A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out. I've been pretty busy lately. Hopefully, this can help make up for the delay a little bit by maybe answering some questions! I still own nothing, but feel free to read it and enjoy anyways!
Still in a completely shocked state from the event of the past hour, Molly allowed John to lead her into the private sitting room off Sherlock's study. They were joined by Lord and Lady Holmes and Mycroft and Anthea. Mrs. Hudson silently entered and placed a tea tray on the table, and her father slipped in and stood against the back wall, not saying a word, but nodding at her, telling her he was there. Anthea moved directly to Molly's side, taking her hand and offering a supportive, friendly female presence. As Molly looked around the little group, bewildered by all that had happened, she found the pain in her heart easing just a touch, soothed by the knowledge that despite everything, she still had friends, and people who loved her.
John looked towards Lord Holmes, who nodded, giving the good doctor permission to share the tale. He took a deep breath and began.
"About five years ago, Sherlock was at a high point in his life. He had finally established himself as a consulting detective and the Bow Street Runners were turning to him on a fairly regular basis. His mind was a finely tuned instrument, like a scalpel, delicate and able to cut precisely through the messy details to solve every problem thrown at him. I had never seen him in such fine form. Then the unthinkable happened. My best friend, the man who swore that sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side, the man who was more machine than emotion-feeling human – fell in love. Her name was Irene Adler. He met her on a case. She was new to town, and as the summer passed, this mysterious and gorgeous woman broke through all of his defenses. She owned him, body, mind, and even heart. I could not have been happier for my friend. While courting the young lady, he was also entangled in the most difficult case that Sherlock Holmes has ever had to face – Professor James Moriarty."
Molly's gasp of recognition was the first sound she had made since John began his tale.
"Ah, you recognize the name, of course. Moriarty was the man who truly made Sherlock Holmes a renowned name. He made the man – and he broke him. Knowing that he could die as a result of the upcoming confrontation, Holmes knew that he could not wait any longer regarding his affections for Miss Adler. He bought a ring and prepared to propose. The night he intended to ask her to marry him, the web that Professor Moriarty wove shifted, and Holmes took up the scent like a bloodhound. Of course I came along with him. We crept into an abandoned warehouse by the Thames and heard voices up ahead. I watched as his eyes lit up with the thrill of the chase. Just as we were about to round the corner to finally catch Moriarty, a new voice joined in with the laughing men, a female voice. The eyes that were just so full of light darkened suddenly, and my heart stopped. Irene Adler spoke into the sudden silence. 'Jim! Oh my darling, you were right! He's planning to propose tonight. The great Sherlock Holmes, fallen for a charming young lady. Don't worry, my love, he's all yours."
Although I tried to stop him, Sherlock charged around the corner to see with his own eyes Moriarty and Irene wrapped in an embrace. Molly, I watched it: I watched the cage drop back over his heart, even more impenetrable than before. He took out half a dozen of Moriarty's men while the elicit couple ran off into the shadows. He was never the same after that."
John sighed.
"He left me behind to aid in the imprisonment of the men we had captured, while he went for a ride to clear his head. The next morning, I received a letter from Lady Holmes. My friend had pushed himself hard, encouraging his horse towards his family home. Nearly there, having ridden most of the night, his horse was spooked. I don't know what by, perhaps it was a result of the poor animal's utter exhaustion, but Holmes was thrown from the horse. Then the wolves attacked. I've already told you the rest. He bears the scars to this day. However, not all of them are physical."
Another pause. Molly could barely breathe. She was fighting back sobs, but failing to hold back the tears which fell freely down her face. Everything started to fall into place, to make sense. She could hardly believe everything that the gentle man she loves had been through. He may act like an unfeeling monster, but she finally understood that it was only because he felt so much.
"Those scars are none of your concern, and that tale is not yours to share. Especially not with some girl who thinks more of herself than she ought, one who has no place here and no claim to my life."
Stunned silence ensued following Sherlock's remark. So wrapped up in John's story, not one occupant of the room had noticed the detective skulking in the shadows outside the doorway. However, that silence lasted but a moment until chaos erupted in response to the bitter words that Sherlock had spat into the room. Molly's father stood up and approached the taller man in fury, determined to avenge his daughter's honor. John threw himself towards his friend, hoping to both protect Sherlock from the angry father and to drag the man out of the room before he could say anything else. Lord and Lady Holmes looked horrified, Mycroft chuckled slightly while his wife lightly smacked him, and Mrs. Hudson gasped and backed against the wall. Molly simply sat quietly in her chair, absorbing Sherlock's hurtful comment. When she stood up, everybody in the room quieted and turned to watch her approach towards Sherlock.
Molly stopped when she was right in front of him, looking up into his eyes. She shook her head a little, reaching up and resting her hand lightly on his cheek, before saying simply, "I forgive you." Sherlock's eyes closed and he didn't shake her away, so she continued. "I know you're hurt; I know now just how badly you're hurt. But never forget how many people still love you. And remember: I am not Irene."
With that, she withdrew her hand and slipped out the door and up the stairs. The other occupants of the room glanced around at each other before following her example and retiring to their own rooms for the night. Even the avenging father recognized that the time was not right and left the detective to his own devices. The room returned to an empty silence and Sherlock Holmes, great consulting detective, stood alone in a doorway, confused, conflicted, and feeling strangely empty and bereft of something, feeling only the tingling warmth on his cheek from Miss Molly Hooper's hand.
That's all I have now, but I finally have the rest of the story outlined. I'm expecting one, maybe two more chapters. Please let me know what you think!