Tom had wanted to stay over that evening, but she had sent him away. He had sulked but she had been firm. She had to get up at four the next morning to do the early shift.
"Why are you taking extra hours? I miss you. Our new puppy misses you."
"I'm sorry, Tom, but I need the money."
"If it's the rent for this place that's bothering you then perhaps...you could move in with me."
"Move in with you? But Tom, you have a flatmate."
"Not for much longer. I was going to surprise you, but I just signed a lease on a new flat. So there should be no more awkward interruptions. It's near a park. We can walk Jonesy in the mornings. And if you want to, you could ... well...do you want to move in together?"
"But...Toby. Cats don't like to be moved. They get outside and get lost."
"But if we brought his bed and his favorite cat toys he could get used to it."
"But you have a dog."
"We have a dog. You promised to help me raise it, and if you put a cat and a dog together when the dog is young, then they can learn to be friends. We watched the video about it on line, remember?
"Yes, that's true... I just. I don't know."
"Just think about it. I haven't moved all my things in yet. You can change it around to look however you like. I... well... I think that it would be grand for us to live together."
"Well, I guess... I mean. I'm happy for you. Your own flat. It's wonderful, Tom!"
They had kissed then, and it had taken another hour to say goodbye. That night as she lay alone in her bed, Molly remembered Jim.
"I don't really think it's that serious," she had told him.
"Oh, but I do," he had replied in his emotionless computer voice.
Molly shivered.
Jim was a problem that Molly didn't know what to do about. He was getting better, and she was happy for him. He had been so sick for so long. She had thought for a while that he would never be able to live alone, but now he was doing so well. She should be happy, but it just filled her with unease. They had said that the brain damage was likely permanent, and part of Molly was relieved. She had thought that perhaps with half a brain Jim would be more like a normal person. It seemed, however, that Jim had been so smart that he was still a genius even with only half a brain.
She forced herself to sleep, and dragged herself to work Sunday morning to cover the emergency shift. Jim's private hospital hadn't come cheap, and she was still a bit in debt because of it. At least now she finally had a chance to make that money back.
It was a relatively quiet work day, thankfully, and Molly had gone to her locker to get ready to leave when she saw him in her locker mirror. She swiveled around and stared.
Sherlock was back!
It had been so long, and suddenly he was there looking like every fantasy that she had ever dreamed. Well, the ones that he was clothed in, at least.
He stared down at her, his blue scarf wrapped around his neck. My God! She had forgotten how handsome he looked! He glared down at her, and she sucked in a breath. Her heart had skipped a beat.
"Sherlock," she whispered.
"Hello Molly," he said.
And for a moment she was speechless. His voice! She had thought that she had memorized the timber of his voice, but she had forgotten how deep it could get. In the long months since she had last seen him, she had reasoned that it was only logical to have helped Sherlock fake his death because he was a friend. Even so, she had worried that losing her career might have been too much for him to ask of her. Looking up at his face again after so long removed all her doubts.
"Oh yes!" she said.
There was nothing she wouldn't do if he was the one asking her to do it.
"Sherlock! Are you back? Are you finally back?"
"Yes, finally. I'm back."
Later that night she lay in bed simply remembering the sound of him, his height, the way he walked. Oh, good God he was hot!
He had come to see her first, after his brother that is, and of course, John. He said that John wasn't pleased about him faking his death. She hadn't been surprised. John had been so devastated by Sherlock's loss. It had broken her heart to see him there at the funeral. No, he wouldn't recover from that easily, but he would come around eventually. He had to. He loved him too much to stay angry forever.
Molly sighed.
It had been so long. Molly had forgotten what it was like to be second-best. Well at least he didn't ignore her anymore. The way that Sherlock's buttons had strained against his shirt. Oh!
That evening when Tom came to pick her up for dinner, she couldn't help being a bit disappointed. Tom was almost plain by comparison. He was dressed very nicely though. She had helped him buy some clothes that she thought might suit him. It was only now, as she saw him sitting across from her in her favorite restaurant, that she realized that she had subconsciously bought him clothes that made him look like Sherlock. She blushed imagining what it would be like if it was him across from her instead of Tom. She tried to hide her flush by taking another bite of her chocolate mousse cake.
"My goodness! this tastes good, Tom. Thank you, for taking me out to my favorite restaurant today. What's the occasion?"
"I... well... there is a reason that I brought you here tonight."
"Oh yes, what is it?"
Tom stood up awkwardly and walked over to stand beside her chair. She looked up at him curiously, wondering if he was going to pull her to her feet, but instead he kneeled down beside her. It took her five entire seconds before she realized what it meant that he was kneeling beside her on one knee.
"Oh Tom!"
"Molly Hooper, will you marry me?"
She panicked! Tom was proposing to her, Little Tom. Looking back, she could see the signs. He had been hinting about it for weeks. Telling her that there was something that he meant to ask her. She had supposed that it was simply his request that she move in with him. She hadn't imagined. She hadn't thought.
Marriage?
She had given up thoughts of marriage on her thirtieth birthday after her last boyfriend had dumped her for a teenager. She sat alone in a bar and got drunk realizing that no one was hitting on her even though she was ready to sleep with just about anyone. She decided then and there that she would focus on her career and forget all hopes of marriage.
Tom must have said something then because he was looking at her expectantly. There was a felt box in front of her, and inside was the most beautiful diamond ring that she had ever seen in her life! She realized that her mouth was hanging open, so she closed it. People were staring at them expectantly. The waiter was standing off to the side with a bottle of champagne. This was happening now! She had to do something.
No.
That was her first thought. Tom was just... that is, Tom was a very nice man, and sex with him was incredibly good. She liked him. She liked him very much but...marriage?
Not with Tom. He wasn't... she didn't love him. Not like she had always imagined love to be. But she had just turned thirty-six. She would probably never get proposed to again, and children! If he married her, she could have children! She had given up hope.
They were still waiting for her answer.
Her father had always said that when he had met her mother he just knew...he knew that she was the one. 'Listen to your heart' he'd said. She listened, and her heart said no.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, Tom. I will marry you."
And then the cork from the champagne bottle popped, and Tom gave her the biggest smile. He took the ring and put it on her finger. People all around her clapped and she put a smile on her face that lasted there until he kissed her on the mouth embarrassing her in public as perfect strangers came over to pat them on the back. She rose to her feet and they toasted her and gave her a glass of champagne. She drank it down perhaps a bit too fast.
This was happening. This had already happened. She was engaged to Tom.
Of course they had sex that night at her place. Monday was her day off, and Tom had taken time out to stay with her. It was closer to lunch time when she finally got around to fixing him breakfast. As she arranged the eggs on the plate that morning she thought that it wouldn't be so bad a life to have Tom as a husband. He was honest and sweet, and he really liked her. She put on her favorite sweater and scarf so that they could go out for a walk, but Tom pulled her down to the couch.
"Let's not go out," he said. "Let's just stay here together all day."
"Alright," she said as she wrapped her arms around him. "We can do that if you like." Then her phone rang.
"Leave it," Tom said, but she reached over to the table to look at who was calling. When she saw the name, she answered it immediately.
" Hello Sherlock?"
"Ah, Molly. I was wondering if I could borrow you this afternoon."
"Borrow me?"
"I need you. That is, I could use your help with something over at my flat."
"Today?"
"Yes, in about an hour. That is...if you don't have anything else on."
"No, no. I wasn't doing anything. I'd be happy to come over."
"Good. I'll expect you then."
"Great! See you. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Molly."
Molly put down the phone. Her cheeks were hot. She must have had a goofy grin on her face because Tom was looking at her strangely. Tom. Oh.
"Who was it? Where are you going?"
Molly frowned.
It was a bit of a rush to make it there by one o'clock. Tom had not been pleased, no, not at all, that she was leaving. She shook it all off, knocking at the door to be let in by Mrs Hudson who smiled at her and told her to go upstairs.
Sherlock was wearing a dressing gown. He was the only man that she had ever known to wear dressing gowns over his clothes. If he only knew how sexy it looked, well. He probably wouldn't care.
She thought that perhaps he wanted to take her to dinner. After all, she had risked her career to help him fake his death. He came toward her in slow nervous steps. She had had fantasies like this before. He would walk slowly toward her and then ask her something totally inappropriate like, 'Would you help me with an experiment. I'm trying to learn the exact pressure of kiss that might have been used in my last case.' or something like that. Of course, that would never really happen but he was still coming toward her, his hands shyly in his pockets as he asked her to... what?"
"Would you like to... solve crimes?"
Oh!
She spent the day reviewing cases with him like John always used to do. But then he'd said that she was not being John, she was being herself. He liked her for herself! She could hardly keep from smiling. After years of being ignored the moment her usefulness was over, it was heartwarming to know that now Sherlock saw her. He saw her as a real person!
They was interesting, the cases: A cheating husband trying to pretend that he was robbed. A step father posing as her daughter's boyfriend for money. A man disappearing from a train car, and an elaborate piece of fraud where someone tried to make them believe that a skeleton that couldn't have been more than six months old was the remains of Jack the Ripper.
He had seen her ring, of course. How could he miss it? He noticed everything. And he had finally begun to notice her. Well, he had called her John once, but then again she was doing John's job. Was this what it had been like for John everyday? No wonder he was so devastated by Sherlock's death. To be confronted with so many interesting stories every day, all day, and then to just... lose it. To suddenly have nothing interesting to wake up to. It was depressing just thinking on.
"Sherlock, what was today about?" she asked him.
"I was saying thank you."
Solving crimes were what Sherlock Holmes loved most in all the world, and he had shared it with her. It was touching really. Then he mentioned Jim.
"Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me, is the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible."
'What did he mean by that? The most important person. Me?'
Then she was talking to him about Tom. She knew that she was babbling, but how does one come back from that? How does one reply to Sherlock confessing his feelings for her? Sherlock kissed her that day, on the cheek. After congratulating her on her engagement.
"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it," he said, and his low gentle voice was doing things to her that she hadn't felt inside for years. It was like a pot of soup that had been simmering on low heat suddenly starting to boil over.
"After all not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths," he said. And he had left her there with red cheeks and a fire burning a hole through her chest.
She smiled then feeling absolutely content as she said, "Maybe it's just my type."