"One word from you shall silence me forever."
Xxx
Another two weeks passed before Sherlock finally decided to face Molly. Although, he certainly didn't want to. He had just finished reading a science journal on the effects of muscle dexterity on thumbs and absolutely needed the fingers.
Or at least that was the excuse he gave himself as he exited his cab and strolled into St. Bart's.
It had been an uncomfortable few weeks. He had spent hours within his mind palace, trying to figure out why he had behaved how he had. Why on earth was his bodily instinct to kiss her? He even resorted to outside research, looking into journals on the psychological implications of desires for intimacy, and dream analysis.
He had come to one conclusion for his actions.
But it was a silly one.
So, he rejected it and moved on, instead devoting his time to playing the violin, catching up on his medical journals, playing with Rosie (even if she was the child of a traitor), and waiting around for a case to finally fall into his lap.
As he made his way to the basement of St. Bart's, he thought about what words to exchange with Molly. Should he apologize? Make an excuse? Pretend it didn't happen?
Pushing through the double doors, he halted at the sight of Molly and George laughing over takeaway containers of cranberry scones and rashers.
The couple noticed his presence and their conversation came to an end. Molly looked away and quickly jumped up, making herself busy with some files. George just smiled and waved at the detective.
"Good morning, Sherlock. What brings you around?" George asked politely, before sipping his coffee.
Sherlock cleared his throat and began to fiddle with the gloves in his hands. "I could ask you the same."
"I just brought Molly some breakfast! She works too hard. She deserves to be treated."
Sherlock shifted his gaze back to their food, noting the rather full container on Molly's side.
Molly dislikes cranberries. She also doesn't eat pork after that silly childhood pet piglet she had.
He looked back at George. "Lovely. I just need a few body parts from Dr. Hooper."
George laughed. "Right! Molly mentioned your bizarre experiments. I'll just stick to numbers."
"As you should."
Sherlock looked over at Molly, who still conveniently was focused on a stack of files.
"Molly," he began softly, "I need six thumbs. If it would… not inconvenience you."
Molly tensed and paused her rummaging in the folders, but still avoided looking at Sherlock.
"And if it does inconvenience me?" she managed out.
Sherlock cleared his throat and looked down. "Then I'm… sorry. It would be inappropriate to ask."
"You do a lot of inappropriate things, Sherlock," Molly began, turning to face him, "Except normally you don't care if it upsets or negatively affects anyone else."
George busied himself with his mobile, attempting to avoid paying attention to their discussion. Sherlock met Molly's gaze and took a deep breath.
"I know. But after—"
"After Mary? I thought you changed too. I expected you to think before you acted. But I was wrong. I'm… disappointed."
Sherlock frowned, only for a moment, before quickly reverting to his practiced face of indifference. He maintained his gaze on Molly. "Right. I apologize for coming by then."
"I'm sorry too." Was all she offered, before returning to her seat across from George, and defiantly taking a bite of her scone.
As Sherlock stormed out of the lab, he couldn't help but clench his fists at the sight of her face contorting in disgust.
She hates cranberries.
Xxx
After his disastrous meeting with Molly, Sherlock was in quite the mood. He was always in a mood, but his current temperament was borderline destructive. So, per his past behavior, he did whatever he normally did when he fucked up.
He visited Mycroft to request that his elder brother fix it for him.
He usually avoided going to Mycroft's office, normally preferring being picked up by his brother and carted off to some destination, or having his brother show up at Baker Street. But today would be different. He needed…
Well, he didn't know what he needed. But Mycroft normally had answers, so his older brother would be a good start.
As he rounded the hallway towards his brother's office, he couldn't stop thinking about the morning. He hated when Molly was disappointed in him. He hated when she looked at him like he had failed. He hated when she felt betrayed by his actions—
Sherlock halted as he opened Mycroft's office door, his eyes widening at the sight of his older brother engaged in a passionate snog with Anthea, the silent brunette who typically did his busy work.
He dropped his gloves that he had been angrily squeezing in his fists, and managed to kick the door shut.
At the sound of the door slamming, the couple separated. Anthea blushed and cleared her throat, before mumbling a few apologizes and hurrying out of the office. Mycroft, however, simply adjusted his tie and watched Sherlock.
"Sherlock. What a surprise," Mycroft began.
Sherlock glared at his brother, his blue eyes darkening in anger. He took a step forward and slammed one of the chairs into his desk. Mycroft didn't flinch.
"I apologize for you walking in on that."
"That?" Sherlock spat out, "What the fuck was that?"
Mycroft blinked, admittedly a bit surprised by Sherlock's use of the curse word. He cleared his throat and again fixed his tie.
"That was my… girlfriend and me embracing."
"Your girlfriend?" Sherlock spat out, the word like venom on his tongue.
"Yes. Anthea and I have been together for…" Mycroft cleared his throat again and forced himself to maintain eye contact with Sherlock, "Four years."
Sherlock let out a bitter laugh and put his head against the wall, progressing into hitting it against the cold surface. He continued to laugh. Mycroft watched on.
"You've been dating her for four years?" He spat out, continuing to hit his head against the wall.
Mycroft thought it was best to keep quiet and let Sherlock finish his… fit.
A few moments of silence passed before Sherlock stood up straight and glanced back at Mycroft, his eyes furious and his body practically shaking.
"You said sentiment made you weak. You said to avoid it at all costs. You told me to close myself off!" He practically screamed, his body continuing to shake in light tremors.
"And I listened to you!" He continued to shout, "As you shagged your bloody fucking assistant all the while!"
Mycroft leaned against his desk, his eyes never leaving his younger brother. "Sherlock," he began, softly.
"No!" Sherlock practically screamed, "I have been listening to you since the day I could fucking talk! You warned me against developing feelings! You warned me not to… not to…"
He shook his head and collapsed into one of the seats. He dropped his head to his hands in an uncharacteristic abandoning of the camouflage he normally used against his feelings. He pulled at his curly locks and continuing speaking, his voice hoarse.
"You warned me not to fall in love."
Mycroft continued to watch his brother. He took a step forward and pressed a hand to Sherlock's shoulder.
"That was to protect you, Sherlock. Look at how you react when someone close to you is hurt. How you react when you don't get your way. I wanted to spare you the pain," Mycroft announced, his voice crisp.
Sherlock raised his head and glared at his brother, his body continuing to shake.
"Spare me the pain?" He let out a shrill laugh, "Oh brother, you did quite the opposite."
Sherlock violently knocked the hand off his shoulder and jumped out of the chair, before storming out of the office.
Mycroft sighed and grabbed his mobile, dialing the familiar number of Sherlock's best mate.
Xxx
Sherlock stared at the tank in front of him, his eyes locked on the blue water and the colorful fish that explored the inside of the container. His hands gripped the edges of the bench, his body shaking softly.
He continued to watch the fish, wondering what it was like for them to live such a pathetic existence. They were either born in captivity, forever programmed to live under the watchful eye of humans, only to explore the boundaries of the tank. Or, they were stolen from their home, a vast expanse of freedom and opportunity, only to be locked away in a fraction of what they had gotten to know.
In a way, he felt like the fish. But he wasn't sure whether he was truly born free, or born in captivity.
What would his life be like if he weren't like this? How would he live if he wasn't a prisoner to his own brain? To the teachings and warnings of Mycroft? To his past?
Molly was right. I'm controlled by my demons, no matter how hard I try to ignore them. Forget them.
That was evident by his current location.
He continued to watch one yellow fish with white stripes, its vibrancy reminding him of his Molly.
She's not mine.
As he watched the fish swim around, so beautiful, so free, he couldn't ignore her form flashing in his mind. Her soft grin, her beautiful laugh, her chocolate eyes, her comforting words, her warm embrace…
Molly.
He shut his eyes, on the verge of tears, wondering how to hell the great Sherlock Holmes had been reduced to such emptiness. He heard the footsteps behind him but didn't have the energy to look up.
"How did you find me?" He whispered.
John shoved his hands in his pockets and took a seat next to Sherlock, his own eyes scanning the haunting location, one that frequently lived in his nightmares. He took a deep breath.
"It wasn't hard," John began, "Mycroft said you stormed out of his office and would likely go somewhere that would make you evaluate your life. I… I figured that would be here."
Sherlock finally looked over at John, tears descending along his cheeks, no longer capable of holding in the sign of weakness.
"How did you know? How were you sure? There were so many before her." Sherlock managed.
John sighed and forced a smile. "You just… know."
Sherlock swallowed and looked back to the yellow fish, his heart pounding in his chest.
"I know."
