Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine.


GETTING THE MESSAGE


At first, Molly had felt awful about the breakup.

Poor Tom, she'd thought, falling in love with someone who hadn't really been able to love him back properly, no matter what she might have told herself.

Poor Tom, left with a hole in his life and all those awful explanations while Molly Just upped and disappeared from their circle of friends.

She'd felt wretched, truly wretched, about what she'd done to him. It had been months before she could sleep a full night, before her appetite came back and the knot in her stomach eased. All through the drama of Mary's death, of Sherlock's descent into drug use, all through that whole, horrid year she had carried this additional burden, the knowledge that she'd hurt a good, sweet man who had only ever wanted to love her…

Of course, given that said "poor, sweet man," is currently yelling at her on her mobile, having drunk-dialled her from his current bloody bachelor party (!), Molly is feeling a good deal less sympathetic at the moment.

In fact, at the moment she's contemplating ringing his neck.

Because yes, she knows his heart was broken and yes, she understands (all too well) how awful it is to love someone who just can't love you the way you want them to, but this is Not Bloody On. Tom doesn't get to yell at her because he's feeling guilty and can't bring himself to admit his doubts to the poor woman he's actually marrying. And he really doesn't get to drunkenly slur that he was just settling for her, that her tits are tiny and she was shite in bed anyway-

"I'm hanging up now."

The words are said calmly and quietly, and without waiting for an answer Molly does exactly that. She hangs up on him. The moment she does the phone lights up, Tom trying to call her back. She hangs up, he phones again. She hangs up, he phones again. It goes on and on and on. Eventually she just turns the damn phone off, sighing and telling herself that there aren't tears in her eyes, that she truly doesn't feel as terrible as she knows she does…

She places the phone on the counter beside her. Sighs. With a shake of her head she gets wearily up and trudges down to the vending machine in the far corridor, intent on a crap hot chocolate and a kitkat, which is about the best she can hope for at this time of night in Bart's…

When she returns it's to a face-full of Sherlock, the detective rounding on her as soon as she's in the door.

"Where were you?" He demands.

Well hello to you too, Sherlock.

Molly grits her teeth. "Getting something to eat," she says, holding up her meagre bounty in front of his face.

He opens his mouth, about to snap some delightful retort, no doubt, but then he stops. Narrows his eyes at her.

"What's wrong?"

Molly really doesn't want to talk about this with him, so she doesn't. "Nothing," she shrugs, moving around him. "Was there something you wa-"

"It's not nothing, you're upset."

He says this in that way he has, halfway between gleeful pride at his own abilities and thoughtfulness. Kindness. It's one of his more lethal combinations, Molly knows. "You turned off your phone," he's saying slowly. "I tried to call and it went to voicemail, so I came by to make sure-"

And he suddenly clamps his mouth shut, unwilling to mention the last time Molly had been in trouble. It doesn't matter though: Eurus is there like a ghost between them, just like she's been for the last six months. For a moment Molly's convinced that he'll dash off and leave her in peace, which is by far the preferable ending to this conversation-

Instead, however, he stops. Straightens up and squares his shoulders.

"What happened?" He asks her quietly, holding her gaze and oh but the things that does to Molly's poor heart…

She drops her eyes and he puts his hand on her arm. Squeezes slightly. "Please, Molly, tell me-"

"It's nothing." She wills her voice to remain even. "I just… I just got a call I didn't like, and rather than keep talking to him I turned off my phone-"

And she shakes her head to herself in frustration, looks away. She can feel tears pricking her eyes and she's not sure whether to be furious or resigned. "It was nothing, I'll block the number tomorrow…"

"Who was it?"

He asks the question, but as usual Molly suspects that he actually knows the answer. Nevertheless she meets his gaze.

"Tom," she says. "It was Tom."

A sigh, and she hears Sherlock swear, surprising her.

She's a bit taken aback by how vicious his reaction is.

"He rang to let me know just how much happier he is with his current girlfriend," she says, speaking over him, "how much nicer and prettier and better than me she is in bed-"

"What a wanker." He shoots a look at her. "He was drunk."

Again, it's not a question.

Molly nods anyway.

"And you… You know that, but what he told you hurt, nevertheless…" He steps into her space, tips her chin upwards so she meets his eyes. His expression is one which makes Molly's heart skip a beat, which makes her mouth suddenly dry and her stomach swoop.

If Tom had ever once had that effect on her, just with his nearness, then she would have bloody married him.

"Whatever he said," Sherlock tells her, "whatever he claimed, it's nonsense: Do you understand me?"

Her surprise must show on her face because he steps in closer, his breath fanning her face. His heat reaching out to her. As if unaware of what he's doing, his gloved thumb strokes her chin, the very tip of the digit skirting her bottom lip.

It tingles at his touch.

"He's an idiot," he says softly, "and you're a marvel." His eyes lose focus, expression turning surprisingly open. Reticent. "The sort of man who deserves you would never say anything like that to you…"

"I broke his heart," she says hoarsely, and why oh why did she say that? Why oh why is she defending him?

Sherlock looks down at her though, his eyes re-focussing. Aquamarine looks into brown and suddenly Molly thinks there's nothing real in the world but him. Nothing real in the world but them.

"You broke his heart because it was the right thing to do," he says softly. "You broke your own heart in order to do it." A small, sad smile tugs at his lip and suddenly he looks so, so lonely. So, so lost.

She has to fight the urge to wrap her arms around him.

"As I said, you're a marvel, Molly Hooper," he murmurs. "Don't waste your time worrying about someone who doesn't realise that."

And with that, he steps back. Nods sharply to her. "I'll take my leave of you," he says, voice oddly formal, and oh but could the bloody man be any more infuriating?

Molly sincerely doubts it.

Nevertheless he darts to the door. Opens it. He's about to leave and then suddenly he stops. Looks back at her.

"What time does your shift finish?"

"Half one," she says. "I swapped with Rajesh, he has a family thing." Sherlock nods, a smile tugging his lip. "Do you like Thai food? I seem to remember you liked Thai food." Molly nods, confused, and his smile grows wider. "I'll pick you up at 1.30," he says. "There's this wonderful place I know down in Chinatown…"

"Did you get the owner off a murder charge?" Molly quips. "Or did you help him put up some shelving?"

"You'll have to come with me to find out, now won't you?" Sherlock says. His smile turns impish. "One thirty. I'll be waiting at the front gate- Try not to dawdle."

And with that he disappears out of the morgue, coat flapping behind him.

Molly smiles, despite herself.

She turns back on her phone. There's a bunch of drunken text messages from Tom, which she promptly deletes. She then blocks his number.

She can't help but notice that her heart feels lighter.


It will be months before Tom realises just who reported his little tantrum to his bride-to-be, causing her to call off the wedding.

It will also be months before he realises just who tipped off the inland revenue about his more… creative accounting practices.

Unfortunately for him, he'll discover both these pieces of news on the day the tabloids break the story that Sherlock Holmes has eloped with a familiar pathologist…

Molly makes a lovely bride- And even Tom must allow that he could never make her look half as happy as she does on the front page of The Daily Mail…