Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows. I really didn't expect to get as many as I did. I would have got this chapter out sooner but I had to work on Saturday, which took up a lot of my typing time. Either way, I hope you enjoy.
A light rain showered the streets of London in the late morning. The icy droplets of water immediately started soaking Molly the second she left home. An umbrella was opened as she walked towards the street. She raised her arm up to catch a cab, which only took a moment to pull up. Seeing as she was running late and in no mood to talk, she didn't engross herself in conversation with the driver like she normally would; she merely told him her destination and reclined into the seat.
A few minutes passed and Bart's was in sight. The man was paid and the doctor quickly hurried inside, not bothering to open her umbrella a second time. Once within the walls of the locker room, after successfully avoiding getting stopped by any co-workers, she dried off a little, pulled her hair back, and placed her white lab coat on before getting to work.
Her footsteps echoed down the hallway, causing the building to feel empty despite the many people inside. She opened the door to the lab spotting Sherlock looking into a microscope. He didn't bother glancing up; he never really did when he was focused. Molly took a few paces inward. She was about to ask if he needed any help but he spoke before she could.
"You're usually here earlier," Sherlock simply stated. He turned the coarse adjustment knob and scribbled down a few notes. His hues continued to stay fixated on whatever he was examining, somewhat disregarding anything else around him.
She came a bit closer, taking a peek at what he wrote. His logs were messily written but understandable enough to read. "I overslept, that's all," she finally told him. "What exactly are you doing?"
"Testing blood samples." A small huff was made and a few incoherent words escaped past his lips. Molly could only pick up a few pieces about bacteria being found within the sample and something concerning John. "Lestrade said the client wouldn't take what I told them seriously until I proved my 'hypothesis.' Waste of time really, I already know what the results will be."
The slight arrogance lining his tone never ceased to surprise her. A pair of gloves was pulled over her hands while giving her reply. "A bit smug, are you?" she questioned, turning to watch him for a second, only to twist the other way soon after. She constantly caught herself glimpsing over at him and despite being absorbed in something else, he surely felt her stare.
"I don't remember leading anyone to believe I wasn't," Sherlock told her a bit briskly. His movements were paused, picking up on the strain in her tone and the small sniffle sound she made. He angled his head towards her, observing a few things. "You're tired but you didn't oversleep." Standing up straight, his brows furrowed. "…You were crying."
She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head. It didn't matter if she denied it. Of course he'd pick up on the lie the moment he looked at her, just when she thought she could avoid any questions too. Still, she had to ask. "What makes you say that?"
A breath was taken and his hands came together. "Your pupils are dilated, which is caused by lack of sleep, but there are no bags under eyes. However, they are red, yet there's no purple tint signifying exhaustion. Your nose is slightly pink and although being out in the cold does that, your cheeks aren't in the same state. I can also mention how the condition of your clothing further shows that you woke up on time and not late, but I don't think I need to prove my point any further, unless you want me to. I could go on."
"No, you can stop." Molly turned from him and rubbed her eyes another time. She felt silly for shedding tears in the first place and she didn't want to again when Sherlock was in the room.
The detective pulled back from what he was doing and approached her, making sure to leave some space. His hands rounded behind him as his head tilted to the side. He really wasn't used to talking about feelings and such, which showed, but he supposed he should try regardless. "I usually wouldn't ask, seeing as you tend to keep to yourself on certain matters." He left it there, somehow letting her know she could continue if she wanted to.
"Tom and I had an argument, a few actually, last night for a while and then this morning." Molly looked up at him, but quickly found her gaze directed anywhere he wasn't. He was close, making her breathing stall for a second. "It's no big deal, I'm sure we'll be fine." Tom wasn't a confrontationist; he was far from it. However, he became somewhat distant as they fought, causing it to simmer down rather than be resolved.
She was avoiding eye contact, shifting her eyes so they didn't redirect back towards him. It was something she did often, however the reason this time was different. He could pick up on a few whys and wherefores, some more plausible then others, yet he kept them to himself.
"You never mentioned having a dispute before and there's been no previous indication, so if I'm assuming correctly, which I probably am, it has something to do with yesterday." At the mere mention caused her orbs to flicker up, leading him to believe he was on the right course. "Nothing was off during the wedding, or the beginning of the reception, so that leaves a small timeframe."
"I'd actually prefer not talking about it," Molly suddenly told him. However, knowing who he was, she knew he'd figure it out soon, so there was no point in trying to keep it a secret, nor could she find motivation to. "It's nothing serious. Tom he… he was just a little jealous and started questioning our relationship." She wouldn't mention certain parts though; she considered it private after all.
"Jealous?" His head leaned to the side, taking in the concept. That's what he supposed it was, but the question of why still lingered. The feeling was caused by insecurity. It's a negative, regressive state of mind and very different from envy. She was sitting rather close to Lestrade while he was making his speech, but they were fine at that point. That really only left one more person that could be the cause. "Because I was with you?"
It was extremely obvious how much Tom resembled Sherlock. Their appearance is close and they even dressed in similar attire. Molly knew all those things and yet she insisted with herself that those were all coincidences. Regardless, he probably picked up on the fact the moment they met.
"It's my fault, really. I shouldn't have left." She didn't regret it though. Sherlock clearly wasn't alright last night and if talking to him helped even the slightest, she was okay with how things were. "He's normally not like that; it was a bit odd actually."
"It's not like he needs to worry, we're friends," he mentioned offhandedly, waving off the notion. "You've been together for a while, met his parents, and adopted a dog. This correlation certainly exceeded your others."
"Are you saying I can't hold a relationship?" she asked, perhaps a tad too defensively. Although, he was right, neither of them lasted very long and she was the one who ended the majority of them. Molly couldn't exactly bring herself to commit to someone when Sherlock was around, not when she wanted to be with him more than anyone else. If she were being honest, it was the same now.
He paused, attempting to word his sentence better. "…No, not at all. I just meant sometimes it takes a while to find the right person. John dated many girls before he found Mary." Offering advice was another thing he rarely did, but there was no harm in trying. "If Tom is the one you want to be with talk things through, I'm sure you'll get past your problems. At least, I hear that works. I can't say for sure."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to spring all of this on you." Molly took a few paces from him and leaned against the counter the opposite from him. She took a moment to bring her hair over to one shoulder. "You probably already know I have a cat without me having to tell you, but ever since we got that dog, he ran away multiple times. I just got him back last week. I'm afraid I won't be able to find him the next time."
He quickly realized how the topic of discussion was segued to something else related but entirely different at the same time. "Regarding the first thing you said, you didn't. Nonetheless, I can't say I'm very helpful. And secondly, the fact that he keeps running off could be because you moved, the dog might not be the initial problem. Just a theory."
He couldn't figure out why what he said caused her to smile, nevertheless her grin triggered his lips to pull up as well, if only for a brief interval. Her company was nice to have, it always was, yet if felt somewhat different than before. It was unusual for him to do, however, Sherlock let his eyes linger on her, not for an extensive amount of time, but longer than he normally felt he should.
His aquamarine orbs caught the small amount of movement she made during the few seconds of silence passing between them. Her fingers slipped slowly through her light brown hair as she seemed to be lost in a thought. Even the way she pressed her lips together held his attention. His mind didn't go off analyzing her actions and the compulsion to speak wasn't there.
His muscles stiffen as he felt somewhat exposed, like he couldn't hide a thing from her. Considering how quick she was to figure out what was bothering him last night, when he denied it after giving himself other possible explanations, made it seem like concealing anything from her was impossible. Because unlike everyone else, perhaps John could also be counted as well, Molly could see past the emotionless and detached front he put on.
She didn't give any impression of noticing his gaze. A finger was brought to her mouth and pressed there for a second. He found the stillness in the room to be worth conserving at yet at the same instance wished to break the sustained quiet between them. When Sherlock finally directed his eyes away, she turned to him a moment later, opening her mouth to talk.
"No use in standing around all day," the brunette suddenly said, struggling to find reason to get her mind off of her problems. "Can I help you with something? I don't have anything I need to do right away." Technically, that wasn't completely true, but it was purely habitual to put whatever he was doing first.
The blood samples, how could he forget about them so carelessly? Looking straight ahead, he nodded and as usual, kept an epitome of composure. "I'm almost finished, you could write some things down for me. It would be easier than having to stop." The microscope was approached once again and he looked through the eyepiece, shifting his concentration to his work.
Molly wrote down whatever he told her to and within an hour he was heading out the door to meet up with Greg. A subtle sigh fled from her lips as soon as the door shut. Without him in the room a calming breath could be taken. As soon as she returned home, she'd have to face Tom again. Whether she should take Sherlock's suggestion about trying to work things through was questionable. But she knew breaking things off for someone who wouldn't return her feelings was pointless.
Even though that fact never stopped her in the past, Molly supposed she would just have to see how their conversation went and deal with whatever the outcome was. Forcing herself to move, she went back to work.
"Is this enough to convince you that man is guilty?" Sherlock questioned, with a slight roll of his eyes. He stood in Lestrade's office holding slight chagrin for having to further prove his point. "I really thought my word would be enough by now. I'm hardly wrong when it comes to these things, but you know that was well as I do. Of course, that's why you call me in the first place."
Greg rested a finger against his temple as he examined the results of the detective's finding. "It wasn't me who needed the proof. You came back from the dead. Some people don't even believe you're really Sherlock Holmes, too many conspiracy theories in my opinion." The papers were placed down before he set upright in his chair.
"I already explained myself, saying anything further is unnecessary." He glanced around the room, showing no interest in the conversation, which was picked up on rather quickly, not that he really cared much for the notice.
"Either way, I'll let Donovan know so we can wrap up this case," Greg told him. "Didn't take you more than two days to figure this one out, even with the wedding yesterday. I would have thought you'd put it aside with all the commotion, but I should have known better. During the reception you were also trying to figure something out, right? You don't randomly say 'murder' without a reason."
"Surprised you picked up on that much, although your whole dwarf concept was ridiculous and implausible." Sherlock turned his attention to the man after taking a few steps. "I could have finished it sooner without the distractions though."
Lestrade nodded, shifting a few documents on his desk. "For this one, I would have said the brother killed her. He had every reason to get revenge, he had no alibi, and even had the weapon on him, but her fiancé was defensive during questioning. He became one of our main suspects, although we couldn't have proved it without you."
"And I suppose you figured that out all on your own? Brilliant deduction," he mentioned, clasping his hands together, if almost praising the man. A small smile came to his face as well, adding lightness to his words.
Lestrade's face showed confusion, clear by the furrow of his brows and sideway turn of his head. Sherlock complimented people, but it was rare and mostly made in a backhanded sort of way. "Really, because-"
"No, now stop talking." His lips fell down and a more serious disposition took over, holding an inquisitive manner to his expression. "Naturally, you missed the most important part. It was his hands, you completely disregarded his hands. They were dry, callused to be more specific and you didn't notice the cut, therefore didn't consider the bacteria in his bloodstream, the same kind found on the victim. Child's play."
"Not everyone observes like you," he remarked, some traces of sarcasm found in his tone. Despite the comment, his fingers came together just before a question he's wanted to ask came out. "Now that John's gone, well married to be exact, are you going to be looking for another person to assist you? You brought Molly along a few weeks ago."
"I don't need to, it's not like he's going to stop working on cases completely." He had to wonder why people were even asking. He didn't see a reason to bother with the subject. "Why do you care anyway?"
Lestrade made a small shrug. He was used to John accompanying the detective; it was a bit strange seeing one without the other, even after the passing two years. "I for one don't want you walking around with that skull again. It was downright creepy. And it pretty much scared people away. I'm kind of glad you got rid of it."
"Yes, because your opinion matters so much to me," Sherlock expressed, turning his head to the left. Getting ready to head out again, he gave a short nod towards the man. "If I'm not needed anymore, I have more important things to do. Call if you have another case for me."
"As of right now we have nothing, could be a while before we get another sent to this division," Greg told him just as he sat back down and reached for the phone. He was surprised to see him angle back with an almost annoyed look taking over.
"I guess I'll have to find something to do on my own then. If I don't answer my phone, assume I'm busy and don't try calling again. Unless it's something exciting, like a good murder, those are always fun." He started leaving again, only to turn around another time at the sound of his voice.
"How exactly is finding a killer fun?" Lestrade asked with emphasis on the word. At first he gingerly allowed Sherlock to work with his team, now he was the one asking for help. His ideals on entertainment were debatable, but he never really took the time to ask why he considered such things enjoyable. At any rate, his mind held vast knowledge and his ability to deduce was admired, making him the man for any difficult task.
"Because it's… You wouldn't understand. Your brain couldn't follow what I mean. I don't know why I bother trying to explain." He saw his brow crease as if he was attempting to comprehend what was said. "And stop thinking, it's annoying." This time he actually left the room. He, of course, considered Greg a friend and ally, in spite of the fact that he couldn't remember his first name for the life of him.
Knowing the job was finished, he didn't need to be there to witness the man's arrest. Sherlock took a cab back to Baker Street, planning on spending the rest of the day, seeing as it would be dark in the matter of hours, at his flat. He could get by working on a few experiments or talking to clients if any happened to stop by.
Molly came home not knowing what to expect. When she opened the door it was silent. She almost thought Tom hadn't come back yet, until the dog started barking that is. He came over and quieted their pet down without greeting her, just as Toby was spotted scurrying across the floor, running somewhere safe. The feline was always hiding, if not he was trying to escape.
A sigh fell from her lips, expecting at least a hello. The brunette entered the main room, waiting for Tom to come in, which only took a few minutes. She sat on the couch and folded her fingers together. Her boyfriend stood for a second before taking a seat as well. His gaze was towards the floor and she knew that meant he was attempting to find the right words to say. She decided it was best to let him talk first.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking," he said rather slowly. He had spent most of the day, if not all of it, reflecting on what happened. Why he suddenly felt doubt and perhaps even suspect something was going on. Tom didn't want to jump to any conclusions or make her feel like he was interrogating her, but he was lost on what the right option was.
"So have I," she mentioned soon after. Her mind was plagued with thoughts about her conversation with Sherlock and the fighting that occurred before. "Can we talk about this without arguing this time?"
"You never answered my question, last night or this morning. When I asked what he meant to you, but I guess I don't need it." His eyes darted upward to see her facial expression. It was mixed between confusion and worry. "Why didn't you just tell me you still had feelings for him?"
"I-I don't." The brunette knew that was a lie as much as she did. "I said yes to you. Why are you suddenly questioning me about this?" Her tone was meek, feebler than she wanted it to be. The atmosphere was daunting in the room. It was like a heavy sense of unease abruptly swept over them. She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to push down the feeling along with it.
"Molly, just be honest with me." His voice was held in lighter caliber, almost like he couldn't quarrel anymore. "I don't need to be a detective to figure it out. It's the way you look at him and talk about him. I should have realized it sooner. Maybe I was just too blind to see it, but I do now, very clearly."
The doctor bit back on her lip, taking a deep breath in the process. This was not how she imagined things turning out; it was supposed to be different with him. They met through friends, not because of work. He was a normal person, with a typical job, and they did all the things couples do, such as going out to dinner, taking walks, just enjoying being in each other's company.
"What do you want me to say, Tom?" she almost asked in a desperate tone. "I'm happy being with you." Was she? Could she really say those words and mean them? Seeing the doubt muddled in his eyes and small amount of sadness coming through caused her heart to sink.
Tom stood from his chair and sat on the sofa next to her. He couldn't bring himself to look at her for more than a few seconds at a time until he started speaking again, which took a while. "I believe for those two years you were happy with me, that before Sherlock came back and possibly a little while after, you wanted this." Tom took hold of her hands, shaking his head in the process.
"Are you saying you don't want this anymore? We were together for a long time and…" Molly's sentence trailed off. She still remembered the day he proposed. He took her where they first met; it was a bit romantic in her eyes. Blinking back tears, she shifted in her seat and lightly grasped his fingers. A slight fear of losing him and the life they shared was a lot to handle.
The quietness contained any amount of anger he might have had. It would be easy to lash out, but it wasn't in him to do that. Even during the previous arguments, he kept a cool demeanor, which wasn't exactly easy. "Sherlock isn't the only problem, I think we are too."
Molly tilted her head to the side, showing signs of misunderstanding. She could feel the tension weighing down on them and it caused her to tense, almost not wanting to ask the question burning on her tongue. "What do you mean?"
"I guess seeing you with him last night just made me realize a few things." He paused, glancing over to catch the puzzlement leaving her face, only to be replaced by a frown. Clearing his throat some, he kept his focus on their interlocked hands. "I can't help being jealous of seeing you with Sherlock, just like you couldn't prevent feeling the same way when you saw him with Janine. No matter how much you lie to yourself, I know you're not over him."
By the looks of it, he wasn't sure if she'd ever move on. He couldn't say whether the consulting detective was interested in her, having only spoken a few times, regardless of what the correct answer was Tom couldn't keep holding onto something that wasn't there.
Her mouth was too dry to respond right away. There weren't many things she could say at this point. Molly knew he was being honest with her and it was painful seeing him endure this kind of conversation. When sound finally came out, she could only mutter a few words. "I do love you."
"I know, just not enough, right?" Tom inquired, with a dejected undertone dragging down his voice. "I fit what you think a marriage should be. You wanted a practical, steady relationship, so much you kept telling yourself you were happy, that you were willing to marry the wrong guy. Just to prove you could have that perfect image of what a husband and wife should be and to show everyone you were over him. I might be wrong, but I don't think I am. That's not enough for me and is shouldn't be for you either."
She drew her hand away and covered her mouth, afraid to cry again. He was right and she felt horrible for deceiving him, even if it was unconsciously done. Hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do. "Where exactly does this leave us? Ending our engagement a few months before the ceremony is supposed to happen? I know I haven't been fair to you and you deserve better, but I-"
Tom gently silenced her. "The truth is you're attracted to the danger, to people like Sherlock Holmes. If can't give you what you want, tell me. It's not fair to me, to him, or yourself." A breath was taken, seeing as his next words were difficult to get out. "In the end you have to choose. Either let him go or we end things right now, because I can't be with you knowing you're in love with someone else."
Molly became quiet. He was making her pick between him and Sherlock? Why did everything always have to turn out this way? The brunette looked down at her ring and back at him. Deep down, she already knew the answer.
I don't know much about Tom, no one really does, but since they were going to get married, I feel like their conversation should hold some kind of meaning. When it comes to Sherlock and Molly, I'm trying to develop things slowly between them so their relationship won't happen right away. I will try to get my next chapter out as soon as possible. Until then, please leave a review.