Five Doctors and the Detective
Disclaimer: Only the story name, chapter titles and a few OCs belong to me. I do not own any part of the BBC's Sherlock, much as I wish I did :)
Notes: Anything in Italics is a character's specific, word-for-word thought, or in certain cases, a dream or a memory.
Shout-outs: Must always begin with my sassy editor, without whom I would be lost. A basket of kittens to pruplup4, whose insight is invaluable! I cannot get over how kind and encouraging every is on FF! Thanks and gratitude to all of my readers, including my newest: yeahimgonnariskit, musicscorelover, Silkenslay, rosyronni, PattyMarq, and valeriejoanmorgan! All of you guys rock for sticking with me! Next, reviewers! My hopes and dreams are composed of every review that has been posted on this story, and last chapter saw some very sweet things from AngelofMusicHidenoLonger, KTrevo, Renaissancebooklover108, LittleBabbit, short-skirtbluescarf, my dearest Irene90, Icemask511, SammyKatz, the fantastic Anatomydoc, Crying Raven, valeriejoanmorgan, and as always, pruplup4! Finally, (and I wish I could show you the little happy dance that goes on in my brain every time I see the number go up) cupcakes and lollipops for everyone who has read or even looked at Five Doctors, bringing it to an amazing 4000 views! I am just blown away by the fantastic response to my story!
Summary: Again, in which a lot of things happen and I don't have a clever way to say it, so sorry 'bout cha :)
Please enjoy!
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Chapter Twelve: Forever Isn't Long Enough
Molly awoke wrapped in someone's arms. She dimly felt that perhaps she should be more alarmed, since she was still in an early stage of consciousness and therefore didn't remember where she was or who was holding her, but all she felt was the loveliest sense of calm. She sighed contentedly and looked up to see the person against whom her head had rested through the night. She blinked a few times in surprise. Sherlock? What on earth?
Slowly, slowly she began to remember. She'd fallen asleep listening to Sherlock's violin, thinking about all of the things he'd rescued from her flat. Molly had been slightly aware of the feeling of strong arms lifting her from the couch and placing her in a bed, and in her dreamlike state, she couldn't bear for him to leave. She had vaguely remembered the feeling of lying beside him on the nights that he'd come to see her, and simply had to know if that was real or a wishful imagining on her part.
Molly studied his face as he slept. It was a rare phenomenon that she had never observed and she took her time, memorizing just how he looked. Sleep afforded him a sort of angelic quality. He appeared so ethereal and otherworldly with his face relaxed and peaceful, those dark curls resting on his alabaster skin. Suddenly, those pelagic, mercurial eyes were staring back into hers.
"Hello," she said. He just stared at her, unblinking and unmoving. Her mouth curved slowly into a smile as she stared right back.
Her hand still covered his heart. Molly could feel it fluttering beneath her palm, and curiously enough she felt it quicken. She tilted her head to the side, watching in amazement as his eyes darkened and shifted.
His brow furrowed as he looked at her. "I've been searching for a word," he said, that smooth, dark voice of his reverberating throughout her chest, "I can't find it, it seems. Perhaps you could help me?"
"What's this word like, then?"
"It's extraordinary and inexplicable, selcouth and exquisite, agonizing and enchanting, strange and beautiful and painful, all at the same time. I have all of those words. They're boring and plain. But there's one that contains them all that I simply cannot find. Do you know it, Molly?"
"I know exactly the word you're looking for," she answered as she extricated herself from him and left the bed, "But I think you can find it if I just show you how. Sherlock, you're breathing, your heart is beating, blood is coursing through your veins, you're thinking and feeling. What does that make you?"
He simply looked at her, eyes desperate to sooth the ache that the unfound word caused in his mind and heart. She leaned in the doorframe. "You exist, Sherlock. You're alive. You're human. There. I've given you three words, and you've only asked for one."
The corner of his mouth quirked up, eyes aglow with a sort of mirth as he steepled his hands beneath his chin. There was silence between the two for a while as they considered each other. For once, she did not feel small or insignificant or stupid under the scrutiny of his gaze, so intent was his study. Quietly, without a stutter or a stumble, she said, "Surely, you must know I love you?"
He only nodded. He didn't say or do anything, just kept staring at her like she was the most fascinating puzzle in the world. You, Molly Hooper, fascinating? The very idea. She gave him a small smile as she rested her head against the door frame. "How about dinner tonight? See, I know this bloke who's marrying this girl and there's supposed to be some food in it for everyone who shows up. You'll wear your best suit and I'll wear my best dress, and we'll have a laugh." She winked at him and left his room to go and get ready to meet Eloise.
"Save me a dance then, Doctor Hooper."
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"Molls, are you really sure about this dress?" Eloise called from her bedroom, "I mean, I know we said it was okay yesterday, but that was before I put it on and now I'm feeling a little... exposed."
"Quit your fussing, El, and let's see it. I'm sure it's fine. Come on out here."
The Egyptologist nervously stepped into the sitting room, fussing with the dress. Molly could tell that she was out of her comfort zone, that she hadn't had to wear something like this in quite sometime. She also saw that the other woman was struggling with something Molly herself had battled in another time. Eloise looked uncomfortable in her own skin, like she couldn't bear for the eyes of others to touch her form.
The dress was a lovely midnight blue that shimmered faintly in the afternoon light and nicely complemented her bronzed skin. It was strapless, with a sweetheart bodice that went on to cinch at her waist. From there it fell into a full circle skirt that ended a few inches below her knees. She had a gauzy, silver wrap looped around her arms, which she self-consciously pulled up to her shoulders and clutched tightly over her chest.
"El, you look lovely. The dress is gorgeous, I promise. Now let's go pick some jewellery and shoes and I'll do your hair, yeah?"
She still looked so uncertain as she shifted back and forth. "Molly, do you ever feel... I mean, do you sometimes think that..."
The pathologist put down the papers she was reading and crossed the room. She pulled Eloise's arms away from her chest and pushed the shawl back down to her elbows. "I did, some time ago. But I don't anymore. Because I care more about how I feel than what others think of me. You shouldn't tear yourself up inside over stranger's opinions."
"Oh! Oh, you are spot on there. But... I-It's not entirely th-that, although you're very right. I... I just haven't worn anything like this since... since Derek died. I suppose I'm just not used to being a single woman without the protection of a wedding band."
"Hey. It's all right." Molly brushed some hair out of the other woman's eyes. "Let's go do your hair, shall we?"
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Both women arrived in the church's private hall promptly to help Mary begin getting ready. She was a mess of nerves, rushing about and fussing with this and that. Molly managed to catch her by the arm and calm her down. "Mary. Mary? Mary! Go and shower, okay? Eloise and I will get everything sorted out. You're going to hurt yourself if you don't calm down and let us handle it."
Mary nodded agreement, though she still looked a little crazed, and wandered off. "I've never seen her like this. Sure, she gets a little high strung, now and again, but wow," Molly said as she began finding Mary's makeup and jewellery. Eloise found a place on the chaise in the corner, and smiled ruefully at Molly.
"I've been there before. The very idea of becoming some new person once you say "I do" is a very frightening prospect. And though you know it's worth it and you know he's feeling the same way, you can't seem to stop yourself from catching butterflies in your stomach."
Molly turned to the Egyptologist and smiled back. "You loved him very much, didn't you?"
"Oh, desperately. I had since I was thirteen years old. I still do, of course. But just to myself, when I'm alone. He wouldn't want me to live in the past, though, to remain wedded to a ghost. He was extraordinary, my Derek, and I like to think that if I do meet somebody new, it'll be because he had a hand in it. He and Gregory were always such troublemakers."
She laughed as she left the chaise and removed Mary's dress from the armoir to hang it on the rack by the mirror. "I hope you know I don't regret marrying him. I knew I was marrying a soldier and I did it anyway. It's hard to regret loving someone. In fact, I recommend that you never do it, Molls."
The pathologist stopped moving and stared at herself in the mirror. "D'you know, El, I told him I loved him. He knew, of course, I knew he would. And he didn't say even one terrible thing. He just looked at me."
Eloise took Molly's hands. "You of all people must remember who he is, how he thinks. You've been so tough, Molls. Try to steady on a little longer. He's almost there, has almost realized how much he cares about you. I know it's been a long road, but once you have him, you'll never lose him. That's just the kind of man Sherlock Holmes is."
The two women exchanged smiles before the frazzled bride burst into the dressing room. "I can't find my shampoo! Where is my shampoo?"
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Michael returned from his run, drenched in sweat but feeling alive, at least. He checked the clock on the mantle. It seemed he hadn't wasted enough time, and now he was back in his flat with nothing to do until the wedding reception. He'd told Mary that he wouldn't feel right, being at the ceremony, and thankfully she'd understood. He showered and shaved and made himself a cuppa and put on some crap telly, which he couldn't focus on.
He kept seeing Seraphine in her wedding dress, smiling at him, all rosy-cheeked and teary-eyed. That was the real reason he didn't want to go to the ceremony. Certainly he felt it was a more private affair for closer friends and family, but really he just wasn't sure he'd be able to bear it. The memory of his own wife walking towards him all draped in white was still too painfully fresh for him to witness a reenactment of it, not just yet anyway.
He stared out the window for an hour as his teacup cooled in his hands, forgotten, and the telly droned in the backround. He danced with her in the rain, slipped an engagement ring onto her delicate finger, strolled with her beside the banks of the Seine, brought her roses on their anniversary, carried her into their new home for the very first time, all while another hour swirled past him, unnoticed. The fading light of day returned him to the present and reminded him that he had somewhere to be. He smiled to himself, eyes closed, and allowed himself another minute to bask in the warmth of her memory.
Every day, he tried very hard to remind himself that she would have been so mad at him for wallowing in his grief. He could practically hear what she would say: "I'll not have you wasting your life pining over me, Michael Prescott, I'll not have it! Now go out there and live!"
He dumped the cold tea down the drain and went to put on his suit, telling himself over and over that she would have smacked him for taking so long to return to the world, to learn how to be happy again.
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Sherlock sat already dressed and ready in the corner of the dressing room. He watched as John anxiously did and redid his tie, and fussed with his cufflinks, and straightened his jacket, and did a million other boring little things. Sherlock wondered why he should be so nervous. There was nothing inherently frightful about the process of getting married.
Lestrade poked his head around the door to say, "Three minutes, guys," before returning to the hallway. Finally, Sherlock couldn't handle John's fidgeting anymore.
"What on earth has got your chains so rattled, John?"
He turned to look at the detective, frowning as he crossed his arms over his chest. "What do mean by that?"
"You're only getting married. I fail to see why that should unsettle you in this manner when you've faced down men with guns and murderous intents."
John looked at him with what could only be described as disbelief and annoyance. "All right, Sherlock, I know that feelings and all that is pretty new to you, but surely you'd understand why this is a big deal?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Obviously not," he replied, voice dripping with disdain.
"Yes, I do suppose this is a bit mundane for you, so why don't I enlighten you? Sherlock, I'm about to go become somebody's husband. I've never been one before and I think I have the right to be nervous about the fact that I'll suddenly be part of a family and I have every potential to muck it up."
"Oh, I see. You're nervous about the future, not the actual wedding. Boring."
"Sherlock. Seriously? Could you not be a bloody git just for five minutes?"
The detective blinked in surprise. His brow furrowed. "When I said 'boring', I only meant that I thought you had some real apprehension. Being afraid of becoming the husband of the woman you love is an irrational fear on your part, John Watson, because if there's anyone who can get all that marriage nonsense right, it's you.
John's mouth fell open slightly. "Sherlock, that was almost... reassuring. Are you feeling okay?"
"John, I was only stating a fact. No need to get all bent out of shape over it," he said, stony faced for a moment or two before the corner of his mouth quirked up.
Lestrade opened the door again. "Ready, you two?"
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John stood before the altar, trying desperately not to give away just how nervous he really was. Sherlock did have a point; he had indeed been to war and back, but this... This was a far more terrifying prospect. His heart thundered in his ears as he tried to steady his breath. Funny how even perspective can't talk you out of things sometimes.
Yes, John had survived a war. But he hadn't done it by thinking about the future. He supposed that was the source of his fear. Mary was offering him a chance at normal life, and the very idea of screwing it up was more frightening than dying alone in a foreign land.
John was very used to the idea of being alone. Or at least, he had been until Sherlock dragged him into the tumultuous world of crime-solving. Then Sherlock had died, and John went back to the familiar, depressive place he had inhabited after being discharged.
Mary had saved his life. She really had. He was wasting away in Baker Street with only himself and soon there wouldn't have been anything left of him. And then Molly had introduced them one day while he was visiting at the morgue, and it was like he could breathe again. John owed Mary so much. She was so very precious to him, and he suddenly felt very justified about his fear of mucking it up.
But if Sherlock Holmes thinks Mary and I can make it, I should probably take that as a cue to calm right down. The processional music began to play and the doors opened, and John took a very deep breath.
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Molly couldn't help but be very, very happy. Two of the best people she knew, who deserved each other so completely and totally, were getting their fairytale ending. She fidgeted behind the door of the women's hall, practically bouncing with excitement. She looked over her shoulder at Mary, who had suddenly been overcome with a sense of calm.
Molly thought she had never been so beautiful before in the entire time they'd known each other. She looked very serene with a sort of dreamy smile on her lips, her grey eyes aglow with contentment. Her cheeks were suffused with a natural, rosy blush. Her honey colored hair fell in loose ringlets down her back, covered by a creamy veil. Simple, elegant diamonds twinkled in her ears and hair, and around her neck. Mary's dress reflected her very well: she had chosen an ivory-hued mermaid cut that caught the light and made everything seem just a little brighter. In her wrist-gloved hands, she held a simple bouquet of pink and white roses, bound with a tangle of green and yellow ribbons that cascaded from the stems.
Molly flashed her an encouraging smile before turning back to the doors. But as she did so, she caught sight of herself in the mirrored hall. She found that she hardly recognized the woman that stared back at her.
Eloise and Mary had arranged Molly's hair in gentle waves, crowned with a circlet of braids and a cream colored flower tucked behind her left ear. A simple string of pearls encircled her slim neck, matching the drops in her earlobes. Mary's colors were forest green and a pale yellow, and the dresses she'd chosen for the bridesmaids were a soft jade. The dress clung to Molly's body like a second skin. It was strapless, leaving her shoulders and collarbones quite visible, and fell just to her knees. Thankfully, Mary had been merciful with the shoes and decided on a demure two-inch heel.
She swallowed as she considered herself, suddenly aware that she looked and felt... beautiful. Molly found that she couldn't look at the woman in the mirror very long, and turned her face away. She was afraid that she wouldn't be able to find herself in the image if she kept looking. Allowing herself one final glance, she tried to reconcile herself with that otherworldly creature.
That's still me, just in a fancy dress. That's it. No need to be afraid of yourself, Molly girl. Just enjoy the feeling for now, and later you can go hide in your favorite kitten jumper.
The doors opened, and Molly stepped into the hall at the same time as the best man. He wore a black suit, with a dress shirt that matched the shade of her dress and a flower pinned in the buttonhole, exactly like the one behind her ear. He closed the distance between them, and offered his arm, completely silent all the while. He just stared at her, with a strange intensity Molly couldn't remember seeing before, as she carefully place her hand on his forearm.
As they made their way towards John, he kept looking at her. Molly found that she was afraid to meet his gaze, afraid of what she'd see in those stormy eyes. After what seemed an eternity, they reached the altar and parted, but still he would not look away from her. Molly turned away from him as the doors opened, and Mary appeared on her father's arm.
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John stopped breathing as soon as Mary stepped through the doors. She smiled as she met his eyes, and mouthed the words I love you. He could feel tears already welling as his bride-to-be slowly made her way forward. She was an angel, sent specially to him to save his life, and today, gowned in ivory, John could see a halo just above her head.
He memorized every detail of this moment, desperate to remember it for the rest of his life. This woman loved him. She loved him and that was the only thing that mattered now, and the only thing that would ever matter for every day that followed.
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Sherlock tore his gaze from Molly in time to see Mary enter the sanctuary. She looked ordinary to him, but a glance at John's face told him everything he needed to know about her. The army doctor's eyes began to shine with tears and he smiled at the woman walking towards him. How peculiar, the effect two people can have on one another.
He looked back at Mary. Sherlock supposed that, yes, she was beautiful, but he simply couldn't see anything rare or remarkable about her until tears began rolling down John's cheeks. Of course. She is made exceptional by John's love for her, and by hers for him. How very strange.
Almost without realizing it, Sherlock's eyes returned to Molly. Tears glittered in her chocolate eyes as Mary's father placed her hand in John's. She raised one of those clever hands to brush them away, and suddenly Sherlock was lying drugged on her couch, feeling that hand smooth his damp curls from his forehead. He swayed ever so slightly, dizzy at the sensation and drunk on the sight of Molly. She met his eyes, and gave him that small smile that was only his.
That odd stirring that she sometimes caused in his chest was nearly overwhelming this time, but still he could not look away from her. His heart raced, nearly matching the pace of his thoughts as he tried to dissect the feeling and understand this effect she was having on him.
"I, John Hamish Watson, take you, Mary Alicia Morstan, to be my lawfully wedded wife..."
How very peculiar. How very... human.
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Author's Note: AAAAAHHHHHH THEY'RE FINALLY GETTING MARRIED! I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. Except I'm not. I have been working my way here for AGES and now they're married! Squeeee! I hope you liked. I hope you liked it lots. Let me know what you think? Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top? :) Will do my best to post soon. You all are wonderful!
Much love and thanks,
-The Queen of Fragile Hearts.
