Molly wasn't surprised that Sherlock disappeared shortly after he finished eating. After their argument about human experimentation, disappointing interview with Old Bailey, and the showdown with Ingress, Molly was certain that Sherlock would be worked up into quite a strop. When she returned to their rooms, Sherlock's door was closed. The sounds of a violin being utterly tortured poured from within. She had no idea how he could produce such wretched sounds. Perhaps he had traded his bow for a chainsaw. He kept at it all night.
Molly tossed and turned in her bed, desperate to sleep. Hiding her head under the pillows wasn't working, Molly finally gave up and carried some blankets to the entry hall and dozed on a sofa there. She woke up to Ingress staring at her solemnly while nibbling a piece of bacon. She offered it to Molly once she saw her struggling awake. Molly politely declined. Door entered the room then, carrying a tray with more breakfast food. She stopped and looked at Molly.
"All night violin recital" said Molly yawning.
Door nodded in understanding. She held out a plate. Molly stretched the kinks out of her back and then shuffled over toward breakfast. She downed a quick cup of coffee and tried some bacon. It was delicious. She almost felt human again. When she made it back to her room, she was a little surprised that Sherlock's door was open. She peeked in his room, no sign of him, bed untouched. She sighed and went back to bed. At least it was quiet.
The rest of the day and most of the next night passed without Sherlock appearing. Molly was getting worried. Sherlock had to be roaming the Underside alone which was unnerving. She wasn't sure that he fully appreciated just how dangerous it could be. It was late, but Molly was still sitting up reading when he finally breezed back into their rooms. She turned to look at him when he entered, but he pointedly ignored her. She watched him brush past, slamming the door of his room. Thankfully, he left the violin alone. Molly hoped he would be in a better mood in the morning.
But the next morning he had disappeared again. This pattern continued for nearly two weeks. He barely spoke to anyone and was rarely around. Molly tried to ask him what he was doing once when she caught him leaving. He paused for a moment and said, "Working" before continuing past her. Neither Door nor Molly knew what to do about this. They were both growing more concerned. Molly worried that his foul mood had something to do with the kiss he had given her a few weeks ago. Since then, he hadn't kissed her again, and had seemed to be a little more hesitant to touch her. Molly wondered if she hadn't pushed him too far.
Ingress was also upset; she didn't understand why her hero had disappeared. Tired of the standoff, Molly gathered all of her courage, and decided to confront him. He returned late one night; no one had seen him for two days. He looked unwell; it was obvious he hadn't slept or eaten much in recent weeks. Under his eyes were dark circles and his cheeks looked sunken. Molly leapt up from her chair and jumped in front of him.
"Sherlock, please wait, we need to talk," she stammered. She was stunned that he actually did. But she soon wished that he didn't. He looked at her, eyebrows raised slightly.
It was plain he wasn't going to say anything, so she kept going. "Um, I was just wondering what is going on…"
"What is going on is you wasting my time while I wish to bathe" he said flatly.
"That's not what I mean and you know it, why are avoiding me? You've barely been home and we are all getting worried" she continued.
Now he actually sneered at her. "First of all, this is not home. Second of all, you are not my mother and I do not require looking after. Now leave me be," he spat.
Molly didn't think, she just smacked him in the arm. He looked shocked, but Molly wasn't finished. "Stop it! You don't get to do this anymore! You promised, you said we would be a team and I have given you plenty of space and you can't treat me like this, not anymore," she said forcefully. Now she was getting really angry and more words poured from her. "What is wrong? Don't lie and don't just say something horrible to make me leave, because I won't. I will not run away like a little girl, not anymore. And if you can't talk to me, not even a little bit, then maybe next time you leave you should not come back again." Tears were pooling in her eyes. She angrily wiped them away and continued to stare Sherlock down.
He blinked, and then dropped his head. Molly refused to cede any ground, standing firm with her hands on her hips. Finally, he muttered, "Please, may I remove these filthy clothes and bathe first? And then, I promise, we can talk."
Molly nodded. As he went to walk past her, she reached out to touch his arm. "Wait, please, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you and shouted" she said.
He smiled ruefully at her. "It's alright, I deserved it."
He went into his room and lightly closed the door. Now that he was gone, Molly allowed herself to cry a little, sinking into her armchair as she sobbed. She ran back to her own room and washed her face. She sat for a while, breathing slowly, forcing herself to calm down. When she had fully collected herself, she went back to the sitting room. Sherlock was already sitting there, knees drawn up to his chest. He wore a long white linen shirt and loose black pants, his bare feet curled up at the edge of the seat. Molly sat on her chair and waited. He sighed and rubbed his hand through his damp curls. "I'm sorry Molly; I have failed at my promise." He stared at the fireplace for a while. "You may be right, perhaps I should go."
"No! Please, I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that. It's just that I've been afraid, not knowing" she said. "I know you don't want people hanging on you all the time and nagging you, and I don't want to irritate you, but I do care for you, and I wish you would let me help you, or just tell me when you need to be alone." She frowned and felt tears prickling again. "Maybe I am trying to force you to be something you're not, and that's not fair either, I'm sorry Sherlock" she murmured.
He shook his head. "No Molly, I made a promise to you. I would not have done so if I felt it was unfair to me or I didn't intend to keep it. It's simply … I haven't …" He paused for a while, head sunk into his knees. "It's sentiment Molly. I feel so much of it lately and it alarms me. Part of me believes and will likely always believe caring to be a defect, a failing. And yet, I grow fonder of Ingress and Door and I wish to be closer to you, but I can't because I fear it will weaken me and I fear hurting you more."
He suddenly looked up at her, a strange light in his eyes. "Molly I have had dreams recently, dreams about you and I don't know how to interpret this data. It's as though I've been infected, drowning in feelings that I have never understood." He stopped again and stood up. He walked closer to the fireplace and stood with his back to Molly. "If I was a good man, I would tell you to go, before being associated with me causes you to come to grief or harm. You should leave me, I've only brought you pain."
"Shut up." Molly stood behind him and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm all grown up; I know exactly what I have gotten myself into." He turned to look at her, staring as though he hadn't seen her in years. He drank in every detail of her determined face. He stroked her hair and face. He could resist no longer, he began kissing her, lightly at first. She responded with enthusiasm, pulling him closer to her and kissing him hungrily. The kisses deepened.
Molly felt Sherlock steering her backwards. Then he pulled her onto his lap as he sat in his armchair. They kissed a while longer, till Molly felt quite breathless and lightheaded. She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heart. Together they sat like that a while longer. Sherlock quietly told her more about what he had been doing. Indeed, he had been working, seeking out crimes to solve in the Underside. He continued to search for information about Moriarty, but was still unsuccessful. He had been running ragged in an attempt to ignore the growing feelings he felt. He had also been resisting temptation of another sort.
"I was once offered cocaine as payment for my services. I was bored. It was difficult to turn it down Molly" he told her.
She responded by kissing him once again. "There are other ways to alleviate boredom" she murmured against his neck.
He laughed a little, and then slid her feet back onto the floor. He stood, wrapping her arms around him. He looked shy and a little embarrassed. He rested his head in her hair. "Molly, I would like to continue our conversation and … other activities in a more comfortable location." He began to blush, which was even more charming. "I don't want to seem forward, but perhaps we could resume our talk lying down in your bed." He looked so nervous, Molly was enchanted. She smiled at him and led him to her room.
That night they began a new habit of curling up together and whispering in her bed. Neither of them was prepared to do much more than snuggle and kiss. It was still too new and confusing. They were both content to just kiss for now. Sherlock's behavior outside their rooms remained mostly the same. But when they were alone, he was very affectionate, and loved it when she ran her fingers through his hair. Molly discovered that he was much more expressive when they were together in their rooms. He would haltingly discuss his thoughts and feelings. He was especially talkative when she curled up against his back, holding him close. She treasured these moments together. Occasionally he would actually sleep next to her. Molly loved these nights best of all. He looked so calm and peaceful as he slept. He would talk in his sleep at times, often in other languages, usually French. Molly would wrack her brain trying to remember her schoolgirl French classes when he babbled so. On a good night, she might be able to decipher a few words. Sherlock was horrified to learn that he talked in his sleep. He made Molly swear to never reveal it to anyone.
They spent their days exploring the Underside and continuing to establish Sherlock as the first detective ever in London Below. At first, Sherlock was disappointed in the quality of the crime. While there was plenty of theft and murder, there was little imagination in the acts. Molly tried to explain that wishing for a clever serial killer was morbid, but Sherlock never quite understood. People began to seek him out. Molly was often called along to serve in John's former role. She gained even more respect for John now that she saw how difficult Sherlock could be when immersed in the chase. He would insist that she accompany him but then insult her with his careless commentary. Sherlock complained that both she and John were simply too short and could never keep up when he ran. He also lamented that she had none of John's capacity for violence or sharpshooting skills. Molly chose to ignore this, like so many other comments made without thinking. She merely demonstrated her own capacity for violence by kicking his shins.
She was busy with her own work as well. She set up shop at the Floating Market one night offering her basic medical skills. London Below was devoid of proper medical care, unless one considered alchemy the height of the healing arts. There were plenty of people in need of stitches and medical advice that didn't involve bloodletting or leeches. She was very popular, which brought about a visit from the head of the alchemists guild. Door was called in to mediate, as the guild members threatened to use curses and poisons. Of course, Sherlock did not take well to Molly receiving such threats. The alchemists were much more amenable to dropping their complaints after he pointed out that some people, like Serpentine, for example, might not be amused when they discovered that the alchemists were not entirely successful at changing lead into gold.
Both Molly and Sherlock were also occupied with helping Door. She was facing a steady stream of messages from people with problems. As the current head of the House of Arch, she had allies to placate, enemies to negotiate with and many petty issues to resolve. Sherlock actually proved to be a great help at this. From some deep hidden reservoir, he brought forth diplomatic skills to rival his brother's. He also showed off his well-trained manners. Molly wondered about his upbringing. She wouldn't have been surprised if he grew up in a castle on a lonely crag protected by dragons.
On nights when she wrapped her arms around him, she tried to ask him about his childhood. It was clear that it was primarily unhappy and lonely. She told him about her own mostly solitary girlhood. She mentioned her weak attempts at rebellion during university. He countered with stories of discovering cocaine and being kicked out of university. Molly also made the mistake of mentioning how she met the Marquis de Carabas when she was in university. She could feel Sherlock grow tense, but he continued to ask questions about how they met.
"He could tell that I had this ability to sense death when I first met him, well, I chased after him actually, it was one of my stupider moments," she admitted.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows at this, but didn't comment.
"He knew that my mother was dead, and that she probably killed herself" Molly continued.
Sherlock turned around and stared at her in confusion. "Your mother committed suicide?" he asked.
"When I was a baby, I don't remember her at all of course. The Marquis explained that female Deathseers usually go mad, apparently motherhood is very hard on them, and it's not unusual for them to kill themselves." She sighed, thinking of how sad her father always was, trying to raise a little girl on his own. Sherlock leaned over and kissed her gently and pulled her to him.
"I'm sorry Molly, I never knew. I deduced that your mother died when you were young, but I missed that you never knew her." He paused for a moment, breathing in her scent. He continued hesitatingly, "When I was very young, I was very close to my mother, and Mycroft as well. It was only as I grew older that I realized how unusual I was and how uncomfortable I made people. Mother tried to help, but I started to push her away, by the time I left home, I think she was glad to be rid of me. Still, I have some happy memories from when I was little. I'm sorry you didn't have that with your mother."
"My father made up for it, he was very caring. He always worked hard to do what was best for me" Molly explained. "But I find it hard to believe that your mother was glad to be rid of you." Molly's eyes grew sad. "She was probably devastated when you, um, … died." Sherlock flinched and pulled away, trying to hide the tears that threatened. Molly wanted to kick herself, why the hell had she said that? "Sherlock, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, that was cruel," she apologized. She touched his shoulder, unsure if he was angry. He allowed her to gather him up in her arms, and once safe in her embrace, he let a few tears fall.
"Molly, I want to go home" he mumbled into her chest.
"I know, I'm sorry, I promise I will keep trying to find a way" she vowed. She was struck by a terrifying thought then. What if Sherlock was able to return to his normal life? What would happen then? It stood to reason that whatever their odd relationship was, it would end if Sherlock could resume his previous lifestyle. The thought made Molly want to sob. Still, she had promised to help him, and she always would. She kept holding him till they drifted off to sleep.