The London morning was quiet, cold, and solemn. Sherlock's body begged for sleep as he sat up against his bedroom door. He had been sitting there for 12 hours straight, unable to move. He just stayed still, thinking, crying, then thinking some more. John was right, there was no known option to take that would fix all of this.
No known options Sherlock thought. What's the point of being the smartest person when you can't even think of a way to help John? Sherlock rubbed his red swollen eyes. He felt the urge to seek some guidance or just talk to someone, an unfamiliar feeling that made him extremely uncomfortable. He reached into his pants pocket, pulling out his phone. He opened up his texts, scrolling through his options. The first name was John. He shut his eyes quickly, unable to even face the thought of his best friend, let alone read his messages. He breathed deeply, preparing to look at his phone. He opened his eyes, quickly scrolling past Johns texts. He spotted the recent text from "The Woman". He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the name. He finally clicked it, and read the last message,
"Happy Birthday, let's have dinner."
Sherlock paused again before typing his reply,
"Hi"
Sherlock hit send, then instantly regretted his decision. He exited the chat, and continued to scroll through his text list. He passed Lestrade, Mycroft, his mother, Mike Stamford, even Moriarty before finally reaching the last option: Molly Hooper. Sherlock felt a pang of guilt as he realized that as always she was last on his list. Sherlock hadn't spoken to her since the incident with Eurus two months ago. It seemed he had unconsciously managed to block out the events of that phone call. He hadn't given what he had said to her any more of his brain power, not because he didn't care, but because he didn't want to accept the idea that Eurus could have been right about his emotions. He opened their conversation and saw the last text was from her,
"Are you ok?"
The words struck a nerve within Sherlock, and he felt his chest tighten and the choking feeling return from last night. Sherlock continued to stare at her message. He eventually glanced at the time at the top of his phone screen. It was 6:17 in the morning. He sighed heavily,
"Sorry it's early, can I see you?"
Sherlock hit send, and within seconds three dots appeared on his screen, signaling her reply. Her response popped into view,
"Of course. Are you ok?"
Sherlock's jaw quivered as he tried to control his emotions.
"On my way."
Sherlock stood quickly, getting light headed from the lack of sleep. He shook the feeling, then quietly opened his door. He softly walked past the kitchen. He paused when he didn't hear the loud snoring he usually heard coming from Johns room due to his untreated sleep apnea. Sherlock stepped even more softly realizing that John was probably awake. Sherlock finally reached the flat entry door,
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock froze. Johns voice had stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't look at his friend. He knew John would be able to tell that he hadn't slept and had been crying. He couldn't let John see him this way, and he couldn't bear to face him. Not yet.
"Sherlock, where are you going?" John asked softly,
"You should sleep, John." Sherlock replied, equally soft, and still refusing to make eye contact.
"So should you." John said, still standing in the doorway. Sherlock bit his bottom lip, unable to come up with a response. The doctor really knew him,
"Where are you going?" John repeated with a worried undertone.
"Just out. Don't wait up." Sherlock stated, reaching for the door knob. John stepped forward, intercepting Sherlock's wrist. He looked Sherlock dead in the eyes,
"No, none of that. The last time you were sneaking around behind my back you were off getting high." John spoke in a fierce whisper. For the first time since last night he got a good look at Sherlock's face. It broke John's heart to see what the news had done to the detective,
"Now tell me what you're doing Sherlock Holmes or I will snap your arm."
Sherlock attempted to pull away from John, but couldn't,
"Please, let go John."
"No." John replied firmly,
"Please, let me go." Sherlock begged softly, his voice raspy from the long night. Sherlock continued to avoid Johns green eyes. John kept his firm grip for a moment longer, observing Sherlock. He then cleared his throat, releasing the taller man,
"I'm just worried Sherlock, about you. I've seen what loss does to y—"
"I know. Thank you for your concern, but please don't waste your energy fearing for me. Now get some sleep John, you need it. I won't be long." Sherlock stated brushing past John, and leaving through the door. John watched Sherlock's back as he briskly descended the stairs, catching a glimpse as Sherlock wiped tears from his eyes. Once Sherlock was out of view John shut the door, clenching his fists to fight back his own tears. John stood by the door, feeling a mix of fear, sadness, and regret. John made his way to the window overlooking Baker Street.
Sherlock stepped out into the frigid cold as he pulled his coat over his shoulders. He could see his own breath as he exhaled. A lone taxi slowly made its way down Baker Street. Sherlock lifted his arm to hail it. The cabbie pulled over, and Sherlock gingerly opened the door and entered. As the car lurched forward he looked up to the window of his flat. He and John met eyes. They're gazes we're locked until there was too much space between them.
John slowly slid the curtains shut. He heard the unavoidable sound of Rosie's cries from upstairs. He went to her slowly, feeling fatigued from lack of sleep and the continuous pounding headache he'd been experiencing for weeks.
After what felt like an eternity, the cabbie pulled the car over to let Sherlock out in front of a three story building. The pale brick seemed to be crumbling and the building itself was located in a high crime rate area. Sherlock approached the front door. Located next to the door was a column of buzzers. Towards the middle of the row was Molly Hooper's name. Sherlock pressed the appropriate button. The front door immediately buzzed back at him. He entered, then headed up the stairs to the third floor.
Molly stood by her flats entry door, unconsciously stroking her long ponytail. She nervously anticipated Sherlock's knock on the other side. It finally came. She opened her door at an unnatural speed, and was instantly taken aback by his appearance. He smiled half heartedly at her, his eyes still bloodshot and sunken in, his skin pale, his hair a mess, and a hint of stubble around his lips and on his chin. The two just stood silently for a few seconds. Sherlock knew she was looking him over from a medical standpoint already,
"Not to worry Molly. No drugs."
Molly snapped out of her stare, "That's good…" she replied with an uncomfortable giggle,
"Oh, I'm sorry, come in." She moved out of his way as he stepped inside, "Sorry, it's a bit of a mess, and me. A mess... I didn't have much time to freshen up I mean..." She stammered, pinching her hair between her fingers.
Sherlock observed her more in-depth. She was fresh faced, but there were traces of blush on her cheeks along with mascara on her lashes and gloss on her lips. He also could smell traces of perfume, mixed with generic house cleaner. Obviously she had freshened up. Sherlock smiled at her again,
"You look fine."
Molly smiled, turning away from him, hiding her expression,
"Um, you can sit if you want. Anywhere."
Sherlock glanced around, then settled for the middle cushion of her sofa. Molly loomed next to him,
"So, how've you been?" She asked clasping her hands in front of her. Sherlock notes her tense shoulders,
"Ah...Well, you know." Sherlock shrugged, giving her the same forced smile.
"Um...Can I get you something?"
Molly motioned towards her kitchen,
"Tea, or…. well that's really all I've got besides crisps." She self consciously chuckled. Sherlock shook his head,
"No, I'm fine."
"You're not." Molly stated factually, her upbeat expression fading. Her response caught Sherlock off guard,
"I'm sorry Sherlock. I didn't mean to be so forward." Molly said genuinely as she sat in the chair across from him,
"It's just, I haven't heard from you or seen you since...you know. I've really been worried, and every time I text…"
Sherlock leaned forward, supporting his upper body with his elbows rested on his knees. He avoided eye contact with her,
"Molly, I'm so sorry for any pain that day caused you, I never wanted to hurt you." Sherlock wiped his mouth after feeling a slight itch from his unshaven face. His eyes wandered to Molly's. He realized in that moment how hurt she must be. To get no explanation after a phone call like that,
" I don't deserve your time or help, but I promise I'll explain everything to you."
Molly nodded, looking down at her clasped hands, "That's not why you're here though."
"I was going to talk to you about that phone call... soon, but…" the feeling of a heavy chest came back to Sherlock. He struggled to continue, "Something has happened…" Sherlock bit his cheek, struggling to find his words,
"I trust you Molly. You know that. You've seen me at my lowest points, and you've always been there."
Molly listened intently twirling her thumbs in her lap, "What is it Sherlock?"
Sherlock looked away from her, hiding his now watery eyes. He took a few deep breaths, "John—" the word triggered flashbacks of last night inside his head. He attempted to hold back the tidal wave of sadness that took his breath, hurt his chest, and numbed his mind. Molly felt frozen as she watched him break before her. Sherlock's head fell into his hands, tears falling into his lap,
"John's dying." He barely managed to utter aloud. Molly began to tear up herself just watching him. Without a second thought, she stood, swiftly joining his side on the couch. She placed one hand on his knee, and the other stroked his upper back. She unconsciously leaned her head on his shoulder. Molly couldn't think of anything to say. All she could do was remind him that she was there with a gentle stroke of her hand. As Molly continued to hold him she felt Sherlock's body lean into her. She began to sob harder as she pulled him closer. She ran her small fingers through his dark, curly hair,
"Let me help you." She said meekly in his ear, "Anything you need, just ask."
Sherlock's mind clawed its way back into control over his emotions. He pulled away from her realizing how close they were. He stood nearly stumbling from his weakened state. He wiped his eyes, as did Molly. The pair remained quiet for a few moments. Sherlock kept his back to her trying to gather himself. Molly broke their silence,
"It's true you know. What I said that day. I meant it."
Sherlock turned to face her again, keeping his distance, his breath caught in his throat,
"I've wanted to tell you for years… I love you." Molly said, standing, mascara and tears still rolling down her cheeks. Sherlock's whole body shivered. His breathing becoming more rapid,
"Why?" Is all he could manage to say,
Molly smiled bittersweetly, shrugging her shoulders, "no matter what I do I can't shake it. It doesn't matter how many times I tell myself it'll never happen, or how many dates I go on... Every time I go out to dinner with a man I wish he was you. Every time." Molly wiped her eyes again with the sleeve of her sweater. Sherlock furrowed his brow, mouth agape. He couldn't wrap his sleepless mind around what she was saying,
"I'm awful to you Molly. I'm just awful overall, to everyone."
Sherlock shook his head, perplexed,
"I don't deserve you Molly Hooper. I could never be the man worthy of what you're giving to me." He said with absolute sincerity. Molly crossed her arms, comforting herself by rubbing her hands along them. She was now on the verge of sobbing,
"All I care about is you, Sherlock. It breaks my heart to see you like this." Molly hesitated, seeing Sherlock's unreadable expression,
"If you want to leave after all of this, I understand, but please don't let what I've said drive you away forever. If I can just continue to be a tiny piece of your life I'll be happy." She wiped her tears away, composing herself,
"If you want, I'll never speak of it again."
Sherlock stood absolutely still, unable to move, unable to speak. All of these emotions flowing through him made him feel drained and confused. For the first time in his 34 years, his mind went blank. Molly continued to stare, wringing her hands, brows furrowed,
"Sherlock, please say some—" before she could finish, Sherlock approached her. He took her face in his hands, then kissed her tenderly. The kiss made Molly's knees buckle. Her arms wrapped around him to brace herself. The kiss lasted about five seconds before Sherlock pulled away, assessing what he had just done. His hands still cupped her cheeks, and her arms were still encased around him,
"Sherlock…" Molly whispered, exasperated, staring wide eyed at him. Sherlock found that he could not process his actions,
"I'm sorry." He responded in a daze. He stared into her eyes while trying to find his reasoning behind what had just occurred. He came up with nothing logical, but one thing was clear to him emotionally: during their kiss, his overwhelming sadness was gone. In fact, though he wasn't certain, he could've sworn he felt...happy. Before his mind could even comprehend this, his lips met hers again. This kiss was even more passionate than the last. Sherlock's hesitancy was replaced by certainty, and Molly was much more prepared to participate. Sherlock slid one of his hands from her cheek to the small of her back, pulling her closer. She followed his lead, pushing up to him until there was no space left between them. Molly, moved one of her hands to the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair again. Sherlock's head began to spin. He had never experienced this sense of euphoria. There was an underlying unnameable force driving him to continue. The heat between them caused Sherlock to instinctively begin to remove his coat, all the while prolonging their caress. Molly, despite her blissful state of mind, noticed his action and reluctantly pulled away,
"Sherlock, wait." Molly backed a little further from him.
Sherlock's breathing was heavy, "Molly, forgive me, I don't know what's come over me." He said breathlessly, gathering his coat from the floor and running his hands through his even more tousled hair,
"No! No! No! Sherlock, you have to understand, that's all I've wanted for a very long time…. but you're hurting. What just happened is a result of that, not because you have real feelings for me."
Sherlock furrowed his brow, still unable to fully grasp what he was experiencing. Molly easily read his confusion,
"You've done this before. It's how you are. You need distractions to avoid your emotions, except this time, instead of drugs, it's… well, that." Molly insisted, "I'm not going to take advantage of you. If I had continued, that would've made things worse. I'm here to help you, not use you."
Sherlock rubbed his forehead, thinking things through. Molly stepped up to him again, clearing her throat,
"Here." Molly took his coat. She folded it gently, placing it on the end table beside her sofa,
"Sit down." She grabbed Sherlock's hand and guided him back to the couch. She stood in front of him,
"I know you're hurting Sherlock. Talk to me. Finding a distraction won't help."
"You're not a distraction, Molly. You're my friend." Sherlock said snapping his attention to her. Molly smiled ever so slightly, but it was quickly replaced with seriousness,
"If I'm your friend, tell me about what's going on." Molly persisted. Sherlock shook his head,
"I don't think I can." Sherlock clasped his hands extremely tight in his lap, turning his knuckles red.
"Tell me what's wrong with John." Molly continued, holding firm, despite her desire to comfort him again. Sherlock flinched at the mention of his friends name,
"Molly, please…" Sherlock begged her. Molly looked down into his captivating blue eyes which were now growing wet and glossy,
"You came here to talk, so let's talk. Don't worry about what happened a moment ago, it's meaningless." Molly requested. Sherlock gave her a questioning look,
"What if it wasn't? I can't tell you what it was, but there had to be a reason for it."
"Sherlock, you're here for John." Molly snapped, trying to steer him away from a conversation she desperately wanted to have. Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat,
"John…" Sherlock's face twisted after the name left his lips, "He told me last night… he's got months, maybe less." He couldn't help from letting out an audible whimper as he tried to contain his mournfulness,
"What's killing him?" Molly asked, still putting on a clinical facade,
"A tumor." A couple of tears fell down his cheeks,
"Malignant?" She questioned. Sherlock nodded. He wiped his tears, clenching his teeth. He suddenly felt a wave of anger wash over him. He was angry about feeling confused, he was angry at himself for being weak, and he was angry at the world for doing this to a good man like John,
"Where?" Molly asked firmly,
"Right cerebrum…"
Molly paused noticing his body language, "It's okay to feel whatever you're feeling, Sherlock." Molly said, softening her tone. Sherlock stood,
"Well, right now I'm mad. And second ago I was bawling my damned eyes out. I'm a bit new to this whole "caring" thing, and I really don't like it." He tramped his way around the room, fists clenched,
"Let's consider the facts. John Watson is dying. And I can't save him. My best friend in this world...John Watson, a man who made me realize that there's more to life than just crime, and death, and boredom. I've learned more about life in the 7 years I've been his flat mate than all of the previous 27 combined. Friendship, trust, loneliness…" He glanced at Molly,
"Maybe even love...He showed me love is apart of life. One loves their brother, their friend, mother, father, spouse, girlfriend, boyfriend, even their landlady for god's sake! You know that already don't you? Me on the other hand…"
Sherlock brushes that thought aside, "The facts: John has an infant child. She has no mother and now he is being taken away from her. What will she have? Me? I'm barely able to be an adult man myself let alone teach a little girl how to be an adult woman. You know me Molly. I'm impatient, unkind, reckless, and I attract danger. All of the things a teacher can't be. John's life is being threatened not by another person. No, I've dealt with that loads of times. That I can handle, but this…" Sherlock stopped in front of the bathroom door,
"All I can do is watch as he deteriorates and snivel like a child!" He punched the door with as much force as he could muster, instantly creating a large crack in the wood,
"I can do nothing!" He punched the door with the same hand, finding even more strength. The crack split even further, sending Sherlock's fist clear through the wood. Sherlock recoiled, hissing at the pain running through his knuckles. He was blinded by the stinging in his eyes from his distraught weeping. Molly rushed to his side, delicately taking his injured hand in hers,
"I'm sorry Molly. I'll pay for the damage."
"It's just a door, it can be replaced... your hand however can't be." Molly said watching purple bruises instantly form below his fingers. She knew he had definitely broken it. She rushed into her bathroom, opened a cabinet, and took out a first aid kit. Inside she found some medical tape and gauze. She tightly wrapped Sherlock's open hand,
"You need to get this looked at. Something is definitely fractured."
The sudden sound of a moaning woman coming from Sherlock's coat caught them both by surprise. Sherlock darted back to his coat, grabbing the phone. His cheeks flushed knowing Molly had heard.
"That was that woman's text alert wasn't it?" Molly asked, feeling very uneasy. Sherlock didn't answer. He opened the phone to read Irene's reply, but the screen didn't read "the woman" as the sender. What Sherlock saw caused him to drop his phone. Molly hurried over,
"Sherlock what's wrong?!" Molly picked up his phone, turning it over to read,
"Hey sexy. I'm back
-M"
Molly nearly dropped Sherlock's phone too, "This isn't possible. Someone's pulling a joke."
Sherlock took his phone back from her, staring at the message. It was clearly sent from the number that Moriarty had used to text him, and someone had changed his text alert to the same one as Irene Adler's. Sherlock nearly collapsed. Luckily the couch was there to break his fall. He started his reply,
"Moriarty is dead. Who is this?"
He sent it. Almost instantly another message appeared,
"Are you sure about that? Ask big brother.
-M"
Sherlock gritted his teeth, his nostrils flaring. He immediately dialed Mycroft's phone number. Molly sat beside him, listening.
"Hello Sherlock, what is it? I'm a little preoccupied at the moment ." Mycroft answered impertinently,
"Where is he?" Sherlock questioned, his voice filled with malice,
"What?" Mycroft responded in an emotionless voice,
"You know who I'm talking about Mycroft." Sherlock said, growing more enraged.
"Sherlock, calm down—" Mycroft didn't have time to finish his sentence,
"You've known about Moriarty! I know you're lying! Do you understand the severity of this Mycroft?! You've betrayed me, and lied to me once too much! You've let me go on not knowing about my sister, you've allowed Moriarty to ruin my reputation, and now you don't bat an eye when I'm wandering around ignorant to the fact that a man who wants me, and anyone close to me dead, is miraculously alive!"
"He's under the most extreme surveillance, I can assure you—"
"That he's under control? Hmmm, I feel like I've heard this before." Sherlock spat. Mycroft remained silent,
"Well Mycroft, Moriarty, whom you've just assured me is fully incapacitated, just sent me a text. You may want to check on your "surveillance". Now, If you ever wish to call me your brother again you will tell me: Where are you hiding him?!" Sherlock yelled, becoming irate. He stood grabbing his coat. Molly followed,
"Sherlock please listen, I did this for your own good—"
"Send one of your helicopters, cars, planes, or whatever the hell you have to send. I want to see him, right now! I'm sure you already know where I am." Sherlock hung up, leaving Molly's flat and jogging down the stairs. Molly stayed right on his heels,
"Sherlock! Slow down!" Molly reached for his shoulder as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He halted, turning to place his hands on her shoulders,
"Molly, listen. This is not safe. You know what he's capable of. Please stay. This is between him and I. I couldn't live with myself if something went wrong." He determinedly headed for the building's exit, but Molly continued to follow,
"I can't let you go by yourself! I'm not John, but I am your friend too! You said so. What kind of friend would I be if I let you go alone after all of this? Would John stay behind?"
Sherlock stopped out in front of the street, Molly a few feet back,
"You know John wouldn't do that, and I'm not about to." Molly took a few more steps towards him,
"Sherlock Holmes is a brilliant, courageous, outspoken, ass, who puts himself in harm's way constantly. A man like that should have a doctor on hand at all times."
A dark, shining government car pulled up to the curb. Sherlock looked back at Molly, thinking. Finally he snapped back to reality,
"If that's what you want." Sherlock opened the car door for her, " And I guess you are a kind of doctor Ms. Hooper." Molly smiled up at him as she slid into the car." Sherlock shut the door walking around to the other side. Knowing that he was out of earshot,
"Plus you can determine cause of death after I kill him myself."