AN: Thank you to everyone who read the story even if you didn't review. Starting into a long established fandom is hard, so I am grateful to those who have chosen to follow the story: Bucky5, Tarte Hearte, hannabeast1, Khione'sKid.306, Ms90sgirl, ashlanielle, and theSepthis.
Once again, the mistakes are all mine as I have no beta. If you see something fixable, great! Let me know how you like it! Reviews are love!
I know I left too much mess and destruction
to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "it's over"
then I'm sure that that makes sense
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
~Dido~
SHERLOCK
She gasped and spun around, a smile lighting up her face as she took in his appearance. That was the reaction for which he was hoping! That was expected – typical – especially for Molly. Surprise followed by joy. Unlike John who had completely over reacted and managed to get them tossed out of no less than three eating establishments.
Count on Molly to do as expected.
"When did you—"
"I thought that I'd—"
They both spoke at the same time. That left her flustered, and she blushed scarlet. How he'd missed that color. So much more than he'd ever anticipated.
"You first," he said.
"When did you get back?"
"Just. I thought that I'd come here first given that it wouldn't be too great a shock for you to see me since you already knew I was alive."
"Not a shock to see you?" She laughed. "It's been two years, Sherlock. Of course, I'm surprised."
"Not quite two years."
Again she blushed. She was probably remembering the time he spent hiding at her flat using her shower to get cleaned up. Using her phone since he'd tossed his away on the roof of St. Barts. Using her email account because no one would ever suspect Molly to be involved.
Using her.
He wondered when he'd stopped classifying it as "needing Molly" to "using Molly," and yet it had. She had asked him once what he needed. He had said he needed her. However, the simple truth was that he didn't necessarily need her, but rather he could use her because she let him.
He wondered when he started feeling guilty for using her.
"So, you came here first?" she asked in a hopeful lilt of which he always took note.
"No, I went to see John."
"Oh..." She looked up at him expectantly.
"It didn't go very smoothly," he added.
"Well, given how much you hurt him..." She caught herself and stopped, redirected, tried to cover. Like she usually did. "I mean, what did you think would happen?"
"Honestly, I thought he'd be thrilled to see me."
Molly chuckled nervously. "Really?"
Her reaction confused him. He'd been wrong at his assumption on how John would respond to the knowledge that he'd faked his death. Yet Molly seemed to expect John to respond negatively. How did this quiet, timid, self depreciating pathologist always manage to see the truth so clearly in others and never herself? Maybe that was the nature of her job - slicing people open to find answers. But how did he - a highly logical, overly observant, borderline sociopath always fail to predict the reactions of the people whose lives mattered to him?
Well, except Molly. He always knew how she would react. She was the one he could always count on to follow the projected emotional pattern. He'd missed her predictability.
"I never said anything," Molly said, drawing his focus. "I almost did once, but I figured if it was safe for him to know, then you would tell him yourself. I didn't want to be the one to bring you harm."
Interesting. She kept the secret, but not because she worried for John's safety; she worried for Sherlock's safety. Having her worry about him was another facet of their relationship that he missed. No one worried quite so fastidiously as Molly did. It didn't escape Sherlock's notice that the warm feeling in his chest that came from knowing Molly - mousy Molly - wanted to protect him was slightly perverse.
Caring is not an advantage. Being cared about, on the other hand, was unexpectedly advantageous.
"Are you back for good?" she asked.
"Yes, I think so."
"How - how are you?"
"I'm well, thank you."
"You look...um..."
Her cheeks blushed again, a sure sign that she was emotionally moved by his physical appearance. Another Molly quality that he missed, but he would never admit to feeling pleasure at the way she looked at him. No. Never.
"A little worse for the wear?' he offered when she failed to finish her sentence.
"I was going to say, but then thought... I didn't want to be rude. I mean, You've been away in God knows what kind of horrible circumstance. Of course you'd look... um..."
He hid the smile her stammering encouraged. "Actually, what you see here are not remnants from my trials with Moriarty's network, but rather my harrowing conversation with John."
"John?" she gaped.
"Yes."
"John?" she repeated, the inflection suggesting disbelief. "Did this?"
"Yes."
"He hit you?"
"Yes. Several times."
She blinked and shook her head. "Didn't you tell him you were coming?"
"Why? I wanted to surprise him, much the same as I surprised you."
"Oh, God, Sherlock." She rolled her eyes. "No wonder he hit you."
"It is a wonder! I don't see why he'd be so—"
"You don't see why?" she interrupted, most uncharacteristically. "No, of course you don't." Facing away from him, she took off her lab coat and began readying herself to leave. "To you, we're all just mere mortals waiting to be graced by your superior brilliance, aren't we? I suppose you thought John would jump for joy and shake your hand at a prank well played? That you'd have a laugh and pick up right where you'd left off?"
This was most unlike anything Molly had ever said to him. In the space of a moment, the eyelash batting, flirtatiously hopeful girl he'd come to rely on vanished and was replaced by a brutally honest woman. It was unsettling. She sounded cynical. Pessimistic. Like Sherlock. He didn't like it.
"I figured that John would, after a brief explanation of how I survived, be glad for my safe return and resume working alongside me."
She laughed again as she pulled out her bag and touched up her lip stick, fixed some stray hairs in her braid. "Sherlock, that's not how things work. You don't get to hurt people, make them grieve for you for two years, and then waltz back into their lives without any repercussions."
"Why not? You've accepted me back."
She closed her locker and turned to face him full on. "You're back, yes. But that doesn't mean I wasn't hurt. And it certainly doesn't mean there won't be repercussions. I went two years without a word from you. I knew you didn't die in that fall, but I didn't know you hadn't been killed elsewhere. It's been a long time. I'm not the same person I was two years ago, Sherlock. None of us are the same."
He wanted to argue with her, but was stopped short when she casually reached into her pocket, pulled out a diamond ring, and slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. The motion looked like part of a routine she performed every day at the end of her shift. Naturally, she wouldn't wear rings while performing an autopsy.
The Romans believed there was a vein in the third finger that was directly connected to the heart: the Vena Amoris or Vein of Love. While completely untrue, the belief is partially why people wear wedding rings on that particular finger. And now Molly wore a ring that obviously had to be an engagement ring on that finger.
He didn't quite understand what had just happened. Molly verbally put him in his place? Molly was engaged? And now Molly was walking away from him without swooning or asking him to dinner? He liked it when Molly was predictable. He needed her to be predictable. He couldn't use her if she was unpredictable.
"I have to go, Sherlock." She smiled, and for some unknown reason his heart skipped a beat. "I'm really glad you're back, and I'm sorry John didn't take it well. But I do have to go. Call me if you need anything, ok?"
He nodded, and then she left. She actually walked away from him. It didn't take a genius very long to deduce from the lip stick and hair fluff that she was going to see to her fiancé. It did, however, take a genius two long years away and the addition of a golden symbol of devotion offered by someone other than himself to realize he'd just lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.