A/N: Thanks to everyone for being so patient, and to my lovely beta, the wonderful and patient (and extremely well versed in 1950s Dublinese) LoyaulteMeLie, whose Star Trek: Enterprise stories featuring Malcolm Reed are a real treasure.
Molly Hooper, Sherlock decided, was the most amazing female in the entire bloody universe. Any other girl in her position would have berated him for essentially abandoning her for an entire week, especially after so traumatic a night. For being angry with her when in actuality she'd done nothing wrong, only tried to make a bad situation better.
To protect him.
Thank God the rumours swirling about hadn't yet reached the ears of the teachers or Headmistress; so far, it appeared, the students had been keeping their stupid mouths shut when it came to the school's authority figures or their own parents. Otherwise, he knew, he'd have already been hauled in front of the Headmistress to face a great many dull, but unpleasant, questions. As would Molly, which absolutely would NOT do.
"What do you need?"
The question, so quietly asked, was both unexpected and exactly what he should have known she would ask. Of course she was thinking about him, his needs, rather than her own; it probably hadn't even occurred to her that he should be the one asking her that question.
Especially since he knew that plans had been set in motion, even if he was as in the dark as she was as to what those plans might be.
He told her everything; how angry he'd been, at Seb and the Moron and himself, and even her (which she already knew, but he felt a compulsion to spell it all out). How she'd upset the plans he'd set into motion - and he could see by the tears welling in her eyes how those plans hurt her, even knowing they weren't going to go forward. How he'd been forced to turn to his brother for assistance…and what terms he'd agreed to in order to secure that assistance.
At that Molly's tears threatened to become full-on sobs, but she brushed angrily at her wet cheeks, sucked in a breath…and let him have it, both barrels, no holding back, her brogue thick with anger and hurt and fear, the words tumbling over one another so quickly that she was nearly impossible to understand. "Sherlock Holmes, ya bloody, stupid eejit…how could ya agree ta such? Ta exilin' yersel' and leavin' me…I won't be needin' any o' yer family's charity, I'll make my own way in th' world, ye daft fool! An' if Jimmy Moriarty or Sebastian Moran try any more o' their nonsense I'll scratch their eyes out, just see if I don't! I won't be lettin' them force ya into such a devil's deal, yer brother can go to the devil himself, he can! I won't let him bully ya like this! I won't…"
The only way to stop her was to kiss her again. Well, he could have clamped a hand over her mouth, but she probably wouldn't take such an action well, certainly not in her current state of emotional upheaval. This, this very reaction was why he always tried to avoid such entanglements…and yet he couldn't find it in his heart to feel anything but sympathy for her. No, sympathy was wrong; empathy, a word he'd only recently come to understand, that was closer. She felt as he did, that there had to be another way out of this mess…but he knew the truth, a truth she was still trying very hard to deny.
There was no other way out, unless the two of them ran away together. And he would never ask her to give up her future, the one she'd fought for and dreamed about for so long, the one her father wanted for her and the one she deserved.
He was, much to his chagrin, nowhere near as selfish as he'd always believed himself to be.
When he pulled away from her, he could see that her fury hadn't abated, but before she could find the breath to launch into another furious diatribe, he rushed in. "You asked me what I needed, Molly. Do you really want to know, or would you rather yell at me some more when we both know there's nothing you can say to change my mind?"
That took the wind out of her sails; she sagged against the wall, ducking her head and lowering her eyes in a posture of such utter defeat that Sherlock felt like the biggest arse in the world. He felt an unfamiliar urge to apologize, but knowing it would do nothing but give her false hope, he forced the words back, along with the equally unfamiliar surge of guilt that soured his stomach worse than any bout of overindulging on sweets ever could.
"Look," he said, sucking in a breath and letting it out in a near-sigh, "I don't know what my brother has planned, but I do know that it'll involve us not being allowed to see one another for probably the next two years." He pressed a finger against her lips as she started to protest and she subsided, although the hurt, angry expression on her face did nothing to ease the clenching of his stomach. "We both know a lot can happen in two years; we'll be done with secondary school and starting at university and maybe…maybe your feelings for me will change, who knows?" He managed a soft smile as her expression turned indignant and she shook her head fiercely. "Maybe they won't. All I'm saying is, no matter what, you'll always matter to me, Molly Hooper. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. I just need you to trust me on this; keeping you safe is the most important thing in the world to me right now. So don't fight me, don't turn down whatever Mycroft cooks up for you, and for God's sake – don't try to stop this from happening. Just…let it fall where it will. Can you do that for me?"
Molly was silent for a long time, nearly a full minute, while tears pooled in her eyes until they overflowed and streaked her face. He wiped them away with his thumbs, waiting for her answer.
Finally she gave a shuddering breath and threw her arms around him, resting her cheek on his chest as she choked out, "Of course, ya daft fool. I promise."
"All of it?" Sherlock pressed, wanting to make sure she was agreeing to everything he'd just asked of her, including 'taking his family's charity' although he didn't see it that way. In his mind, it was just redistributing the family's wealth in a far better manner than entertaining yet another group of boring diplomats or politicians. And when he put it that way to Molly, she reluctantly agreed to allow the scholarship fund to be set up, although she clearly felt far from pleased with the terms and conditions Mycroft had insisted upon.
Since Sherlock was none too pleased with them himself – but unable to do anything about them – he could see her point of view, but was more than relieved when she finally broke down and said yes.
However, it appeared she had some terms and conditions of her own. She pulled away from him, taking his hands in hers and staring up at him with a sorrowful determination that he both admired and wished he wasn't the cause of. "I won't…won't make ya promise to wait for me, or promise to wait for ya myself, either," Molly said, her voice as determined as her expression. "Two years is a long time, like ya said, and a lot can happen." Her expression was fierce as she added, "But Sherlock Holmes, you'd best find a way to send word to me now and again, to let me know you're alive and well, all right? Since your family'll be fundin' my education, I'm sure it'll be easy enough for ya to keep tabs on me. Do this for me and I promise to do whatever ya need me to do until we see each other again, even if it's…if it's just as friends."
Ah, quid pro quo; he'd asked something of her, and so she was asking something of him. Something he didn't particularly want to agree to, but since that was what today was all about, he did, nodding to indicate that he would do as she asked.
She gave him a sad smile before leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him. When she made as if to pull away, he refused to let her go, kissing her far more roughly and with more desperation than he ever had before. He had no idea if this was to be the last time they saw one another until his 'voluntary' exile from her life was up, but if it was intended to make the most of it.
Hell, if he thought they could get away with it, he'd drag her off the school grounds, ride off with her on the moron's motorbike to some secluded glen and make love to her. But there was no chance of that happening today, not when their privacy had limitations on it and not when he was still uncertain if she'd allow it; he had to get her back to class, and then wait to see what Mycroft would do next.
She returned the kiss with equal fervour, no doubt sharing his uncertainty and fears for the future.
A future, alas, that was all too quick to arrive.
oOo
At the end of the school day Sherlock was loitering by the bicycle rack, waiting for Molly to emerge from front door in order to walk her home, when a large black car pulled up to the kerb. He huffed out an impatient breath; really, Mycroft worked fast but he couldn't believe his brother worked that fast, even if their father was helping him!
However, when he made to open the back door, the driver had jumped out and stopped him. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes, it's not for you. It's for Miss Hooper."
Sherlock stared at Stubbins blankly. "Miss Hooper?" he repeated, his eyes moving rapidly between the car, the driver, and the line of curious students eager to find out who the posh car belonged to. "Why did my brother send a car for Molly?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he added, "If he thinks he can intimidate her…"
But Stubbins was shaking his head, his expression serious as he explained. "It's her father, Mr. Holmes, he's taken a bad turn." Sherlock didn't have to ask how Stubbins knew all this; once Molly Hooper had become a complication in his brother's life rather than a temporary addition to it, Mycroft had no doubt put some of his people – spies, Sherlock called them, believing in not hiding behind the euphemisms his brother seemed to love so much – to keeping an eye on her and her family. And if he'd gone so far as to send Stubbins here with the car, then obviously he'd made some sort of contact with Mrs. Hooper.
That deduction was confirmed as Stubbins continued speaking, keeping his voice low in respect of their unwanted audience. "Miss Hooper's mother is already at the hospital, and has agreed to allow your brother bring her to join her." He hesitated, lowering his voice further before adding, "I understand Mr. Hooper is not expected to last through the night, sir."
Sherlock stared at him blankly. "I'll take her on my motor…" But Stubbins was shaking his head. Respectfully, but firmly. Sherlock sighed, knowing that the separation from Molly had begun, as had the 'taking care of her future' bit his brother had promised. "I'll get her," he finally said, turning on his heels and all but running up the steps and back into the building he'd just exited.
He nearly bowled Molly over in his haste to reach her, ignoring the stares and resentful murmurs of the students he jostled on his way to her side. She was walking with her friend Mary, whom he'd met once or twice and whose last name he could never seem to recall. Morris? Morastan? Something like that. Unimportant; he needed to speak to Molly, to let her know what was going on. They only had a few minutes and then she would be whisked away in his brother's car.
Without him, when all he wanted to do was be by her side for as long as he could.
"Sherlock! What's wrong?" she asked as he caught her shoulder, both to brace himself as he skidded to a stop and because he frankly wanted to. Mary was staring at him, wide-eyed, but he ignored her as he took a breath and answered Molly's question, explaining quickly what was going on.
Molly's eyes got wider and wider and her face paled; she swayed a bit and might have fallen if it wasn't for Sherlock's hand on her shoulder and Mary's arm around her friend's waist. "The car is waiting out front," he concluded. "Your mother's at the hospital and I imagine one of the neighbours is watching your brothers and sister."
She nodded, appearing incapable of speaking, and moved when he and Mary gently urged her to, slowly at first but then almost running as they neared the front door. Sherlock held it open and escorted the two of them to the car. Stubbins opened the door and tipped his hat to the two girls respectfully, promising Molly that he would get her to the hospital as quickly as possible. Mary leaned close and gave Molly a comforting hug, then stepped away and glanced at Sherlock. He nodded at her, tight-lipped, then stepped forward and embraced Molly as well, brushing his lips across her forehead and murmuring his hopes (futile, as they both knew) that her father would successfully make it through this crisis.
He and Mary watched as the car drove away. It was the last time Sherlock would see her for two years.