Chapter Ten

Okay, guys, I will probably not have a new chapter up for at least a week. I am currently trying to move. Thankfully, I've had this one written up for a while. I hope to get back to writing as soon as I have unpacked.

Molly followed Sherlock into the memory as John did the same. They stood in front of the fireplace as Sherlock stepped towards his memory self sitting at the table.

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift," said Memory Sherlock as he looked over at Memory Molly.

"Take a day off," Memory John muttered quietly in exasperation.

Greg took a glass across to the table and put it down near Memory Sherlock. "Shut up and have a drink."

"Oh, come on," said Memory Sherlock. "Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." He stood up and walked towards Memory Molly.

Sherlock's arm rose as though to stop him, but then lowered almost in defeat.

Come on, Sherlock, Molly thought at him. You can do it.

She knew the two of them couldn't do anything more to help; they were just observers. If Sherlock wanted out, he would have to do it himself.

Memory Sherlock looked at the other presents, which weren't so carefully wrapped. "It's for someone special, then." He picked up the well-wrapped red present.

Sherlock began walking towards himself, his gaze locked on Memory Molly as she began to fidget nervously. He came to a stop in between them, still staring sadly at her.

Molly stepped up behind her memory self, looking into Sherlock's face.

"The shade of red echoes her lipstick—either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage," continued Memory Sherlock.

Memory Molly was glancing from the gift and up to Memory Sherlock's face, knowing he was going to figure it out any second and humiliate her. Sherlock's gaze was slowly hardening as Memory Molly grew more and more nervous.

"Either way, Miss Hooper has love on her mind," said Memory Sherlock almost mockingly.

Sherlock flinched as anger filled his face, not taking his eyes off the hurt his memory self was causing Memory Molly. "Stop it…"

The command had been barely above a whisper, but Molly had heard how his voice had shaken.

"The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all."

Sherlock slid his eyes over to Memory Sherlock, all but glaring at him. When he spoke this time, his voice was stronger and held a hard edge to it. "Stop."

"That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn."

"Stop it," Sherlock demanded a little louder, turning to face Memory Sherlock a little more. He was now clenching his fists at his sides.

"And that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing." Memory Sherlock smiled smugly across to Memory John and Jeanette, starting to turn over the gift tag attached to the present. "Obviously trying to compensate—"

"I said stop it!" shouted Sherlock.

Molly jumped a little in shock as Sherlock suddenly reared his arm back and swung it forward into Memory Sherlock's face. The punch never landed. Sherlock's fist and arm swept straight through Memory Sherlock as he and the other people in the memory suddenly vanished.

Sherlock caught his balance and turned, looking around the flat for the others. He came to a stop as he faced Molly, staring at her almost in shock. "Molly?"

Molly smiled at him, relieved that he could finally see them. "Hi, Sherlock."

What happened next, none of them could have predicted. Sherlock suddenly surged forward, sliding his hands into Molly's hair on either side of her head and pulling her into a kiss. Molly stood stunned with wide eyes for a moment before she melted into the kiss, sliding her arms around his back. Sherlock's hands combed through her hair before his own arms slid down around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

The kiss had started out desperate and passionate, but it was slowly dwindling down to gentle and loving. Sherlock planted one last languid kiss to her lips before pulling back and gazing down into her face. Molly smiled up at him as he raised a hand to the side of her face, cradling it.

"Ahem."

Molly's eyes widened as a sheepish smile appeared on her face. She had completely forgotten that John was standing there, watching the whole thing.

Sherlock, on the other hand, froze and narrowed his eyes in confusion. He turned his head to frown over at his friend. "John?"

John was smirking at Sherlock, who still had his arms wrapped around Molly. "Yeah."

Sherlock's eyes swept down to John's shoes, traveling up to his face. He then stepped back a little from Molly, placing his hands on her shoulders. He narrowed his eyes as he looked into her own. After a moment, he tilted his head a little as his eyes widened.

"You're really here," Sherlock muttered.

Molly frowned. "Yeah…"

"No, I mean, you're not a memory, nor are you my mind palace's versions of you," Sherlock explained before looking over at John. "It's really you."

John nodded. "Yeah, it's really us."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "That doesn't make any sense. How could you have—" He broke off mid-thought as he stared at John before glancing back at Molly. He seemed to just now understand what he had done. His mortified eyes went to the floor as he started to let go of her. "Molly, I—"

Molly latched onto his hands, keeping them on her shoulders. "Don't you dare apologize for that, Sherlock Holmes." She gave him a stern, yet loving look.

Sherlock hesitated a moment before smiling back. He then glanced back at John, his gaze shifting nervously towards Molly and back. "Um…John, I—"

John waved a hand at him. "Don't sweat it, mate. I've seen this coming for a while now."

Sherlock frowned at him. "You have?" He frowned down at the floor in thought. "Why didn't I?"

"Because you're an idiot," John told him.

Sherlock looked back up at him, sharing a smile before turning serious again. "So, how are you two in my head? That isn't—"

"In a minute, Sherlock," John quickly told him, raising his head as if to address the ceiling. "Walter, how much time do we have?"

Sherlock frowned at John's odd behavior.

"It is 10:08 in the morning, Thursday," Walter answered.

John's head lowered once more. "Which would make it 3:00 p.m. in London. Sherlock, this is very important—"

"Who were you talking to?" Sherlock interrupted as he released Molly, having not been able to hear Walter's response. "What's—"

"Later, Sherlock," John demanded, stepping closer. "Do you remember the case you were working when you fell into a coma?"

Sherlock frowned, about to open his mouth and ask yet more questions.

Molly placed a hand on his arm. "Please, Sherlock, this is important. What's the last thing you remember?"

Sherlock looked down into her eyes, seeing the urgency there. He frowned in concentration, his eyes staring off into space. After a moment, the flat faded around the three of them, and they found themselves in a street.

Memory Sherlock, wearing his Belstaff close around him, was walking down the pavement. As a dodgy man several hundred yards ahead of him turned down an alley, Memory Sherlock quickened his pace. Before long, he had reached the same alley, and he peered down it before entering as well.

John, Molly and Sherlock followed him into the alley, watching as the man he had been following suddenly pounced. Memory Sherlock blocked the blow before shoving him away to give himself room to fight back.

The man then got a good look at Memory Sherlock's face. His own twisted in rage. "You!"

Memory Sherlock darted forward the same time that the man did. He parried the man's punch, landing his own. The two exchanged a couple blows before the man gave a shout of rage and threw the detective towards the brick wall of the alley. Memory Sherlock tried to turn to catch himself, but the left side of his head hit the corner of a skip.

Darkness instantly swept in around them, and the flat at Baker Street appeared once more.

"That's the last thing I remember before being trapped here," Sherlock told them.

"Do you remember where the bomb is?" asked John. "Your note said it was set to go off tomorrow—er, Friday." He corrected himself, remembering Sherlock had not heard Walter tell them it was Thursday.

"Er…" Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth before he closed his eyes and brought his hands to his temples. He concentrated a moment, scrunching his eyes shut, before he opened them again. "Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5A in the storage closet of the departure lounge."

John nodded, his gaze moving upwards once again. "Walter, the bomb is in Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5A in the departure lounge storage closet."

There was an agonizing moment of silence where Molly feared that they had not heard John, but then Walter's voice spoke.

"The Detective Inspector is calling his team. He wants to tell Mr. Holmes, 'thank you.'"

John and Molly breathed out a sigh of relief. They now had at least nine hours to evacuate the airport and deactivate the bomb.

"Thanks, Walter," Molly said, looking back to Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned at the two of them. "All right, who are you two talking to and how did you get in my head?"

"When we found out you may not wake up before the bomb went off, we knew that the only information about it was now trapped in your head," Molly explained.

Sherlock nodded, looking over at John. "They stole the tapes?"

John nodded. "Not before destroying the flat. You may need a new computer." His eyes shifted nervously to the floor and back.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What else?"

John stared at him, seemingly holding his breath.

"What else, John?" Sherlock demanded.

John closed his eyes and turned his head away from him.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed once again. "The violin."

John nodded, eyes still trained on the wall.

"Damn," Sherlock bit off, clenching his jaw. "Tell me they're still alive so I can kill them."

"Actually, we don't know," John told him, looking back at him. "We haven't been able to find them."

"Jacobs is at The Bloomsbury Palace," Sherlock told them. "Don't know which room, but I recognized the scent of the hotel's shampoo."

Molly chuckled at the fact that Sherlock had an encyclopedia of London's hotel amenities catalogued in his head. "Walter, tell Greg to check The Bloomsbury Palace for Michael Jacobs."

"All right," Walter replied.

Sherlock opened his mouth to ask yet again who Walter was, but Molly held up her hand.

"We're getting there, Sherlock," Molly told him.

"Anyway, that's when Mycroft told us about this scientist in Boston that could help," John explained.

"Dr. Walter Bishop?" asked Sherlock.

John frowned. "Yeah, actually."

Sherlock nodded. "I've read a few of his articles from his days at Harvard twenty years ago. I've also kept up with a few of his recent cases."

John shook his head with a smile. "I don't even wanna know how you got your hands on FBI files."

"So, he performed a consciousness synchronization," Sherlock stated.

"Yes," Molly replied. "That's why we're talking to him. He can hear us, but not you."

Sherlock nodded, looking over at Molly with an awkward glance at John.

John cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. "I think I'm gonna go see how Lestrade is coming along with the bomb."

Sherlock nodded again. "Excellent idea, John."

John smiled at Sherlock. "See you on the other side." He then closed his eyes and concentrated.

John opened his eyes to the darkness of the inside of the tank. The next moment, the doors opened, letting in the light. John raised a hand to shield his eyes.

"You okay, John?" asked Peter from outside the tank.

John nodded as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light. "Yeah. How's Greg doing?"

Peter looked up past the tank where John couldn't see. "His team is evacuating the airport now."

John sighed in relief. "Thank God." He pulled himself up towards the opening of the tank, letting Peter help him out. "How's he doing?"

Peter handed him a towel before glancing over at Sherlock lying in between the tanks, the doors of which were still closed on Molly's. "Better. At least, according to Walter. I can't see much difference in the readouts. Walter says that there was a change in his brainwaves about fifteen minutes ago."

John nodded as he stepped towards the stretcher. "That was when Sherlock finally broke out of the memories."

He stared down at Sherlock, marveling at the fact that Molly was in there at that very moment with him.

There came a laugh and a voice from nearby.

"No."

John glanced up at the sound of Molly's voice coming from the speakers up at Walter's computer. He glanced back at Sherlock, staring at him.

He and Molly are having a conversation inside his head right now, John thought, shaking his head at that.

John turned and walked up towards where Walter and Astrid sat at the computers, grabbing his robe on the way. As he set the towel aside and donned the dressing gown, he stepped up towards them. "How does it look, Dr. Bishop?"

"Oh, just fine," Walter replied, taking a bite from what looked like a bacon and peanut butter sandwich. "Mr. Holmes does not yet show signs of recovery, but his brainwaves are showing more activity."

Olivia walked over to them. "Scotland Yard has evacuated Heathrow Airport, and the bomb has been found. They're working on it now."

"No," said Molly from the speakers.

John looked down at the monitor, which showed Molly floating in the tank, eyes closed.

"Later," Molly whispered. "Tell me when you get out."

Peter joined them on the raised floor. "And Jacobs?"

John looked up at Greg as he walked over.

"He has been arrested, and they're questioning him now about his accomplices," Greg told them. "Shouldn't be long now before it's over."

John nodded with a sigh. "Good. That's good."

"She's…smiling," said Peter suddenly.

John glanced at him before looking at the screen. Molly was indeed smiling, and her smile was only growing stronger. John gave a little smile himself.

Peter glanced suspiciously over at John. "Why's she smiling?"

John glanced at him, feigning innocence. "Not a clue."

Peter smiled back at him in understanding.

Sherlock watched as John disappeared in front of his eyes. "Well, there's something you don't see every day."

Molly laughed lightly. "No."

Sherlock looked down at her, staring at her in amazement. This woman, who had held him close to her heart through all his insults and demands. This woman, who had stuck by him through thick and thin. This woman, whom he had placed all his trust in. This woman, who had never abandoned him when he needed her, no matter what for. And now, it seemed he had inadvertently let her in on his deeply hidden attraction for her.

Although, it wasn't until just now, when Molly had triggered all the happy memories he had of her—everything about Molly that he held dear—that he had even begun to realize that just maybe that attraction was something deeper. But how could he know for sure? As he was fond of remarking, this wasn't his area.

That's easy, he thought. You've got the perfect example in John. His smile always brightens whenever he's near Mary.

Sherlock thought back to every time he entered St. Bart's lab, every time Molly stepped into the morgue, every time she visited the flat with Sherlock's requested body parts. It was always the highlight of his day, and he was sure an actual, genuine smile graced his face.

John had been prepared to selflessly give everything he had for Mary when Magnussen had threatened her.

If it had been Molly that Magnussen had threatened, that Moriarty had threatened, Sherlock would not hesitate to give his life for her. She was so much more important than him.

Even after discovering Mary's past, John still accepted her as his.

Could Sherlock love Molly's imperfections just the same?

Absurd. Molly has no imperfections.

Which may have been the exact answer he needed.

John once told me that the one you love is the first person you think about when you wake and the last person you think about before you sleep.

More and more lately, Sherlock found himself with images and thoughts of Molly as he drank his morning tea and when he played his evening violin. And it seemed that it was less and less John's voice in the back of his head to guide him and more and more Molly's.

Well, well, well… Sherlock thought. It seems it is more than simple attraction.

Sherlock smiled as he stepped towards her. "Molly—"

Molly shook her head. "No. Later. Tell me when you get out."

Sherlock firmly shook his head, taking hold of her hands. "No. Here, where I can't hide behind my mask of cold indifference, where you can see the real me."

Molly's mouth worked in silence as she stared at him.

"Molly…" Sherlock began, "I may have already made this clear by my earlier actions, but I feel that it needs to be said. You may have ended up awakening more than just my mind in this quest."

Molly's eyes widened a little as a smile began to form.

Sherlock raised his hand to her face. "You have evidently awakened my heart as well."

Molly's smile grew as she reached up to place her hand over his.

"I have trusted you with my reputation, my life and my mind," Sherlock continued. "If it is not too much to ask, would you consider taking on my heart as well?"

Molly let out a happy laugh, a tear falling down her face. Her grip on Sherlock's hand tightened slightly as if to reassure herself that this was real. "Always."

Sherlock pulled Molly up towards him, kissing her passionately. Molly wrapped her arms around him, losing herself in it. As Sherlock enveloped her in his arms, Molly was brought back to reality. Placing her hand on the side of his face, she pulled away from him. Sherlock tried to follow her, but she placed her other hand on his chest.

"No, wait, wait," Molly told him. "Not here."

Sherlock frowned in confusion.

"Out there," Molly told him. "I want the real you."

Sherlock gave her a smile. "But this is the real me."

Molly smiled as she rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

Sherlock released her slightly. "How?"

Molly held her hand out to him. "Take my hand."

Sherlock smiled and reached for her hand, clasping it tightly. "Lead the way."

Molly wrapped his hand in both of hers and then closed her eyes and began to pull them out.