Ch. 11 You Can See Me

There were unexpected benefits to Moriarty's demise. His suicide on the opening night of Pygmalion, though ghastly, made people flock to the Holmes Theater. The rivalry between Sherlock and Jim inciting the public's imagination as it was revealed bit by bit. It was better than a daytime soap opera and horrid as it was to bank on the success of a dead man Molly herself was relieved that Jim's stranglehold on the company had been released. The world seemed rosier without the theater owner hanging over them like a pariah.

By extension all of this helped with the success of Pygmalion. No, it was not as widely appreciated as it would have been if they had done My Fair Lady, but Molly received several accolades for her direction and poise during the rough transition. Her name was becoming a known commodity. However, the downfall of Moriarty's company and the successful run of Pygmalion did not change the fact that Sherlock Holmes didn't want to be a part of Molly's life anymore.

The moment the show ended she had been assigned to help Soo Lin Yao, an accomplished actress, begin the transition process into being a director. Soo Lin was kind, beautiful, and calm. Molly adored working with her, but she knew there was this nagging part of her that missed Sherlock. Though it was hard to miss someone who had decided to isolate himself and not just from Molly, but from the entire theater. He hadn't even announced his show of choice let alone whether he was going to direct at all this year.

He'd burrowed himself away at 221B after his triumphant return and reporters were foaming at the mouth to know if he'd had a hand in Moriarty's company downfall yet he had declined to offer even a terse "Piss Off" to the world.

Molly didn't know how to feel about any of it. He'd made it clear that she was not supposed to be a part of his life anymore and that was the hardest part to take. She could deal with never having Sherlock as a romantic partner, but she missed being his friend and it was the most debilitating feeling in the world.

"I'm thinking maybe I should just leave." Molly confessed to Mary one evening over cheap wine and ice cream. "It does me no good to stay there."

"But Molly, you're brilliant!" Mary looked horrified at the prospect. "You can't just leave because of him. You didn't before."

"Yes, but that was when he was just being a jerk. Now he's just—" Molly shut her eyes to keep herself from reliving Pygmalion's opening night. "He was my colleague then my friend…and then…" She blushed and moved to braiding her hair in an effort to keep her hands busy. She'd already told Mary about the kiss in the stairwell that had been a searing promise that they would continue where they had left off. Speaking it out loud though still caused Molly pain.

"He's not even my friend now, Mary. I could deal with him never returning my affections, but I-I m-miss him." She choked on the last few words. Uttering them hurt. She wanted to be able to shut down her emotions and forget about Sherlock. Not pine over his missing presence.

"I just think you'd be wasted elsewhere," Mary said setting aside her wineglass and pulling Molly into a comforting hug. "Besides, I'd miss you."
"It's not a final decision you know." Molly murmured into her friend's shoulder before they broke apart.

"Yes it is." Mary's discontented sigh signaled her defeat in the situation. "I can hear it in your voice." She anchored her elbow against the couch and leaned on her hand as she gave a half-smile. "Do whatever you think is best for yourself. I know you won't make a decision lightly."

Molly supposed she could have tried to reassure her friend that her fears were unfounded, but the lie would have proved useless. So she made inquiries back at Warton's to see if there was a position available for her to which the emphatic reply had been: "There is always a position for you here, Molly, especially considering that you helped get rid of Moriarty."

Agatha had been informed of Moriarty's plan to overtake the children's company and destroy it leaving both Sherlock and Molly forever beloved by the Warton's Children 's Company.

If Molly returned to them it would be a step backwards. She'd admitted that herself on multiple occasions when she thought she was going to be fired or leave because of Sherlock's nasty attitude. Despite all of that, it was a prudent way for her to keep a steady income until she could make a move to another city. So after much debate, she'd made up her mind on one early March morning and was heading to the theater to speak with Mary when she'd received a text message from the very man she was trying to escape.

You can't leave.-SH

She ignored him and continued walking.

Your talents would be better served at my company.-SH

Please, meet me at Baker Street, Molly. I want to talk to you about this.-SH

That ridiculous please. She'd been bent on leaving and now that insufferable man had the indecency to use the one word that actually worked on her.

Let's be honest here. You are actually curious as to what he might say, Molly pursed her lips as her thoughts betrayed her true intentions. She'd ran her fingers through her hair in frustration wanting to run off to the theater yet held back by her insatiable curiosity. It was probably the one trait both she and Sherlock actually shared—though she'd never admit it out loud—so she sent off a simple text saying she'd be there soon and marched her way to 221B.

She'd made it to the front door and was startled when John Watson opened it up to welcome her in.

"Good. You're here," He said putting on his gloves as she squeezed by him into the foyer.

"Yeah, well, couldn't resist not knowing what he had to say." Molly's face pinched into a small smile which lacked her usual warmth.

"Just be patient with him. He's a tit." John leaned over to give her a small hug before disappearing out the front door.

Molly wished he had stayed. A sharp clench of her heart made her realize that she didn't want to face the consulting director alone.

The ascent to the second floor apartment seemed to take ages. The door was open, but she didn't immediately see Sherlock as she took a step inside and then for all of her bitter anger, she couldn't help but laugh.

Sherlock, in what was surely at the hands of his best friend, was tied to his gray chair looking so miffed that he almost didn't register Molly's entrance until she began giggling. His eyes turned on her sharply and she brought a hand to her mouth to keep her mirth at bay while he continued to glower in annoyance.

"He told me I could have the use of my arms back when I learned to play nice." He hissed the sentence as his toes curled into the rug below his feet. He was only in his pajamas and blue dressing gown looking like he'd gone through a scuffle. His left cheek had a plaster stuck to it and his hair was as frightfully curly as ever.

"How on earth did you manage to text me?" Molly didn't see his phone anywhere around him.

"Didn't." Sherlock popped out the word, looking straight ahead—nay glaring at John's chair. "John stole my phone."

The revelation made Molly's mood deflate. So he hadn't wanted to see her after all.

"Then I suppose I'll just untie you and we'll part ways." She dropped her bag onto the floor and moved towards the director.

"I'd appreciate that but I…" Sherlock swallowed hard when she had edged closer. "But I do want to talk."

Molly stopped beside his chair, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Then I'm listening."

"Untie me first." Sherlock commanded as he attempted to sit up straighter.

She rounded to the back of the chair, kneeling down to look at the various knots John had used to contain the director. Her hands grazed over the corded black rope when she found herself coming to a standstill. What if Sherlock shut down on her before he fully explained himself? She couldn't continue on with her life if this moment continued to plague her.

Perhaps not then, she thought as she stood up and walked over to take a seat in John's vacant chair while Sherlock looked completely befuddled.

"No," she said. "Not until you thoroughly explain your actions."

Sherlock gaped at her for a moment looking before shaking his head and leaning as far against his restraints as he could.

"This is ridiculous. Molly Hooper, Untie. Me!" He barked out the order, but she remained unmoving.

Sherlock grunted at her silence as he attempted to use his own faculties to break free only to find that he couldn't. In a great sigh of agitation he leaned back in his chair muttering that the technical director would never let him live this down before looking back at Molly, his face taking on a softer look.

"I don't—" He swallowed and breathed out the words in a soft murmur. "Want you to leave."

"I think it's best if I do." Molly's quiet voice seeped into the room like a fog, clouding the entire conversation.

"Your career would thrive with the company. You know you will go farther with us." Sherlock began to point out the logical reasons which Molly had already persuaded herself didn't matter. "Warton's, as lovely as a place with germ ridden brats can be, is a step backwards from where you want to go."

"It's a lateral move until I find something better." She bit out, hating the fact that the man knew her mind so well.

"You told me that you left to change your career path." Sherlock reminded her of their excursion to the theater together back in December. It seemed like an age had passed since then. "You can't go back. You'll get comfortable and wait it out for something until that too has passed you by."

"How could you possibly know that? Does your arrogance know no bounds?" She argued wanting to be done with this conversation. The choice was hers—no one else's.

"Because I pushed you to that point!" Silence descended between the two as they stared at one another in shock over his statement. Sherlock looking more pained than she did as he seemed to struggle with what he had to say.

"I'm excellent at it." He paused and attempted to sit up straighter in his chair while his body language whispered how uncomfortable he was with the situation. This was unfamiliar territory for him.

"Molly, what happened on opening night—I made an error." He gulped in a chunk of air as he attempted to sort out his thoughts, but Molly cut him off before he could continue.

"You broke my heart and told me that I was so desperate for affection that I had invented your feelings!" The evident pain her voice made the man wince. "And then you continued to stamp down on it when you refused to even offer me your friendship by ignoring me. Do you know how much that hurts?"

"I'm sorry but—"

"There is no excuse for it!"

"Let me finish!" Sherlock finally yelled while Molly fumed in her seat. "Moriarty is just one of the many unsavory characters revolving in my life and as he stated there are plenty of people still within his own network that could cause the both of us harm. I'm a danger to most everyone I know—"

"Yet you haven't distanced yourself from John or Mrs. Hudson or Greg—"

"Whose Greg?" He looked genuinely puzzled.

"Lestrade." Molly corrected with a sigh, almost cracking a smile over the fact that Sherlock still did not know Greg's first name after working with the actor for years.

"Not the point." Sherlock quipped back as he continued. "And I haven't distanced myself from them because…" He growled as he clamped his mouth shut, twisting around in his seat some more. "Can I be untied now?"

"No." Molly shook her head as she leaned back in her own chair. "Finish your sentence."

"Please," Sherlock said with a pout. When Molly remained still and he finally accepted his fate.

"You're different. You're…" He licked his lips as he tried to think of right word. "I don't do romantic relationships. Clouds the brain, makes things fuzzy, too much dopamine and distraction to effectively do the work." At his old assessment, Molly made to get up again, but was rooted to the spot when his hawk gaze softened as he focused on her. "Then I met you and you didn't leave."

"I should have," Molly said with a snort. "You were bloody awful."

"I know. Everyone including Mycroft made me aware of that," Sherlock said making Molly raise an eyebrow, curious over whether Sherlock had been given a similar talk like the one she'd had with Mycroft during The Seagull.

"But I discovered that I only felt that way because you distracted me—in a good way. Then at Christmas, I knew that I wanted to keep you." He seemed confused maybe even frustrated with his word choice, but Molly understood what he was saying. She'd felt the same when she'd finally seen the man for he truly was.

"You are more than just my stage manager." She was sitting absolutely still, looking almost catatonic so Sherlock pressed on. "I never told you why your Christmas gift meant so much to me. Have you guessed at it?"

"No." Molly's eyes went to the empty music stand behind him. "I wasn't even sure you would like it."

"Then why give it me?" Sherlock ignored her question to ask one of his own.

Temptation to not answer coursed through Molly, but it would be unfair if he was just trying to get her to understand his point of view.

"You always get this look on your face," she said remembering the moments that led to her choice. "Wistful or nostalgic, something like that. It's very…" She paused and refrained from using the word cute. He would hate that. "It's very sweet and I could never tell why exactly it meant so much to you, but apparently my estimations that it was important were correct so there you go. That's how you got your Christmas gift."

Sherlock smiled in genuine appreciation over her explanation.

"My mother didn't know what to do with me and my brother when we were younger until someone suggested dance lessons," He said. "Mycroft was enrolled tap to combat against his love of cake and myself in ballet because they thought it would help me to focus my mind and make friends."

"It didn't I assume?" Molly half-smiled as she imagined a young Sherlock telling the other ballet students their whole life story from what color leotard they were wearing that day.

"To call it a disaster is an understatement." Sherlock smirked as though it were an accomplishment. "Madam Irina couldn't handle me so she passed me off for private lessons with her assistant Samantha. I abhorred the whole idea yet Samantha only seemed to find amusement whenever I explained why I disliked being there. She told me one day that she would let me sit and do nothing as long as I kept quiet while she practiced.

"Dancing seemed like such an irrelevant thing to do until I saw her routine to The Nutcracker. Mesmerizing doesn't begin to explain how it was. She just…floated on her toes, seemingly effortless." His face glowed as though he were remembering that exact moment in time before something darker crossed his features and he was brought back to the present. "She left me with a in love for dance that day and I took private lessons with her from that day forward until she...died." He took a moment as he let that all sink in and then smiled. "I think she would have liked you."

"Why are you telling me this?" Molly spoke in hushed tones from being so enrapt in his story yet she was unclear as to why he found this moment appropriate to confess something so deeply personal about his life.

"Because people see yet they do not observe." Sherlock's voice deepened an octave as he spoke. "You're the only one who has even come close to getting me something that intimate."

He leaned his head forward—the only thing he could do in his predicament—and stated with a sense of awe: "You can see me, Molly Hooper."

Molly didn't breath for a moment. Her whole world consumed by Sherlock as she narrowed in on his face, still confused. If he felt this strongly about her, why did he give up?

"Then why, Sherlock?" She leaned forward in John's chair. "Why would you push me away?"

"Because you deserve happiness." Sherlock's voice sounded as dejected as he looked. "Something you won't find with me."

"And how would you know that?"

"Did you miss the part where it is extremely dangerous to know me? That I'm a complete and utter arsehole, according to the majority of the people I meet." He stated all this humorlessly with a dark chuckle. He was speaking the truth and he loathed knowing it. "And I hear its bad form to date sociopaths. Unreliable, emotionally unavailable, in my case unstable….really—what…what are you doing?"

In his distracted moment of self-loathing he hadn't noticed Molly walk up to him. She moved to straddle Sherlock's lap, angling herself so that her face was hovering inches above his.

"Did you ever think that maybe that's just my type?" Her voice carried barely above a whisper. Her left hand reached up to curl her fingers through his hair in delicate caresses. "Sherlock, I like you: danger, brilliance, and arrogance all. Please don't push me away."

Sherlock Holmes was rarely left speechless, but as Molly hovered there above his face, her brown eyes locked with his blue ones, he found he didn't need to say anything. He leaned forward as much as he could and she closed the gap. Their eyes shut and in one soft instance her lips were on his. That's when he knew that his logical mind could not compete with the wonder that was Molly Hooper. His mouth opened more as he drew Molly in. The needing, heady passion of their embrace made Sherlock groan in frustration that he was bound to his chair instead of being allowed to hold his stage manager.

"Molly, untie me." Sherlock growled, flexing his arms underneath the strain of the rope causing Molly to giggle.

"Do you promise to play nice?" She teased, walking behind his chair to undo the knots.

"Nice is hardly the word I'd use to describe what I want to do with you, Ms. Hooper." He smirked, dropping his voice lower when he said her name and making her blush.

She'd only just finish the last knot when Sherlock launched up, ropes discarded to the ground as he turned to her. He hopped over his chair in front of her and took advantage of her squeak of surprise to suckle on her lips in desperate want. One hand holding the back of her head to his while the other wrapped around her waist, keeping her flush against his body while she clung to him, dizzy with her own need.

When he pulled back, out of breath with a smile on his face, he rested his forehead on hers while she attempted to collect herself.

"Don't go back to Warton's." He moved to the shell of her ear as he whispered the plea, planting butterfly kisses and nibbling on her earlobe as he inhaled her scent.

Molly shivered at his gentle assault before cradling his face in her own hands as her thumbs brushed against his cheekbones in tender strokes.

"Give me a reason to stay." She challenged barely audible, but Sherlock heard it and he met the challenge with kisses and promises and, above all else, love—even if he wouldn't admit that's what had been brewing on the surface all along.

A/N: This chapter was by far the easiest to write even though there were a few things that I had hoped to add that didn't really flow with the finished piece. Despite all that, I am so happy you all came on this journey with me.

There may or may not be a third story. It's in its earliest developments and would deal with Magnussen as well as the Hounds of the Baskerville. It's also got a title: Stage Fright. However, life has picked up again so I don't know if I will continue this theater saga just yet (or ever) and even if I can't, I think this a great place to leave it off.

Otherwise, thank you all for being supportive for my return to fanfiction. It's been fantastic and I couldn't have done it without your encouragement!

Black Night-See, all's well that ends well! :) Hope you liked it. Thank you so much for kind reviews over the course of this story. You rock!