By The Water Fountain

by I Am Completely Sherlocked

Based on the Alec Benjamin song "Water Fountain". This ALWAYS reminded me of Sherlolly, so it was about time I wrote a fic about it! 3 You can stream the song on Amazon Music, or Spotify, or purchase on iTunes and such. I suggest you take a listen first for the context! :-)

{She told me that she loved me by the water fountain
She told me that she loved me, and she didn't love him
And that was really lovely 'cause it was innocent}

Sherlock bites his lip shyly and kicks a bit of dirt up with his shoe. He had befriended a lovely woman by the name of Margaret Hooper, who goes by simply "Molly", a few months into his third year of University. She was in her first year, but they were in the same advanced chemistry class. Molly was a pathology and forensics major with her minor in Chemistry and Anatomy. She was an extremely smart person, especially in the sciences, despite her not sharing the same genetic genius that he had acquired.

Six months into the term and they had become confidantes, leaning on each other with life's troubles and on occasion making each other laugh, since both shared a more serious demeanor. However, Sherlock knew of her kinder, softer tendencies that she hid to get ahead in school. He supposes being a female in her field was tough and competitive, but she handles herself with such strength and toughness when necessary. He adores that she never hides her own pride at being good in her field, and fights for all the chances she gets to be chosen for special lectures or advanced field training at the local hospitals.

By a stroke of fate, they had ended up at the same water fountain in the main outdoor space of campus. When they had bumped into each other they had smiled and laughed, having not planned the short get-together. After taking turns getting a drink, they stood by it and made conversation for quite a while. Talked about the plans they had for after Uni and the hopes that they would stay in contact since they had become good friends.

That's when Molly's emotional side took over and she spoke about how much he would be missed when he had graduated, and she still had two years to go. Wondered aloud if he would care to still contact her when he had moved on from this endeavor to start an adult life. He assured her that they would keep in touch and that her number would remain in his mobile indefinitely.

That's when it slipped from her lips like a strike of lightning into his soul. Three words he had never been truly comfortable with and it made him speechless.

"I love you."

The moment that she had told him, her cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson in embarrassment. Sherlock, in all his boyish charm, looked at her genuinely struck and struggling with what to say next until he comes up with the only thing he could think of.

"I thought you had it bad for Lane Grant." He should have phrased it as a question, but it came out sounding like more of a statement.

Molly shakes her head slowly and averts her gaze to the mirrored shine of the water fountain handle. "No...I only pretended to like him because I didn't know how you would react to being the real man whose attentions I wanted, more than in a friendly manner." She looks up at him softly, her eyes looking into his. That's when it finally hit him. Molly was being completely genuine. She told him that she loved him, and she didn't love Lane Grant. It was /him/.

Sherlock bloody Holmes could think of what to do in the case of an explosion, a death, or any other unexplained or criminal scenario, but not one thing came to mind when his lovely, really truly lovely friend told him that she has loved him.

So he did the first thing that came to mind at that moment. Flight. He walked away in silence. It only took ten seconds to realize that he had royally fucked up.

{But now she's got a cup with something else in it-
It's getting kind of blurry at a quarter-past-ten
And he was in a hurry to be touching her skin}

Without knowing why, and not exactly being obliged to, Sherlock had shown up at the frat house party. Yes, Wiggins had planned to meet him there with a new batch of supply, so that was the main reason. But oh, how he hated droves of people who chose to be cramped into one small house. Not to mention the stench of booze, weed, sweat, and sex was atrociously overwhelming.

Sherlock makes his way through the crowd, trying if possible, to avoid contact with anyone. They were drenched and sticky from the heat. Bodies on bodies, dancing, grinding, drinking, laughing, singing. Disgusting.

As he rounds the corner, he stops dead in his tracks, seeing a sight that he wished he could erase from his eyes and mind with bleach. There was his beloved friend, Molly Hooper, in another man's arms that weren't his. Of course, it had been three months since the confession at the water fountain. They had tried to mend the awkwardness, but it had fizzled, and he knew she was hurt by his reaction. Her failure to respond to his texts and the quick turn of a head when their eyes accidentally locked in Chemistry class told him just how hurt she actually was. All over one action he couldn't take back and couldn't explain. He should have fought and requited the confession. But he didn't, he fled and fucked everything up, losing the only person who completely knew him. He ached to go back in time and fix it. But there was no turning back.

He watches, frozen in place as the unknown man roams his hands over Molly's body, laughing as she squirms playfully, some of the alcohol in her cup sloshing onto the floor and the skirt of her skin-tight glittery dress. That's when said man takes her cup carefully and sets it down with his own, linking their hands and pulling her towards the staircase, her giggles and snorts the only sound ringing in his ears. Nothing else mattered because it was drowned out by the pain shooting through his heart.

That's when Wiggins finds him and shakes him out of the trance. Sherlock realizes how misty his eyes are and lets out a forced chuckle, telling him it must be the substances he's been using, then makes yet another transaction, sealing his solemn and solitary fate.

Years later they had reconnected in the strangest of ways. Sherlock being London's first and only consulting detective, and Molly being Saint Bartholomew's renowned pathologist. They agreed to put the past behind them and focus on their adult lives, Molly helping with cases as needed, and also helping him to detox; his little habit from Uni had stayed with him and had flourished into a full-blown addiction by the time he was twenty-five, and on occasion, he was apt to use it to get the upper hand with criminals.

Despite all they had gone through since re-meeting, Sherlock knows that what happened in University still affects their relationship even today. She still loves him. He still secretly does as well, but with the path, his life had taken it would be too risky and certainly too dangerous to go back and requite the feelings so late. As it turns out though, he had, as promised, kept her number in his mobiles all these years. It was always the very first number he would transfer when he needed an upgrade.

As life does, it had thrown many a curveball at them both. Molly had ended up saving his life from Moriarty and by some other twist of fate he had survived Serbian torture, only to come back and, by yet another twist…well, not exactly twist, more like a push, of fate, Molly was the only one who would assist him with things when his self-proclaimed best friend wouldn't breathe a word to him for faking his death, despite him doing it for said friend as well as others. But well, he didn't want to appear as a martyr by revealing that truth, so he let John fume.

Molly turned out to be an incredible help. Very thorough and nimble, quick with notes. Emotionally invested though, as he figured she may be with how kind and prone to empathy she was. It was just a different dynamic altogether. Seeing how things were going well, Sherlock figured it couldn't help to ask her out. Just for chips, he reminded himself. It's just a small lunch date.

That's when he had seen it. In the middle of what was a lovely day and deep conversation that was not a turn-off to him. Her glimmering engagement ring. The long-running fight, however internal, was over, and he had lost. For good. As any good friend would, he bid her well wishes and much happiness, adding that he did vehemently believe she deserved it, before doing what he said he never would again- walking away for yet another time.

There came a breaking point where all was well. He and John were on good terms again, and to add to that, his fiancée was a great woman. Her wit and strength unmatched, and frankly a perfect match for John Watson. He told everyone weddings weren't his thing, but he frankly was not bothered by attending John and Mary's.

Janine was a good companion for the day. Funny enough without acting stupid, decently smart, amusingly witty, a bit pig-headed like Mary. Averagely beautiful too. Yes, she would do for a good dance partner, especially since she couldn't find any other man to be with at this function. Sherlock vaguely remembers making a joke about the best-man, maid-of-honor cliché. To everyone's relief, the criminal was captured, and the reception was in full swing. He had performed his self-composed waltz and revealed the blissful news that the Watsons were expecting.

After all the fuss, the thought that he could dance freely, a secret enjoyment of his, made him feel much better about the whole ordeal. Or at least it did for a few moments. Until it didn't.

Suddenly Janine had another man on her arm, which was a bummer, but it didn't bother him. He was quite glad she found someone to enjoy her time with.

{She's feeling kind of dirty when she's dancing with him
Forgetting what she told me by the water fountain.

Now he's grabbing her hips, and pulling her in
Kissing her lips, and whispering in her ear
And she knows that she shouldn't listen
And that she should be with me by the water fountain}

It's what he saw next that really irked him. His first thought was to go right to Molly and dance with her. He had imagined it many times for some reason, though she gave no indication of being a good dancer. Maybe it was just the way she had felt in his arms within his mind palace. Oh, that secret room would be the death of him. It's just a self-torture technique, knowing he cannot have her anymore. That was ruined ages ago with his actions.

When his body had turned to walk to her, he was quickly ushered back into the reality that she was engaged. To Tom. A lanky, low-grade copy of what he would be if he were stupid instead of a genius. The emotional part of him on the exterior instead of the interior, what Molly had always wanted him to be.

Seeing them dancing together stirred something so emotional in him that he felt like a toddler who was on the verge of a breakdown in the middle of a crowded area. It's as if he were back in that frat house, watching the other man have everything that he never could, knowing he was the one who ruined his fate, hating himself for it for over a decade. She looked happy though, almost blissful as she dances along with the jolly music, quite badly, but equally matched by meat-dagger. By now he is convinced that she must have forgotten that moment by the water fountain. Forgetting her confession, as it never repeated itself, not once in these past six years of re-knowing each other's friendship. The moment that broke them, but also made them who they were today.

Frozen amongst the swaying, gleeful dancers, he looks around trying to seem nonchalant but realizing there will be nobody who wants his attention. He stands out like a sore thumb. The thorn in the sides of many that nobody will ever happily want around again.

Despite the aching of his heart shredding itself to pieces, and the only sound of his blood pumping in his eardrums, he cannot tear his eyes away from them. It feels like an eternity as he watches Tom grabs her hips and pull her close to him. Kissing her, holding her, whispering in her ear, knowing her smile and her happiness is for him alone. Just as he had before the speeches when people were filing into the eating area. Fondling her.

Sherlock's hands ball into fists until a dancer bumps into him a bit. The music enters his ears again at full volume and the present moment comes back to him. John's wedding. Refusing to cause any more trouble, he quickly slips out of the room and wraps his Belstaff around his body and the scarf around his neck as he exits. The cold of the night hits him and he finds himself emotional, his eyes misted and his nose runny from the cold mere seconds after exposing his face to it.

She was supposed to be his Molly. How did she not know that? How could she not know that? She had once, and he dismissed the best thing that had ever happened to him. His life is a result of his poor actions and his internal rage at himself. It was torment, the raging storm inside of him that loved her with every fiber of his being but knowing well enough to never show it, in fear for her life. Usually, he would numb it with substance, but that has proven not to work. Firstly, it makes her angry because as a friend, she still cares. Secondly, he highly doubts that she would ever guide him through withdrawals at her home again, in her bed again, with her soft words and cool washcloths again. That was over now. She is soon to be wed, and not to him.

Sherlock stops to grab his handkerchief and blows his nose, noticing he had only walked a few paces to the front of the hall, the big parking lot filled with the cars of wedding guests. Stuffing it back in his pocket, a glint of sparkle catches his gaze.

His eyes fall of a small silver water fountain, just outside the entrance to the hall. He hadn't noticed it when they had all entered and he finds that tears are running down his face as he stares at it, Molly's sunny yellow VW Beetle just out of focus in the distance of the parking lot.

Sniffling, he wipes his face with the flap of his Belstaff and quickly makes his way to the street, hailing a cab back to his flat.

What he didn't notice was that a certain person did notice his absence, and it made them ache just as much, being just as skilled as Sherlock himself was at facades of strength. Molly imagines herself running out to the fountain from the entrance and finding him there, returning the confession from a decade ago. Shaking it from her mind sadly, he plasters a smile onto her face and dances with her fiancé. One she thought herself lucky to have.

{She couldn't be at home in the nighttime because
It made her feel alone, but at that time she was too young
I was too young
I should've built a home with a fountain for us
The moment that she told me that she was in love too young
I was too young}

Sherlock sits silently, hands steepled under his chin, his mind wandering deep into his mind palace. Deeper and deeper, turning the clock back to those old memories of their long past friendship, back in Uni. He opens the door and enters the simplest, yet fondest one he remembers.

~Deep rumbling laughter and high-pitched giggles must be heard through the entire dormitory by now. Everyone who plays Cluedo with him gets frustrated, but not his Molly.

"Sherlock! The victim couldn't have done it, sod it! You're such a cheat!", she gently smacks his arm, the both of them cross-legged and cramped on her small bed.

"It's entirely possible! You know, I bet people in hard places fake their death all the time. Therefore, the victim isn't actually a victim, and he did do it to escape his crime-filled lifestyle so people wouldn't actually kill him!"

"Ugh, you are impossible! That's not even the rules, you can't just make them up, you're just upset I was winning."

"Then the rules are simply wrong, Miss Hooper."

"Oh my God, I give up." Molly throws her hands up in defeat and huffs. Sherlock laughs again then takes a bite from his ice cream carton. They had stopped by the school store to grab some for their game night.

Molly finishes hers and tosses it, yawning. "Despite your lack of game ethics, I'm glad you're here."

"Here as in Uni, or here as in your bed?"

Molly turns red and crosses her arms. "Sherlock!"

"I couldn't help it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know you're not that type, Molly. Believe me."

"What /type/?"

Sherlock clears his throat awkwardly. "Er…y'know. The type of girl that just goes to Uni and sleeps around with every decent face", he shrugs.

"You're right. I'm not. Plus...I mean...I'd only be interested in that with a boyfriend. Which, since I study too much, I never have time for. Though it would be nice to have one…"

"A boyfriend?", Sherlock spits out, as if it's a bad word.

"Well, yes."

"Aren't I one?"

Molly rolls her eyes, her cheeks flaming. "Uhhh…no. You're a male and my friend. But not a boyfriend."

"Right. I was joking you know."

"Oh...right, yeah, I knew that. I'm just…tired."

"Mhh...so why would it be nice to have one exactly?"

"Because it gets lonely here. I have a single. It's good not to be bothered by roommates, but also, it's quiet. Plus, I guess it would be nice to be held by someone some nights. I dunno…maybe that sounds cliché. It just sounds like a nice concept."

"Ah. Well...I'm a friend and a male. But I can stay the night if you want some more company."

Molly blushes and looks at her hands. "You don't have to do that just because of my weird thoughts."

"It's no trouble", he shrugs. "Plus, you hugged me the other day. I know I flinched because I wasn't expecting it and such, but it was actually quite nice. I assume...holding...feels the same but for an extended period of time."

"Sherlock…I don't want this to get weirder than this conversation is. It's okay. Just forget it."

"I'm your friend, no?"

"Yeah, course you are..."

"Well, you do a lot of favors for me, and you're the only friend I have. I'd like to do something for you. Can we at least try? I promise you it's not going to get weird. I'm a friend you can trust and you're a friend I can trust. It's just us here." He sweeps the game off the bed and scoots up to where the pillow is, laying down and opening one arm.

Molly flushes pink. "Well…I guess." She scoots closer and lies in his arm, her head resting on his shoulder, his warmth immediately comforting her fatigued body, and lack of sleep soon takes her to dreamland in his arms. Sherlock looks over her sleeping face and smiles fondly, soon falling to sleep as well.~

Sherlock gasps as he comes out of his mind palace, looking down at his chest. The feeling of her in his arms was so real, and he wishes he could experience it again. Groaning and rubbing his face, he takes his tie off and throws it full force against the room in frustration, images of Molly with Tom, and with the unnamed man from Uni flashing in his mind. He goes to his room and crumples into his bed, sobs taking over and wracking his body.

These images were reality, past and present. A stark contrast to the future images his mind had thought up secretly the night he had held her.

A dream vivid like no other, he was approximately the age he was in the present. Seeing himself out of body, he was on a ladder and stapling the final touches on their brand new home that he had built for himself and his Molly. Christmas lights. One of Molly's favorite things since her childhood. They reminded her of her late father. They twinkled and sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow. In the foreground, there was a large silver water fountain in a beautiful abstract shape, a grand fountain to match the new home. The Christmas lights reflected easily off the new silver chrome finish. Molly comes over and meets him in front of it, once he is off the latter admiring his handiwork. She kisses his lips and smiles brighter than he had ever seen. Holding his hands in hers, their matching wedding bands match the silver chrome of their fountain, initials etched professionally in its side.

But then he had woken up. Molly was gone, and the note left behind said she had nearly been late for one of her classes, but he was welcome to freshen up there. Reality had never been as good as the potential of their crossed paths.

{And if she ever goes back to the water fountain
The handle will be broken and the rust set in
But my hand, it will be open and I'll try to fix it
My heart, it will be open, and I'll try to give it}

The next day Sherlock wraps up warm. The wind coming from the east was particularly chilled that morning. However, he was on a mission to do something, and he couldn't wait another moment. Hailing a cab, he gets in and tells the driver to bring him to Cambridge University.

Once there, he takes the long path to the main outdoor area, slow careful steps, one by one, with a one-track mind, ignoring everything and everyone around him. Suddenly he was there.

More importantly, /it/ was there. Their fountain. It was smaller than he remembered. He takes a small drip from it and makes a face. Hasn't been updated recently and doesn't look used much anymore. The handle was loose and dangly from years of abuse, and the outer layer of steel had rusted with time, weather, and wear.

Tinkering with the handle for a bit, he finds the small screw in the back responsible for the limpness and tightens it best he can with his larger fingers; just enough for it to crank correctly again. Then taking out his pocket (in all honesty, housebreaking) toolset, he grabs a miniature flathead and begins scraping away at the rust, most of it flaking off easier than he had imagined it would.

Sherlock loses track of time and how long he had been scraping rust until it was nearly spotless, less a few pots that were too stained. It is only when he hears someone clear their throat that he straightens up and groans a bit at the crick in his back. His eyes widen a bit as if he were a deer in headlights.

Molly looks back at him and bites her lip. "So...you're…a University tinker man now?"

"Wh-what? Oh! This...uh, no." Sherlock slips it back into his pocket and smiles sheepishly.

"Then what are you doing here, Sherlock?", she questions softly.

"Me? What about you?"

"Me? Oh um…well…I was just-…out for a walk."

"A walk?"

"Yes", she says more confidently and holds her head high.

"In this freezing weather on private property."

"Okay, okay. What's your excuse?"

"My excuse? Right, right. My...excuse. Right, well, it's simple really..."

"I'm waiting."

Sherlock crosses his arms. "So am I."

"Ugh, why do you have to be so childish?", Molly snaps a bit, then takes a deep breath. "Look, I came here because I-...I saw you leave the reception yesterday. I heard you talking to Janine about how you were looking forward to dancing because I was exiting the ladies' room at the time and you two were in the hallway-it doesn't matter…my point is, I know you were looking forward to that one thing, and if you had stayed...well, I would've danced with you. I guess I came here because I felt a bit guilty for not going after you and telling you to stay, and we had the best connection in Uni...I wasn't a very good friend last night. And I realized that it's easy to make a quick decision that you regret. So I came back here, to the first place I ever did that..."

Sherlock swallows thickly and looks at his gloved hands. "I came here to...to unload some memories from my mind palace. Sometimes it helps to remove them or, destroy them if I focus them on one place or object."

Molly tears up a bit and nods. "You want to forget all the good memories from back then? I know our friendship hasn't always been easy, and I know we have both made mistakes. But I never want to forget the good times", she chokes up slightly.

He takes a shaky breath. "You're engaged. We did make mistakes, but this is the present, and whatever could have or would have transpired...it didn't. You're moving on, and I meant it when I said I wanted you to be happy. But I also want myself to feel at ease. I can't torture myself with the memories or the what-ifs anymore. Because I have been, Molly. I have been a lot. I can't do it anymore."

Tear fall down her face and she nods slowly. "I want you to be happy too. I also want you to be honest with me. Like you just were. Just because I'm engaged doesn't mean I care any less about you. You have to know that."

Sherlock tears up slightly and nods. "I know...and in the spirit of honesty, I know this is way too overdue, and I'm way too late for it to have any impact on our lives, but you need to know. I didn't walk away that day because I was angry, or annoyed, or because I didn't return those feelings. I walked away because something between my heart and my brain shut down and I-I really was speechless. I had never felt or experienced whatever that reaction was before. Fight or flight, I always fight, and I really can't say why I fled. I guess I didn't have the words, I couldn't express what it was that I needed to, I needed to think, and so I just walked away. I don't know why, I don't even remember deciding to...but you need to know, even now, a decade later by my own fault, that I did feel the same. But I didn't know what that entailed, how to go about it, or how to be what you would have needed. All the expectations and stigmas. I was way too overwhelmed, and my mind was on overdrive, but blank at the same time."

Molly sobs quietly and wipes her cold tears with her mittens, her face pink and puffy. "You felt the same?"

He nods ashamedly.

"And I never gave you any time to think or explain, I just shut you out because I assumed it was a blatant rejection, and I-...I didn't even think that you could've just needed more time. I knew you functioned a bit differently and I didn't even think to check back in, I just got angry, and I cut you off...Oh, Sherlock...I'm so sorry. I never imagined you'd return the feelings. Never. I was shocked that even came out of my mouth that day. It was a shock to me too...but it was true."

"I know. Unfortunately, we can't change the past...but we can move forward from our mistakes. I refuse to even say those words to you now, with respect to your relationship. But know that I will always care very deeply for you."

Her lip trembles and she hugs him tightly. Sherlock wraps his arms around her and truly holds her close for what he believes would be the second, and final time.

{Now I'm grabbing her hips and pulling her in
Kissing her lips, and whispering in her ear
And I know that it's only a wish
And that we're not standing by the water fountain}

~"Sherlock!", Molly squeals softly and he wraps his arms around her and pulling her close from behind, peppering her neck and cheek with kisses. She spins around in his embrace and grins brightly. He takes the opportunity to kiss her sweet lips again, knowing that she's finally his; that they will be kissing their years away until they are old and grey.

Snogging her wonderfully, his grasp becomes more tender and hers needier as he scoops her up and sweeps her off to their bedroom, a grand, bright, open bedroom with the biggest bed they could buy, and the fluffiest pillows and softest linens they could afford. They laugh softly as they fall onto it with a soft thud and resume kissing, soon making sweet love into the night. The kind of love that blows their mind and leaves them wanting more, hearts bursting from their chest with longing gazes into the morning.~

Sherlock gasps deeply as he wakes up abruptly. He is dripping in sweat and breathing hard, the sun pouring through the beige curtains of 221B. Groaning loudly, he punches his pillow and lies back defeatedly, pacing his breaths and pouting sadly. His wishes, internal desires, and secret wants have taken over his mind palace so much so that they are now realistic dreams.

But not reality, however. They are not nineteen and twenty-one, standing by the water fountain, confessing their mutual love for each other the way it should have been. They are not in their present age, standing in front of their personal fountain in front of their grand new house with glistening wedding bands like it should be. No. One second of history ruined a decade of 'what could have been', and if only he had realized that it was possible to make things right before now, she wouldn't be engaged to another man.

But he refuses to lose all hope. When he looked into her eyes the day they met, back at the Cambridge fountain by chance, he could see in her eyes that there was still a part of her that didn't want to marry Tom. He knew that because he was hers, and she was his, and all they needed to do was be honest and see the clarity of their souls within each other's eyes to know that are still meant to be together. Sherlock just hopes that Molly will come to her senses before it really is too late to turn back.

He should have told her that he loved her by the water fountain. Perhaps one day, he will still get to say those words. Life is too short, as John very well knows. Mary's death has been so hard for all of them. He had been wrong though; Molly did nurse him back to health again. Despite probable arguments from her fiancé.

Everything is okay for now. He's clean again, he and Molly are on good terms…again...(she really is the loveliest, patient woman), and Culverton Smith had been put behind bars.

He really didn't want to die without ever saying those words to Molly Hooper, but one day he will, on his own terms and hers, and it will be a happy occasion. He is adamant about that. Whether it is soon, or whether he has to wait until she is an old widow. She will hear those words from him before his dying breath if he can help it.

Then he will take her to the water fountain and ask her to be his wife, the way it should have been all along.