Chapter Thirty Five

Molly found a table for two in a relatively quiet part of the coffee bar and Sherlock ordered their usual Paninis and coffee then took the seat opposite her, his face dark and brooding and his arms folded across his chest. Molly looked around the room, giving him some thinking space, hoping he might say what was on his mind. The waiter brought their order and she began to eat but he ignored the food and the coffee and remained hunched up in his seat, saying nothing.

After a few more minutes, Molly could stand it no longer so she reached across the table and slid her hand over his, where it sat in the crook of his elbow.

'Talk to me, Sherlock. Tell me what's wrong,' she said, softly.

He continued to avoid eye contact but gave a slight shrug. She squeezed the hand and waited and eventually, he opened his hand and allowed her to plait her fingers through his, then unfolded his arms and reached for his coffee.

'Am I really such a terrible father?' he said.

Molly was stunned. Of all the things he might have said, that was the last thing she had imagined.

'Of course not!' she exclaimed. 'Whatever makes you think that?'

Well, you did,' he replied, succinctly.

Molly felt a pang of guilt. They had never had any sort of disagreement over how the children should be brought up, which was probably quite unusual as couples go, but now this incident had occurred, he seemed to have taken their difference of opinion very much to heart.

Molly shook her head and wrapped both her hands around his.

'Sherlock, you are an excellent father, a brilliant father, and the perfect father for our children. And they love you. This thing with William is just part of a learning curve – for both of us. Yes, me too, not just you.'

'That's easy for you to say,' he replied, still not meeting her gaze. 'It wasn't you who taught him how to break into another child's locker and it wasn't you who told him to lie to his mother.'

Molly could hear the humiliation in his voice. He really believed he had screwed up monumentally and his self-esteem had crashed. Normally, when this happened, he became arrogant and scathing, to mask his sense of inadequacy. Molly was grateful that he was showing her how he really felt. It was an indication of how much he trusted her,

'Sherlock, when you said, 'Don't tell your mother' you didn't mean it in a literal sense. You were joking. I'm sure I've done the same thing myself… In fact, yes! When William was asking about how to take fingerprints from paper, I asked him if it was for something he was doing at school and he said yes, which was the literal truth. If I'd asked him that question in a different way, we might have found out about his foray into the world of sleuthing a bit sooner. We both missed the clues even though we both know that William interprets things very literally.'

Molly searched his face for some sign that he was taking all this on board but his expression remained closed. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him but she knew he would not welcome such a public expression of affection so she contented herself with holding his hand and sending as much love down that single point of contact as she could.

Meanwhile, their coffee and Paninis slowly went cold.

'You told me once,' he said, suddenly, 'that you loved me for who I really am and you would never want me to change.'

'Yes,' Molly nodded, 'I did and I don't! – want you to change, that is.'

'Well, obviously you do,' he challenged her. 'You said I need to work on my people skills which – if I understand you correctly - means that I have to change the way I interact with people. That's probably the hardest thing I've ever been asked to do.'

It wasn't hard to see where William got his literal interpretation from.

'No, Sherlock, not at all!' Molly replied, squeezing his hand still harder. 'Tell me,' she said, 'what is a skill?'

Sherlock wrinkled his brow.

'It's a proficiency, a facility, something one acquires through training or experience. It's a useful tool.'

'Exactly!' Molly replied. 'And you have many skills. This would just be one more to add to your arsenal. I wouldn't expect you to use it all the time – just when it counted, when it was particularly needed, a means to an end.'

That made sense, he thought. He looked into her eyes for the first time since they had left the school.

'So you wouldn't expect me to suddenly become Mr Congeniality?' he asked.

'Oh, good god, no!' Molly squeaked. 'That would be awful! I love you just the way you are – warts and all.'

'I don't have warts!' he exclaimed, indignantly, then cracked a smile. Molly smiled too, relieved to have her Sherlock back.

'That teacher hates me,' he said, sobering again.

'Actually, you're quite wrong, there. I think she really likes you,' Molly replied.

'How can you tell?' he asked.

'I don't know, really. Just the way she looked at you when she shook your hand. Her body language was very…positive!'

Sherlock shook his head. He wished he knew how she did that, that empathy thing. It was her superpower.

'I think she finds you fascinating, like a rare specimen,' Molly teased.

'Like a lab rat,' he retorted.

'Sort of,' she smiled back. 'Are we friends again?'

'Of course, we're always friends. Friends for life,' he replied and, to her great surprise, leaned across the table and kissed her.

ooOoo

Abandoning their cold lunch, Sherlock walked Molly back to St Barts.

'Back to the day job,' she said.

'So the case is solved?' he asked.

'Oh, yes! I didn't tell you, did I. Yes, one of the nurses wasn't really a nurse, she was a care assistant so she's being done for fraud. It's the only thing they could find to charge her with,' Molly explained. 'It's all down to the HSE, now, to conduct a full-scale inquiry into the way the hospital has been managed. I suspect Senior Management won't come out of it too well. I think Roger Douglas' days are numbered, and that Mrs Edwards'. Head of HR should probably start looking for another job, too, for not doing thorough checks on all applicants.'

'So perhaps I won't be spending my evenings alone any more?' he asked, tentatively.

'Well, I have been invited to the After Show party, tonight…' She looked away, to hide her smile.

'What After Show party?' he asked.

'Oh, it's the team's tradition, like you and John going to the Chinese round the corner. When they solve a case, they go to the pub and get sloshed.'

'Oh, not a common occurrence, then,' he said, huffily.

Molly giggled and poked him in the ribs.

'Anyway, I'm not going,' she said. 'After everything that's happened, I just want to be at home with my family and we still need to have that talk with William.'

They had reached the arched entrance to St Bart's.

'So what about you? What are you up to, now?' she asked, turning to wrap her arms around his waist and look up into his face.

'I will go and rescue Violet from Mrs Hudson before she OD's on chocolate hobnobs and then I will go and collect the boys from school and try not to strangle Miss Featherstone.'

'Now, now, don't you be mean to Miss Featherstone. People skills, remember?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes, inclined his head so that she could give him a peck on the cheek then watched her walk away, back to the comfort and security of her path lab. Then he, too, turned and walked away.

ooOoo

Phew! Another emotional crisis survived! Now, back to the Mystery of the Canterbury Ghost! Did you think I'd forgotten about that...?