Chapter Three - Relationships

Who could have known that Molly's cat Toby and Sherlock would form a bond? Toby was not your usual housecat. Molly had rescued him several years before and nursed him back to health. He was a survivor. He had thrived in the dark alleys of London, but not without scars. With his mangled left ear and a limp in his right leg, Toby wouldn't earn any prizes for beauty. He was king of all he surveyed and that included Molly Hooper. He was fiercely protective of her. She often joked to visitors that she needed a sign that read, "Beware Of Attack Cat."

The day Toby met Sherlock, the two faced each other just like a pair of gunslingers in a shootout. Sherlock stared at Toby. Toby stared at Sherlock. It was obvious they were sizing each other up.

"Here it comes," Molly thought. Usually at this point Toby would show visitors his true character by arching his back, extending his claws, and hissing in a truly frightening manner. To Molly's surprise, this time Toby simply turned his back on Sherlock and began washing his paws.

Sherlock and Toby totally ignored each other for a week. Then the cat started following Sherlock everywhere he went. Molly thought it was hilarious that it even sat outside the door meowing plaintively when Sherlock took a shower. Even funnier was when the door swung open enough for the cat to enter.

That was about that time mice started showing up in the bin. "What on earth is going on?" Molly had thought when she saw a third mouse there in a period of just a few days. After the sixth, she could stand it no longer. "What's with the mice?" she asked, disgustedly dangling the latest specimen by it's tail.

Sherlock looked up from the laptop and pointed in Toby's direction. "Presents," he said, "he leaves them on my pillow for me."

"Oh."

Molly didn't know whether to be horrified at the thought of having mice, or to laugh at the thought of Sherlock waking up to beady little mouse eyes staring at him. She felt like she no longer owned a cat. She was tolerated; after all she was needed to feed and change the litter. In all other things, Molly might as well have been invisible as far as Toby was concerned.

Toby's final act of desertion was the day Molly came out of the kitchen area and found Sherlock sitting in the armchair staring into space as he frequently did when in deep thought. Toby sat on his lap purring loud enough to be heard across the room. Sherlock absently stroked the cat's fur with his long fingers in much the same way he used to stroke his violin.

"You traitor," Molly said to the cat, "you're supposed only let me pet you."

Toby simply opened his eyes and stared at her with a look that seemed to say, "He needs me more than you do."

ɸ

Molly loved chocolate. Two months earlier she had discovered a new dark chocolate from Belgium. It came in small squares wrapped in gold foil with the name Seduction embossed on the top. It was ridiculously expensive.

Molly considered herself to be a connoisseur of all things chocolate. In her opinion, Seduction Chocolate was the best she had ever tasted and worth the price. She took to carrying some of it around with her wherever she went. She kept some in a small bowl on the kitchen table, in her purse, and even in the pocket of her lab coat. One could not have too much chocolate.

Seduction Chocolate melted on her tongue in silky perfection at the same time releasing a pleasing aroma that blended seamlessly with the taste, enhancing the total experience. The aftertaste hinted of hazelnuts and raspberry. It was chocolate ecstasy. Molly sighed blissfully.

"You're going to put on weight if you continue to consume chocolate at that rate," Sherlock observed. "There are some advantages I admit. For instance, the release of endorphins to the brain creates feelings of euphoria. Serotonin is also increased, fostering mood lifts and relaxation. And of course menstruating women often benefit from the high iron . . ."

"Sherlock," Molly snapped in irritation, "shut up!"

The look on Sherlock's face was so comical Molly wondered why she had not tried yelling before. "Try one," she said, holding out a piece of chocolate.

Sherlock quickly recovered and simply waved his right hand in a dismissive wave. "Chocolate is boring."

"Not this chocolate, try one," she repeated, "I dare you to say it's not good."

Sherlock considered, then took the offered sweet, carefully removed the golden foil, and popped it in his mouth.

"Well?"

Sherlock was silent for a few moments. Molly could almost see him deciding whether to tell the truth or not. "Its good," he reluctantly admitted.

"Ha!" crowed Molly, "I told you so!"

"That doesn't change your weight problem."

"I don't have a weight problem," Molly said acidly. "Besides, I already thought about it. I'll just increase my daily workout by twenty minutes. That should be enough to cover four or five chocolates."

"You could use the time to practice some techniques I could show you. If you dare."

"All right," Molly agreed. She wasn't about to let Sherlock see her back down from anything, but she couldn't help wondering what she was getting herself into.

So began what was to become an almost nightly ritual. Sherlock was a fairly patient teacher. Oh, he was snarky enough if he thought she wasn't trying her best, but he was willing to patiently go over anything she was having difficulty with. It was amazing how quickly she improved. Some of the things Sherlock taught her were not very nice. It was no holds barred street fighting. Dirty, dangerous, and Molly loved it.

"You don't have time to follow rules or worry about being fair when your life is in danger," Sherlock had said.

Molly learned to observe Sherlock carefully. More and more she was able to anticipate his next move. The first time she was able to flip Sherlock into the air and pin him to he floor she was so excited she ran around the flat whooping and yelling so loud Toby ran to the bedroom and hid under the bed. Molly was too busy celebrating to notice the intense look of longing that covered Sherlock's face. It was gone in a moment and when Molly turned, it was to see a smiling, congratulating Sherlock.

Soon afterwards, Sherlock's work began to draw him away. Many nights he did not return to the flat. When he did return he was always disguised. His hair was cut short in a nondescript style that did not draw attention as his longer hair would have. The disguises were not cheesy affairs like his pirate costume had been; they were professional quality.

Sherlock explained that things were getting more dangerous. There were rumors of Moriarty everywhere. The disguises helped keep Moriarty's men from tracking him back to Molly. More often than not, Sherlock came back bruised or wounded. The worst had been a knife slash that required fifteen stitches.

One morning Sherlock pushed Molly's laptop around so the she could see. The screen showed the London news headlines for the day. Third on the list was :"Scotland Yard Discovers New Lead in Bank Scandal Case."

Molly leaned around the cereal box and read the article.

"One of yours?" Molly asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Someone in my network provided them with videos of Moriarty's men at work. It only took three tries to get the Yard interested," Sherlock added sarcastically. "I thought we were going to have to hit them over their heads before they picked up on what was going on."

"Well, they can't all be as smart as Lestrade," Molly said reasonably.

Sherlock ignored Molly's implication that Lestrade might have some intelligence. He snorted, "You'd think as many leads as we have given them, they would have connected the dots by now. If they could see the pattern - if they realized that everything points to Moriarty's schemes - they could take over and I could go after bigger fish. Now, if that's not bad enough, Mycroft is sticking his nose into our business. Twice, we have almost been caught." Sherlock closed the lid of the laptop with a snap and leaned back in the chair with a sigh of frustration.

"But you are both on the same side. Can't you get him to help you?"'

"Mycroft is on Mycroft's side."

"But he's your brother!" Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock answered with another derisive snort. "Moriarty is out there. I keep hearing rumors, but nothing I can track down."

"Sherlock," Molly hesitated, then continued, "your homeless network is doing a great job, but don't you need someone you can really depend on? Have you thought about contacting John? You could use his help and he could cover your back."

"No," Sherlock said with a tone of finality, "John is safe. I'll not put him in harms way again."

"He deserves to know the truth."

"He deserves to be alive!" Sherlock snapped.

Molly winced, he was always like this when she tried talk about John. "I know why you needed to protect him and the others and why you had to jump. But there is no reason that he shouldn't know now that you are alive."

"There is every reason. I won't let John risk his life for me. I would die if something happened to him because I asked him to help me. I care for him too much for that." The words seemed to burst out on their own. Sherlock glared wildly at Molly.

"It's difficult to explain. It's not about girlfriends, or boyfriends, or sex." He placed scornful emphasis on the word sex. " It's much deeper, not easily defined. I look at others around me, little people going about their boring lives. I watch their casual relationships begin and end, and wonder how they can live such shallow lives when what I feel is so deep, so rock solid, it hurts."

"As if your souls were connected," Molly said softly, "I'm not talking about sex either." Molly hastily said after looking at the expression on Sherlock's face.

Molly stood up, moved behind his chair, and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Not everyone is able to feel so deeply, Sherlock. It's a gift and a curse. Caring so deep is a rare thing. Even more rare if it is returned by the other person. Such love cannot be selfish. Selfishness changes into obsession. You can't put John on a shelf to keep him safe. You can only allow him to choose for himself. Sometimes it turns out the way you want, and sometimes it is the most painful experience you have ever known."

Sherlock turned and stared intently at her, Molly realized that he understood that she was talking about more than his relationship to John; that she was speaking of their relationship as well.

Molly picked up her coat and purse. "I'm going for a walk. Think about it." Molly walked to the door and quietly closed it after her.

Sherlock sat very still. For a long time not a muscle moved. Suddenly he stood and walked quickly to the bedroom and began to pack.

ɸ

Molly heard nothing from Sherlock for over a week. Then one day she received a text message that read:

Going to France. Will be some time away. SH

Three days later a package was delivered to Bart's. Inside was a beautifully wrapped box of Seduction Chocolates. The enclosed note said:

Sorry. SH

Molly stared at the note. Sherlock never apologized. Not for anything. What was he sorry for? For leaving? For not telling John he was alive? For the tangled mess of their relationship? Molly wasn't sure. She held the note tightly and laughed. Then she cried. The Chocolates lay on the desk unnoticed.

ɸ

Molly decided something had to be done about John. It was over four months since "the fall." Sherlock was in France, and John was here, still grieving. Molly wouldn't betray Sherlock's confidences, but she had to find a way to help John.

From Mike Stanford, Molly learned that John often sat in the park across from the clinic at lunchtime. For three days she haunted the park until she finally spotted John sitting on a bench overlooking a small duck pond.

"Hello John, may I join you?" Molly handed him a cup of coffee and took John's silence to mean yes. She sat down and sipped her coffee in silence.

"What do you want, Molly?" John asked at last. If you want to talk about him...I can't."

"I just want to be near someone who cares about him too. I need that right now. Is it okay if we just sit together for a while?"

John looked at her curiously. "You speak of him in the present tense. As if he is still here."

"He is for me," Molly answered simply.

John nodded. He didn't understand, but he accepted her answer. They sat quietly watching the people walk past them. When Molly gathered her things preparing to leave, John stood up with her and placed his hand on her arm.

"Molly, how can you do it? You loved him. How can you be so calm?"

Molly looked into John's pain filled eyes. She thought of her empty flat. How she might never see Sherlock again. "I feel pain John, I feel it in every breath, but I can choose how I think of him. I have a choice John. Sherlock is more than one horrible day on the top of Bart's. Choose to think about all the good things, the best times." Molly stepped closer and gave John a fierce hug. "Thank you so much."

John grabbed her hand as she turned to leave. "Could we do this again?" he asked.

"I'd like that John."

"Same place next week?"

Molly smiled and nodded. As he watched her walk away, something changed inside him. It was a very small change. Dr. John Watson's heart began to heal.