Sherlock walked through the grass toward the rock in the woods where Molly sat, her half pinned up hair blowing in the breeze. He felt so light and small, his ten year old legs and body taking a moment to become accustomed to. As he approached, she turned and grinned at him, her little upturned nose and big brown eyes just the same even in her very youthful face.
"I found more beetles, Sherlock!" Molly announced excitedly as she continued laying them out on some leaves atop the rock. "Shall we list them in the notebook?"
Sherlock reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out the little leather bound book where they recorded all their scientific findings from their walks in the woods. Molly began carefully sliding off the rock to stand on the ground below, and Sherlock automatically extended his hand, taking her's and supporting her till she was on her feet again.
"Thank you, Sherlock," she said, giving him another brilliant smile. "You always keep me safe."
He was warmed at hearing the words, but somehow he wasn't able to speak. He could only listen to her little voice.
Molly took the notebook and attached pencil and she began writing things down, her childlike but meticulous handwriting just as he always remembered it. Sherlock stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the rock, watching her make all sorts of descriptive notes about each new beetle she'd discovered.
But suddenly, she set the pencil down and looked up, turning to face him. "Do you have to go?"
Sherlock said nothing, just staring back at her sweet little face. But she acted as if he'd answered her anyway, nodding and smiling again.
"It's ok, you can go if you need to. I'll miss you, though. I'm happiest when I'm with you, you know…because I love you, Sherlock...do you love me too?" Her sweet little childish face blushed a little as she reached over and took his hand.
Sherlock slowly looked away from her face and down to see where their hands were connected. When he did, he saw not children's hands, but the hands of a grown man and woman. That was when he raised his eyes back upward and was greeted by a different sight.
There stood the fully grown Molly Hooper, smiling sweetly up at him. She wore a white cotton dress with a yellow sash and her long chestnut tresses cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Her fingers were still interlaced with his and she gave his hand an extra little squeeze as she spoke again, this time in the lovely voice that was so familiar to him.
"I love you, Sherlock Holmes," she repeated softly, and took a step closer to him. "Do you love me?"
Sherlock felt his lips part, but he still couldn't quite get any sound to come out, not that he knew exactly what to say. As he stood there mute, Molly reached her other hand up and cradled his cheek in her soft palm. She stepped closer still, so that they were now practically sharing the same breath. In fact, he could actually feel her breath upon his lips.
"Do you love me?" Molly whispered one more time, and her eyes flitted to his lips which couldn't manage an answer. At least, not with spoken words.
Sherlock closed his eyes and began to lean down…
When Sherlock's eyes fluttered open again, his brain at first thought that he was in the exact same place and position that he had just been experiencing a split second before. Because there was Molly's face. But then, in the space of a breath, Sherlock's mind caught up and began to fully awaken.
Yes, he was practically nose to nose with Molly, but they were not standing in the woods…they were lying in their bed.
Sherlock's eyes flew wide open then, and he realized with relief that Molly was still asleep. He also looked down and noticed that his arm was draped over her waist, and there was less than a foot of space between their bodies. He swallowed thickly, considering whether it was riskier to move or to remain perfectly still. His eyes scanned her face and listened to her breathing patterns, and he concluded that she was still sleeping deeply and therefore it was safe to move.
He lifted his arm straight up and off her waist very carefully, and then pivoted it over to lay on his own body instead. After breathing a small sigh of relief, he unfortunately took note of her face again and how very close it was to his own, just like what he'd dreamed so vividly. He truly was barely a breath away and if he were to simply lean forward just a hair…
Sherlock pressed both his eyes and his lips together until it almost hurt, trying to will those pesky impulses away. At the same time, he shifted his body and slid further away from her. He needed to get up. He needed to literally escape, as if she were unwittingly holding him captive on his own mattress. He was able to expertly slide his way off the bed with almost no disruption to the stillness of her body, and once he was up he set about dressing as quickly as humanly possible.
As he was hurriedly buttoning his shirt, he caught the inconveniently timed sight of Molly awakening and stretching…rather enticingly. Sherlock turned away and squeezed his eyes shut once again as he continued with his buttons.
"You're up and about rather early," Molly commented drowsily.
"Yes, I um, I've got to go out…important matters." He cleared his throat. "Utmost importance."
Sherlock grabbed his suit jacket and tugged it over his shoulders quickly, wanting to hurry but not wanting to give the appearance of it. He failed in that regard.
"Mr. Holmes, is everything alright?"
He barely looked over at her, honestly afraid of what he'd see and whether he'd be physically able to look away again. He chuckled somewhat nervously as he raked a comb quickly through his hair and answered her at lightning speed. "I am perfectly fine, everything is fine, no problem at all, why wouldn't everything be fine?"
Sherlock didn't bother to wait for her response, but simply made his way to the bedroom door. Again, he hardly glanced in her direction as he made his way out, but instead just spoke a hurried good morning before disappearing and closing the door behind him.
One more moment in that blasted bedroom would be the death of him.
Sherlock walked slowly along the river, paying attention to little else around him except for where his feet were hitting the ground. He was far too focused on the thoughts and questions in his mind. And no matter how logically and practically he tried to continue thinking, that foolish conversation with John Watson the night before kept replaying in his head…
"Holmes? Holmes?"
Sherlock finally looked over at his friend across the darkened carriage.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"I am perfectly fine now that this matter is settled and done with." Sherlock had to admit he was still clenching his fists though, and that all he really wanted to do was to get back to Baker Street as quickly as possible.
There was a lengthy silence before John spoke again, and when he did, Sherlock's gaze was back on him like a bolt of lightning.
"My God, you're in love with her."
"What?" Sherlock scrunched up his face as he let out a short laugh. "Why? Because I'd like to see an unreasonable and cruel man punished for an actual crime against a woman who is doing nothing but pursuing her life's ambition?" He shook his head at the ridiculous accusation.
"Oh come now, Holmes," John said in an exasperated tone. "You almost killed the man! I wonder if you would have, had I not been there. You were not just out to solve a crime tonight, you were out to avenge her! And I knew exactly what I was watching as you nearly tore the man limb from limb. It is quite simple to deduce."
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "You are the sudden expert on deduction, are you? And how was it so very simple Dr. Watson?"
John leaned forward in his seat and smiled a little smugly. "Because I recognized it personally, the look you had in your eyes. It is the look of a man who would do anything humanly possible, and perhaps even beyond, if it meant the safety of the woman he loves."
Sherlock stared back at his friend for a moment and then finally crossed his arms defiantly. "And precisely why is it a revelation that I care for Molly Hooper? She has always been a trusted companion, ever since we were children!"
John shook his head and chuckled. "It is deeper than that, and you know it. I've never seen you like this. And I don't just mean this night, but also how you've been these past weeks. Holmes, you've been happy…really happy."
The detective responded with a childishly contrary comment once again. "We are play acting, in case it's slipped your sieve of a memory."
"Ah, so it's distasteful sharing your flat and your bed with her?" John asked feigning fascination with this new information.
"I did not say exactly that!" Sherlock corrected, annoyed that he'd just cornered himself.
"And you must dislike the kisses and touches and laughing together? You must be all too anxious to be rid of the whole thing!"
"Yes yes, Watson, you make yourself perfectly clear! No, I do not find the entire thing distasteful, but that doesn't change the fact that it is rooted in a deception. I am not truly in love with Molly Hooper!"
John looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment, seemingly trying his hand at some more deduction before he opened his mouth again. "And if you were…would you tell me?"
Sherlock stared back at his friend, mute and still, honestly not sure what to say in answer.
"No you wouldn't, I should think," John stated, looking a bit disappointed in his friend. "Especially because you won't even tell yourself."
…Sherlock leaned on the guard rail at the side of the river, staring into the water which reflected the morning rays of the sunrise. He was beginning to question whether he'd taken on too much with this whole affair. Was this really the wise course? Was it the logical path if he were to continue to avoid the proverbial fly in the ointment?
Yes, it was a particular kind of friendship he enjoyed with Molly. He was willing to admit that it was unlike what he shared with other close friends. There were subtle but key differences, and they made him a bit uneasy. The most pronounced of which was her ability to make him feel something in addition to the affection of friendship…desire.
He wasn't immune and would never claim to be. But he did successfully avoid such feelings for the most part, feelings that railed against logic and cold reason which he'd spent the better part of his adult life in the pursuit of. What troubled Sherlock the most was not simply that the sight of Molly Hooper could stir such base desires in him, but more so the fact that it went hand in hand with how much she meant to him emotionally. She'd unwittingly conquered him now both physically and emotionally…which was a rather deadly combination. In fact, it was a combination that bore a very simply title. One that John Watson had so clearly laid out in front of him the previous night…
"No," Sherlock muttered to himself, trying to reject the obvious conclusion. He gulped fresh air and shut his eyes for a moment. It was all so very inconvenient that he would feel this strongly. He should try to stamp it out, crush it before it ruined things completely. He would do so in a heartbeat…
If this feeling wasn't so absolutely fantastic.
Sherlock retired to his bedroom early in the evening and stayed there for quite a while. The ladies were up and chatting in the sitting room after dinner and there was little or no space he could have absolutely to himself. He had to admit that for the reason of space he was glad that the next day they'd be bidding Molly's mother and sister farewell.
The timing was somewhat difficult though, given the fact that the threat to Molly had only just happened. But the date of their departure had been decided in advance, and Mrs. Hooper felt they shouldn't overstay their welcome. There was a brief offer for Molly to return to the country with them for a while, just to relax after such a scare. But she had instantly rejected the idea, insisting that her place was in London. This was her home now, and there was nowhere better for her to rise above the senseless acts she'd witnessed.
Sherlock felt a surge of pride as she'd spoken of London that way to her family.
Sherlock was trying to work out a case involving ciphers, so he needed the space. There were messages and notations and possible keys spread out all over the bed, and he was pacing the perimeter, thinking and rethinking possibilities. After a while though, he felt the need for his pipe, so he decided to emerge from his hideaway briefly.
As he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, he realized that nobody had heard him come out, because he could hear Molly and Mrs. Hooper speaking about him. Seeing that detective work was in his blood and couldn't simply be shut off, he crept a bit closer in order to hear what they were saying more clearly.
"I am sure Sherlock appreciates your trust as well. I admit, mother, I am a bit surprised that you were still willing to return home. That is, after what had just happened."
Mrs. Hooper chuckled. "Yes, I suppose it might seem a bit out of character for me. But I can honestly say that I am not afraid to go back to the country and leave you here in London. And although I trust you, it is mostly thanks to your husband that I feel so much more at ease lately. I cannot imagine a man who cares more about your welfare and wishes than Sherlock Holmes, and I admit that I'm pleased now that he is your husband…regardless of why this whole thing began."
"Pardon?" Molly asked. "What do you mean by, 'why this whole thing began?'"
There was a pause, and Sherlock awaited Mrs. Hooper's answer just as much as Molly likely did.
"My dear," Mrs. Hooper said gently. "I know what medical school has always meant to you. I've always known. And I understand that it's something you wanted to accomplish, in whatever way was necessary. So…I would understand if you'd taken rather drastic measures in order to pursue your dreams."
Sherlock knew what was coming next before the words were spoken.
"Molly, darling, you can tell me honestly if your marriage to Sherlock was simply a means to enter medical school. There are worse reasons to marry, and there are certainly worse sorts of marriages to have to live with! If that is what you did, I would understand. And it would not make me love you any less."
My God, Sherlock thought. He had not foreseen this conversation happening before Molly's family finished their visit. It seemed the truth was going to come out far sooner than either he or Molly had planned. But perhaps this was a blessing, particularly for Molly. No more need to pretend or put on a show. Why not simply be honest about how she felt, or didn't feel, and admit the true reason she was here? It would save time and explanation when word of their failed marriage reached her family…
"Mother, I appreciate your unconditional support…but you're very much mistaken."
Sherlock frowned as he heard Molly's soft spoken answer and listened intently as she continued.
"You're right, medical school has always meant the world to me. It was a dream of mine since I was a child, and although there were times it seemed impossible, I never wanted to truly let it go. But…there are other things that mean the world to me as well. You see, I could never commit to a marriage where I feel nothing for my husband. No matter what medical school means to me, it is not worth that sort of sacrifice of happiness. Trust me when I say that…"
Sherlock could hear in her voice that her little lips had lifted in a slight smile.
"There is no sacrifice in being married to Sherlock Holmes. I just- I love him so dearly, so completely, even with all his oddities!" She giggled for a moment, but then there was another pause, and her voice was more serious when she spoke again. "I would do it all again. I would marry him again tomorrow…even if there was no Bart's medical school."
Sherlock's eyes grew wide and he had to put a hand out against the wall, bracing himself as he felt like his mind was suddenly reeling. He vaguely heard some sort of kind and positive answer from Mrs. Holmes to Molly after her speech, but he didn't bother to listen to all the details. Suddenly, he couldn't really be bothered to get that pipe either, and so back to the bedroom he silently crept.
Sherlock went to bed early that night, after clearing all his case work from the covers. In fact, he actually pretended to be asleep when Molly came in later. His mind was racing so hard and fast that he doubted he'd get much rest tonight, but he also wanted to avoid having any conversation. Part of him wondered whether he'd be able to have a casual and cordial conversation with Molly after what he'd overheard. Besides, she'd already questioned why he was so jittery earlier in the day, and he had no solid explanation. Yes, it was best to simply avoid this whole messy topic for now. Thankfully, the fact that she'd spent all day on one of her tea gowns meant there was no need for his assistance with undressing.
She tried to see if he was awake when she finally climbed in the bed and under the covers. "Mr. Holmes?" she whispered, leaning a bit closer.
He was already facing the opposite way and was careful to maintain his slow and steady breathing pattern without moving or making any other noise.
Molly was obviously fooled, and let out what sounded like a contented little sigh as she settled against her pillow and turned out her lamp. Her own breathing soon slowed and Sherlock was hoping that soon he'd be able to get up and pace the room since he was feeling antsy lying in bed. Molly did speak one more time though.
"Goodnight, Mr. Holmes," Molly murmured drowsily.
Not long after, Sherlock was sure she was out, and he was able to shift his own position. In the process of getting up, he turned to look at her sleeping for a moment, illuminated by the bit of moonlight that spilled onto the bed. He reached over and carefully moved a strand of hair off her serene face before answering her very quietly.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Holmes."
Sherlock looked on as Mrs. Hooper gave Mrs. Hudson a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I'll certainly be thinking of you! You've quite a job looking after this place and its tenants." He didn't miss the humorous little look that his mother in law gave him.
"It may be a chore, but it's also my pleasure, Mrs. Hooper. Do write whenever you can, and I'll be sure to stay in touch as well. These two may just get so busy that they won't share the latest news!"
"I'll certainly write, Mrs. Hudson, thank you. And we appreciate your hospitality during these past few weeks."
Rebecca had pulled Molly aside and was saying her goodbyes, and it seemed Mrs. Hooper had the same idea, because she stepped over to where Sherlock was thus far observing the sendoff at a safe distance.
"I feel sure that you are not entirely sorry to see us go," Mrs. Hooper said with a knowing smile. "It must have been a bit of a hardship, sharing your flat. And of course, not having Molly all to yourself."
Sherlock was able to smile quite genuinely. "I was glad to have you both. You were rather easy to manage as house guests. And besides, I believe I have plenty of time to enjoy my wife's company. You see, there are times when I'm not a completely selfish child."
Mrs. Hooper chuckled and then reached down to give his hand a squeeze. "No, you absolutely are not. And that is one of the things I have enjoyed learning during our visit. I can see it now…how deeply you love my daughter."
Sherlock felt his face heat up involuntarily.
"I feel confident that you would do anything for her, and to ensure her happiness and success." She shrugged and smiled again. "What more could a mother ask for in a husband for her daughter?"
Sherlock cleared his throat and smiled. "I'm pleased you think so. And of course I wish you and Miss Rebecca a safe journey home. Surely Molly will convince me to pay a visit to the country soon enough. I'm sure you'd like to see her again as soon as possible."
Mrs. Holmes reached up and gave Sherlock's cheek a motherly pat. "We won't mind seeing you as well, Mr. Holmes."
Rebecca came and took her mother's place, bidding her brother-in-law farewell. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I've had a marvelous time in London! And I'm glad to see Molly so very happy of course. I heard what you said, and I do hope you keep your word. Come visit us soon because I shall certainly be dying of boredom!"
Sherlock smiled. "Yes, I believe something can be arranged. I detest boredom myself, so I am not in favor of anyone suffering from it."
Rebecca leaned in a bit and whispered. "Oh and would you be a dear and give this to Inspector Lestrade for me?" She quickly and covertly handed him a small folded note. "I was very sorry not to be able to see him again, and I'd like to make sure he knows that he is more than welcome to write."
Sherlock shook his head in amusement as he tucked the note safely in his jacket pocket. "Consider it done, Miss Rebecca."
Rebecca gave him a little wink before turning back to her sister once more. Molly held both her mother and sister in extended embraces, thanking them and assuring them she'd see them soon. Soon, the two women were settled in their carriage and ready for the journey home.
Molly stepped back and stood next to Sherlock, who looked down and thought he saw her chin quiver just for a moment. He reached down and took her hand, which made her look up at him and smile in appreciation.
They both waved off the carriage as it began to move down the street, leaving them standing alone on the walkway of Baker Street. It became quiet as the goodbyes faded with the disappearance of the carriage and the waving ceased. And then it was just Sherlock and Molly, standing there, frozen in the moment, no doubt both realizing that they'd just reached another crossroads.
Sherlock glanced down at the small woman standing next to him and had the sudden overwhelming feeling that this particular game was mostly over. The necessity to put on an act and to speak and behave just so at all times was done. Now, this was simply their life. Cases, schooling, experiments, meals, tea and biscuits, quiet moments beside the fire…just life. Was this how marriage truly felt? To share all those very normal things together? If so, he wasn't sorry. He felt as though he could echo Molly's words to her mother the other night. He'd do it all again as well.
Molly looked up at him again and smiled, making something swell deep in his chest. He smiled back at her.
Molly, his wife…who loved him.
