This is a longer one... And it only took me two days! Being at home with your car in the shop for many days has it's benefits I guess... Anyway, hope you guys like this one. It's time for some fish and chips, and then a little tabloid surprise! Enjoy! ;)
Molly climbed into the cab and Sherlock followed, then he gave the driver the address. They were then silent for a few minutes as the cab drove. Then Sherlock spoke.
"I never did quite work out why you wouldn't go to dinner with me that day you assisted me solving crimes."
Molly whirled to look at him. This evening was becoming like something from an alternate universe.
"Well, um, I don't think I ever actually said I wouldn't."
"No. You didn't need to though. Clearly you were uncomfortable with the idea."
Molly examined her hands in her lap then. True, she had been. The events of those months ago played back in her mind and it was almost funny as she remembered it. He'd invited her to dinner, she'd neither accepted nor rejected, and yet the offer was dropped and never mentioned again. They parted ways and the night was over, just like that. But typical Sherlock, he didn't even need an answer to come out of her mouth for him to know what the answer was.
"Well, you seem to think you know why I didn't accept. So why are you asking me about it?"
He took a slow breath and looked back out the window as he spoke. "What doesn't make sense is that you arrived at Baker Street that day, and were quite prepared to have dinner with me. You assumed that was the reason I'd wanted to see you." He looked back at her.
Molly looked at him nervously. He was right. She had assumed as much, and then opened her big mouth about it!
"So why," he continued. "Were you suddenly unwilling to have dinner with me only hours later? And don't say your engagement. You were as engaged that afternoon as you were that evening," he said with a wave of his gloved hand, already dismissing the excuse as invalid.
And he was right, once again. It wasn't Tom. It was her. She'd arrived at Baker Street that day feeling rather confident in herself. She was a happily engaged woman who had a friend that had recently come back from the dead. And he was just a friend, always had been. She was simply happy to see him alive and well. So she would have been happy to accept a friendly 'I'm back home' dinner invitation that day when she'd first arrived. But all that rational thought had gone right out the window by the time they'd left the last client's flat and were standing in the stair well. And suddenly she was afraid to go eat dinner with Sherlock Holmes. It felt like cheating. Because her heart already was.
Of course none of this could be explained in detail to Sherlock...
"Well, I just...I had more time to think about it by then. And I didn't think that it would have been wise. Because I didn't want Tom to get the wrong idea. It was just something I hadn't had time to think of earlier in the day. That's all," she lied.
He examined her face, and she was afraid he was carefully deducing her and realizing she was lying through her teeth. It was almost the same look he gave her when they stood there at the bottom of the stairs that day. But whether he realized she was lying or not, he simply nodded and turned back to look out the window.
A while later, they sat at a small table near the back of the little fish shop. The owner did know and love Sherlock, for "helping him put up shelves" as he had put it. So he'd placed them a bit out of the way. And he did indeed give extra portions, just as Sherlock had said. Molly continued munching slowly on the many chips that were still left on her plate and listened to Sherlock talk practically nonstop about some of his more interesting experiences while dismantling Moriarty's network. It was interesting, though that didn't matter terribly.
Molly was enjoying this. And in his own way, Sherlock seemed to be enjoying it as well. She imagined that it wouldn't have been so enjoyable if it had been all those months ago. She was glad that it was now, and not then. Back then she would have been feeling guilty. Now, there was no guilt as she smiled and blushed slightly once in a while as he talked. Or when she laughed a little at his description of some of the identities he had to take on in order to remain undercover. There was nothing hanging over her head.
He stopped suddenly though, and his eyes shifted back and forth in thought. "John has informed me that I shouldn't talk at people incessantly. Perhaps I've been doing that this evening."
"Oh, no no!" Molly immediately responded. "I liked listening, really. I mean, he's right. It's not always nice to talk at people...but I didn't mind tonight...Do you miss it? Having John to talk to all the time I mean."
Sherlock shrugged. "Sometimes I still do. I forget he's gone. I find myself still talking to him. Probably even more than the skull." He smiled.
"It's been a long time...that you've been alone I mean," she said cautiously.
He stared back at her evenly, not reacting much. But she thought she could see his gaze falter a little, and turn a little somber.
"It's been close to three years now that you haven't had a flat mate. More specifically your best friend as your flat mate," Molly added gently, trying to feel him out. Was this why he'd suddenly asked her to dinner again? The last time was when John was still angry with him.
"Well, I still have John, after all. It's not exactly the same of course, but he's still here. Besides...I do have many friends now." He gave her a half smile.
Molly smiled back as she pushed her hair off her face and behind her ear. She couldn't hold his stare for too long though, and started glancing around the restaurant. She couldn't help but notice a couple of tables full of people sneaking looks at them. Molly looked back at Sherlock and nodded her head in the direction of the onlookers.
Sherlock glanced over inconspicuously and he rolled his eyes as he looked back at Molly and shook his head. "We can't possibly be the most fascinating thing in London. These people should feel sorry for themselves."
Just then, the owner came over and slapped Sherlock on the back merrily.
"How was everything? Hope you got to eat in peace, Mr. Holmes! You're a popular man." He smiled at Molly too.
"Thank you, yes, everything was fine...I'm not sure exactly what everyone is watching for though. They're going to end up spectacularly bored!"
"I'm sure they're hoping for a 'scarf toss pub kiss' repeat," the man said lifting his eyebrows suggestively.
Sherlock frowned at Molly, then at the owner again. "I'm sorry, hoping for a repeat of what?"
"Oh, you know, the kiss!" he answered, then he said a hurried goodbye and rushed off to go scold someone in the kitchen.
Molly and Sherlock looked at each other with expressions of confusion.
"Are people really...Is that what they're...calling it?" Molly began hesitantly.
Sherlock calmly took out his phone and began typing. "I don't know, but I know someone who will."
HAS THE GENERAL PUBLIC NAMED THE KISS THAT I GAVE MOLLY? -SH
Sherlock set his mobile down on the table as he then also paid the bill. Molly protested, but he insisted that it was his idea to eat here, and it was no trouble at all. By the time the bill had been paid, Sherlock's phone alerted him to a message.
OF COURSE IT HAS A NAME. I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVEN'T SHARED THAT LITTLE GEM WITH YOU YET...IT'S THE "SCARF TOSS PUB KISS." WOULD YOU LIKE A TEE SHIRT MADE? ;) -MW
Sherlock read the message, sighed, then handed the phone to Molly. Her eyes widened a bit as she read, and her blush was spreading as she handed the phone back.
"I'm not sure what to say to that. I've never had a kiss of mine be important enough to be named before. Not that I can take much credit, I suppose. I think the drama of it was really all your doing."
"Yes well, I was attempting to...never mind. I really shouldn't have been drinking. I think that's the vital point." He cleared his throat in some embarrassment, picked his coat up, and stood from his seat.
They left the small restaurant and walked out to the street to catch a cab.
"I'm heading back to Bart's. So, I'll just take my own cab. You're not far from Baker Street."
"Right, of course." He nodded, and raised his arm for a cab. One came to a stop a couple moments later. "Here, you take this one."
"Thanks, Sherlock. Oh and, thanks for dinner. It was...nice. I'm glad I finally got to eat here." She smiled at him as she stood in the open door of the cab. She suddenly felt nervous; that familiar nervous feeling that one gets at the end of a first date. Which was silly. Because this wasn't a date. Of course it wasn't a date.
"You're welcome." He smiled back and gave a small nod. "Good evening, Molly."
"Yes, good evening," she said softly, then quickly got in the cab before the awkward feeling got worse. She knew that if it went on, she would become much more likely to say or do something she'd later regret. Best to make a rapid exit, just in case.
She laid her head back on the seat of the cab and took a few deep breaths as it began driving. He's feeling guilty. He feels guilty that he's caused so much media attention for me to deal with, and he's trying to make up for it. That's all this is. The last time he asked you to dinner there was a good reason for that too. He was just saying thank you. Do not, I repeat, do not read into this Molly Hooper! she thought to herself.
She reached into the take away container that held the remainder of her chips and she shoved another into her mouth. It was a pitifully unsuccessful distraction. She wished in that moment that she could be more like Sherlock. She wished she could shut down, and shut herself off from everything remotely emotional. She realized of course that he did occasionally have emotional and vulnerable moments. But he was clearly able to control them almost completely. If he didn't want emotions to dictate how he felt and what he did, then he simply didn't let them. Most of the time she felt sorry for him and believed that he was deprived of a lot of the joy in life because of his living like that. But then there were moments, like this one, where she firmly believed that he was the one who enjoyed the greater contentment in life.
And even though she wasn't the woman she used to be, the silly stuttering woman who barely even got called the correct name by the detective, there was no denying that she still wished she had more. And now it was all the harder to be denied what she truly still wanted.
Because the world around her now believed a lie, and it was a constant reminder to her that it would never become a truth.
Sherlock worked some moderately interesting cases for the next couple of days. John accompanied him on a few. Mary's visits to the OB were becoming more frequent now, and he couldn't be counted on as much as before.
Sherlock actually wished there would be some sort of news of Moriarty. It hadn't truly left his mind for a moment that the man could very well be out there somewhere, and possibly taking an interest in his life. He knew how Moriarty worked though, and that when he wanted to be in any sort of contact with Sherlock, he would be. And till then, he would probably be hiding in the shadows, as was more typical for him. He'd be hiding, and observing, and perhaps pulling some strings.
But he certainly didn't want to attract any more unusual attention to Molly. Which was why he was especially disturbed when he encountered a tabloid article as he walked along a street with John. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed the article from the rack.
"What? What is it?" John asked, seeing the shock on Sherlock's face.
"My God...look at this." He shoved the paper into John's hand as he tossed some money at the owner of the stand.
John tried to read a bit as he also hurried to catch up with the detective who continued with quick strides down the street.
"Sherlock, what is this?" John called after him. "This says 'Detective Needed Molly Hooper,' and it looks like it's about when you faked your death."
"Yes, that's exactly what it is. But it's detailed. Too detailed. There's exact wording in there!" he said, and poked at the page in John's hand. Then he looked around for a cab.
John began reading a portion of what was written. "It says, 'In his darkest hour, the famous detective turned to the woman that had always counted and he'd always trusted. He trusted her with his life. She never even considered refusing. Molly Hooper asked him nothing, but a simply question. What do you need? And Sherlock Holmes answer was a simple one as well...You. And need her, he did. Perhaps Sherlock Holmes would not be alive today if it hadn't been for the devotion of Doctor Molly Hooper."
John stopped reading and looked back up as a cab stopped to let them in. "This is exact wording?" he questioned as he climbed in after Sherlock.
"Yes, didn't I just say that it was?" he answered in mild frustration and began typing something on his mobile.
John looked back at the article, then at Sherlock, then back at the article. "So, I'm sorry, but what...what did you mean by you?"
"You are missing the point of my concern, John! The point is that we were alone. That was a private conversation in the lab of Bart's. How did she get that information? Where did she get it from?"
"Where did who get it from?"
Sherlock gave John a look, and answered in a somber tone. "Look at who's responsible for that article."
John sighed and shook his head as his eyes reached the bottom of the page. "Kitty Riley."
"Of course, now the information is out there. It details everything, save my actual methods for survival. Not that it matters, because Molly's vital involvement is clearly the main focus! This is exactly what I didn't want to become public!"
"Where are we going anyway?"
"To Molly's of course. Thankfully she's not working today. I'm in no mood to navigate around tabloid reporters," he grumbled.
"You know she wouldn't have done this, don't you, Sherlock?" John asked cautiously.
"Of course Molly didn't do it! So you can save your lectures about me accusing her of anything. I wasn't planning on it...but I do need to know where this could have come from. And she needs to know that things have taken a bit of a turn."
They arrived at Molly's flat not long after, and hurried up the stairs. Sherlock knocked firmly on the door and they heard Molly's soft footsteps hurrying to answer. There was a moment's pause as she likely looked through the peep hole, then they heard her undo the two locks and open the door.
"Sherlock...hi." Her expression told him that he would not be the first to share this news with her.
"It seems you know why I'm here," he said simply as he entered her little flat.
"I do," she said, sounding a little upset. "Hi John," she added with a tight smile, and gestured to her little couch.
John and Sherlock sat down and Molly sat in a well worn arm chair with a fair amount of damage from the claws of her cat. Sherlock then laid the article down on the table in front of the couch.
"I know you didn't do this." "This is all my fault."
...Both Sherlock and Molly spoke at the same time. John's eyes darted back and forth between them, and Sherlock's head tilted as he eyed Molly questioningly. Then she spoke again.
"I was going to call you, when I saw...Of course you're right, I didn't do this directly. I never spoke to any reporters about anything, especially not that. But it's...it's still my fault. Because there was one person that I told." She hesitated and looked at her hands in her lap for a second before continuing. "I told Tom."
Molly saw something cloud over in Sherlock's eyes. It almost looked like hurt. And it made her feel a hundred times worse than she had before.
"I'm so, so sorry," she said earnestly, seeking forgiveness in those eyes.
Sherlock took a moment to respond, but then he opened his mouth. He spoke slowly. "And, you told absolutely nobody else?"
"Absolutely nobody. And I never told Tom anything at all until you were back. When you were still away, all he thought was that I knew you when you were alive. I'd never have risked giving you away!"
John watched the two of them, almost like he was watching a ticking bomb. There was something lurking under the surface of this conversation...
Sherlock got up from where he sat and carefully buttoned his suit jacket again before he began to slowly pace around the small sitting room of her flat. Molly's cat Toby jumped up to occupy the space that was now open next to John on the couch. Finally Sherlock broke the silence.
"It's done now. We can't change what's already been printed...but I do want to know if Tom really did this."
Molly looked up at him from where she sat. "I- I think he did. It makes sense. He was angry the last time I talked to him; angry at you. And I think it would be easy for a pushy reporter to sway him into talking. I've tried texting and calling him and he's not answering. That makes me think he did it too. Maybe he feels guilty."
"He should feel guilty," Sherlock spat out immediately. "Doesn't he realize that he could be putting you in danger?"
"I'm sure he doesn't," John offered.
"Probably because he didn't bother to think for two seconds about any sort of consequences! As I said before, Molly, not exactly your intellectual equal!"
"I'm sorry, I wish I'd never told him." She sighed.
Sherlock stopped pacing for a moment and looked down at her again. "Why did you tell him?" The tone of the question was somewhat frustrated and a little desperate.
John, again, almost felt like he shouldn't be there watching this play out. And he wondered if Sherlock (the king of reminding others "you're missing the point") realized that there wasn't actually much point in getting an answer to that question. Why Molly had told Tom, wouldn't change the fact that he knew. And it wouldn't change the fact that he'd shared the information with Kitty Riley.
Molly chewed her lip and hesitated for a second. "I just, I felt like I should. Like I owed it to him."
"Why?" Sherlock questioned, his face scrunching up in what looked like disgust.
"Sherlock!" John hissed. "She was marrying the man, you may remember."
But Molly went on to give an explanation.
"I felt like I needed to be honest with him. I had lied to him, after all. And when you came back...well, I couldn't lie any more. I'm not sure I'm all that good at acting anyway. I don't know if I could have pulled off making him believe that it was as much a shock to me that you were alive as it was to everyone else. He wanted to know too. He said he wanted to know everything. I said I'd tell him everything I could. And I did. All I held back was...how you actually did it. I told him that was something I had no right to reveal," she said with a sheepish glance at John.
Sherlock listened with lips pressed together, trying to process it all. He took a few more steps around, before looking back at her once again. "You told him...exact words?" he questioned, though he really knew the answer already.
"I needed to be completely honest. I didn't want to hold any of that back. Because if I did, it would have felt like, like..." She hesitated, as her cheeks flushed a bit.
"Like what?!"
"Like I was hiding something about us!" she finally exclaimed, holding his gaze. "If I held back, I would have felt like I was trying to keep something...personal from him."
Sherlock stood frozen, looking back at her. He put on a more controlled expression and straightened up as he went to go stand by the window. "It seems he now thinks that's exactly what you were doing anyway. I'm not sure your plan worked."
"I'm sorry," she said again, more softly.
Sherlock turned from to look at her from where he stood. "I know...it's not as if you need to apologize to me though. This is more a matter of your own safety, after all."
But John was sitting there thinking that somehow this had turned into more than a concern for safety. He had very little doubt in his mind that it was upsetting to his typically unemotional friend, that such a private and poignant conversation had been allowed to go beyond himself and Molly. It almost seemed like Sherlock felt a little betrayed. And it was an unusual look for him.
"Would you maybe like some tea while you're here?" Molly ventured to ask, wanting to do something to calm the situation.
"I think we'd better get going actually," Sherlock answered quickly for them both and picked up his coat from the arm of the couch where Toby was inching closer and closer, and then he listed off instructions. "As usual Molly, be watchful. Perhaps more so now. If something scares you, don't ignore it. Just tell me."
Molly got up and walked over to the door as Sherlock opened it and John followed him. After they'd gone through the door, Sherlock turned to Molly again who still stood there.
"Perhaps you should offer Tom the same courtesy that you did to me," he said, as he looped his scarf around his neck.
"What's that?" she asked nervously.
"Give him fair warning. If he ever returns your messages, feel free to inform him that I'm not terribly pleased with this situation. And unlike my receiving the news of his dislike for me, this news should concern him." Sherlock gave her a pointed look that reminded her, albeit subtly, that his concern was still primarily rooted in her safety.
Molly nodded and gave him a small smile.
Then he turned, heading down the stairs, and John followed after giving Molly a quick wave. Sherlock exited the building and began walking quickly down the street with John struggling a bit to keep up.
"Shorter legs, Sherlock! Try not to keep deleting it from your mind palace! What's the rush anyway?"
"No rush, I just wanted to walk." He took out his phone to send a message as he moved briskly.
YOU'RE STILL KEEPING A CLOSE EYE ON DOCTOR HOOPER, CORRECT? -SH
"You wouldn't be walking off frustration, would you?" John asked with a smirk.
"I'm not sure what sort of frustration you're referring to John," he said evenly as he checked the reply to his text.
YOU KNOW I AM...I'M ASSUMING THE LATEST TABLOID STORY WAS A BIT EXAGGERATED. THOUGH MORIARTY MAY NOT SEE IT THAT WAY, BROTHER DEAR. -MH
No need to reply to that, Sherlock decided.
"Well I'm not referring to the frustration about the news article, that's for sure," John clarified with a short laugh.
"What other possible frustration would there be?" Sherlock asked with a huff as he put his phone away and continued staring ahead while marching along.
"I was meaning the fact that Molly shared all those private details with Tom."
"John, you said yourself she was engaged to the man. It's understandable that there wouldn't have been any secrets. People in that level of relationship feel the need to share things...well, unless they're an ex assassin with a false identity of course." He gave John a quick grin.
"You're hilarious. Well, forgive me, but you didn't seem to have such a good hold on that logic back at her flat."
Sherlock said nothing, and kept on walking.
"So, it did bother you?" John pushed a bit more.
"I thought I just explained that there was nothing to be bothered by," he answered quickly.
John chose to let it drop this time and just kept walking alongside his friend. But a couple minutes later, he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.
"So what did you mean when you told Molly...You?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That I needed her to help me fake my death!"
"You could have just said that couldn't you?" John offered with a small smile.
"Obviously I made that clear soon after! My original response simply conveyed everything I needed from her all summed up in that one little word. It was a..." He narrowed his eyes, realizing even to himself that this was about to be a silly sounding explanation. "Time saver."
John chuckled at that excuse. "Ah, Right...and how exactly did you say it? Can you show me how you said it to her? And how you looked when you said it?" John halted in his tracks, turning to look at Sherlock expectantly as he had stopped also.
Sherlock frowned in disdain. "Absolutely not! I'm not showing you how I said that to Molly." He turned and continued walking again, turning his collar up as he went.
John smiled to himself as he started following after, and he muttered to himself, "And that...answered my question."
Hope you guys all liked that one! I sort of wrestled with myself about Molly having shared those conversation details with Tom. But I tried to put myself in her place. And I figured that while she was trying to convince herself that Tom was right for her, she'd probably be trying to do whatever she could to make things work. And I think that could have included spilling her guts about Sherlock. It made some sense to me... and besides, it helped to reveal some FEELS of Sherlock's!
So I wanted to mention that I am trying to continue with the social media fluff and humor, but it can be challenging to come up with endless clever internet tid bits about the two of them. As one lovely reviewer pointed out after last chapter, this is fun because it's like we as Sherlolly shippers get to poke fun at ourselves and our obsession! So... I'd like to open it up to you readers if you're interested. If you have any suggestions for gif's, meme wording, fan videos, fan fiction, fan art, etc. please Personal Message me! I may just end up working it in if it seems to fit. :)
Special shout out to WebStar for mentioning the idea to include Kitty Riley. (I'm not done with Kitty yet btw) Totally hadn't thought of her till WebStar mentioned it though! Brilliant idea for this story, you're awesome!
Ok, I'm done talking for real now... Bye bye! ;)
