Please read the notes at the end.
Sherlock scrambled up as the car flew around a corner and he fell back against the door. Bracing himself better, he watched as Molly rolled to the other side of the car and slipped into a seatbelt being held open by an older man, with greying hair.
Sherlock eyed him for a brief moment, then nodded cordially, and smiled slightly when it was returned. The detective turned his attention back to the small woman and scanned her. She'd lost weight, (six? No seven pounds) in the two weeks and three days since he'd last seen her. There were still circles under her eyes, more prominent now, indicating long periods of little to no sleep. Her skin was paler as well, and Sherlock wondered if she'd been eating well. Coupled with the weight loss, it didn't appear that she'd been taking care of herself.
Her hair was parted on the side and neatly done up in a plait that started above her left ear and wound around her head to just below the right on and was tied off and left in a ponytail to drape over her right shoulder. She wore no makeup, and smelled faintly of vanilla hand soap or lotion, like what was used in public bathrooms. Her clothes were atypical for her, no baggy trousers or loose flowy tops. She was dressed smartly in a fitted pair of black pants that were tucked into thigh high black boots, and sported a plain aqua blue v-neck tee shirt, under a crème colored leather moto jacket that hung open.
Sherlock thought she looked good enough to eat, though he would've thought that even if she'd been wearing a potato sack.
The man clicked Molly's seatbelt shut and gave her a fatherly pat on the hand before turning to bark orders to the driver, who instantly gave another sharp turn, making Sherlock flail out, slamming on hand onto the window and the other onto the seat next to him for leverage.
Molly giggled softly and the man next to her beamed at her, then jerked his head in Sherlock's direction.
"Best get that seatbelt on if ya don't want to feel like ya've been shaken like a can of sody pop by the time we get there."
American? Heavy drawl. Who is this man?
Sherlock took a moment to examine him more thoroughly. He was a deep tan, from being out in the sun often, in a hot climate. There was a line across his forehead, indicating he wore a hat while outside, possibly a cowboy hat. Texan maybe? Judging from the accent, though it was definitely southwest-ish United States. His hands were large and calloused, and Sherlock could hear the dried skin catching as the man rubbed his hands together.
As if anticipating the thoughts, or perhaps reading Sherlock's furrowed brow as he clicked his seatbelt closed, the man patted Molly's hand again, before reaching out to offer his own to Sherlock.
"Pat Travers," he said by way of introduction. "I've been keeping an eye on Missy here since she barged in on your brother during a meeting we was having."
Sherlock's lips curled up slightly. The man must be irreplaceable indeed if Mycroft was willing to commit to an entire conversation with grammar that horrible..
Travers smiled down at Molly, who was staring into her lap, where her hands were twisting nervously together.
"She was spittin' and hissin' at him for lettin' you go off all half-cocked and let me tell you, she gave him a good dressin' down." He laughed loudly as Molly's face flushed. "Ah, he needed it though. He just stood there gapin' at 'er like a fish outta water for a minute then asked me if I fancied a sightseein' tour of Eastern Europe."
"And you came to get me," Sherlock supplied, eyeing the man again.
Former military, special ops. Intelligence agent as well. Specialization in extractions and… guard?
"Nope," the man replied, grinning widely and looked back down at Molly. "She came to get ya. I just tagged along to make sure she didn't get in no real danger."
Molly looked up at Travers then and beamed at him. Sherlock's eyes flitted back and forth between the two.
Father-daughter like relationship. So quickly? Must have lost a daughter about Molly's age at some point. He'd be about her father's age and he's protecting her, makes sense.
The car came to a screeching halt and Sherlock fell forwards, glad he had finally put his seatbelt on or he would've ended up on the floor. Travers motioned to the door, and the detective climbed out, followed by Molly and lastly, Pat. They'd arrived at a tiny airport, and Sherlock was unsurprised to see a private plane there, waiting for them.
"Now you take care o' yourself, Missy," Pat was telling Molly, who nodded emphatically and cast a bright smile in Sherlock's direction. His heart swelled at the sight and he felt as if he would burst apart at any moment.
Molly turned back to the older man and made him promise to come visit in London, and gave him a resounding kiss on the cheek at which he blushed and brushed her off affectionately.
She turned and began heading towards the aircraft and Sherlock shook Travers' hand again, before following her. His stomach tightened into knots as she didn't look back at him once as they climbed the stairs up into the private plane. She did stop at the top and wave back at Pat once last time before entering and plopping down in one of the seats with a tired sigh.
Sherlock stood for a moment, debating on whether to take the seat next to or across from her, finally opting to be face to face for the conversation that would inevitably come, sooner or later.
He sat silently, fastening his seatbelt for take-off when she did so. It was only after they were fully airborne and had both been offered a drink, (Molly had a glass of wine and Sherlock had some Scotch,) that she finally spoke.
"I want to know why, Sherlock," she said precisely, each word carefully enunciated as if she was controlling herself. He wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Why?" he questioned, keeping his voice calm and quiet, not wanting to sound as if he was looking for a fight.
"Why you left. Why you went on this horrible, ridiculous suicide mission," he made to interrupt her but she held up a hand and he let her continue. "Why you didn't come to me." Her brow furrowed and she looked down at her hands. "Why you lied to me."
He unfastened his seatbelt and knelt in front of her, taking her tiny hands into his own, enveloping their coldness with his warmth.
"The only lie I ever told you was that I didn't need you," he breathed, his words almost lost under the hum of the engine. She heard him though and lifted her brown eyes to meet his ever-changing ones.
"I was afraid, so afraid I would lose you that I pushed you away, not thinking about the consequences. I'm so sorry, Molly. I'm so sorry." His voice broke and he ducked his head to rest his forehead on Molly's knee, still holding her hands.
"It very nearly broke me when we were hurt. It did break me when you left. I felt like there was nothing left for me." He raised his head and looked at her again. "There is nothing for me without you, Molly."
Her lower lip was trembling and he found he couldn't look at her, couldn't see all the pain he'd caused in the woman that he loved more than life itself. He lay his head back down onto her lap and after a moment, felt her slip a hand from his grasp and run her fingers through his curls, twirling the ones the nape of his neck around her slender digits.
"I'm scared, Sherlock." Molly soft voice reached his ears and he stilled, waiting. "I'm scared to feel these things for you. I've spent years trying to get these feelings to go away and now that I seem to have everything I could want, I'm afraid it is too good to be true."
He smirked against her leg. "I'm too good to be true? Hardly, Molly. The vast majority of men in this world are better than I am."
He felt her shake her head. "That isn't true."
He nodded, "Yes it is. You deserve someone so much better than I can ever be. It's just my good fortune that you are crazy enough to want me."
He paused and licked his lips nervously. "You do still want me? Don't you?"
"Yes, Sherlock. I want you very much or I wouldn't have flown all this way to drag your arse out of this situation. God help me." She sighed in mild exasperation.
He grinned like a child on Christmas as a warmth settled over him.
"I love you," he whispered, and felt her hand still. She reached for him and cupped his jaw with her fingers, pulling his head up so she could look at him. She searched his face, her own so full of hope, and he brought his hands up to rest on her cheeks.
"I love you Molly Hooper," he said again, a timid smile breaking out onto his face.
With a sob, she scrambled with her seatbelt, unfastening it before flinging herself at him, knocking them both to the floor of the small plane. His arms automatically curled around her tiny body and he hurriedly planted kisses on every part of her face and neck, every inch of her that he could reach.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," he chanted over and over between affections and was pleasantly surprised to hear her joyous laughter as he did so.
After a few minutes he pulled back, his face once again serious, and cupped her chin with his fingers.
"Do you love me?" he asked, recalling that she had never actually told him so, even though she'd demonstrated her feelings time and time again.
She smiled at him tenderly. "Of course I love you, you big idiot."
That's it. It's over. Four long months after I started this fic, it's finally finished. Thank you so much for reading it. Please, if you enjoyed this, tell me. Knowing that people liked this makes me so happy and thrilled and proud of myself. So once again, THANK YOU FOR READING.
Special thanks to Miz-Joely, AllTheBellsInVenice, Pulpbomb and everyone else who helped by reading and correcting my ridiculous mistakes. I love you all!
Really really special thanks to my bestie, Lisa, without whose cheering and encouragement I would have given up long ago. I'm very lucky to have a friend as amazing as you are.
P.s. There's a really short epilogue coming in the next couple of hours so stay tuned. Then that's it. Promise!
