AN: Back from a lovely, albeit brief, vacation and powering through my many, many, many unfinished drafts (there are a ton... a TON). And found one inspired by the ending of my favourite chick-flick, How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days! :)
Pretty much gratuitous Sherlock-groveling, motorcycle-chasing, sappy happy ending!
The murmur of voices broke through Sherlock's thoughts and he slowly withdrew from his Mind Palace. Opening his eyes, he took in the battered wall of his flat tacked over with clues from a case he hadn't wanted to take and breathed in deep.
Ah. John and Mary.
He listened to their whispered conversation from the kitchen. He heard the name Molly drift over and his stomach clenched. It had been five weeks since that night.
The night he'd solved the Fauxriarty case. The night he burst into her flat to make sure she was safe. The night they slept together. The night he snuck away, leaving her rumpled and smiling peacefully in her sleep.
He had purposefully avoided her ever since.
'What about Molly?' He bit out as he strode into the kitchen. John and Mary looked up at him in surprise, then exchanged uncertain, almost guilty looks.
John heaved a breath and stood up, Mary following suit. John crossed his arms and stared Sherlock down. The army doctor was not one to beat around the bush, one of the many reasons Sherlock kept him around. But this time, the doctor's frankness knocked Sherlock's world off its axis.
'Molly's leaving.'
Sherlock froze.
'She took a job in Edinburgh.' By the look she was giving him, Mary knew Sherlock had done something to cause Molly's sudden decision to leave London. 'She leaves today.'
For the span of two heartbeats the three of them stood in an odd staring match. Then, in the blink of an eye, Sherlock spun on his heel and with an almost inhuman speed was out the door and running down the stairs.
John and Mary looked at each other in surprise (with just a hint of an 'I told you so' smile on Mary's face) before they scrambled after him. They burst out into the bright mid-day sun just in time to see Sherlock commandeer a passing motorcyclist. He grabbed the helmet from the confused man and tossed something at him before revving the engine, the tyres squealing, and he shot down Baker Street.
The motorcycle-less driver gaped at his disappearing bike, holding a police badge belonging to a Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.
A laugh bubbled out of John's mouth and he pulled Mary against his side as they stared after their friend. 'He'd better ask me to be his best man.'
Adrenaline surged through Sherlock as he sped through the London streets toward Molly's flat. Molly couldn't leave. She was integral to his work. To London. To him. How could she leave?
Maybe because you bedded her then slipped away like an average scumbag. He shoved away John's unwelcome voice. He already knew he was a pillock and what he'd done to Molly was unforgivable.
But he desperately hoped that her almost inhuman ability to forgive could extend to him again.
He swerved out of the way of a merging car, causing a chorus of horns to sound around him, which he ignored completely, focused solely on getting to Molly before she left.
He'd been hiding away, losing himself in mediocre cases, to avoid facing what he'd done. Oh, he had no regrets of the night they'd shared. And though the way he'd left was the lowest of the low, that wasn't what made his stomach turn the most.
No. The worst thing he'd done was not tell her what she meant to him. That she was his everything.
Turning onto Grosvenor, Sherlock skidded to a stop at a light. Between the passing cars in front of him, he could see Molly standing outside her flat, hugging her landlady as a cab idled nearby. The old woman dabbed her tears and waved goodbye as Molly let the cabbie take her bag. Sherlock flipped up his visor.
'Molly!' He bellowed, but his voice was lost in the thrum of traffic. She slid into the back and the cab pulled away from the curb. Away from him. Sherlock revved the engine and was about to go full speed through the intersection when the horn of a double-decker brought him up just short of being clipped by the bus. When the bus passed, Molly's cab had disappeared into the sea of cars.
The light turned and Sherlock was gone, his body low as he wove through cars. He slowed down as he came parallel to a black cab and looked in the back.
No Molly.
He sped up and circled around to the next cab. He leaned over to look in the back and found an elderly couple staring back at him in confusion.
Three more cabs and no Molly.
He was getting panicked now, which only made him that much more determined to find her.
A cab several cars ahead turned right and he caught a glimpse of a familiar head of brown hair in the back.
Molly!
Pushing the bike to its limit, Sherlock sped through a light and took the corner hard, his knee almost grazing the ground.
Among the London traffic on this street was a single black cab.
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. Quickly, he caught up to the cab and came alongside it. Flipping up his visor, he saw Molly looking out the opposite window.
'Molly!' He shouted, banging his fist on the window. She jumped and turned to him with wide eyes.
'Sherlock?' She mouthed, scooting over and rolling the window down. The wind whipped her hair around her furious and confused face. 'What the hell are you doing?!'
'We need to talk!' He glanced back at the road then back at her. 'Pull over!'
'Are you insane?!'
'Pull over!'
Gaping at him for a moment, Molly finally leaned forward and asked the poor, confused cabbie to pull over. They slowed to a stop and Sherlock kicked the stand down on the bike, pulling his helmet off and tossing it aside as Molly jumped out of the back and slammed the door shut behind her.
'What the hell do you think you're doing? You could have been killed!' Her eyes flashed dangerously and he had a sudden flashback to the Slapping Incident. The sun overhead illuminated the red-gold highlights in her hair and he swore for a moment she looked like an avenging angel.
Sherlock swung his leg over the bike and strode over to her, ignoring her gesticulating hands.
'-no longer your pathologist, so find yourself someone else to manipul-mmmpfff!'
He cut her off with his lips, one hand wrapped around the back of her neck and the other around her waist. Her arms windmilled and she stiffened in surprise. He persisted, his heart pounding in anxious anticipation. Finally, she relaxed and her lips moved against his, turning a desperate kiss into a passionate snog. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she leaned up on her toes, curling her body into his and wrapping her arms around his neck.
The cabbie's honk broke them apart, breathless and panting.
'Molly, I...' He tried not to, but the tinge of desperation in his voice came through clear. He rested his forehead against hers. Her breath caressed his neck and he shivered.
'What… are you… doing?' She huffed and moved her hands down to his chest, punching him lightly over his pounding heart. Pulling back, she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips reddened and swollen (not altogether unappealing, though he knew he could do better). He reached up and cupped her cheek, ignoring the grumbling cabbie watching them in distaste.
'Trying to convince you to stay.'
Hurt and anger flashed across her face and he rushed on.
'Stay here… with me.'
She looked at him dubiously.
'I've been an idiot,' he admitted. 'I am so, so sorry for leaving you that morning. I was a coward and all I can do is beg you to forgive me and give me another chance.' He took a deep breath. 'And I won't screw it up this time. Because I love you. So much. Please, Molly. Please tell me I haven't lost you.'
Tears filled her eyes and he felt his thundering heart plunge into his stomach. Then her lips turned up in a wobbly smile. 'Sherlock Holmes… begging.' Her eyes twinkled.
An answering smile crossed Sherlock's face and his heart suddenly felt as light as air. 'Only for you, Molly.'
Lifting herself onto her tip toes, she wrapped her hands around his neck and tugged him down for a sweet, brief kiss. 'I love you, too. My genius idiot.'
He was just about to steal another kiss when the gruff voice of the cabbie stopped him. 'What you wan' do, lady? I can't waste all day waiting for your lad to get a leg over!'
Molly blushed bright red and the sight of it distracted Sherlock from snapping a reply. Instead, without breaking his gaze from Molly, he reached into his pocket and tossed the man a badge and wallet he'd nicked from Dimmock. 'Take the lady's belongings to 221b Baker Street.' Molly's eyes widened. 'She has other means of transportation.'
With a mumbled curse, the cabbie got back in his car and pulled away. Sherlock took Molly's hand and tugged her toward the bike. He swiped the discarded helmet from the ground and put it on, handing the spare from the back to her with a raised eyebrow.
Grinning madly, she slipped it on and swung onto the bike behind him. He kicked up the stand and turned the motor on.
'Hold on tight,' he called, revving the engine. Her arms slid around his waist and he felt warm all over at the press of her front against the length of his back.
'Always,' she promised.
With a wide grin, Sherlock pushed off the ground and leaned forward, merging into traffic.
