Instagram prompt: "As long as I have you, I think I'll be okay" / Person A making Person B open up about something.
Notes:
For nadiaunfer on Instagram.
This story is the missing "flashback" scene that is mentioned in chapter one of my story "The Universe Is Rarely So Lazy"
.
.
.
Sherlock shuffles around Molly's house, he is pacing around trying to ground himself, so he doesn't think of wanting any recreational substances yet again. Molly is feeding Rosie in her kitchen. It is her first day off and she had offered to take care of Rosie while John worked overtime.
John was still livid with Sherlock for the entire Culverton Smith debacle, and all three of them are still mourning Mary, their hearts heavy for baby Rosie, who will never get to know her mother.
"Sherlock...is it possible for you to stop pacing? I'm already exhausted and you're making it worse."
Sherlock glances over at her just as Rosie tosses a bit of her baby food in Molly's face and she splutters. He holds back a smirk and turns away. "Fine", he grumbles, parking himself on her sofa, his knee bouncing restlessly.
Cleaning herself and Rosie up, Molly sighs tiredly and lifts Rosie out of her seat. Rosie cries and kicks her legs. "Alright, come on sweetie, let's get you to bed. Lord knows you need it, cranky pants."
As he watches her, Sherlock can't help but feel a pang of guilt at the entire situation. That's why he had texted Molly, asking he if he could stay the night, not wanting to reach out to Wiggins for a hit. Everything ached, especially when he was thinking about how Mary was dead partially because of him, how John is overworked and barely home for Rosie as he is inundated with bills and funeral expenses, and how Molly is overworked, overtired, and acting as a mother to this little girl they all loved purely out of the goodness of her heart. And how he is just here, taking up space, being a nuisance to the very people he wishes he could make everything better for more than anything.
He wishes he could turn back the clock and go back to that day and right everything, save Mary. They deserved her to be around much more than he, and he has absolutely no idea how to spend the value she placed on his life, putting it before hers; and for what? For him to fuck everything up and fall back into unhealthy habits again? He was a fucking failure, a waste of space, a cretin who deserved to be punished.
Molly walks back into her sitting room and nearly collapses on the sofa next to him, rubbing down her face with her hands.
Sherlock swallows and looks over at her sympathetically. "Looks like you could use a nap too..."
She looks over at him and shrugs weakly. "I'm handling it. I didn't agree to be her godmother for nothing. I knew that if anything happened to Mary, I'd be the role model. That just feels...really daunting. To all of a sudden be this beacon for her. One I had come to believe I would never be, as I'm clearly never having children at this rate. But I suppose in a way, I'm partially responsible for her now."
"Molly, you are the best role model I could ever think of for her. You're...you're the epitome of goodness. Mary saw that, knew that. I believe that's why she chose you."
She blushes as Sherlock lies his head on her shoulder and she hugs him softly in a hold. "Are you sure it's not just because she didn't have any other friends?", Molly questions quietly.
"Even if she had, I'm sure she would have chosen you. Me on the other hand...I don't exactly deserve to still breathe air or-or enjoy anything for what I've done."
Molly furrows her brow and turns to him. "Sherlock, you messed up. Everyone makes mistakes, but what we've been saying still stands. Mary made her choice; she chose to jump in front of that bullet. You didn't make her. She could have let you take it, but she chose not to. And it was tragic. We all miss her. She wouldn't want you to feel this way, like you don't deserve happiness or satisfaction from your life anymore just because you made a mistake. One that didn't even lead to her death directly. It sucks when you say things like that, when you think like that. Because you do deserve happiness. We are all flawed, we are all human...we all have bad days. But we get through them and start fresh the next day and that's what life is about. Getting back up and trying again because we have infinite tries until we don't. We never know when that time will come, so we just have to do what we can when we can."
Sherlock smiles weakly. "I didn't know you were so philosophical."
"I'm not trying to be. I'm just being truthful. Shit is hard right now, but it'll get better."
He takes a shaky breath. "I let everyone down. Myself included. With the drugs. John will still barely speak to me unless he has to. I know he said he forgives me, but I know deep down the grief is holding him back from really doing so for a while. Mrs. Hudson watches me like I'm some intruder in her home after what I put her through, and then there's you..."
"Me? What about me?"
"The ambulance ride..."
Molly swallows thickly and sighs. "Yeah, that..."
"I was inappropriate and rude, and it was one of my worst moments. I'm not...I don't know what came over me. I am truly sorry."
"I know."
"How?"
"Hm?"
"How do you know? Why do you know? How can you keep forgiving me for things again and again and again?"
"Because I see you, remember? I knew you were just hurting. And as for all the other times, there were also extenuating circumstances. There usually is with you. The thing is, when you're good and genuine, you are /good/ and /genuine/, and those small moments of who you really are make the bad stuff worth forgiving. Because all that crap isn't who or what you want to be. Shit happens and you react. Maybe not in the healthiest of ways, but you react. I won't say it hasn't hurt me in the past, but you always redeem yourself, every time.
I mean, you were willing to hurl yourself off a building to save their lives. You were beaten and scarred in Serbia to save the lives of innumerable people around the world trying to take down a fucking global crime enterprise all on your own. Somehow, by some miracle, you survived and made it back and I know that messed you up subconsciously and still does. It would take a toll on anyone. Abuse sucks, I know. When things go wrong, I think you feel suffocated, and you lash out and I don't blame you for it because you have been through terrible, horrible things in your life. And if anybody knows what that's like, it's me. It's...most of our friends too. We're all broken in some way, that's why we hang around each other and work well together."
Sherlock looks at her wide-eyed, utterly in awe of how emotionally intelligent she is and just how much she observes of the people around her, it makes him love her as a person even more. "I didn't think I was going to survive back then, and I did. Then when I shot Magnussen and Mycroft sent me away to go to the same conditions, I thought it was my end until this Moriarty mystery popped up. The thing is, I was supposed to die so many times and by some crazy twist of fate or whatever the hell anyone wants to call it, I haven't. But Mary tried so hard to be better and shake her old life. Married my best friend, have the most beautiful daughter, and she didn't get a second chance. I didn't understand why I've gotten all these chances and continue to fuck up, but she didn't get one and she deserved it", his voice cracks. "I just don't understand...I know life isn't fair, but that's just too cruel."
Molly looks up at his face, finally cleanly shaven but distraught looking. "Nobody could ever understand that, Sherlock. But you've saved so many people and have made strides to become a better man. That counts for something. When we first met, you were fresh out of rehab, you were jumpy, rude, and stone cold. It was like that for a while. You'd have moments of clarity where you'd act ordinary and then you'd shut yourself down again. But you're so much better than you were even a few years ago. You'll find yourself again, you'll figure it out the way we all have and will again."
Sherlock nods and looks into her eyes. "You've been my confidante for many years, through the good and the bad. As long as I have you, I think I'll be okay." A couple of stray tears fall down his face and he quickly wipes them away, sulking back into the cushion. "Also, I'm sorry for all the cruel words I've ever hurled at you. You never deserved them, and I was really angry at myself, not you."
Molly wrings her hands and nods slowly. "We've been through a lot. Also, I know that you were lashing out. It hurt at the time, but I have forgiven you, it's in the past."
"I'm sorry about Tom...I did mean what I said when I told you that you deserved to be happy."
"I know that too. I just...I realized that he and I wanted different things, so I broke it off. I've come to realize that my plans for my life just don't go with whatever the universe had planned for me sadly."
"You broke it off?"
"Yeah. I figured everyone would have thought the opposite", she whispers brokenly.
"No, no. I was just surprised because I thought you loved him."
"Not after a fight we had. His views were way too old-fashioned, and I had never realized how misogynistic he really was. Told me if we got married, I have to quit my job if I want children, because the man is the breadwinner. He wouldn't compromise. Waste of nearly two years", she mutters.
"Well if that's true, he was a prick and you're better off."
"Yeah...still sucks though. I'm not getting any younger."
"I'm sorry."
"Not your issue", she shrugs deflatedly.
"Still. As I said before, you deserve to be happy."
Molly looks at him and nods. "I hope I will be happier going forward. Things are just rough right now. What about you?"
"What about me?"
"John told me about...er...Irene."
Sherlock groans and rubs his face. "He did?"
"Yeah, said that you were uh, pretty interested in her."
"Well, he's wrong."
"What?", she looks up at him.
"Sometimes we text. She's a temporary thrill. It's never anything other than texting and it couldn't be anyway, she isn't allowed back in the country."
"But if she were?"
"If she were, we are pawns in each other's game. She's a lesbian, Molly. And I get bored."
"Sh-she is?"
"Yes."
"Oh..."
"I know it sounds odd and complicated, but it's only ever texting and nothing too interesting. A Happy Birthday or a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year. Sometimes she asks if I want provocative photos, to which I always respond that that is how she got into a mess last time and that I am not a desperate commoner, and as no such thing she is degrading my integrity by asking."
Molly snorts and chuckles softly. "I'm sure she sends them anyway."
"Of course she does", he rolls his eyes and chuckles. "Though I have the sound mind to delete them immediately. All I need is for paparazzi to get a hold of my messages in the crazy ways they do and having it blowing up into a scandal of sorts."
"That's very...cautious of you."
"Extremely. Also, I know how she operated so I'm sure that's what her goal is when she does that. I'm sure she has people still working for her in London. I wouldn't put it past her. She's still a dirty criminal who screwed me over. "
"Ahh, okay. I don't think you have to worry about the media though. They all think you're gay for John", she smirks, trying to hold in her laugh.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well, I'm not going to correct them and cause a ruckus in the headlines. It only gives them more fuel. Let them believe what they believe, but they couldn't be more wrong. I wonder who even thought of that? It's ridiculous. Men can't just be friends anymore; they have to be more apparently. Oi...I imagine they don't do that to female best friends.
Molly laughs at his rant. "I mean you did say you were married to your work in an interview and well...they made the leap. So I've heard."
"Ugh, goldfish."
"Goldfish?"
"That's what Mycroft calls the lesser intelligent."
"Oh", she giggles a bit.
"Anyway, you're not upset? About the...texts."
"Upset? Why...why would I be upset? I have no right to be upset, Sherlock", Molly blushes.
He clears his throat and nods. "I suppose."
"What if I told you I sort of enjoyed you being jealous back then?"
"Wh-what do you mean jealous?"
"You remember that Christmas, I was rude, but...you had dressed up for me. And I took off with her gift instead of yours..."
A flash of hurt crosses Molly's face as it turns beet red. "I-I just-"
Sherlock doesn't admit to her how jealous he felt when he saw her with Tom, looking like a dollar store rendition of himself. In fact, thinking about Tom at all upset him, so instead he decides not to think as he moves forward and presses an eager kiss to Molly's lips. For a moment she tensed before immediately responding and wrapping her arms around his neck to tangle her fingers in his curls as their tongues work against each other's teasing and tasting, leaving them both breathless.
Wordlessly they continue, reveling in the moment. Neither wanting it to end, Sherlock slowly scoops her off the couch and carries her into her bedroom (his favorite bolt hole for how serenely 'Molly' it is), closing the door with his foot; both of them deserving to let all their stress go and just let loose for the night, completely trusting one another as always.
Sherlock takes pride in proving to her without a doubt just how over Irene he is, and just how gay he very much isn't.