MOLLY

Molly stared at the wedding invitation in her hand. She rubbed the edges of the card absently as she studied the details. The names. The date. The venue. Slowly she lowered herself into the sofa and waited for the sheer joy to erupt. This was her wedding invitation after all. This was her moment of joy. This finally should have been the closure she had been looking for all along. And yet all she felt was mild guilt and shame. Why? Was she having second thoughts? Again?

She sighed softly, as she laid the card down on the coffee table. Perhaps the moment she was waiting for would happen when she was finally walking down the aisle. Perhaps when the vows were being exchanged. Maybe it was just the stress of planning a wedding. It wasn't exactly a shotgun wedding, but a wedding that was planned in a short period of time all the same; and that's only because her engagement had been long. Way too long. Almost too long for her liking.

Weary of her internal war, Molly squeezed her eyes shut and rested her head against the back of the sofa. The balmy evening had turned her little flat into a small sauna and she had been forced to turn on the air conditioner to simply keep herself from melting into a puddle of sweat. She felt itchy and irritated. The drone of the ancient AC brought on a headache that she couldn't easily ignore.

Taking a deep breath in, she tried her best to empty her mind of all problems-wedding and non-wedding-related and tried to just focus on the good stuff. Her life was finally on the path of clarity. Her job was incredibly gratifying, something that perplexed a lot of people, including her fiancé, but she loved it all the same. Her social life was flourishing, she was not entirely on board with it, given that her idea of an evening out meant eating fish and chips and walking around London, not clubbing and drinking till her stomach gave out, but she accepted this side of her life as well. Her sex life was good. Actually, it was more than good. So she had no complaints there either. And she was a financially stable and independent woman, who had finally decided to pull the trigger on the marriage front. So yes. She was doing perfectly well, thank you very much.

She cocked her head to the left and cracked her eye open when she heard a faint rustle coming from the bedroom. Lazily she eyed the man that walked out wearing only a towel around his waist. A low hum of lust made itself known when he bent down to kiss her. She smelled him, clean and fresh, and smiled at him. Her fiancé. Her sweet uncomplicated man.

"You are home early, darling."

Darling. Molly's lips twitched. She'd never get used to him using nicknames.

"My shift ended early. Besides, look what I came home to."

She pointed at the coffee table and Tom's face lit up. Molly felt her guilt flicker back to life, but she forcefully tamped down on it and offered him a bright smile. He knelt on the floor beside the coffee table and picked up the card and ran his fingers reverently over it.

"Looks good, innit?"

Molly gave an affirming nod. Ignoring the bloom of shame and remorse in the pit of her stomach, she squeezed his shoulder as she stood up and stretched. Tom pushed himself up to a standing position and wrapped his arms around her and she had to suppress the urge to wriggle free. The heat clung to her skin like an oily substance and Tom's bare skin still wet from his shower made the situation a whole lot worse. Molly closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on his chest. She should be grateful for this man, but here she was, acting like a spoilt petulant teenager. Giving him a final squeeze, she stepped back.

"Want to order in? I'm starving."

"Sure. Why don't you pour yourself a glass of wine, I'll call the restaurant. Chinese, okay?"

Molly shrugged in a sure, why not kind of way as she made her way into the kitchen. Locating the wine and glass, she poured herself a healthy amount. Taking a long sip, she eyed the man who stood by the balcony murmuring into his phone. She was going to marry Tom. TOM. As in Tom, whose heart she broke not too long ago. As in Tom, the man who took her back when she was drowning in despair. As in Tom, not the pompous arrogant self-serving arsehole who claimed to be the only fucking consulting detective the world has ever seen.

Just thinking about him made her so furious that she had to constrain herself from hurling the wine glass across the room. The aftermath of the so-called Sherrinford incident didn't do much to salvage her already shredded dignity. The humiliation didn't dim with time. The reasoning behind it was farcical, and if anything, felt a bit collateral, which led her to believe that if the Holmes siblings were involved, nothing was preposterous in the slightest. She wanted to presume that they both made their amends, albeit being taciturn, but she could do nothing about the unstated anger. Since then, their already rocky relationship took a whole new meaning. Their interactions were now often punctuated with strained silences and pointed looks. Rage simmered beneath the surface when they came face to face, but they kept it together for the sake of their friends. And Rosie.

Oh, she knew why she was mad, but she sometimes wondered why the great ponce was also behaving like a prick. It was her heart that was assimilated. Not his. It was her face that was projected all over the television screen for the world to see while she underwent humiliation and trauma. Not his. So why was he acting all high and mighty? Did he expect her to just forget it? No sir. Not ever.

The mild headache turned into a raging storm that thundered behind her temples and Molly cursed herself for thinking about something that happened two years ago. She knew she shouldn't let a memory fester in her brain like a cancerous cell. Besides, she did have bigger things to think about. A wedding to execute. A thesis to publish. A man to spend her life with.

"Molly, you look fit to murder, are you alright?"

Molly snapped out of her reverie to see Tom looking at her with concern in his eyes. He strode towards her quickly and within seconds was within her reach and was gently pressing his hand over her forehead to check her temperature. Molly's heart clenched dully. She realized she had no right to get involved with him again. And yet, she had. His family had reluctantly agreed to their impending nuptials, but she could always feel their contempt suffocating her. They never tried to hide their derision, and she didn't really try to defend herself. She would always be the one who wronged their dear boy. But here she was, once again on the precipice of doing it all over again. Molly bit her lip as her eyes filled with tears unexpectedly.

"Why are you always nice?"

Tom laughed. He rubbed her arms in a placating way that only made Molly feel worse.

"So are you, darling."

Molly shook her head.

"Tom, I had no right to reel you back in. Your family is right to hate me. I'm the woman who broke your heart."

Tom pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Let's get one thing right, shall we? No one reeled anyone in. We fell in love. But things didn't work out. Let's chalk it up to bad timing back then. So we fell in love again. And who knows, maybe we get it right this time. And as for my family, you would only see them for the holidays, so who cares?"

She gave a watery chuckle, but the uneasiness she felt after his confession lingered. He sounds so sure about love...

Molly shook off the insane urge to make him see sense. To make him see that she is not all that kind, that she has a weird obsession with death, that all her friends are damaged beyond repair, that she is damaged beyond repair. Instead, she went on her toes and rubbed her lips against his. Tom hummed appreciatively and deepened the kiss. Once they came up for air, she sighed and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips again.

"I'm going to take a shower."

"I'll join you." Tom's eyes raked over her body devilishly. Molly snorted.

"You lost that window of opportunity when you took the liberty to shower without me. Why don't you set the table and pick out a movie to watch? I'll be out in twenty minutes."

Molly moved around him and walked towards the bedroom. She shut the door behind her as she heard Tom's assent. Leaning on the door she twisted the engagement ring on her left hand. Tom had insisted on getting a different ring this time and she hadn't objected. This ring was less gaudy, less flashy, less superficial. It suited her. It suited them. At least for now. And with that reassuring thought in her head, she stripped down naked and marched into the bathroom to take a long shower.

SHERLOCK

In another part of town, John was dealing with an irrational dickhead who kept testing the strength of their friendship. John was at wit's end and was desperately trying not to punch the git in his face.

"For god's sake John! Wiggins was here to help me with an experiment!"

Sherlock flopped dramatically into his armchair and propped his feet on the coffee table. He pulled his sleeve back and showed his friend that he was in fact clean. John pursed his lips as he studied Sherlock.

Sure, his eyes were bloodshot and he was still wearing the dressing gown from three days ago, (that now sported some questionable stains all over it) but so what? He was in the middle of solving multiple cases. His hand trembled slightly from lack of sleep and food but he had mastered the art of indifference so long ago that he knew John wouldn't detect any anomalies even if he tried. He gave his friend a mutinous glare. John returned the look in kind.

"What I'd like to know is why you haven't showered or slept in three days, and why Wiggins ran away as soon as I came, and why you've been shooting holes into the walls again."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Has Mrs. Hudson been gossiping about me again?"

John sat in his chair and rubbed his face wearily.

"I have no idea how to deal with two children. I really don't."

Sherlock scowled. He would have brushed off John's concern as something trivial if he hadn't caught the look of absolute misery in his friend's eyes. He relented a little bit.

"Wiggins was running an errand for me. As payment, he gets recreational drugs." John swore richly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I haven't showered because I'm working on a case and the bullet holes were just to keep Mrs. Hudson away so she would stop annoying me."

"Drugs are not a form of payment Sherlock! That's illegal!"

Sherlock pulled his dressing gown tighter around him and shot John an irritated look.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here because I'm worried you clot. You have been taking case after case, chasing bad guy after bad guy, and I don't see you slowing down anytime soon. So I'm just going to go on a limb and make a small deduction." John braced himself as he sat up ramrod straight and kept his eyes trained on his friend. Sherlock clenched his jaws and looked away.

"Has this got anything to do with Molly Hooper?"

If Sherlock had a heart it would have thudded loudly behind his ribcage at the mention of a certain pathologist's name. Mercifully he had no heart, which rendered Dr. Watson's analysis entirely false.

"Even after all these years, it's a shame you know nothing about me, Doctor."

John raised his eyebrows and continued to assess him mildly.

"Oh, I know you perfectly well, which is why I'll ask you again, is this because Molly Hooper is getting married in less than eight weeks?"

This time Sherlock could do nothing about the snarl that ripped free from his throat. He curled himself into a ball on the chair and tried his best to deflect John's inquisitive stare.

"Where's tiny Watson?"

John merely sighed.

"Rosie is with Mrs. Hudson. I didn't know what condition 221B was in, so I left her downstairs."

He felt guilt worming its way out. He had been neglecting his godfather duties and he felt a twinge of remorse that he hadn't been around more to help John.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around lately," he said in an oddly stiff voice.

John waved his apology away.

"I have plenty of help. Mrs. Hudson, Molly..." Sherlock gave a choked noise which piqued John's interest more. "Besides, my daughter is a lot more manageable than her godfather." Sherlock sneered. "So are you going to tell me what's eating you away or should I call in the big guns? A chat with your brother should loosen your tongue."

Sherlock groaned. He had been halfway through dissecting a brain that was "borrowed" from Barts, thanks to the junkie who got it for him, and now, instead of cracking the case open, he was here warding off a heart-to-heart with his best friend. Times have certainly changed around Baker Street.

"As you can see, I'm perfectly fine. I'm on a streak John, what don't you understand about this?"

"Why didn't you text me if you have a new case, Sherlock?" John's persistence was grating on his nerves. The only way out, Sherlock knew, was through calm rational discussion, which to be honest, had never been his forte.

"I didn't text you because these cases hardly need any legwork. And you have a child to take care of, so I didn't bother you," he countered. Ha! Take that Watson!

John bent his head down and examined his fingernails. The silence that followed made Sherlock's eyes twitch and he squirmed in a tetchy manner. Perhaps he laid it on a little too thick … And after what felt like eons, John finally looked up.

"Take a shower and get changed. Let's go out. I fancy some fish and chips."

Feigning innocence, he gave his friend a doleful look.

"I think I already told you, while I'm flattered, you and I both know I'm married to my work."

"Oh you are hilarious, you are," John said in a deadpan voice. "Do as I told, or I'm calling the queen. In this case, your brother."

"But I have a brain-"

"Which will still be here when you come back. So spare the excuses," John said in a firm voice that he only used when Rosie was being difficult or... well if he was dealing with him.

Sherlock wasn't overly concerned, he knew this was an age-old trick John unleashed on him to get him to talk. But nine out of ten times his best friend failed. So if a walk and a plate of fish and chips were going to get John out of the door, then he was all on board for it. Begrudgingly, he unfolded himself and stalked past John and into the bathroom. Just to let his friend know that he was really unhappy with this, he slammed the bathroom door shut until it rattled off the hinges. When he heard John curse loudly, he smiled pleasantly and yanked his clothes off to take a long-overdue shower.