, "Move! Move!" Then he was scrabbling at the wood pile of the bonfire, desperately trying to move it out of the way and calling "Molly, Molly, please - answer me!"
Disregarding the pain as he felt flames lick at his arms, trying to eat away at the fabric of his coat, he finally managed to make a hole in the inferno and saw Molly. With a superhuman strength he didn't know he possessed, he dragged her out and laid her some distance from the bonfire. Her eyes were closed.
Oh God, what if she's dead? he thought desperately.
"Molly! Please, Molly, don't be dead. Please, I can't lose you!" he almost cried in his despair. And then relief washed over him as her eyes fluttered open.
"Sherlock?" she croaked, after letting out a hacking cough to clear her lungs. "What happened?"
"I don't know. I don't like not knowing. Thank God I got here in time." He stroked her ash-sprinkled hair with fingers that trembled slightly.
He desperately wanted to gather Molly into his arms, but he had to make sure she was okay. He looked her over carefully for injuries and was relieved to find nothing broken. He expelled a sigh of relief.
"Could someone get me some water?" he yelled to no one in particular.
A minute later someone came up carrying a bottle of water, which he handed to Sherlock.
Sherlock nodded his thanks to the man, unscrewed the cap and held the bottle to Molly's lips. "Drink this," he urged her gently, lifting her head so she could sip at it.
"Thank you," she managed, after a few sips.
"What's the last thing you remember, Molly?" he asked anxiously, his eyes searching her face.
Molly pursed her lips for a moment and frowned."I…I remember you walking away from me down the street. Then a man came up to me and I felt a jab in my neck." She closed her eyes briefly, then continued. "I guess I've been unconscious most of this time. I woke up and found myself in a dark place, but I felt drowsy and claustrophobic and I guess I fainted." She reached a hand weakly towards him. "How did you find me?"
He took her hand, stroking the back of it gently. "I got a text from an unknown number. I figured out the code and came as quickly as I could." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again to stare into her beloved face. "Oh God, Molly. If I'd been a few minutes later you would've been dead."
"Thank you for saving me," she said with a wobbly smile that tugged at his heartstrings.
Thank God she has been unconscious and hasn't had to suffer the fear of being in a dark place for long, he thought silently to himself.
He made a snap decision. "You're coming home with me, and I'm going to look after you." Seeing her mouth open as if she was about to protest, he put his finger to her lips and said, "I insist."
There was a big crowd of onlookers watching Molly and himself, rather than the bonfire by this time. He looked around at the assembled throng. "Everything is okay," he assured them. "If someone could call me a taxi though, I'd be very grateful."
A couple minutes later, a man came to tell him a taxi was waiting. Sherlock gently lifted Molly into his arms, despite her protists that she could walk, and carried her to the cab, putting her inside gently, then sitting next to her.
Twenty minutes later they were at Baker Street. Sherlock insisted on carrying Molly again, instructing her to fish his keys out of his coat pocket and put them in the lock, so she could open the door.
As soon as she opened the door, Mrs. Hudson came hurrying up to him from her flat. "What happened?" she asked, looking at the dishevelled pair in front of her in astonishment. "I heard you rush out of here earlier." Her voice held a note of concern.
"Someone left Molly to die in a bonfire," he explained, instinctively holding Molly tighter in his arms. He added,"I'll talk to you more about it later, but for now I need to look after her."
Mrs. Hudson nodded her understanding and returned to her flat.
Sherlock carried Molly up the stairs. He kicked the door open to his flat. Fortunately, he had not closed it in his hurry earlier. He went straight to his chair and sat her in it.
"I'll ruin your favourite chair," she protested faintly, moving as if to rise from the chair.
His hand gripped her shoulder, restraining her."Furniture can be replaced. Replacing you would be much more difficult." he told her gruffly, then added with the ghost of a smile, "Besides, leather is probably easier to clean then most fabric furniture." She smiled weakly at his poor attempt at levity.
He glanced at her less-than-presentable appearance."I'm going to run you a bath." Then he forced himself to say the next words. "You should probably let your fiancé know you're safe, too." The word fiancé nearly stuck in his throat. God, he was jealous of the man who had managed to capture Molly's heart during his absence from London.
"Do…Do I have to tell him?" she asked hesitantly, biting her lip. "He will want to know all the details about what happened, and why. It will just worry him unnecessarily, because I have no answers." Her eyes pleaded with him to agree that it would not be a good idea, but he felt compelled to do the right thing.
"Don't you want your fiancé to comfort you?" he asked, feeling that damned word stick in his throat again.
Why does it have to hurt so much?
"I…I suppose so," she responded, pulling out her miraculously unscathed phone from her trouser pocket.
Sherlock left Molly to her task and turned on the water for the bath, then went into his bedroom to find a shirt for her to wear. He deposited that in the bathroom, as well as a clean towel and flannel for her to use. Then he returned to the sitting room and found her with her phone on her lap, staring into space.
"Did you text him, then?" he enquired, unable to say the word fiancé again, nor could he remember the guy's name – was it Tim, Todd? Oh, that was it, Tom.
"Yes," she responded, in a guarded tone, not looking at him, but down at her lap.
"Did he respond?" he pressed, kneeling in front of her so he could look at her more closely.
"Yes," she answered again, flicking her gaze at him, then looking down once more and twisting her fingers together nervously.
Seeing as she didn't seem inclined to elaborate further, Sherlock merely said, "Your bath's ready. Do you need help getting into it?" He extended a hand to her and she took it, setting her phone on the arm of the chair.. Then he stood, helping her to rise also.
She released her hold on his hand. 'No, I'll be fine." She made her way to the bathroom, leaving her phone behind.
Sherlock glanced down at her phone, which had not yet turned off. Impulsively, he picked it up and looked at it. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't resist checking her text to Tom. Something had seemed - off.
What he read astounded him, yet filled him with hope.
Tom, I can't tell you how hard this is for me to do. It seems so clichéd to be doing this over text as well, but I've come to a decision. Tonight, I suffered a traumatic experience. I don't want to go into details, but it caused me to reevaluate everything that is important to me in life. Much as I don't want to hurt you, I realized that I can't marry you. It wouldn't be fair to you. I just can't love you in the way you want to be loved. I'm sorry.
Tom's response was a bit of a revelation to Sherlock.
I suppose that explains why you wouldn't have sex with me.
No, Tom. You know I wanted to wait until we were married.
Sherlock stared at that for a moment, as his mouth fell open in surprise. Then his eyebrows rose at the vitriol of Tom's next words which were the end of the conversation.
Go to hell, bitch.
Sherlock set the phone back down gently on the arm of his chair. He knew very well he should never have looked at a private conversation, but he couldn't regret it. Could that mean that Molly still has feelings for me, after all?
There had been a time he knew that to be the case, before he had left London. He'd have to find out.
When she re-entered the sitting room fifteen minutes later, his breath caught at the sight of her wearing his shirt. There was something inherently intimate in that, and she filled it out beautifully.
He was sitting on the sofa, having dispensed with his coat and jacket, which both smelled of smoke. He probably needed a shower himself, but it could wait. He patted the space next to him. "Molly, can we talk?"
She sat next to him, perching gingerly at the edge of the seat. "What about?" she asked hesitantly.
"Molly, I need you to say these words for me." He took her hand, and she looked down at it, as he felt it tremble slightly.
"What words?" She sounded shy, but not unwilling.
He said slowly, deliberately, "I love you."
Her glance flicked upwards and he saw the hurt in her eyes."Leave me alone." She pulled her hand away and tried to get up, but he restrained her, placing his other hand on her knee.
"Please Molly, I need to know if you love me." He knew he sounded like a total arse, but his heart was pounding in his chest, he was so desperate to know the truth.
"I can't, Sherlock. I can't say those words to you." Her voice was low, full of pain, and she still refused to look at him.
"Of course you can. Why can't you?" he pressed. Perhaps he had it all wrong. Perhaps she hadn't broken up with Tom because of him. His heart sank at the thought.
"You know why." Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, as she locked her fingers together again in her lap.
"No, I don't know why." He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his gaze.
"Of course you do." Her lips trembled mow and a tear escaped down her cheek.
"Please, just say it." He could hear the desperation now in his own voice.
"I can't. Not to you." Her voice was barely above a whisper, as another tear trickled down her face.
"Why?" he pressed, raising a thumb to wipe at those tears.
Joy spread through him at her next words, as finally she stared bravely into his eyes."Because it's true, Sherlock. It's always been...true."
He almost laughed with relief. "Well if it's true, just say it anyway."
"You bastard." Despite the words, her voice held no rancor.
"Say it, anyway," he insisted, as a smile tugged at his lips.
She met his eyes steadily and suddenly said, in a voice filled with determination, "You say it. Go on, you say it first."
"What?" He blinked, a little confused. Was she really asking him to say it first?
"Say it. Say it like you mean it." Now her voice was soft, with a pleading note in it.
He swallowed, hard. He had never spoken those words aloud, at least not since he had been a child and said them to his mother. He looked down, forcing himself to say the unfamiliar words. "I…I love you." Then he looked into Molly's beautiful brown eyes. His hand was still beneath her chin, and his other hand reached to clasp one of hers. "I love you." He put every ounce of feeling into those words, willing her to understand that he meant them with all his heart; the heart he had not known he possessed until he had feared he had lost her forever to someone else.
Then the most beautiful phrase in the English language came out of her mouth. "I love you." She leaned in towards him, and he knew she was expecting him to kiss her as her eyes closed.
He dropped his hand from her chin in sudden consternation and her eyes opened in confusion. "What's wrong?"
Sherlock could feel a flush rising in his cheeks. "I...I've never kissed anyone on the lips." He took a steadying breath. "I want to kiss you, more than anything, but what if I'm rubbish at it?"
Molly gave him a gentle smile. "Kissing isn't something you need to think about beforehand. It just happens when the time is right. It's something you feel." Then it was her turn to blush as she said, "Actually, I have a confession to make. I would not even contemplate kissing you if I hadn't just broken off my engagement with Tom."
"Well, about that-" said Sherlock hesitantly. Now he was the one who could not look at her as guilt suddenly overwhelmed him. Perhaps she would be so angry about it she wouldn't want to kiss him anymore. His hands clenched convulsively as he forced himself to make his admission. "I have a confession to make also. Your phone was still open on the arm of my chair, and I…well, I may have looked at your texts." He flushed as his eyes rose to meet hers, pleading with her to understand.
Molly drew her brows together. "That was completely inappropriate," she told him sternly. Then her gaze softened. "Although it does explain why you all of a sudden wanted to know if I loved you."
Sherlock's heart lightened as he realised she was not really angry with him. "I had to know if you broke it off because of me."
Her gaze met his steadily. "Of course I did. The moment you reappeared in my life at the hospital I began having doubts about Tom and me. Then today, when we spent the day together, I knew I was still in love with you. As soon as you walked away from me, I knew I couldn't marry him. I intended to go and see him to break it off tonight, but well, after what happened, I didn't want to wait any longer. So, as you obviously know already, I texted him to say I couldn't marry him."
His lips curved upwards."Does that mean you'll marry me instead?"
Molly gave him a shocked look. "You haven't even kissed me and you want to marry me?" Her eyes were wide and luminous in her face, and by heaven, he desperately wanted to kiss her right then and there.
But instead he asked her seriously, "Why not? I love you, you love me. That would seem to be the next logical step." He ran a hand through his hair before continuing earnestly. "You know the saying - 'First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes baby in a baby...'"
"Wait a minute," Molly cut him off. "Now you're talking about having babies as well?" She raised her eyebrows at him and bit her lip.
"Well, not until we're married of course," he assured her, adding, "I saw your text about waiting until marriage."
Molly blushed. Unexpectedly, she stood, then settled herself sideways on Sherlock's lap, winding her arms around his neck. "Well, let's get that first kiss out of the way at the very least."
This time, Sherlock decided to take her advice and just feel, rather than think. He clasped his hands on either side of her face, leaned in close and closed his eyes.
Their lips met in a kiss that both amazed and excited him. He was tentative at first, but as the sensation of the softness of her lips overwhelmed him, he allowed himself to get lost in it, the sweetness that was Molly Hooper.
Her mouth opened under his, inviting him to explore it further, and he did so, gently brushing his tongue along the recesses of her mouth, before withdrawing it and just enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of being so close to another human being. How could I have ever thought that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side? he wondered, as their embrace continued.
But then, this was not merely sentiment, this was love, a love that filled him with hope for the future.
When their lips finally parted and they were both a little short of breath, Sherlock moved his hands from Molly's face so he could slide his arms around her waist and said, "I think I could get used to this kissing business. But I also think I am going to need a lot more practice. What do you say?"
Molly laid her head against his chest and answered, "Yes, my love, always. Yes."
Author's note 2: I hope you enjoyed this first dream story. What do you think Sherlock's reaction really would have been if Molly had been in the bonfire instead? What did you think of the alternate use of some of the words from the "I love you" scene? Are you interested in reading more love realizations?
Please be kind and leave me a review with your thoughts.
Updated with revisions of added imagery 8/27/18.
Updated again by removing dream italics and making a few other small changes 7/9/19.