Darkness

Mary was waiting for her. She opened the door as Molly approached her building, and her expression was grim. They didn't speak until they were inside Mary's flat. "You know why I'm here," Molly said.

"I can't change what happened," Mary answered.

"I can't change how I feel either," Molly told her.

"None of us can," Mary agreed. "It's why we're in this mess now."

She had been only angry before she arrived, but now Molly felt the weight of what was between them. It was blocking the way to their friendship, and nothing could be done to remove it.

Mary spoke the thought aloud. "You know me better than any of my other friends, and that's become the problem. We haven't had to pretend with each other, but now you've found out something you'd rather not know."

"What would you do if our positions were reversed? What if John had been the one to get shot, and I was the one who shot him?" Molly asked.

The expression on Mary's face chilled Molly to the bone. "I'm lucky you're not like me," she said.

She realized that coming here had been a waste of time. She wouldn't have been able to get into a physical fight, even if Mary hadn't been pregnant. Unleashing her fury on Mary verbally would also change nothing. She ignored the thought that her rage had been tempered by her kissing session with Sherlock. All her passion had been poured into that kiss, and she was left with nothing but cold disdain for Mary. "That's it then." Molly pulled her phone out of her purse. "I should have told the cab driver to wait."

"Why'd he tell you?" Mary asked. "What happened today?"

Molly stopped fiddling with her phone and looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"Sherlock. I assume he's the one who told you, but why did he?"

Molly shrugged. "It just slipped out unintentionally."

Mary barked out a strange laugh. "Nothing is unintentional with Sherlock. There is a purpose to everything he says and does. Exactly how did it slip out?"

Molly shifted uncomfortably. "It was during an argument."

"With you?" Mary prompted.

"With John. With both of us actually," Molly explained. "It was ridiculous, really."

"What was it about?" Mary asked and got her answer when a blush crept over Molly's face. "He thought that you and John…" Surprisingly, she smiled. "That brilliant bastard. He decided to ensure it would never happen by causing a rift between you."

"No," Molly denied. "We'd already had a row about that, and John was upset about him not taking your estrangement seriously."

"Which has been the case since the start of it, but he chose today to let the truth slip out in front of you. And now you're upset with John too. How convenient that you'll no longer be in the mood to console him over his marital problems."

That couldn't be true, could it? Molly pondered the situation during her cab ride home after her final visit with Mary. Was Sherlock really that calculating? He had manipulated her in the past, but that had been about using her lab and her cadavers for his own purposes. Would he deliberately stir up trouble between her and his best friend? It seemed preposterous that he would use the shocking truth about Mary for such a petty reason.

Too much had happened in one day. Molly's emotions had been all over the map, and now she came crashing down in exhaustion. She went to bed early, but she didn't feel refreshed when she woke up in the morning. Her shower helped her shake off some of her inertia, and she went about her usual Monday routine of preparing for work. Everything was fine while she remained busy. It was the quiet moments that got to her, because they gave her too much time to think. Despite the distressing revelation yesterday, her mind was on Sherlock's reaction to her kissing him. What was he thinking now? He had kissed her back, that was for sure, but she didn't know why. The conversation with Mary had planted doubt in her mind. Had he really wanted to kiss her or had it been a means of distracting her from her anger over Mary?

When weeks passed without any contact from Sherlock, she had to conclude that he didn't want her. Molly had gone back to her normal social life with her friends, but a darkness had settled over her heart. She always had a little bit of the holiday blues since the death of her father, but this Christmas felt especially lonely. Being an only child meant that she didn't have a sibling to share her grief with, though she spent Christmas with her mother and extended family this year. She thought about Mary and wondered if the baby she was carrying would also be an only child. Would John ever remarry if he didn't reconcile with his wife? Then she wondered what Sherlock was doing today. She would normally tell herself to stop thinking about him, but she allowed herself to be sentimental on Christmas. Molly would leave her umpteenth vow to get over him for her New Year's resolutions. She spent the night in her childhood home and fell asleep thinking about a man who was very different from her girlish fantasies of the ideal man. But how could she ever have imagined such a man as Sherlock back when she was a naïve teen?

She had fantasized about someone romantic who said sweet things to her. He would be gentle and kind, and he would connect with her on a deep emotional level. They would have a loving marriage and raise a family together. Instead, she was in love with a difficult man who constantly threw her emotions into a tailspin. He had been cold and insensitive to her so many times, but he wasn't always. She couldn't get her bearings with him, and that was why it was so hard for her to break free of him. Every time she had written him off as uncaring, he had done or said something to pull her back in.

It had to end, though, if she was ever going to have a future with someone else. She couldn't keep hoping for something that would never happen. Although Molly was hurt that he had ceased all contact with her after she kissed him, she knew that it was the best thing for her. She didn't need all this crazy drama in her life.

This time she would truly make a fresh start without him. She repeated this to herself daily, trying to regain her optimism about her romantic future. Yet when a seemingly nice guy she met at a pub asked her out, she turned him down without even considering it. She had set her goal for spring. By then she would be in a better mood and ready to date again.

Molly was diligently focusing on her own life and trying her best not to think about Sherlock, but the news that Magnusson had been murdered put him back at the forefront of her mind. She wondered if he was helping the police investigate the case, or if he even cared to find out who the killer was. He had said that he wanted to stop Magnusson, so the murderer had done that for him. Was he happy about that, or did he feel cheated out of stopping Magnusson his way? Well, it was nothing to do with her. He had been adamant about keeping Molly away from that case.

She had nearly succeeded in putting Sherlock out of her thoughts again when her sense of calm was shattered by Moriarty's reappearance. It was impossible since he was dead, but everyone had thought that Sherlock was dead too. Molly almost called him to find out his theories about what was going on. Then she resolved to continue her Sherlock free life. She was making progress, and she didn't want to relapse into hoping to see him.

All her willpower was for nothing, however, when she found him waiting for her in her flat after work. She would be lying if she said he was an unwelcome sight. Letting him know that would be disastrous to her self esteem, so she did her best to sound unwelcoming. "Why are you here?"

"Moriarty—"

"Yes," she interrupted. "I saw it. You could have just called me."

"A phone call wouldn't prove anything. He could have been telling you what to say. He's done that before. I need to make sure you're safe. Has he tried to contact you?"

"No," Molly answered. "Why would he? You said that I wasn't important to him."

"That was before he knew that you helped me fake my death," Sherlock said. "Now he knows how much you matter to me."

"You have a funny way of showing it," she said before she could stop herself.

"What do you mean by that?"

He looked genuinely perplexed, and it pissed her off. "What I mean is that he probably would have thought that you'd forgotten I even exist if you hadn't shown up here now."

"I told you that I was working on an important case. Did you expect me to drop everything and make social calls?"

"I don't expect anything from you," she declared angrily. Why couldn't she summon the icy cool that she had affected toward him in her imagination when she thought about how she would treat him the next time she saw him? "Just leave me alone."

"You can't be alone until I solve this. I'll stay here until we catch him."

She wasn't going to calm down anytime soon, not with him assuming that he could make decisions like this without even asking her. "You can't stay here unless I invite you."

"You already gave me a key," he reminded her with all the cool she was lacking.

"That was before."

"Before what?" Sherlock asked. "I don't see any signs of anyone else living here."

"So you think that you can just disrupt my life whenever the whim strikes you?" Molly demanded.

Anger sparked in his eyes. "My concern for your safety is hardly a whim."

"I don't need you," she told him vehemently. "Not for anything."

His expression changed in a barely perceptible way. "What kind of needs are you referring to?"

Just like that, she was completely unnerved. "I, uh…I thought that Moriarty was dead."

"Mycroft claims to be sure of it, but he still called me back from my mission to take care of this."

His immediate return to his normal manner of replying made her think that she had imagined his change in demeanor. "You were away on a mission?"

"I barely got off the ground before Mycroft ordered the plane to return. Go about your normal routine. I have dinner for us when you're ready." Sherlock gestured toward the kitchen where a bag of Chinese take-out was visible.

She was finally going to have dinner with him, Molly thought wryly. When he had stayed with her after faking his death, they had never been in sync with their meals. He arrived and left at odd hours due to using the cover of darkness to avoid being seen. This time it was different, but how different remained to be seen. Molly went into her bedroom to change out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable. She usually went braless at home, but she couldn't do that while Sherlock was there. He had said to go about her usual routine, but his presence prevented that. There was no way she could block out her awareness of him. She knew that she should make him leave after dinner. Living with him, for however briefly, was not going to help her get over him.

They ate together at the kitchen table, and chatted like normal people for once. "How's John?" Molly asked.

"Happy. He reconciled with Mary, and he's moved back in with her."

"Oh, that's nice," she commented politely. That's astonishing, she thought secretly.

Sherlock smirked, apparently having guessed her thoughts. "I know you don't approve, but he was miserable without her."

"I don't want him to be miserable," she conceded.

"You haven't seen him or talked to him at all?" Sherlock questioned.

She felt bad about abandoning John, but she just couldn't commiserate with him over Mary anymore after finding out the truth. "No, not since that day at your flat." She really didn't want to talk about that day with Sherlock either, considering what had transpired between them.

Molly dropped her eyes to her plate when his gaze lingered on her. "So, how was your Christmas?"

"Different," he replied.

"Different how?" Molly prompted.

"We went to my parents' house. All of us. John, Mary, and even Mycroft. We never do the family Christmas thing. But it all worked out in the end." His smile revealed that he was pleased with the outcome.

She noticed that she wasn't included as one of them. "Oh, John and Mary reconciled in time for Christmas? I guess no one wants to spend Christmas alone."

"No, they actually reconciled on Christmas day," Sherlock explained.

So he had chosen to invite Mary but hadn't even spared a thought for Molly. She knew that he had done it for John, but it still stung. "Love and forgiveness," she mused. "It's the spirit of the season."

She caught a glimpse of something in his eyes that she couldn't define. It was gone in a flash, but it reappeared at random times over the course of the evening. Something was different about him. He seemed the same on the surface, but she sensed an unfamiliar undercurrent that hadn't existed before. John had always been the tightly wound one, while Sherlock was straightforward and analytical. Yet now there was a tension in him that set her increasingly on edge.

"I have to go take a shower," she announced after clearing the kitchen table.

"May I?" Sherlock asked, although he had already logged onto her laptop.

"Sure," she agreed, relieved to get a little private time to sort out her thoughts.

The shower soothed her frayed nerves and calmed her down enough to realize that she had most likely overreacted to the situation. Sherlock had come back into her life just when she had done so well with letting go of him. The tension she had sensed in him was probably just stress due to Moriarty's return. There was nothing mysterious about it. He had said to go about her usual routine, and she resolved to do just that. Molly put on her most comfortable pair of winter pajamas, but she threw on her robe over them before going back into the living room. Sherlock's eyes flicked toward her, but he immediately returned his gaze to the computer screen. Molly turned on the TV and sat down on the couch, because Sherlock was in the easy chair. She clicked through the channels until she found a movie, but she couldn't become engrossed in it the way she usually did. It had to be her imagination playing tricks on her, but she could feel Sherlock staring at her. After awhile, she became convinced that he really was watching her.

Molly tried not to look, but it was just like the moth trying to withstand the allure of the flame. She found it to be an apt comparison, because his gaze was so intense that she could practically feel the heat radiating from him. It seemed very likely that she would burn up if she got too close.

"Tell me again that I'm not invincible."

She was startled out of her fanciful thoughts by the rich, deep sound of his voice. "You're not invincible," she said, obeying his command more than putting any actual thought into what she was saying.

"I don't believe you."

The meaning of his words penetrated through her dreamy fascination with his eyes. "What?" Molly asked, although she had heard him. Her ears had picked up on the challenge in his voice, daring her to argue with him.

"I slayed the dragon, Molly. He was breathing fire, thinking that he had defeated me. But I didn't hesitate, and now he's dead."

Unease skated along her nerves. "Have you been taking drugs again? Are you high?"

"Yes, I'm high," he confirmed. "But I haven't taken drugs. I don't need to, because I don't have to chase the high. I've stood on the edge and let myself fall, and I've survived. I felt the impact of the bullet, and it knocked me into oblivion. But I survived it, and I'll survive this too. Why didn't you use my present? It's still in the box."

She struggled to keep up with his rapid-fire words. "Of course you'll survive Moriarty. You've already beat him once before." She purposely ignored his questions, as she had no intention of discussing the vibrator with him.

"I assume that Moriarty has nothing to do with your sex life. Please tell me that you didn't actually sleep with him."

"Of course not," she answered impatiently. "We only went out on three dates. It wasn't like I fell in love with him." Never had she wanted to take back any words she had spoken more than she did at this moment. She was mortified that he might think she was trying to hint at something with him.

"Okay, good. Back to my present. Why didn't you use it?"

She flushed in embarrassment at his prying question. "I couldn't."

"I left you instructions," he said.

"I know how to use a vibrator," she exclaimed. And now she wanted to hide from him, but she was sitting right in front of him and settled for dropping her gaze to the floor.

"I thought about you while I was away. It wasn't all action and danger. There were many tedious hours alone with nothing to do but wait for the right opportunity. That's when I would get homesick and miss London, miss my life. I felt like I was adrift without an anchor. Yet that wasn't true, because I had you. I didn't know what everybody else was doing, but I could always picture you. Working in the lab, so diligent and careful. Always proving yourself someone who can be counted on."

The wonderful things he was saying made her forget her embarrassment and lift her eyes back up to his face. She couldn't help her response. Hope blossomed again within her and touched her heart with a warm glow.

"I thought about that night too, Molly. The night I touched you and heard you moan in pleasure. I imagined you using my present and thinking about me, remembering when you were feeling me touch you there."

The room suddenly became sweltering hot. His voice was sexy when he was talking about the weather. Hearing him say such sexual things made her feel like she was about to pass out, like one of those heroines in an old book who was about to swoon.

"I'm a bit disappointed that wasn't the case. My present was shoved into your closet and forgotten. You haven't thought about that night at all. It shouldn't have surprised me since you were engaged when I returned."

She felt herself standing on a precipice and knew that she should step back. With her heart hammering in her chest, she plunged straight off of it as she spoke. "I did think about that night, even though I tried not to. You're right about the present. I shoved it to the back of my closet and never touched it again. Why would I? It was no substitute for you. There has never been a substitute for you, Sherlock."

Molly saw the change in him happen before her eyes. In her fantasies, she had imagined him becoming overwhelmed with passion and losing control, but she had been very wrong. He had always been in control of himself and had chosen to suppress his sexual desires. Now he chose to indulge them.

She was the one who was overwhelmed, because she had never imagined what it would feel like to have all his focus directed at her. He noticed so much with a mere glance, and his mind could take in so much information from every direction of his surroundings. She'd seen him do it many times and taken it for granted that he could see everything. His sharply focused gaze now consumed her.

Molly had hoped and wished for years, but she hadn't believed that it would ever happen. Not for real. It had always been just a fantasy, thinking that he might want to be with her. Fantasies, it turned out, were very different from reality. They were perfect and safe, and she had experienced complete bliss in them. There had been no insecurity or doubt, but this was no fantasy. All she felt now was panic, and she would have bolted as he stood and approached her if her legs hadn't become completely useless. In the two steps it took him to reach her, she began to tremble like a scared virgin.

Sherlock noticed her reaction the way he noticed everything. "I haven't even touched you yet," he noted, but the look in his eyes was not analytical at all.

Notes:

It will probably be awhile until another update, because I really don't know how I'm going to write the next part. I can picture it so clearly up to this point, and then my mind goes blank. I also don't know how I'm going to deal with the Moriarty question. My theory is that someone else broadcast his image. I find it hard to believe that Mycroft wouldn't make damned sure that he was really dead. This chapter needs major editing, and I'll be working on that while I try to figure out what to write next.

Thank you again to everyone who is reading this story, and to the guests who reviewed. Just7364—I appreciate your reviews and suggestions. I'll check out that movie when I get a chance.