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LOST AND FOUND
Later,
1.30 am, to be precise
She's trying not to hurry, Sherlock thinks as he watches Molly exit Bart's- Trying but failing.
He can't help the way this makes him smile.
For she's distracted, struggling to close her coat buttons and juggle her shoulder bag at the same time. She fishes out her lanyard, only to drop it; she picks it up and drops it again before the security guard at the booth takes pity on her and opens the gate to let her out.
"Go home, Dr. Hooper," he says.
She shoots him an embarrassed look, apologising, and he laughs. Tells her he'll see her Thursday, tell her to make sure Ramesh holds up his end of whatever bargain they made to get her to work this god awful shift. Molly shoots him a sweet, tired smile at that, the sort of smile she might share with anyone, and Sherlock is genuinely surprised by the snarl of jealousy that erupts within him.
He knows he's being ridiculous.
Nevertheless he finds he must school his feelings, finds that he must remind himself of the calm, friendly facade he has decided to adopt with her, even now. Especially, maybe, now. If tonight had taught him anything, it was that she wasn't over Meat Dagger yet, no matter how much he might wish her to be. And even if she weren't still hung up on the git, it's not like he imagines himself the sort of man who can make her happy: he knows he isn't.
Then why are you here? The Woman's voice whispers mockingly in his ear. Why are you and she having dinner? Hmm?
Inwardly Sherlock glares. She's hungry, as am I, he snaps, and he hears Irene's laughter sashay through his head, smokey and insolent as always.
There's your answer, dear boy, she murmurs, and Sherlock is tempted to tell this inner voice to bugger off, but even as he thinks it Molly sees him.
Her face transforms, a warmer, sweeter smile tugging her lip and Sherlock feels it down to his toes.
Without quite telling himself to, he starts across the road towards her and when they reach one another he swoops down and kisses her cheek before he can even remember deciding to do so. She blinks at him, surprised, and her little hands come up to curl in the Belstaff's lapels, to pull him closer to her. The heat of her nearness makes him shiver. For a second, a split second, Sherlock thinks she's going to wrap her arms around him, thinks maybe she's going to kiss his cheek too- His belly tightens at the mere thought of it. But then, just as suddenly she pulls back. Smiles that same sweet, friendly smile at him.
"Hello, you," she grins, her eyes warm.
Her cheeks are pink with the cold and her teeth are chattering and oh but she is beautiful.
Sherlock opens his mouth to reply, nonplussed, and as he does a car round the corner, so fast it nearly clips him. Molly hauls him up onto the pavement- he trips on the kerb- and for a moment the only thing holding them both up is her.
Laughter bubbles up between them. Helpless. Freeing.
"So much for those catlike reflexes John's always talking about," he says dryly.
She snorts. "You know he only puts that stuff in to mess with you, these days."
Sherlock inclines his head, accepting the observation; Molly's grin widens, warms, and she moves in closer. Immediately he straightens up, steps away. Starts scanning the area for a taxi, even as he curses his own stubbornness.
What is he doing?
"Mary liked them," he says, rather than investigating that conundrum. "She thought it was hilarious, considering what he calls me when we're face to face."
"I don't doubt it." Molly peers at him: Whatever she sees in his face must reassure her, however, because she merely smiles more sadly. Squeezes his arm. "Missing her more than usual?" she asks quietly and he nods. He sees no point in lying, not to Molly. Rather, he hooks his arm through hers, begins leading her towards the restaurant, eyes still searching for a cab. She comes easily, trustingly, and the thought makes his stomach tighten more.
How could that moron Meat Dagger have ever imagined that he could do better than this?
"Mrs. Hudson suggested we make a habit of mentioning Mary," he says as they walk. He doesn't want to think about Meat Dagger. "Says it's not good for a child to grow up with a silence like that in a family and both John and I agree."
He shoots another peek at Molly. She's frowning thoughtfully, her arm still in his.
"Do you want me to start doing it too?" she asks. He blinks at her, surprised, and she shrugs. "I didn't know Mary as well as you two did, but I did consider her a friend."
For a moment her eyes are far away.
For a moment, the temptation to pull her close again is almost overwhelming, so sad does she look.
Sherlock clears his throat. "And you haven't been mentioning her because..?"
Another shrug. "Because you and John are both heartbroken," she says sensibly. "I didn't want to pour any salt onto the wound, and all that."
Despite himself, Sherlock shakes his head: Well, isn't that just Molly Hooper in a nutshell?
"Talk about her all you want," he says gently. Molly meets his eyes, expression doubtful, and he tries to pour every ounce of reassurance he can into his own gaze. "Talk about Mary as much as you want," he repeats softly. "Talk about anything you want, alright?" A deep breath. He's heading into dangerous territory now. "I know… I know that I'm not often the first person one thinks about when one wants to talk, but I would… I will always talk to you, Molly. Always. I promise."
"Thought you didn't make promises?"
Though the words sound teasing, this time there's pain in her voice. Pain he doesn't understand, pain he suspects is the fault of one currently drunk, soon-to-be-revenged-upon ex. Nevertheless, Sherlock takes her hand in his and squeezes.
"Call it a vow, if you prefer." God, he wants to make her smile. "It sounds an awful lot more impressive and manly, if you call it a vow."
Her lip twitches, despite her sudden sadness. "Yes, well, if there's one thing I've always wanted to be," she says dryly, "it's impressive and manly."
Sherlock smiles. "You have the impressive bit down, anyway," he says. Her cheeks pink at the praise and warmth- delight- wells him up from within.
Why isn't he always making her look like that?
"And the manliness?" she inquires. Sherlock clucks his tongue.
"I'm afraid you might be a bit too woman-shaped for that," he says. She digs him playfully in the ribs and he holds up his hands in a surrender. "Blame Mother Nature, not me," he says and this time she outright laughs.
"I prefer to blame you," she says. "It's far more efficient."
Sherlock can't argue with that, and even if he could, this is when a cab finally appears and he flags it down. They climb into the back together, laughing, and the cabbie asks where to.
Sherlock gives the address for Busaba's and away they go.
TBC
