Thank you for your lovely reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying Molly's POV.

Usual disclaimer - all belongs to ACD/Moffatt/Gatiss/Thompson


Chapter 9

"And then he says…" Greg paused for dramatic effect, "'didn't go to any trouble, did you?'"

Molly put her hand over her mouth to cover her mirth, but it was just impossible. The laughter burst out of her, making her snort in an unladylike manner.

"And there was I, having to call off three police cars, an ambulance, a fire engine and a bloody police helicopter," Greg concluded, and thumped the table in exasperation. "Try explaining that one to the Chief Super. And soddin' Jones got all the credit for bringing in the Waters' lot. Eighteen bloody months of work on the case…"

She howled with laughter, tears streaming down her face at the image.

"Hey! It wasn't funny," Greg protested, but there was a rueful grin on his face. He whacked Molly's back hard as her hysteria threatened to make her choke.

"Ow!" She managed to get her breath under control and wiped her eyes. "That hurt."

"Sorry," he said, without any compunction whatsoever.

"I'm sorry too." She rifled in her bag for a tissue to blow her nose. "I know you had high hopes for that arrest."

"Yeah, well…" He looked moodily at the cracked and peeling table.

She felt sorry for Lestrade; he hid his worries behind a tough exterior, but it was true that he'd been under a bit of a cloud since Sherlock's supposed death. The Chief Superintendent hadn't been too pleased to hear how reliant Greg had been on someone who was essentially an unpaid amateur, no matter how brilliant his deductions might be. While Sherlock's reputation was still in tatters, Greg had had to step extremely carefully to avoid being considered for demotion. Even after his friend's name had been cleared, the DI's own reputation had remained tarnished simply by association.

Since Sherlock's return, she and Greg had grown a little closer again. For a while, during Sherlock's absence, she'd avoided meeting Greg for all but the occasional quick drink, feeling guilty about keeping him in the dark. However, when the consulting detective returned and she guiltily confessed her role, Greg had taken it in his stride. After all, as he'd pointed out, he'd had quite enough shocks that week, so nothing else would surprise him. And at least Sherlock was back.

She'd been fairly impressed by the way he'd taken it all in his stride, especially in comparison with John. Understandable, of course, and at least the doctor had forgiven his friend now…

Thinking of Sherlock and John, she tried to cheer Greg up. "Of course, they're out on their 'bar crawl' tonight. Did I tell you about that?"

His face reflected his confusion. "Sherlock? Bar crawl?"

"Yes." She giggled. "He's doing a tour of pubs associated with notorious murder scenes."

He shook his head, disbelievingly. "In London? How long's this pub crawl going on for? Days?"

"Aha, but that's the other thing." She grinned at the memory. "He got me to work out the ideal intake of alcohol for the two of them. Medical records, the works. Just enough to keep them happy without getting really out of control."

"Yeah? That's a laugh." Lestrade took another swig of his beer and grimaced. "Don't think I've ever seen Sherlock drink. Bet he can't take much without getting pissed. It's not his usual recreational drug of choice, is it?"

She sobered immediately. "That's true... Do – do you think he ever used while he was away?"

He shrugged, his face troubled. "Who knows? Once an addict… But he seems to have it under control, doesn't he?"

"I think so… I don't really know. I suppose Mycroft keeps an eye on him..?" she ventured, cautiously.

"Yeah but his over-controlling older brother didn't stop him before, not when he was a skinny kid, and I saw him…" He broke off quickly, picking up his glass.

Greg had never told Molly about his early encounters with Sherlock during his cocaine-using days, and she'd never liked to ask for details. Partly because she understood why Greg would want to keep Sherlock's secrets, and partly because, having seen enough bodies raddled by drugs, she didn't think she could bear to know.

"Oh well, what're the odds I'll be springing them out of the lockup in the morning?" Greg grunted, with just the hint of a smirk. "That could be fun." He drained his pint glass and got up. "Time for another?"

"Yes, why not?" She pushed her empty glass in his direction.

He looked down at her, enquiringly. "Another pint?" When she nodded, he shrugged his shoulders and picked up her glass. "I'm the last to judge," he muttered as he walked to the bar.

When he returned, bearing two full pints and a packet of crisps, she asked him, curiously, "What did you mean by that? Just now? That it wasn't for you to judge – what?"

He took a gulp of his pint and then put it down and gave her a wry look. "Just that. I'm not one to judge how much someone drinks. Christ knows I put away enough of it myself."

She frowned. "You think I drink too much?"

He looked reflectively in his glass. "For you? Yeah. For someone else, like the average DI after a tough case, probably not. I mean, you're not getting roaring drunk every night and you're probably not sinking enough to ruin your liver, but…what's changed, Molly? Time was, your entire evening's allowance was one small glass of wine chased up with a Diet Coke."

She thought about it for a few minutes. "I hadn't noticed," she told him, honestly.

He grimaced. "People don't. Trust me. It creeps up on you, and next thing you know, you're out drinking every night." He opened the crisps and her nostrils were assaulted by the disgustingly greasy and yet enticing aroma of cheese and onion. Her stomach groaned, but she shook her head as he offered the bag. There were only a few days to go, and she wanted to be able to fit in that dress.

He grinned at her. "You'll look great. And it will fit."

She let out a shuddering sigh. "How did you know what I was thinking? Worse than Sherlock, you are."

He snorted. "Nah. Not in his league. I just know you." He pointed at her a little wildly; he was on his fourth pint and beginning to get unsteady, which was usually his cue to call it a night. "Which is why I know that there's something going on. For a start, why are you sitting here in this shitty bar listening to a washed-up old copper moaning into his drink, when you could be at home sipping cocktails with that bloke you're gonna marry? And that's another thing – you set a date yet?"

She sipped her beer to try to avoid an immediate answer.

"Molly? What's wrong?"

"I…don't know." She sighed, pushing her glass away. "Nothing really."

"You've been engaged longer than the couple whose wedding we're going to be drinking at in a few days," he pointed out. "And no dates set, no plans. What gives? You getting restless? Or is it him?"

She didn't answer directly. "He's a lovely man. It should be perfect. I don't know."

He reached out, putting one of his large calloused hand over hers. "Molly? Take it from one who knows. If you're not completely sure, then don't do it. It's not worth the pain when it all goes to hell."

She looked up at him; suddenly he seemed very sober for a man on his fourth pint. "You're OK now, though?"

He sighed, running his spare hand through his grey hair. "Am I? Look at me, middle-aged and single, living in a grotty little flat. No one to go home to, staying out all hours, drinking in pubs. The ex wants to try again and – God help me – I'm so lonely, I might even put myself through it all once more. The cheating and the lies – turning a blind eye to all the crap." He looked at Molly through red-rimmed eyes. "All I can think is maybe it's better than what I've got now. What a fucking mess."

"Greg! It can't be as bad as all that?" She turned her hand under his to grasp his fingers.

"I dunno." He gave her a wry smile. "It's Sherlock, innit? Ruins it for everyone."

"You blame him for your wife's behaviour?"

He was silent for a moment. "Not really…though it didn't help that back in the day when we were first married, I was getting called out by that brother of his at all hours because the stupid bastard was off his head in some squat. It wasn't the only problem but…let's just say it didn't help. And then I made the mistake of taking him in for a while when he was homeless and trying to run away from Mycroft." He gave a humourless laugh. "Wife didn't like that much. He was clean by then, which only made it worse – first thing he did was deduce her. She's hated him ever since."

She was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry."

He grunted. "Ah well, forget it. And now you."

"Sherlock has nothing to do with me and Tom," she said, defensively.

"Doesn't he?" He gave her meaningful look before leaning back in his seat and picking up his glass. "Oh well. Here's to the one couple that might not get their relationship screwed over by Sherlock Holmes. John and Mary."

"John and Mary," she echoed, raising her glass to him before downing nearly half a pint in one gulp.


It had crept up on her gradually – so slowly that she hadn't really noticed for a long time.

Her life had taken on a certain routine. Regular dinners with Tom's family. Sunday lunch at the pub and a walk with the dog. The occasional weekend away, usually to some picturesque spot in Buckinghamshire.

And that was…fine. It was lovely, and Tom was as sweet and affectionate as ever, and his family and friends couldn't be nicer or more welcoming, and Toby was settled in his new home, and…

…And she was bored.

She knew exactly what she'd be doing each day; there were no surprises, no sudden adrenaline rushes. She'd promised Tom that she wouldn't get involved in any more of Sherlock's cases, but as it turned out, she didn't really have the opportunity; Sherlock had kept his distance in recent months. He'd text ahead if he wanted body parts and would take them away with him rather than invade her laboratory or hack into her computer. There were no more lazy afternoons in the laboratory, with Sherlock carrying out his bizarre experiments while she and John watched and chatted.

Tom understood her job and appreciated its importance, but showed no real interest in the minutiae. Well, perhaps that was a little unfair. He was always happy to listen to her descriptions of unusual cases, but he lacked the automatic understanding that Sherlock, John and even, to some extent, Greg had. She'd frequently have to explain in detail why something had struck her as funny, and she had to bite her tongue to avoid getting irritated when he didn't immediately 'get it'. He found her sense of humour a little macabre.

Equally, she found him hard to understand at times. He was a well-read man, with a particular love for Irish poetry and literature that left her cold. Molly wasn't one for extensive reading; if she had to read for pleasure, she preferred a light novel or an autobiography. At first, when he whimsically quoted some text in response to a beautiful view or in reply to one of her comments, it was a charming novelty, but she began to grow irritated when she couldn't really see the connection. He made her feel unintellectual and even boorish at times, and the worst of it was that she knew he didn't really mean to… Somehow, it chafed far more than it ever had when a certain consulting detective had derided her intelligence. At least Sherlock knew the impact he was having – at least it was, in some way, deliberate. Ridiculous though it might be, his casual cruelty was preferable to Tom's innocent and well-meaning behaviour.

She supposed it was rather like growing pains – something that every couple had to go through in their relationship. Unpleasant but necessary. After all, she had rather jumped into the engagement and the whole excitement of moving in together. And no couple was ever perfectly matched. It was just that…they were less alike than she had realised at first.

Lestrade's advice had unsettled her a little, but she comforted herself with the fact that Tom would never cheat on her. He was still quite clearly besotted with her, but even if he hadn't been, he was far too much of a gentleman. And as for her cheating on him…well, even if she was inclined to be that cruel, it would never happen. She reassured herself that she had never felt the slightest temptation to stray from Tom. Only one person might have captured her attention, and he'd made it more than clear that he was not interested in any relationship, let alone one with her.

So…she should put her doubts behind her and move on.

And she went on believing that until the following Saturday.


The yellow dress fit perfectly. She wasn't altogether sure about the hairpiece, but it did go with the dress. Tom looked handsome in the blue-grey suit that brought out his eyes, and she was certain that most of the other women there were eyeing her enviously (and probably wondering what he was doing with someone quite so obviously ordinary as Molly Hooper, no doubt). Even Greg was looking unusually smart, and Mrs Hudson was magnificent in a wide-brimmed hat.

And then, he appeared.

If they'd picked the colours to match him rather than John, they couldn't have done a better job. He looked perfect in shades of grey and pale gold, with his dramatic colouring only enhanced by the lilac buttonhole. From her position during the ceremony, she couldn't see much of him, but when they stepped outside and she saw him properly, her heart dropped right into her silly little strappy sandals.

And she knew then, at that moment, that she was still in love with him. And that there would never be anyone else for her. Not Tom, not anyone.

Anguished, she watched the Watsons posing for their wedding photos, saw the sheer happiness in John's face, the glow in Mary's…and knew that that special moment would never happen to her. She would never be that glowing, happy bride, not as long as her obsession with the tall, unsmiling man standing beside the new husband and wife continued. For Sherlock would never marry, she knew that. And even if he did, it would never be to her.

He was stepping forward for his own photos now. Mary was nudging John and they were laughing in a conspiratorial fashion about something…and it wasn't hard to see what. The elegant, pretty chief bridesmaid stood next to him and seemed to be flirting with him, judging by the little smile on her face. Molly watched avidly for the expected brush-off - waited for the woman to blush or glare or even slap Sherlock's face - but instead her smile deepened as he spoke to her and she slipped her hand through his arm. Sherlock looked a little startled, but made no attempt to remove it.

They made an attractive couple – both tall, both good-looking in a striking way, with their dramatic colouring. And they were in complimentary colours, of course… and the subtle sheen of the bridesmaid's lilac gown suddenly made Molly's bright and cheerful yellow seem tawdry and cheap despite the high price tag.

She felt a slight pressure at her side from Greg's arm. Looking straight ahead, he murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear: "You look fine."

Her smile was more than a little shaky. "Not in her league."

He snorted. "Nah. Too obvious. He'll give her the brush off soon enough… Although…" He shifted a little and she could sense the fresh surprise in his voice. "Well, that's a first."

She could sense a murmur of speculation around her as the best man and bridesmaid continued to chat amicably even after the photographs had been taken. Sherlock had already attracted a certain degree of attention – those who knew him wondered at John's decision to make him best man, while those who did not had heard the rumours and were curious. John looked surprised and Mary amused by the turn of events.

Molly discovered, by chatting casually to other guests, that no one appeared to know the chief bridesmaid, who was called Janine, all that well. Even her fellow bridesmaids didn't seem all that certain of her, although all agreed that she was a lovely woman - charming, intelligent, funny and warm-hearted, in a typically Irish manner. To be fair, she didn't cling to Sherlock all day, as one might have expected her to, but it was clear that there was a certain frisson between the two. Sherlock occasionally sought her out and seemed to converse silently with her from time to time. Once, she saw him nodding vigorously towards one of the male guests, and Janine's face lit up, as if she understood what information he was conveying.

Molly was pleased to find that she and Tom had been placed close to the front, and even more pleased to have Greg sitting next to her. As they took their seats, he leaned towards her and murmured "still worried about the speech?" She had to cough hurriedly into her serviette. Judging by the little titter of amusement from Mrs Hudson on the other side of Greg, she had also overheard.

And, at first, it looked as if her fears had been well-founded. Sherlock was probably the worst best man that John could have chosen…until, quite suddenly, he was almost certainly the best. She felt her eyes stinging with hot tears that threatened to smudge her mascara as he turned to John and promised to never let him down. As she grabbed a serviette to dab them away, she was aware that Greg was also trying to control his emotions and Mrs H wasn't even trying.

And then on to the so-called 'funny' stories, which actually turned out to be quite interesting, particularly when Sherlock launched into a full and enthusiastic description of the stabbed guardsman. She had to hide a smile at the horrified looks on some of the guests' faces – well, honestly, what did John's friends expect when they'd made the decision to attend John's wedding? Mary's friends could be forgiven for being shocked by the subject matter.

And then Sherlock had to go and turn it into a Q&A, which of course gave him the ideal opportunity to deride the guests for their stupidity. Tom, who'd been rapt by the story so far, started whispering his theory enthusiastically to Molly and, much to her horror, Sherlock called him out on it. She cringed, fearing the worst. Now was the opportunity, if there ever was one, for Sherlock to unleash the full force of his deductive powers on her fiancé.

Much to her surprise and relief, Sherlock didn't take the opportunity, even though the look on his face made it fairly obvious what he thought of Tom's half-arsed theory of suicide. Even with the lucky escape, she prickled with humiliation, hissing at Tom to sit down.

And then there was the mysterious incident, when best man, bridegroom and bride all disappeared, and later on, an arrest was made. How typical – she might have guessed that any wedding involving John Watson and/or Sherlock Holmes would end up more like something out of a thriller.

And then it was all rather sweet again – Sherlock playing the waltz he had composed for the couple and making his rather lovely little speech, which seemed to cause a little consternation for all three of them.

Her eyes stayed fixed on them even as she danced half-heartedly to the disco, and she saw the warm smile that John shared with Sherlock before he swung his new wife away. And then she saw how Sherlock stood, frozen among the gyrating bodies, his smile suddenly fixed and his eyes anxious as he looked around, as if seeking something…or someone.

And she still watched as the lonely figure walked slowly out of the room. It took all her strength of will not to walk after him.


"That's all the boxes from the car."

Greg came into the room behind her as she stood staring at the small pull-out sofabed in his spare room.

"I'm sorry – it's not much," he added, awkwardly. "I never really got around to buying any furniture for it. It's just lucky that I had the spare sofa and the old wardrobe -."

"No – please don't worry, it's fine." She fixed a smile on her face as she looked around at him.

His face gave away his anxiety as he put the last cardboard box down next to the rest of her belongings. "Is this all? It doesn't seem much."

She eyed her possessions – two suitcases of clothes and a few boxes of books, ornaments, cushions and the like. "Well, most of our stuff was his, really. I didn't have much of my own. There's some furniture in the flat, of course…"

"Yeah, well." He looked a little awkward. "I'll leave you to unpack – I'll just go and put the kettle on."

"Greg –," she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I never got a chance to say thank you. I'm grateful – really. It's just for a few weeks. Once the tenancy is up and the flat is free again, I'll get out of your hair."

His face softened as he put his hand over hers. "You stay as long as you need. I can help with anything you need to do at the flat."

"It should already be in very good condition. Before we put the tenants in, Tom had it redecorated beautifully…"

Her voice faded away and she felt the sharp sting of tears at the thought of dear, kind Tom...

"Oh, Molly…" Greg peered at her face and then put his arms around her, without any preamble.

She hadn't cried at all. Not when she'd told Tom that it was over; when, after the initial shock, he'd been so sweet about it – far kinder than she deserved. Not when he'd offered to look after Toby until she was able to move back into her old flat. Not even when she'd hugged him goodbye this morning, knowing that it might be some time before either of them could bear to set eyes on one another again…

She sobbed into Greg's shoulder, knowing that she was soaking his shirt, but not able to do a thing about it.

"It should have worked - ," she gasped, between sobs. "That's what's so...bloody stupid about it. I wanted it to work – I did. I didn't want - ."

Greg hushed her, stroking her back soothingly. He felt warm, safe… even fatherly. For a moment, she missed her own dead father so acutely it hurt.

"I didn't want – this." She stepped back, indicating herself helplessly. "This stupid, pointless love for someone who can never ever love me back." She shook her head. "I don't – I could never blame him. I know he can't help it – it's just not in him to feel that way about anyone, let alone me. I just… All I wanted was a normal life. I wanted to be loved. Is that so wrong? Why can't I just love and be loved like – like Mary Watson? Why me?"

Greg's face was troubled, but he said nothing as he pulled her into another comforting hug.


I'm sorry, this fic is not very cheerful at the moment - but then TSOT and HLV weren't particularly happy for Molly, were they? More angst to come in the next chapter...