Chapter 18
"She won't see me John!" Sherlock paces across his flat, pulling at his already wild hair.
"Hold on, what exactly did you do?" John says, his hands finding purchase on his hips.
"Molly came to see me two weeks ago, and as I had already suspected, she wanted to talk about what happened at the end of our relationship. So, we did. It didn't go well, I'm afraid." Sherlock's lips press into a thin line.
John turns on the spot, dumbfounded and his hand finds its way into his short hair. This wasn't good. Not good at all. Molly certainly didn't need that and Sherlock, well, Sherlock should have bloody known better.
"Oh no. You didn't," is all that can make its way out of John's mouth.
"What?! Sherlock says, trying to appear offended. "I simply was honest, no matter how much I wished she would leave the subject alone." His hands scrub at his face and then flap back down by his sides. "She practically demanded for me to tell her what happened. I had no choice, John. I told her about what I did to ensure her happiness." He falters for a few moments, eyes suddenly not able to meet John's. Sherlock finally turns, making way to his chair and sitting down in it heavily.
John stands there stunned beyond belief. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Molly was supposed to marry Gavin in four month's time! Why did Sherlock – the pillock – decide now would be a bloody good idea to spill the proverbial beans about the reason he broke up with her?
Sherlock's eyes meet his again, and then John sees it. Realization hits him like a bullet to the chest and he physically stumbles back a few paces with the weight of it.
"Oh my God, Sherlock. You still love her, don't you?"
Sherlock's face morphs into a visage of helplessness. "Yes," He wrings his hands, shoulders slumped and head hung low. "I also know it's too late to tell her. I fear I've already missed my chance, John. I don't know what to do. Tell me how to fix this. I need your help."
The air rushes from John's lungs, as he rubs at his forehead in frustration. What is he supposed to do with this? How could he possibly help Sherlock when Molly seemed not to want to even bother with him after his confession. He couldn't see his best friend suffering like this though. Not after the surprising support he showed after Mary's death, even if it took him months to figure out Sherlock wasn't actually the one who killed her. For that alone, he felt the need to help. John just hopes it all will be worth it though. If something backfires, the close friendship between Molly and himself will be tarnished forever.
"Okay, If I help, which I'm not saying I will, you have to do everything I say, understand?" John looks pointedly at Sherlock.
"Everything?" Sherlock asks.
John glares back at his best friend. "Everything."
An overly dramatic sigh comes from Sherlock's mouth, complete with an eye roll. "Alright, fine. But only because I cannot solve this on my own." He stands, outstretching his hand toward John in a show of good faith. John takes his hand and hopes that Sherlock will stick to his word.
"Right, I might just have a way we can get Molly to talk to you, but it involves some sleight of hand. She's not going to be too happy about it though," John warns him.
"What's one more small deception in order to clear the air between us properly?" Sherlock reasons. "I'm sure once she gains a better perspective of why, she'll be able to forgive me..."
John interrupts, a mischievous smile blooming on his face. "Wait, Sherlock. I'm not done. I agree to helping you, but you've got to do something for me in return."
Sherlock quirks his head. "Alright. What is it?"
"You have to agree to tell Molly you still love her," John states. "She needs to know Sherlock. You can't keep this from her. And if you let her marry Gavin without saying it, I can guarantee you'll regret it. Maybe not now, but you will in the end."
Sherlock eyes grow wide in astonishment. "I couldn't possibly... there is no way... I just..."
John chuckles. For a man who always has a way with words, he seems to have rendered Sherlock nearly speechless. Granted, it's to do with something Sherlock is still uncomfortable with. The man's ability to show emotion is still stunted, but thankfully it's no longer to the point where he avoided them altogether. It's been a while since Sherlock has been prompted to actually use them, however. A little push would be good for him.
"No, Sherlock, you're doing this. No ifs, ands, or buts," John says, shaking his head at Sherlock's ridiculousness.
Sherlock balks, and begins to pale. "No, this is preposterous, I can't do it. I Won't, John. I've already made a mess of things, I merely want to repair the damage I caused, not make it worse!"
"You know, it's almost as if you don't think you deserve to be happy." John ponders, almost outraged at his friends self-inflicted punishment. "What if this is your last chance to truly be happy, Sherlock? Stop thinking of yourself as an afterthought and go after what you want. What you deserve! Take it from me. I've lost so much, but there is one thing I've gained throughout all of the shit that has happened. It's the realization that I am worthy of love and happiness. Mary made me a better man because she saw me as the man I could be, remember? I also think she helped make you into one too and would hate to see you not become the man she knew you were meant to be. I've said this once, and I'll say it again. Don't let this chance pass you by, because it will be gone before you know it."
Sherlock's lips press into a fine line and he bows his head. "Fine. I'll tell her, but if it blows up in my face, know I will be blaming you."
"Fine. Blame away. But until you actually tell her, you'll never know if you could have a chance at happiness again. That's all I'm asking. To take a chance. Consider it an experiment of sorts, if you want."
"I said I'll do it, what more do you want from me?" Sherlock snips back at his friend.
"Nothing more than to keep an open mind about it, is all," John leaves it at that. No sense dragging it out any longer, since Sherlock's got to deal with having to come up with a way to tell Molly the news. "Now, I think I've come up with something. I could invite Molly over for coffee to my place. It's been a month or so since we last got together, so it won't seem too suspicious if I ask."
Sherlock's furrows his brows. "Wait. You still have regular get-togethers with Molly?
John can't believe he's having to explain this. "Yes, Sherlock. She often babysits for me and is Rosie's godmother. Of course, we get together. Just because you two were no longer an item, doesn't mean I stopped being her friend."
"Yes," Sherlock says, "quite right."
John presses on. "So, as I was saying, I'll invite Molly for coffee to mine and you'll just happen to be there. I'll make out that you just showed up, as you often do, and then I'll say that I need to pop out to the shop to get more milk with Rosie. Easy peasy. Does that work for you?"
"It's a simple plan, but I think it will be quite an effective one," Sherlock states.
"Good. Now all you have to do is think up a way to fix what you cocked up and tell her how you still feel," John adds trying hard not to laugh at the way Sherlock's face screws up in disdain. His face can't hold back any longer. It splits into a shit eating grin and Sherlock rolls his eyes and sighs at his friends ribbing.
John can sense the undercurrent of anxiety his friend has toward trying to express his feelings and the right way to address the tension that Molly's visit held. He knows it won't be enough to leave Sherlock to his own devices, as he is still like a child learning to harness and direct his emotions in a proper manner. He'll have to hold his hand for a bit longer, he figures, extending the good old olive branch once more. "Alright, Sherlock. How about we brainstorm? Run through some scenarios that might happen?"
Sherlock shakes his head. "I think I'll try to manage that bit on my own, if you don't mind."
"Are you sure? You could use me as a sound board if you like. Someone to bounce ideas off of, yeah?" A rising tide of concern washes over John at Sherlock's insistence to figure out on his own. It's not that he thinks Sherlock can't figure it out, but things like this often needed a delicate touch. Sherlock's diplomacy in the love department had been proven to be basic at best. John sure hopes Sherlock knows what he is doing.
Sherlock gives a timid smile. "Yes, John. I can manage. I may have royally buggered things before, but I'm certain I've learned from my mistakes."
John hopes that's the case. "Alright, suit yourself," he says, throwing his hands up. "I'll ring her tomorrow morning and get her to come the day after. Does that work for you?"
"That should work," Sherlock decides. "I'll meet you at yours then. Say 11 o'clock?"
John nods and grabs his coat off of his overstuffed chair. "Great. See you then Sherlock. And don't hesitate to send me what you've got, alright?"
"Promise," is all Sherlock says.
John makes his way through the door to Sherlock's flat and heads down the stairs. However, when he gets to the door, he stops for a moment.
Regardless if Sherlock says he's got it handled, John can't help the nagging feeling that he's still out of his depth. However, when he says 'I've got it', it's best to let him figure it out alone. He just hopes that what Sherlock comes up with will be tactful enough to get his point across and not send Molly running for the hills. There is nothing left to do but wait to see if it all works out.
With those thoughts still lingering, John opens the door to 221B and exits onto the sidewalk. He hopes that after a good jaunt around Regent's Park his concern for Sherlock and the situation will lessen. Only time will tell though, only time will tell.
