Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Teller of Tales and Tells
It took two stout glasses of wine before Molly was willing to meet the gaze of her dining companion. When she finally did so, it was with thinly-veiled suspicion. What's she really after here? Mary's behavior once more reminded Molly of Sherlock like an ominous sense of déjà vu, but she didn't ignore the feeling this time.
Putting down her wine glass, Molly pushed her plate of food away and dropped her hands into her lap. "Is that why you asked me to lunch?"
"To find out about you and Sherlock, you mean? No," Mary replied.
Molly eyed the blonde intently. Fine lines creased her eyes and bracketed her mouth, implying this was a woman who liked to laugh. A matching bit of mirth sparkled in her blue eyes. Is this all some kind of joke to her?
As if she heard this thought, Mary scoffed. "Come on, Molly. It's not that bad I found out, is it?"
"Depends on what you plan to do with the information."
"Do with the information? Do you think I have some sort of blackmail scheme in mind?" Mary slumped, defeated, in her chair, peering at Molly with what appeared to be sincerity tinged with a bit of hurt feelings. "You believe me capable of that? Really?"
Personally, Molly wasn't buying the innocent act for a second. "I don't know. You definitely didn't look me up for just an affable lunch."
"Molly, I meant everything I said earlier about us being friends. Why else would I make you my daughter's aunt? I'm sorry I haven't invited you out before now but I was busy giving birth, recovering, and taking care of an infant. This is the first chance I've had to do anything else. I didn't expect to discover what I did when I popped in on Sherlock this morning. I only came 'round to annoy him. I was dying from boredom at home and relished a chance to get out."
Yet another reminder of Sherlock.
When Molly refused to soften her wary stance, Mary added, "Trust me, no one was more shocked to find Sherlock had taken you as a lover." She fairly glowed with the glee. "Or more pleased."
Molly wanted to believe her, but she wasn't sure if that was because she didn't want to hold a grudge or because the lonely child inside her desperately wanted to be accepted into the "girls club." Yet, as this was John's wife, John was Sherlock's best friend and partner, and Molly was living (and in a relationship) with Sherlock, Molly knew she needed to find some kind of middle ground with Mary Watson and quickly. "You can't tell John."
Elbows planted on the table, Mary leaned forward excitedly. "Does that mean there is indeed something to tell John?"
Molly grimaced and took another swallow of wine. "You know there is."
Mary clapped. She actually clapped. Since Molly wasn't sure if the applause was because Mary had won this little sparring match or because she was weirdly thrilled Sherlock and Molly were shagging, she frowned in return.
"Don't be such a grouse," Mary chided. "I know it's not my business, and I unfairly backed you into a corner. But I genuinely adore you, and Sherlock is like my … younger brother or something. I couldn't help myself from butting in."
"Isn't he older than you?"
"Yes, in actual years. But when it comes to maturity, Abby's older."
Molly laughed. She couldn't help it. But soon enough, the ramifications of everything hit her hard. Oh dear Lord. What horrendous mood of his will I be going home to later? "What did Sherlock say when you confronted him this morning?"
"Nothing."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I didn't confront him."
Molly felt like she'd been hit with a pail of cold, cold water. "You didn't? Why not?"
"He looked like he was having a rough enough time of it, especially considering I was forcing him to watch Abby. Besides, he would've lied, and I would've had to drag it out of him. I thought you'd be more straightforward with me. I had no idea you were so gifted when it came to telling falsehoods." She wiped at her mouth with her napkin and set it beside her plate. "I think you're going to end up being my favorite friend of all. If you'd be up for it, that is?"
Molly considered this. Her relationship with Sherlock was going to come out sooner or later. Besides, she didn't have a lot of female friends and this was one who might actually be able to give her valuable insight on the great detective. She seemed to understand him in a way Molly found fascinating and wanted to learn more about. "Yes, I think I would."
Mary beamed with a delighted grin. "Good."
"But you still cannot tell John about me and Sherlock."
The grin melted into a pout. "Why not?" Mary asked. "He owes me fifty quid for this."
"You've been betting on whether or not Sherlock and I were going to …" She couldn't even finish the sentence. Shock wouldn't let her.
"It wasn't a bet, dear. It was a sure thing. I've suspected secret goings-on between you and Mr. Holmes for quite a while now. Ever since you slapped him."
"You put a lot of stock in that one action, you know."
Mary shrugged.
"OK. I'll bite. What does my slapping him have to do with anything?"
"You publically took him to task for doing drugs. No one else could get away with doing that. Even John didn't."
"John punched him in the nose when he returned to London, and he allowed it. Sherlock has the unique ability to incite violence in people."
"Actually, it was more of a head butt, but that's irrelevant," Mary said. "My point is that you didn't see the chemistry coming off you two. Everyone else did. The whole temperature of the room changed."
"Sherlock was high, and I was furious. How is that chemistry?"
Mary shrugged again. "You had to see what I saw. That's all I know. Now, tell me how long this … whatever this is with you and Sherlock has been going on. What is it exactly? Not a one night stand?"
Molly took a fortifying gulp of wine. "No, it's … Well … He calls it a companionship."
"He would." Mary chuckled and shook her head. "But you are having sex, right?"
"Promise not to tell John."
"You can't mean it," Mary whinged. "There are few greater pleasures in life than demonstrating to the man you love that he doesn't know as much as you. Why are you so set on taking that away from me?"
"You can crow all you like after Sherlock tells him, but not before."
Mary's eyes blazed with challenge. "I could just tell him right now and be done with it."
Molly blazed right back. "Yes, but you wouldn't get the juicy details then, would you?"
It took the older woman two seconds to make her decision. "Fine. Spill."
"Promise?"
"Promise," Mary grunted.
Molly held up a hand, doing something she'd wanted to do for a long while but had never had the chance to before. She'd seen it in a movie during her teen years and loved it. Meena had declared it too childish. But now seemed like the perfect time. Sticking her smallest finger towards Mary, she said, "Pinkie promise?"
Mary laughed and immediately intertwined her finger around Molly's. "Pinkie promise."
"Good."
"So you officially admit you are having sex with Sherlock?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"And what?"
Mary rolled her eyes. "And how is Mr. Seven-Times-In-Baker-Street?"
Molly blushed, hard. "You know that isn't true, right?"
"Yes, Janine told me. Sherlock kept coming up with excuses for them to wait. He was more virtuous than an Austen heroine, apparently. Of course, she didn't know how true that was. Plenty of men I know would have shagged her silly, even if they were playacting at being her boyfriend for a case."
"And you're not mad he would do that to your friend?"
Mary's smile dimmed. "Let's just say I understand his reasoning. Given the right circumstances, we'll all cross the line to protect those we love."
A flare of fear mixed with anger flickered on the blonde's face, the expression of a mother bear protecting her cub. These emotions made her seem more human somehow, more endearing. Molly could understand that fierce need to protect at all costs. It was how she felt about Sherlock. How she'd always been when it came to him. Something told her Mary felt the same way about the consulting detective. And understanding that helped Molly release the last bit of resentment she'd been holding.
"So," Mary said, her smile returning. "How's it working out between you two? Everything you hoped for?"
"It's … complicated and at times, confusing and difficult."
Mary nodded in commiseration. "I expect it would be with him. But give Sherlock some time to adjust. He's spent a lifetime shutting people out, convinced he was better off alone. Adapting to having someone else permanently in your life after that is hard."
"You speak as if you have experience with that."
The two women shared a look of understanding before Mary said, "You're very insightful. I bet you run Sherlock a merry chase when you put your mind to it, don't you? You certainly keep me on my toes."
It was such an odd thing to say that it made Molly realize how little she truly knew about this woman beyond the fact that she was John's wife, Abby's mother, and a nurse at a GP practice. "I'm too boring for Sherlock to ever want to chase, and I couldn't keep him on his toes. He does that with me. Honestly," Molly added with a laugh, "I'm not sure that isn't why I like him in the first place. Well, that and he's gifted and exciting and amusing and complex and intense and gorgeous. But me? I'm just—"
"I think you'd be surprised how deep an impact you've made on him."
"I'm dependable and loyal, I give him unfettered access to my lab, and I've learned to intuit what he needs before he needs it. That's what he likes about me."
Mary shook her head, looking bemused. "If you ever figure out the power you have over him, Molly, Sherlock Holmes is in desperate trouble. I, for one, am looking forward to that day. I only hope I'm there to see it."
This conversation was getting stranger and more uncomfortable. Molly cleared her throat and took another sip of wine. "I didn't meet any of your family at the wedding. Do you have siblings?"
There was another flash of sentiment, but this one was quickly shuttered before Molly could discern what it was. But it was enough that she knew she'd hit an emotional button.
"Orphan. That's me." Mary gave a brittle smile and looked down at the water glass. "No family. They're all dead."
"Mine, too. I'm the last remaining Hooper."
Mary's gaze shot up, and the women shared another look, this one born of a commiseration of devastating loss. That was when Molly knew that while there was clearly more to Mary than she'd initially surmised, she, like Sherlock, was a good person to her core. Whatever portentous incongruity there was to Mary, Sherlock had surely already uncovered it. He trusted her. He would not have allowed her to marry John otherwise. And if Sherlock trusted Mary, Molly could as well.
She smiled. Mary smiled back. It wasn't the sturdiest of foundations on which to build a friendship, but Molly didn't really mind.
Finally, when the waiter stopped by to ask if they needed anything else and was sent away with a request for the bill, Molly said, "So you know when Sherlock is lying?"
Mary nodded.
"How?"
"He has tells, physical indicators that give him away. Everyone does. It's just a question of finding them and recognizing them for what they are. Some people are better at hiding them. Like you. How did you acquire that skill?"
"My father loved to play cards, poker especially. I loved spending time with him; so I didn't complain when he wanted to teach me. He said I had a natural talent. I'm not sure I believe that. I think it's more a case of most people underestimate me."
"Something you use to your advantage," Mary noted.
"If they aren't going to bother to get to know me before they judge, why shouldn't I?"
A laugh came from across the table. "Why indeed? Sherlock isn't the only one who hasn't been able to see your worth. Of course, this is something he's since rectified."
"It's not like that."
"Isn't it? You're together romantically, aren't you? That is a very un-Sherlock thing to do when there isn't an ulterior motive in play."
Molly looked away. "Our relationship is not what anyone would term as 'romantic.' It's more like ..." She trailed off as she tried to think of how to put it. How did one even begin to explain? The English language didn't have words which adequately described what was happening between her and Sherlock. "Complicated" was the only one that came close, but that didn't truly cover it. At last, she said, "Lab partners with benefits."
Mary's brows shot up in surprise at that. Her lips folded inward, as if she were holding back a laugh. This only embarrassed Molly. She looked down, but glanced back up when she felt someone take hold of her hand.
"Sherlock respects you a great deal. He has for some time. He lets you do things to him he doesn't allow anyone else."
"Sex doesn't count."
"I wasn't talking about sex, but now that you brought it up, yes it does. It does with him. John was relatively certain the man was a virgin. Personally, I never believed that. He's too naturally curious not to want to experience the act at least once. But what I do believe is he spends his life keeping people away. It's only a few, hearty lot who've managed to breach his walls."
"Actually, I think it's more like he collects misfits."
That stopped Mary. Her face fell blank with confusion. "Misfits?"
Molly shrugged. "Misfits, outcasts, weirdos. The people the world has deemed somehow broken or not worth bothering with. Sherlock identifies a use in them and adds them to his crime-solving menagerie. The weirder, the better."
Mary took a moment to digest this. "You're right," she said at last with an excited snicker. "Crime-solving menagerie? I like it. It makes us sound like The Avengers or something."
Molly laughed, finishing off her wine. She wanted another glass, but knew it was better not to over indulge before she returned to work. Her duties depended on her meticulous nature. She sat the glass back on the table, asking the question she been wanting to ask.
"What are Sherlock's tells?"
"You think he's lying to you?"
"No, he promised not to do that anymore."
"You think he'll keep that promise?"
Molly nodded. "He always keeps his promises to me."
"Then why do you want to know his tells?"
"I'd like to know when he's lying to someone else."
Mary considered this before she said, "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
Mary propped an arm on the table, leaning her chin on her open palm. "Because, he'll quickly deduce that I've informed you thusly and will then demand you tell them to him. No, the world is a better place if he can't lie to me."
"I won't tell him anything. No matter what he says."
"Since when have you been able to ever deny him anything?"
She has a point there. "I assume he has more than one tell?"
Mary nodded.
"Then just share one. That way, you'll be the only one to know the rest."
A new grin appeared back on Mary's face, this one heaped in mischief. "All right, Molly Hooper. I'll tell you the tell and a few more things that might surprise you about the man you're shagging." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Now, come closer and pay attention. I'm about to give you an uncommon advantage over London's only consulting detective."
