Third chapter updated for more story fleshing out, typos and stuff that happens when I'm in a rush to publish. Enjoy!


Life Without Sherlock

He was talking again. He was often talking but this time it hurt to hear it. There was raw emotion in the voice as it told him lies. It told him that his faith was misplaced, that his lover was a fraud. The agony in that voice, the voice on the other end of the mobile, laid open the lie. But the lies kept flowing. John was aching to tell him everything. Tell him how much he loved, admired, respected, needed this voice in his life. But he was confused. He didn't know what was going on.

By the time he understood, it was too late. The mobile fell to the rooftop and his beloved fell to the pavement with a horrible broken thud. John was yelling, screaming his name, trying desperately to get to him, but he was prevented. By the cyclist who knocked him down. By the asphalt that made his head throb and his vision blur. By the people who tried to help by keeping him away. He kept crying out the name. Over and over and over...

"SHERLOCK!" John jolted upright in bed at the sound of his own voice, drenched in sweat and trembling. Again. Every night the same nightmare. Nothing changed. He never told Sherlock what he needed to say. Sherlock always jumped. John never reached the body, never touched his love again. Panting, he lay back against the sweat-damp pillow, curled himself into a fetal ball and cried himself back to sleep. Again.

...

What John Doesn't Know

Molly had done it again. She'd made all the arrangements that Sherlock couldn't while being so focused on his work. She'd given him a place to stay, a mobile under a pseudonym, acted as the go-between for Mycroft so that Sherlock didn't have to talk to him. Most importantly, she had arranged a position at a London hospital for John. It wasn't St. Bart's. John couldn't be convinced to approach that building again, not that Molly blamed him for that.

Sherlock was healed enough to hunt down Moriarty's hit men. Any of the leads that took him into London were risky so he'd had to resort to makeup to hide his distinctive features. It really was a hindrance, being famous. Or, in his own case, infamous. He ground his teeth. Molly was applying the coloring to bleach his hair and the process was tedious. Boring! But necessary, so he'd held his tongue this time. He found that he was doing that a lot around Molly lately and he wasn't sure what it meant. Gratitude? Possibly.

She applied the last drops and wrapped the towel around his head. "Right. You let that sit for a while before you wash it out."

"It stinks."

"Of course it stinks, you idiot. You've got peroxide in your hair." Molly was no longer timid around Sherlock. She had seen him strong and she had seen him weak. He didn't frighten her and he didn't cause butterflies anymore. She was certain the infatuation was over. Thank God! With that out of the way she'd found that she was able to relax with him. He was more like a brother who needed special handling. Not the same kind that Mycroft needed. Molly smirked to herself on recalling the last time she'd spoken with the elder Holmes brother.

"No, Mycroft. John is not prepared to deal with you." Molly was determined and her concern for John had given her the strength to stand up to Mycroft.

"Ms. Hooper... " the tall man's voice was condescending so she'd cut him off before he could continue.

"Sherlock is grateful for your financial support right now but he warns that since you were the one who sold him out to Moriarty you would likely be risking your own life if you go and see John. Since he believes that you helped cause Sherlock's death..." she paused as the pain of that still gripped her heart.

Mycroft nodded slightly in acknowledgment but in the same movement dismissed the risk. "Yes, he will probably physically attack me. I am prepared for that event. However, for social reasons I must make an appearance before Sherlock returns. I merely wanted to know what your opinion was on the doctor's mentality. Thank you for your visit." With that, he'd stood up and gestured to the door of his office, indicating that the interview was over.

Molly had left, wondering if she would see this Holmes at some point in the near future with a black eye to show for his visit to John. It was obvious he would do it, regardless of Sherlock's warning. She was brought back to the present by the sound of Sherlock grunting as he stood up.

Sherlock groaned as he stretched his legs. Molly, being short, had made him sit on a chair so small his kneed were nearly to his chest, and they ached a little. He paced the kitchen of the tiny cottage, impatient for time to pass so he could get on with his work. Impatient to finish off the last remaining pieces of Moriarty's spiderweb so he could get back to John. He was impatient with his constant reliance on this woman who had so little connection to him, just a convenient infatuation that assured she would allow him lab access when he needed it. And this refuge during his "death". Sherlock thought of Molly for a moment. Based on her recent reactions to him, that infatuation had faded away, yet she still helped. He spun suddenly to face the woman, who was cleaning up the remnants of hair dye from the floor and chair.

"Why?"

Startled, Molly glanced up at him "Why what?"

He cocked his head at her, eyes intense, penetrating, just as they used to be when she'd thought she was in love. "Why are you doing so much for me?"

She'd considered that question periodically on her own for some time. Years really. But her reasons had changed over time and she was ready to face him with the current, newly discovered ones. Straightening up, she put all the dye debris in the bin, crossed her arms over her chest, met his gaze and shrugged. "We're family."

His eyes widened in surprise. That was not the response he expected. Molly was not so easy to read anymore. Had these past months changed her so much? "I'm afraid you're mistaken. We have no biological connection whatsoever. Why would you believe we are family?"

Molly grinned at his naiveté. Even now, his social knowledge was lacking. "There is more than one definition for the word 'family'. Why don't you look up the variations?"

Sherlock's eyes flickered rapidly before he spoke in almost a monotone, "Family: a group of people affiliated by blood, affection, or co-habitation." He grinned at her, amused, a truly stunning sight and something he displayed so rarely now. "You consider us to be family by way of our near co-habitation in this cottage."

Shaking her head she replied softly, "No you idiot, by affection. You and John, you're my family."

For the first time in their long association Sherlock gazed at Molly and allowed himself to really consider how she impacted his life. She'd allowed him to run experiments on her cadavers. She'd given him access to her lab numerous time when she could have gone home. She'd laid out a cot for John when Sherlock exhausted him before the Fall. She'd helped him survive that Fall. She was helping him now with his plans to rid himself forever of Moriarty's web. And she helped give John a reason to keep going even though Sherlock was "dead."

Molly watched his features shift as he analyzed her. It had always fascinated her but it had rarely been directed at her in this particular way. It was emotional and it was amazing. It would have been less silly without the towel still wrapped on his head, but still. His eyes closed for a moment when he obviously reached a conclusion, a tear forming at the corner of one eye.

When he said her name it was almost a whisper. He opened his eyes, his arms, and his heart to her at that moment. She smiled and walked to him, allowing him to enfold her as she'd always dreamed. The emotions were not the ones that she had hoped for all those years, but it was intense and real. His body trembled as he held her. Her tiny form was not the one he preferred to hold but somehow it still gave him comfort. He was uncertain what this meant for his future, knowing that this changed... something. He rested his chin on her head.

"Molly." It was a statement of acceptance. She was part of his life now. She was a person he would protect, like Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade. Or John. No, not like John. This wasn't that kind of feeling. But he would be upset if Molly was gone from his life.

Suddenly a thought struck him. He held her away from him and looked at her, all intensity again. "When I am 'resurrected'," she chuckled at him and he smiled, "I am going to ask John to marry me." Her eyes widened at this new secret to keep from John. Before she could comment he went on, "I want you to stand with me when we say our vows."

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him excitedly. When she let go, Sherlock watched in astonishment at this very female reaction to emotional news as she danced happily across the kitchen floor.