"That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."
xxx
Two weeks later, Molly found herself standing in front of a quaint church, wearing a new dress. It was plain but lovely. It fit her well, accentuating her best assets, and paired nicely with one of her older pairs of heels. But, best of all, she found it at Primark. Hanging on the clearance rack.
She finally felt like herself.
Which also meant she was incredibly anxious and had a stomach full of knots. It was the first weekend she hadn't spent with her brother and mother in what seemed like months. Since she was a compulsive worrier, she was always afraid that something terrible would occur with her gone. Thankfully, however, her mother seemed to be improving steadily, and it was probably fine for Molly to miss this weekend.
It was only one.
She turned to her side, smiling at John, who looked devilishly handsome in his best suit. He held the hand of a smiling blonde woman, Jane, who had coordinated with his tie, and was dressed in a lovely mint-colored dress.
Molly sighed and held her clutch to her stomach, a million emotions playing through her head. The last wedding she had attended was John and Mary's. Seeing the church and the flowers and all the smiles had her heart aching, thinking of poor Mary being gone from the world. And how so much had changed since that moment.
Because she had attended that wedding, desperately trying to convince herself that she was over Sherlock, that she would marry Tom and finally live happily ever after. And now, Mary was dead, Tom was out of the picture, and her situation with Sherlock hadn't changed. Not really.
She hadn't heard from him, even after her visit to Baker Street. Six weeks since she heard his voice. Not even a text. She'd even accept a bloody email. But nothing. The git could do perhaps the most caring thing anyone had ever and would likely ever do for her, and he just up and disappears off the face of the planet!
She sighed and looked around, noticing a few recognizable faces—Greg's kids, his weary looking ex-wife and her new, much younger boyfriend, a few people from the Yard, including a very pregnant Sally and her boyfriend, and a very perturbed looking Anderson.
Molly couldn't pretend that she wasn't looking for one person in particular.
"I don't think he's coming." John's voice finally knocked Molly out of her thoughts. Rather than appearing concerned or disappointed like Molly, he looked angry. Furious even.
"It's okay, John," She replied, a light sigh escaping her lips, "I'm sure that—"
John scowled. "No, it's not bloody okay! He's barely spoken to me. He hasn't contacted to you. And he's missing Greg's wedding! Any case of his unless it was the bloody collapse of the state could wait." He shook his head angrily.
Molly frowned and brushed some hair behind her ear. She looked around once more, thinking that one more second would make Sherlock appear.
Dammit Sherlock. Why can't you make anything easy?
And so, the three stood out there, even as the church began to fill up. John whispered angrily to Jane, leaving her to attempt to soothe his frustrations with some gentle back rubbing. Molly fiddled with the pendant of her necklace, wondering if he would really miss the wedding of one of his closest friends.
Eventually, they were the last three outside the door, still staring at the cars, attempting to remain optimistic. But, the time came when they were ushered inside, and the three sat in a middle booth, the corner empty.
Molly and John watched Greg get married.
Sherlock did not.
Xxx
Molly was seated next to John and Jane, as well as a handful of Greg's co-workers whom she had met in passing. The afterparty was a lovely affair, although clearly rather casual and thrown together quite hastily. Molly was starting to think that perhaps Charlotte was pregnant, but she quickly scolded herself for deducing like Sherlock.
Sherlock.
She scowled and took another sip of champagne, her stomach still in knots. After eating dinner, she had been perfectly content to remain in her seat, not to participate in a single dance. But, John was too much a gentleman, and insisted on two dances with her.
During the second song, her head resting on his shoulder, she was comforted in a way that only her father and brother had been able to provide. She supposed now she could add John to the list, as he continued to bring her around the dance floor.
"It's funny," John began, his voice soft, "I know it seems like I've always been able to deal with all of Sherlock's behavior. That I could always tolerate whenever he's reckless, or a dick, or bored out of his mind. But it wasn't always like that. I had to adjust too."
Molly sniffled and ignored the tears streaming down her cheeks, suddenly very relieved that the dark droplets would not be visible on John's dark suit. He sighed and continued to speak, unaware of the affect that his words were having on her.
"Because when I met him, he didn't know how to interact with a human being, let alone love one." John laughed softly and looked down at Molly, frowning when he discovered her state of distress.
"He loves you. Even if he has the most peculiar way of showing it." He whispered, wiping a tear off her cheek, "In fact, Mary…"
John swallowed, suddenly choking up at the thought of his late wife, "She thought that only a woman would have the ability to melt Sherlock's icy heart. She was hoping… No, she was certain that you two would end up together."
He paused, gaze distracted, his face in a frown. "But can I be frank? I never agreed. Because before he met you, Sherlock didn't have a heart. You gave him one."
"Why are you telling me this?" She whispered into his shoulder, her body barely moving to the music.
"Because," he replied, his voice slightly amused, "He's here."
Molly pulled away, turning around to stare at Sherlock, mouth agape. He had clearly just gotten back to London. His eyes were tired, his hair messy, his right cheek marred with a deep scratch, and his normally flawless attire was dampened with specs of dirt and wrinkles.
"Congrats Lestrade!" He announced, waving at the man, who from his seat at the front of the room, waved back with his mouth agape.
Sherlock turned around, his gaze locking on Molly, his eyes with one singular focus. He took two steps towards John and Molly, quick to tap his friend's shoulder.
"Thank you for being the placeholder, John. Please return to your girlfriend. I believe she is sick of hearing about Sally's pregnancy cravings."
John shook his head and let go of Molly, unable to hold back the smirk gracing his lips. "You're a dick."
"The biggest one around."
John chuckled and returned to his table, immediately offering his hand to his girlfriend. Sherlock, meanwhile, focused his attention on Molly, who had already begun to walk away. He jogged after her, grabbing onto her wrist.
"Molly…"
She refused to look at him.
"Molly. Please."
She took a deep breath and turned to him, conscious of more tears wetting her face at just the sheer sight of him. He swallowed, overwhelmed as well.
"How could—"
He took a step forward, interrupting her with, "May I have this dance?"
Taking her blank stare and open mouth as an affirmative, he pulled her into his arms, beginning to move their bodies to the music.
"You know," he began, his voice soft, his cheek pressed to the side of her head, allowing his lips to ghost across her ear, "There have been many times in my life where I felt as if I were at the bottom of a pit, continuously falling, never to climb out and see the light of day."
Molly sniffled and stared forward, desperately trying to not inhale his scent like a mad woman. "What changed?" She asked, her voice shaky.
"I so wish that I could avoid such clichés but truthfully… It was getting to know you. For you held my hand and believed in me, even during my deepest dives and most callous endeavors."
Molly looked up at him, her eyes sad. "Why did you do it, Sherlock? Why?"
He took a deep breath. He knew this question would come eventually, but truthfully, he still was unsure how to answer it. He placed a soft kiss to her head.
"I will not deny that I did it to make you happy, Molly. For as much as I respect your mother, and your brother, and your sister-in-law, and hope for the healthiest of outlooks for your mother I…"
He tilted her chin, letting his blue eyes drown hers, "I thought only of you."
She didn't even try to prevent the tears from falling. "Six weeks," was all she managed out.
He frowned. "I know. I'm sorry."
She pushed at his chest gently, although he did not move. "You always do this! I finally start to think that maybe…" She hiccupped, her voice dropping an octave, "That maybe we could finally be something. That I could finally allow myself to love you."
He held onto her, afraid that letting go would be permanent.
"But then you do things, like disappear for six bloody weeks! And then I wonder, has he really changed? How is this Sherlock any different from the one who told me that my boobs were too small? My lips too thin? That I was unfunny? That I should stop dating?"
Tears fell freely, her body shaking. Sherlock watched on, his face stuck in a frown.
"It's so hard for me to believe that you could love me after all of that. And you've said it so many times. And you've shown me in so many ways yet…"
"Yet what, Molly?" He voiced, his face emotionless.
"I can't help but wonder if you truly mean it. Even if I desperately want you to."
At her words, his arms loosened, allowing her to take a step back. She looked into his sad eyes, identical to her own.
"I broke up with George. I realized he wasn't the right man for me."
"Then who is?" Sherlock forced out, his own hands shaking.
Before her answer could be heard, Sherlock found himself whisked away by a drunk Anderson, whining about losing Sally to another man, and Greg, who wanted to take a drink with him. As he struggled to get away from the men, Molly gave him a sad smile, before disappearing through the doors.
This ends now. The game is over.
