A/N *Slowly leaves this here and backs away.*
I am so sorry if it took this long, but I still hope you enjoy this.
Also, have you ever experienced an epiphany that just comes out of nowhere?
Happy reading guys! Oh, and as always, feel free to tell me what you think!
Again, unbetaed and out of the blue.
"My breath is soft, your hands are unlocked
Unmanned and unvertical
I feel strings without the black and blue
A weekend in a weekday's shoes."
It was a sunny and warm afternoon, when she finally admitted to herself that she's in love with the rude, bossy and insensitive consulting detective that drops by every once in a while at her lab and morgue. She was inside her sister's hospital room, staring at a wriggling bundle with honey-colored hair and bright blue eyes, when her heart resigned to the idea that she has finally fallen to the arrows of Cupid.
Her sister Carrie, had just given birth but her husband was nowhere in sight. Her brother-in-law was in Italy at that time, busy negotiating and closing deals and missing out on the birth of his first born.
"That good for nothing ass!"
"Carrie!" She admonished, horrified and embarrassed that her sister would use such crude words in front of a newborn – her very own new born.
"What?" Carrie simply shrugged her off, completely transfixed with closing and opening Emmanuel Hooper-Howard's little fingers. "It's not like Eman can understand what I just said. Besides, it's true. His father is a prick for missing out a rare opportunity to have his fingers crushed while being yelled at and blamed for each of my painful contractions. How dare he miss my little Eman's birthday, right my boy?"
Little Eman merely yawned.
"You are cursing him, but you are not really angry at him. Right?" As much as Molly approves of her brother-in-law, he had quickly descended into the lower ranks in her Fav People List when she learned that he won't be at the hospital for her nephew's big day.
"Oh no. No, no no." Carrie's vehement shaking barely jolted the lethargic newborn. "Make no mistake dear sis. I am pissed off with him. In fact, when he gets back he will get an earful of how-could-you's and a nice heap of guilt-trip. But I also understand him. I understand and accept his reason. Having a baby is not easy on the pockets. Besides I know him. He's probably on his fourth cup of tea by now."
"What does that have to do with this?"
"He practically siphons tea when he is giddy and I know that even if he can't see his son, or even if he didn't sound excited over the phone, the knowledge that Eman's here now had definitely revved up his batteries. For that I forgive him. You might want to record this because I am only going to say this now while I am still high in adrenaline and am not in my proper mind, but despite everything that he is and isn't, I love that old bugger.
Ten minutes after that conversation, Carrie was asleep and Molly was left to look after her nephew. While she was rocking little Eman to sleep, her sister's phone went off and she answered it, only to be greeted by an Italian nurse informing them that Jacob Howard was in the hospital because he choked on his Earl tea.
After assuring that she won't be losing a brother-in-law minutes after gaining a nephew, Molly ended the call and stared at Eman.
There was no bright lights, fuzzy feelings or heraldic music. She only looked at baby Eman and sighed.
"Well Eman, looks like I am in love too."
"I play the violin when I am thinking."
"Sometimes I don't speak for days."
"I skip meals especially when I am in the middle of a case."
"I sometimes shoot my walls when I am bored."
"I don't smoke, but I use nicotine patches."
This is not what she imagined when Sherlock decided to have a conversation about her feelings towards him. She expected straight and outward rejection. She even expected some scientific and logical explanation of why sentiment is an inconvenience and should therefore be shunned. Instead, she gets a rundown of things about him that she already knows.
"John used to complain when I play the violin at 2:30 in the morning, but it soothes me and helps me process faster, so I never stopped and will never stop."
"What-"
"When I am on a case or when I need to focus I tend to shut other stimuli, so I don't respond when addressed. However, I only do that when I am sure that there is no other urgent matter that needs my attention."
"Sherlock-"
"I have nothing against eating. I eat three times a day, sometimes four when Mrs. Hudson decides that to try a new recipe. But I do tend to skip meals when I am on a case because it halters my thinking process. However, I don't starve myself. That is a foolish thing to do. I know my body and I recognize when it needs sustenance so I eat. Chips, in my opinion, count as a meal."
"Sherlock, why are you-"
"My mind constantly needs stimulation. I think dying of boredom is actually possible for me, which is why I always seek puzzles and cases. However, there are times when I experience a lull and when that happens, I tend to express my frustration by shooting a smiley face in my wall. I still shoot the walls, but I am now seeking a more constructive and less dangerous way of passing the time."
"I don't really see why you are-"
"There are cases that merits three nicotine patches – a three patch problem. My body is already accustomed to that practice. It is the only habit that I have retained from my old days. By old days, I mean the time when I used to do drugs. I have been clean for nearly a decade and I have no intention of returning to abusing substance."
"Sherlock please-"
"When I was younger, I was taken to different specialists. Some of them advised for therapy, others recommended pills. The therapies ended in disasters, the pills were a bother. There were no definitive findings. I heard John refer to it as Asperger, I think it's sociopathic, but Mycroft and mother thinks it is ASD. You're a doctor so I leave it to you to draw your own con-"
"STOP!"
Her voice could barely be heard amidst the downpour, but for her and for the man that waits for no one, it was enough to stop the world. In that moment, there is no crime scene, no dead bodies, no cold rainfall and certainly no nosy brother, flatmate and detective inspector that are sneakily glancing at their direction.
At exactly 4:23pm, the Earth vanished, leaving only Sherlock Holmes, Molly Hooper and a can of worms that had to be opened.
"Is this a game to you Sherlock?" The dam had broken. Fortunately, it is not easy to distinguish tears from raindrops. "Is everything just a game to you? For future references, a single "Stop" or "No" could have sufficed, because believe me, I am already half way there."
Of course it was a lie, it was just something she had been telling herself ever since that day in the hospital. Sometimes closure isn't something a person could push to experience. Sometimes, the face has to be slammed by a door, so as to gain a sense of finality. She had already spent too much time in Limbo. A quick and hard fall is a saving grace.
But then again, he is Sherlock Holmes and she is Molly Hooper. He always dashes off and she always waits.
'One last. One last, and then it is goodbye.'
For a minute, they stood staring at each other. She didn't dare to break the silence that followed. Again, she ended up waiting for him. She could barely open her eyes because of the rain, but she kept her focus on the bright blue irises that looked like beacons on a stormy night.
If only they could lead her home.
When he finally spoke, it was as if he never stopped.
"I don't care for social trivialities. I see more than what most people see. I know more than what most people know and I say more than what most people say. I could come off as rude and insensitive and most of the time I don't care."
"That's it. I'm leaving."
She can take a hint. Truth be told, she had been taking hints for years now. The coffee rejections, the blatant misuse of compliments, the Christmas affair and the disappearance after his death. All of them screamed no, but he was always in a hurry back then. He was always immediately gone and she was always left staring at his retreating back, without even a chance to really come to a solid conclusion. This time, however, even the darkness of the sky and his wet hair that slightly conceals his sharp face, can't hide anything anymore.
Turning around, she decides that this time, she is the one who walks away and he gets to watch. This is her graceful exit. Fortunately the rain knows how to obliterate tear tracks.
She had barely taken a step when London started to spin. Before she could understand what is happening, a pair of strong hands is gripping her arms and she finds herself staring again at a set of too-familiar eyes.
Back to the start.
"I will not stop being me, Molly. I will never go to dates. I will never bring flowers. I don't give a damn about anniversaries and girlfriends will never be my area." His grip became tighter at each word that he spoke, but the pressure in her arms is no match to the tightness in her chest. "Look at me Molly. This is the man you chose to love."
As usual, he spat the word like it is poison. As if it's a reflex, her mind was quick to kick her into defending the sentiment.
Not now. Not anymore.
"Are you done, Sherlock?" She tried to pry his hands but he held on to her like a predator would to its prey. "Because you are absolutely right. You had just perfectly described the man I fell in love with. But guess what, nothing about what you said is new at all. I already know all of that."
She would have thought that it was a trick brought by the flowing raindrops, however his face which was previously an edged mask of indifference, slowly morphed into something softer. It stayed that way as he slowly pulled her closer to him. With tenderness that she only saw him display during that Christmas, he leaned forward until the raindrops that trickled from his hair, pelted down her nose.
"Then you are an idiot, Molly Hooper." He whispered. Up close, his eyes looked like ice crystals. His breath fanned in her face like a winter breeze while something cold came to rest at her left cheek.
It is at that moment, when he looked and felt at his coldest, that she finally understood. Really, she should have known. He is Sherlock Holmes. He is a complex man and he never did anything like an ordinary person. Deep inside, a preening part of her chides that Sherlock should be thankful that Molly Hooper is not an ordinary person either. Otherwise, she would have long let go and turned around as well.
"That's not something new either." Slowly, she reached for the hand that came to rest at her cheek. "But that's what it takes. Knowing what there is and isn't and working your way around it. Together."
There was no bright lights, fuzzy feelings or heraldic music.
"Molly, I think I may have made a gross miscalculation."
Nor was there any grand revelation of feelings.
"And what do we call a person that made such a grievous mistake?"
There was, however, the rain, the cold and a simple understanding of a complex nature.
"An idiot."
"I'm gonna rescue you
So you can rescue me too
Make it a rendezvous"
