Prior / After
Chapter Summary - 5 hours prior to I Love You & 10 hours after I Love You
PRIOR
Molly's day was off to a winning start.
An overnight power surge took out the electric to the entire flat. Now, instead of quietly observing the anniversary of her father's death, alone, she was dodging two burly repairmen who'd laid siege to her kitchen.
"Apologies, miss, but she's gonna take a couple a' hours," said the one with the snake tattoo peeking out from his long shirtsleeve.
"Well, um, could you, maybe, fix one room first so I could camp out in there while you get the rest of the flat up and running?" Molly hadn't planned on leaving the house today, at least not until her overnight at Bart's. And at least not until she'd had a good cry about her da.
"Oh, 'fraid not. Gotta keep the whole place offline 'til we're done. Don't wanna blow anyone up now, do we," the one with the glass eye winked at her.
Knackered and in no mood to decamp, Molly sighed, "What am I supposed to do, then?"
"Why don't you go grab a nice cuppa down at the shops, have a 'girl's day'," Snake Arm offered cheerily. "I'll text you when we've wrapped up."
"Then you can come back and stay put," Glass Eye chimed in. "Don't worry about a thing, Miss. East Wind Electric'll take care of everything."
What choice did she have but to follow their suggestion? She'd been lucky to find them on such short notice to begin with. No use hampering their progress moping around while they made repairs.
Molly pulled her hair back into a pony, grabbed her laptop and headed off to the Birchwood for the largest cup of coffee she could buy.
(at the Birchwood w/ a nice cuppa)
Congratulations Miss Hooper…
The email should've buoyed Molly's spirits. She'd been downright chuffed that her white paper had been chosen as a first alternate for the annual pathology conference. The presentation slots were extremely limited - only ten available for all of the EU division - and her's had survived a rigorous vetting to make alternate. If any of the marquee EU presentations failed to meet standards, she'd get the call to present. In Hong Kong. Early next week.
That was before. Before Sherlock arranged for her to fetch him from the suburbs in an ambulance.
…as their paper has been disqualified, we extend the invitation to you - as first alternate - to present in their place on behalf of the EU division…
Before she conducted the physical. Before her hands and her heart shook with each new track mark she discovered on his emaciated body. Before he shot her a look, equal parts warning and plea, on his way into Culverton Smith's office.
… pleased to welcome you to Hong Kong on Monday. You'll have the next day to acclimate before enjoying the opening reception on Tuesday evening…
Before she joined John and him at Bea's Cake Shop, pretending to enjoy the Victoria sponge she'd ordered for his birthday. Molly knew full well he preferred the triple chocolate ganache but Sherlock didn't need the additional stimulant. Sponge with fruit filling was passive aggressive punishment. And Sherlock dutifully accepted his penance. "Ah, Victoria sponge. My favorite. However did you know, Molly?"
…round table discussions for the entirety of the day on Wednesday and Thursday…
She was scared witless for him. He'd been declared clean after a physician-monitored detox but he was, Molly knew, still reeling from Mary's death and the fallout it caused. Leaving London now for the conference and its subsequent tour would mean three weeks away.
…your presentation on Friday afternoon…
Three weeks was too long to spend away from a friend so desperately in need - especially a friend intent on telling her, proving to her, that he was 'just fine.'"
…travel with members of the EU delegation for subsequent presentations in Hanoi…
She was angry as hell at him! How many times would he risk his health, his sanity, his sobriety? Prior to Mary's death, he'd succumbed to his addiction only as a substitute for 'the game.'
This Culverton Smith business was the first time he'd ever shot up to play the game.
No it wasn't, she admitted to herself. He'd done it before. Magnussen. And she'd called him out for it. Molly still felt the sting of her palm striking his face. She'd never been so angry at anyone before in her life.
She'd never been so frightened of her emotions. Or of his. Sherlock looked downright pitiful that day. He'd avoided eye contact with her while she confronted him about the chemicals in his system and the harm he'd done to himself, his friends. The first slap unleashed an avalanche of emotion within her. Anger, fear, disappointment, worry. Love. Sherlock made no attempt to block her second strike. Or her third.
…culminating in the week-long international conference in Singapore…
Had she known then that he would to be sent away - for good, forever - after that...she would've still yelled at him. Then she would've done what she'd been aching to do since the moment they met: Pull him close, wrap her arms and legs around his loneliness, his fear. Never let him go.
Instead, here they were again, at the intersection of self-harm and collateral damage.
…advise us of your intent to participate by noon tomorrow…
Sherlock couldn't seem to stop hurting himself or the people who loved him. Molly didn't need to be here for it. She could accept the invitation. Should accept. It would be the highlight of her career thus far.
Molly sighed. She reasoned It was the low point of their friendship. Not much lower it could sink. Leaving him alone for a few weeks wasn't going to have much of an impact. It hadn't in the past. She could heal her own wounds, on her own terms, while someone else nursed Sherlock's track marks and psyche for a change.
But John had his own wounds to heal, in addition to caring for Rosie…
Molly had no one. Not really. Except the three of them. John needed her to help pick up the emotional slack where Rosie was concerned - though he'd never ask it of her.
She should stay. For Rosie. For John.
For Sherlock.
Molly closed her laptop and settled back into the chair. It was almost 1pm. She had just under twenty four hours to make her decision. She'd get through her overnight shift and reply in the morning. Right now, all she wanted to do was go home, put on some of her dad's favorite music and ask him for guidance. If the guys back at her flat could just finish already...
Her mobile vibrated, in answer to her prayers...well, at least one of her prayers. She'd figure out the answers to the others herself.
All set Miss.
Have a lovely rest of your day.
- East Wind Electric
AFTER
I love you.
A whoosh! signaled that Molly's email was on its way, audible confirmation. Her decision regarding the upcoming Pathology conference was the correct one.
She squeezed her eyes shut. The dark behind her lids, the quiet hum of Bart's in the small hours of the morning, did nothing to drown out the sound his voice. If anything, the lack of noise only amplified Sherlock's rich baritone. She wasn't stuck on the mechanical response to her ultimatum. That first I love you was delivered by a man so skeptical of the sentiment that even saying the words to play "the game" (whatever game he was involved in), clearly pained him.
How easy it was for her to imagine Sherlock looking down at his mobile, incredulous, hoping he'd misunderstood her demand that he say it like he meant it. Her mind conjured up his fine, lean face, speeding through the range of expressions he generally reserved for the ordinary people in his life. Like John. Like herself. The perturbed crease in his brow. The agitated quirk of his mouth. That trademark eye roll. Molly's side of their bargain most definitely garnered her an eye roll, of that she was sure.
Had her heart not ached, Molly would've smiled at his discomfort.
It was the additional I love you - unnecessary and unadorned - clouding her judgement. Sherlock didn't whisper, as though the words were a secret he found too distasteful to share. Nor did he make a bold statement, arrogant and rushed, like the man himself.
That I love you was pure Sherlock. A deduction. The only explanation of all the facts. And, like so many of the other deductions he'd made throughout his life, he'd arrived at it with help.
Her help.
That realization was as heady to her as the sentiment itself. She coaxed it from his lips. Not John. Not Mary. Not the dead woman with no face in the morgue. Speaking to him over mobile, Molly couldn't look into those crystalline eyes, watch his emotions form the words.
That obstructed view made the truth easier for her to see. Feel.
Sherlock's words were a caress, not an appeasement. The physical separation afforded each of them the privacy they needed to make a public declaration. In the safety of his I love you, Molly laid herself bare, finally shrugging off the weight of her burden and setting it down between them.
Now it belonged to both of them. She'd gotten so used to carrying it by herself…
And then her mobile went dead, leaving her alone. Again.
She'd learned how to navigate her love for Sherlock, alone. It was rocky but she'd developed sure-footed techniques for maneuvering around her heart's roadblocks; cheerily dating other men and truly happy to be one of the few of people included in the camaraderie of 221b.
A warm affinity for Sherlock the person, an emotion she associated with being a grown-up, had finally supplanted her earlier romantic daydreams of Sherlock the man.
No it hadn't.
It just crowded alongside her other feelings and threatened to burst her heart.
There was nothing to protect her from Sherlock's I love you. Nothing to strengthen her tenuous hold on their friendship. They were in free fall now.
"Christ, this day." Molly exhaled deeply and opened her eyes. She had to get back to the juniors under her tutelage. Slogging through the final hours of their first overnight, they'd probably appreciate a dose of encouragement. Molly retrieved her mobile from inside the drawer into which it had been banished and reluctantly took it off mute.
The voicemail icon flashed next to Greg's number.
Molly hit play, eager for a distraction. With any luck, he was on his way in, accompanied by a particularly gruesome case, proving his oft-repeated point that nothing good happens after midnight. God bless him, he knew how to cheer up a pathologist
…It's Sherlock…
"So much for a distraction," she grumbled.
…Nothing physically wrong, Molly. Just, well, it's quite a thing…
Normally articulate Greg, rambling.
…Sherrinford…Mycroft and John…
Greg was racing to get all the details out before her voicemail cut off. It made Molly mildly uncomfortable.
…cameras in the kitchen of your flat…
What? Now she incredibly worried. For all of them.
…a sister. Eurus. Apparently means "East Wind." Eurus Holmes…
"Oh my god," she shot up out of her chair, "the repairmen!"
…a psychological experiment…broke him a bit, I think, Molly…
Sherlock's voice invaded her head again... I love you.
…Look, it's too much to go into. I'm an hour out. I'll stop by Bart's on my way back to the Yard…
Molly checked the timestamp: 3:32am. It was It now 4:45am. She raced back to the lab.
