SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY

Author's note:

Short chapter! I know where this story's going now, so bare with me! :') I'm just getting into my zone! I hope I kept everybody in character, it's getting hard! Especially since there was a lot of dialogue this chapter, but I like a good challenge hehe! Next update should be tomorrow and that's where the trouble really starts! Actions have consequences! :D

Thanks for all the reviews! They are appreciated! So please do review! They motivate me! ;) suggestions and constructive criticism always welcome!


CHAPTER THREE:

January 17th

Molly still hadn't spoken to Sherlock. She thought about him almost constantly though.

He'd shot a man, point blank range in the head, Lestrade had told her. He was a murderer. But she knew he must have had his reasons. Still, she wasn't sure how to feel about this. Then, apparently, he was exiled from the England which lasted less than five minutes, again information found out from Lestrade. Yet he never came to say goodbye to her. Now Moriarty was supposedly back on the scene and still no word whatsoever.

How could she begin to forgive him for everything else when more stuff just kept piling up against him?

Granted she hadn't replied to his text the night she last saw him, or apologised for saying that she hated him, but surely if he thought their friendship was worth it he wouldn't have given up that easily. He was like a dog with a bone when it came to getting what he wanted.

She obviously wasn't what he wanted, just needed at the time.

She worried about him though, god was she worried. But he had John and his brother now to keep a close eye on him. Surely not even the great Sherlock Holmes could escape his brother's watchful eye now and slip back into his old habits.

Then there was that night, the night she'd dreamed of sharing with him since the day she'd first met him. It was different from all the times she'd imagined but it still happened nonetheless. She wanted him again but she definitely didn't need him.

She scrolled down her phonebook to his name, her thumb hovering over it.

No.

She locked the phone and hastily put it back in her pocket with a sigh.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Out of the two, heroin was becoming his drug of choice. Cocaine fuelled his sex drive too much and there was no Molly to help him with that. Heroin had the opposite effect, though it still didn't stop him from thinking about her.

She hated him. He didn't hate her.

The Moriarty case was so much more thrilling than the Magnussen one, and he had his dear friend beside him to help like the good old days, at the promise Sherlock wouldn't complain if he took 'personal time' with his heavily pregnant wife. Yet he still couldn't give up on the drugs.

After the events of killing Magnussen and his 'banishment', it hadn't taken him long to slip back into the routine he'd adopted before getting shot of getting high on the daily. John would rarely stay past 7pm, and he knew after 11pm the likelihood of Mrs Hudson disturbing him or a random appearance from Mycroft were slim so that's he could take drugs without being interrupted. He even tried smoking again as an alternative but found that was no comparison.

There was no way he was going to confide in John about his drug problem but perhaps there was something his friend could help him with.

"You what?!"

The expression on John's face was priceless at that moment, better than the time he'd revealed his 'relationship' with Janine.

"We slept together."

"You shagged Molly Hooper." the doctor repeated said slowly.

"Yes," he nodded, "we engaged in sexual intercourse."

"But I thought you were a..."

"Virgin?" Sherlock finished. "Not anymore."

"Erm," John shifted in his chair awkwardly thinking about what to say next. "So how was it for you?"

"Good," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"How did it happen?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "You've bragged of three continents and have a pregnant wife. I'm sure you can use your imagination doctor." He nodded towards the wall where the sofa was. "I'd place us about there."

"Oh god Sherlock," John groaned, "I didn't mean that. Mental image, I can't ever un-think that now. Thanks a lot."

Sherlock grinned, he knew the point of his friend's question hadn't been that, but he would never miss up on the chance to provoke that sort of reaction from him.

"I mean how did it come about that you done the deed?"

"Oh right, well she came over the night of your wedding. We spoke, we kissed and then we had sex." He left out the part about being high; John didn't need to know that.

"Wow," John murmured, "when you texted me I would have never guessed I was coming over for this conversation. The night of my wedding though, wasn't she still with Tom?"

"Please spare me the lecture about morals, John."

"Actually I was going to say," John smiled, "maybe she got the two of you confused."

"Confuse me with him? Mr Meat Dagger? Please don't insult me." Sherlock caught his friend's eye and they both began laughing.

"He's an idiot."

"Understatement."

"He's like your clone gone wrong."

Once the Tom jokes ran dry, Sherlock explained to John, that since he had more experience when it came to the fairer sex, perhaps he could advise him as to why Molly was so annoyed with him. Of course he didn't mention that she pretty much knew that he'd taken, or rather was still taking drugs for more than just a case.

"I doubt she really hates you Sherlock."

"She won't have sex with me again."

"Still haven't quite grasped the concept of human emotions have you, buddy?"

"Déjà vu," Sherlock was amused that his friends words echoed those exact ones his wife muttered to him when they first met.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Just tell me what I done wrong so I can fix it."

"I'm not going to help you use Molly Hooper because you've finally discovered the joys of sex."

"I don't want her just for sex."

John raised an eyebrow, "A proper relationship then?"

"No," Sherlock screwed up his face at the idea. "I just want it to be back to normal."

"Friendship?"

"If that's what you'd call it," Sherlock sighed. He needed whatever she could give him; sex, help, friendship.

"Sex complicates friendship, and the fact Molly has feelings towards you anyway probably doesn't help either," John explained. "Plus the whole drugs thing, she was pretty pissed off. I can understand why, she cares about you."

"It was for the case."

"Doesn't stop her worrying."

"Well she's obviously not worried about me right now as she hasn't spoken to me since..."

"Sherlock," John sat forward and gave him a questioning look, "why would she be worried now?"

Sherlock mentally kicked himself for the near slip up but he didn't hesitate with a quick reply. "Because my homicidal, psychotic archenemy has seemingly returned from the dead. Why wouldn't she worry about me?"

John rolled his eyes and sat back again. "Just apologise."

"Tried that,"

"Without shoving your tongue down her throat, Sherlock. My guess is she's feeling vulnerable and you can be very intimidating."

"I am not intimidating."

"Yes you are," John insisted. "So you've got to let her know you're feeling just as vulnerable as she is."

"Now I'm vulnerable as well? You have no idea what you're going on about, do you?"

"Not a bloody clue," John chuckled. "Welcome to the world of women Sherlock, it's a complicated place."

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath it seemed there was no quick solution to this.

"Sherlock,"

"Yes John,"

"You know if there is something you think Molly should be worried about or I should be. I want to know." John said sheepishly.

Sherlock didn't dismiss his friend's caring as annoying as he usually would have, he just nodded. John seemed to appreciate his lack of sarcasm and smiled before looking at his watch.

"Sorry Sherlock, I've got to rush off. Mary wants to go to Ikea this afternoon."

Sherlock watched John get up and grab his coat, "How is she?" He asked.

"She's fine, in the nesting stage" John replied. "Scrubbed the kitchen floor five times in the past couple of days. Nearly killed me when I went in there with my shoes still on yesterday."

"I'll be sure to stay out of the way then. Give her my love."

"That's probably for the best. And I will. And just try to speak to Molly again okay just don't be a complete dickhead this time" John was typing a text as he spoke. "Oh, and I'll pick up them files from Lestrade on my way tomorrow if he has them."

"See you then."

"See you." John put his phone in his pocket and offered Sherlock a goodbye gesture with his hand before leaving.

Sherlock didn't move for about half an hour, he went over and over all the information he had on Moriarty. But since his 'return' there was still hardly any new leads on him or who was behind it. In fact there wasn't much to do until Lestrade provided him with them files tomorrow.

Great. He was bored.

He got up and went to the fridge, he hadn't been shopping in a while yet all the essentials were in there, Mrs Hudson's doing no doubt. He hadn't eaten a decent meal in a while, just a few mouthfuls of takeaway when he knew that John was watching him. He knew he should have something, anything, but he wasn't hungry so opted for slamming the door shut.

It wasn't the drugs, no, he rarely ate anyway. Same went for sleeping too; he only required the bare minimum, although he struggled to remember when he'd got even that without waking up during the night and craving something in the form of sex or drugs.

He checked his phone as if expecting to see a text from Molly, of course not. He opened up the thread of messages between them, rereading the last one before typing.

'Molly, we need to talk. SH'

There were no second thoughts before he pressed send even then he still didn't have a chance to think as the distinctive factory setting iPhone text alert went off.

But it wasn't his phone. It wasn't even coming from the kitchen. Before he could investigate, his answer has entered the flat, poking her head around the door with a gentle knock. She let herself in and quickly spotted him in the kitchen.

"Mrs Hudson let me in," she explained. He didn't even recall hearing the doorbell, annoying thing, he often blocked it out.

"That was quick Molly,"

"What?"

"I just text you,"

"Oh," she reached into her coat pocket to get her phone and read his message. "Great minds think alike." She laughed nervously.

They stared at each other, he suddenly found himself lost for words. Unsure of how to approach the subjects without saying something that she could take the wrong way.

"Can I get you a drink?" It was a start.

She looked pleasantly surprised at his question, like he'd never offered her a beverage before. He'd handed her a glass of wine at a 'social get together' a few years back.

"Tea please, I'll take..."

"I know how you like your tea."

"Of course you do."

Whilst he prepared her drink, she took off her coat and took a seat on the sofa. Sitting up straight pretending to busy herself on her phone, not realising he was aware of every lingering glance she stole of him. At the fear of getting turned on he pushed all sexual thoughts to the corner of his mind, he knew they weren't a priority at this moment in time.

Damn, did she have to bite her bottom lip like that?

She eyed the drink carefully as he handed it over and took a seat next to her. Her expression quickly changed to that of satisfaction once she'd taken a sip.

"Let's talk then," she said looking down into the cup. "How are you?"

He didn't know how to reply, should he lie and say okay then wait for her to press him more? Should he offload all his problems at once? Or maybe this was one of them female reverse psychology things where he wasn't supposed to answer, instead asking her how she was. What if he came across intimidating, like John had advised against?

"Are you still using drugs?"

Oh, that's what she wanted to know.

"Yes," he took a deep breath. "Every day; heroin or cocaine."

Her breathing rhythm faltered at his admittance. She gripped her cup tighter and still didn't look at him.

She didn't hate him.

"Why? Is the Moriarty thing too boring for you? Does it help you focus or something?"

"At first I used to use out of boredom, plus they do help me think. But now it's more than that. I'm nothing more than an addict, getting high because I have to."

Now she faced him, eyes full of disappointment. More so than when she'd slapped him at the lab. He didn't like it. He wanted to tell her to stop.

"I am dependant on the drugs." he didn't want to say it and he knew she didn't want to hear it. But he felt relief saying it out loud perhaps now she would understand just how much he needed her.

John was right about feeling vulnerable.

"When I texted you saying that I was addicted, it wasn't a lie. It wasn't to manipulate you." He said.

"Why did you have sex with me?"

He took a moment before answering this, he wanted to be truthful with her but at the same time he didn't want to come across too blunt. Something he had a habit of doing.

"I was curious, not only did I physically crave sex I wanted to know what it felt like mentally and I found you appealing."

"You mean you found me useful?" Her tone quickly changed to bordering the 'anger danger zone'.

"Was Janine useful as well? You really did do a number on her!"

He rolled his eyes at the memory of his fictional sex life splashed across the daily tabloids. "I didn't have sex with Janine, that was her idea of revenge." He really didn't want to talk about this. They were getting nowhere, how irritating.

"You know you cheated on your fiancee with me?"

His brain was telling him to shut up now, unfortunately his mouth had other plans.

"You can't exactly play the wounded victim. In fact you flirted with me all the time, you even suggested we go out for dinner whilst when I came back to London at which time you were engaged. You came to my house uninvited that night and willingly had sex with me. Maybe I was using you at the time but I don't know exactly what you expected. A confession of love? A marriage proposal? I didn't promise you any of that. You know who I am, Molly."

He should have just stuck with repeatedly saying sorry again.

Now she was crying. There were tears rolling down her face and he was certain her brain was trying to come up with new insults to use on him. He wanted to call a time out. He'd only stated the truth though; this was an irrational response to it.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, it was coming, the insult she'd thought up especially for him.

"I know,"

Did he hear that right?

"We've both screwed up. I can't not care for you, Sherlock; trust me I've tried"

"I need you," he softened his features.

"I want you,"

That's what he wanted to hear.