Not Again

Not again. She would not allow it to happen again. That's what she'd been telling herself everyday since he'd disappeared on her. She'd resisted crying about it for three days, forced herself to feel clinical about it, imagining it almost as some bizarre nature special about the oddities of human mating practices. It had worked at first, aided the sudden increase in her workload but once things had slowed down to almost a trickle, the damn broke. She'd been sitting at her computer in the lab, typing up a report on a post mortem of an eighteen year old who'd been likely killed by her ex-boyfriend in a jealous rage when it had all just rushed to the forefront.

He'd just left her. He'd popped in after months of silence, of her not knowing if he was dead or alive and had a quick one off with her. Then he'd just left her. Disappearing again with no word for where he was going, what he was doing and if she'd ever see him again. She'd just started to weep while in the middle of typing a sentence. She'd outright sobbed as her stomach clenched in on itself painfully. She'd been hurt by him before. He'd made her feel foolish, made her feeling ugly, inadequate and tiny but he'd never made her feel so utterly used.

This was the first time she'd ever actually hated him for what he was, for the selfish prat he could be. She'd always forgiven him in the past so easily. He'd do something unthinkingly cruel through words and while she'd feel terrible about it for a moment, she'd have practically forgotten it by the next time she saw him. Not this time.

The first time on her couch had been practically mutual despite the fact that he'd been the one to instigate it. They'd both needed something and sex had been an adequate fill in for overcoming the bizarrely traumatic and emotional day. The last time however, it was different.

Despite how many times she'd tried to puzzle it out, she still wasn't positive why he'd come to her, why he'd let her clean a simple head wound and why he'd then… done that.

Now she wasn't placing all of the blame on him by any means. In fact, she'd placed the vast majority of it on herself. She shouldn't have been such a mouse. She shouldn't have let it happen a second time. She shouldn't have been the fool who entertained a little fairy tale ending in her head of declarations of love, well maybe not love but something, anything sentimental, from him. She'd been a fool, a fool for the second time.

Fool her once, shame on him. Fool her twice… She knew how that saying went and it had applied to her so many times in the past. Actually, the count for her foolishness concerning him was embarrassingly in the dozens by now but this time was another matter. This was another level all together. This was not her letting him walk all over her so she would provide him with experiment materials. Those served a greater purpose as far as she was concerned. They might have helped to catch criminals, killers, might have saved lives. This, however, did no such thing. It served no higher purpose, not that she could bring herself to rationalize anyway. She did have some self respect after all.

How many times over the past three weeks had she exercised mock debates with him? Too many for an average non-mental person most likely. In all of them, she was singularly eloquent, shutting down any and all of his numerous imagined witty, scathing or angry retorts with a confidence she'd never actually displayed around him but whole heartedly believed she could muster the next time she saw him, if she saw him…

She took another sip of wine from her forth glass of wine, from a now empty bottle of red. She had another sitting in the corner of her kitchen and already she was eyeing it despite the unfinished nature of her current glass. She chose not to think about the possibly tripled expenditure of alcohol she'd put out this month. So maybe she'd overindulged recently, its not like she was an alcoholic. She was just a bit more on edge lately. She took another sip, followed quickly by a third, barely even tasting the bittersweet liquid before swallowing.

God she hated him right now. He'd ruined her life, completely and utterly. He'd turned her into a felon, a liar and a drunk, forcing her to realize what an unrequited lovesick ninny she'd become.

Hated him.

If he were here right now, she'd smack him. She might even do it twice, maybe even three times for good measure. It might not make her feel any better but it certainly couldn't make her feel any worse.

A knock on her door caused her to gasp as she took another sip, causing the liquid to be inadvertently drawn down her windpipe, burning instantly. The instantaneous fit of coughing sent red wine shooting from her mouth and simultaneously dribbling from her nose.

Molly slammed her glass down on the counter as she fought to bring both of her hands instinctively to her mouth. Another round of loud coughing ensued as her body tried desperately to expel the intruding liquid from the improper passage. She sprinted over to the sink and continued coughing over it as she turned on the water. Once the most recent bout passed, she let her cupped hands fill with water before she gulped some down, trying to soothe the burning the wine had caused. It worked only slightly before another round of hacking overtook her. Once that one passed, she finally started to get her regular breathing back. She blew her nose into her hands and washed away the mostly reddish fluid before grabbing the soap off its tray and quickly setting about washing her hands and face.

She was certain she must look a red-faced mess as she reached for the dishtowel. She dabbed her face and turned to quickly go see who was at the door but screamed once she pulled the cloth away from her eyes. Her heart felt like it was going to explode from the momentary shock at seeing someone standing right in front of her in her kitchen.

"You bastard!" She shouted uncharacteristically, the adrenaline coursing through her veins at his sudden appearance fueling her outburst. She would also blame her next move on it as well as she threw the dishrag at him before slapping him unceremoniously across the face. She automatically moved to shove him back from her, maybe smacking him again in the process when he caught her hand in one of his. It didn't stop her momentum or her still free hand as she managed to shove him back a few feet. It was only after hearing his pained grunt that she saw the blood, both on him and now on her hand.

"Oh my god, Sherlock!"

"Are you quite done?" He still managed to sound haughtily superior despite his obvious pain.

His admonishment almost brought back her full ire from only a split second ago before she rolled her eyes. It only took a moment longer before her medical training kicked in and her eyes started assessing the wound. Two seconds later and she could easily see that it was a rather shallow, if not heavily bleeding gash across his chest that was likely caused by a smooth and very sharp bladed knife. Seeing the cut across the underside of his other forearm only added to her assessment since it looked like one of the hundreds of defensive knife wounds she'd seen though the course of her career. Albeit, when she normally saw them, they weren't actively bleeding but she'd knew enough to know how to handle a fresh wound as well as an aged one.

"Just sit down." She commanded, a little of her previous irritation and anger she'd felt over the past three weeds leaking into her tone. If she'd been looking at his face and not at his injuries as she tried to determine the best way to treat them, she would have seen the uncertain look that passed through his features.

After making sure that he was sitting securely and not going to pass out from blood loss, she moved off to grab her med kit from under the sink. Setting it on the counter next to him, she opened it and proceeded to treat first the wound on his arm, the deeper of the two, before moving onto his chest. Both cuts were superficial but both still require stitches. For the umpteenth time, she was thankful for her medical training and her well-stocked kit. She finished the final stitch on his chest and then tapped a sterile gauze bandage over the knitted wound. The moment she finished pressing it to his skin, she drew back, far out of his reach, unwilling to even contemplate a repeat of the last time.

She actually pressed herself against her refrigerator before she dared to look up at him. When she did, she saw how his brow was furrowed, not in pain but apparent confusion. He was the first to break the silence that had pervaded the room for the past thirty minutes.

"Thank you."

"Of course."

Silence again. It became oppressive as the seconds ticked by before Molly couldn't stand it any longer.

"You'll need something for the pain when those locals wear off."

"I'll be fine."

Silence again. They both just remained there, him sitting, her standing. The moment he started to speak, she cut him off, unable to contain herself any longer. She'd waited weeks with one, very torturous question running through her mind at all hours of the day.

"Why did you… do what you did and then just… leave?" She sputtered out. It didn't come out as eloquently as it had in her numerous mental fantasies but there was anger and sorrow mixed up in her tone. The poorly worded vagueness didn't seem to affect his comprehension at all, of course it didn't. However, he only answered the second half of her question.

"I had to leave, staying in one place for too long can be dangerous."

And the bit he did deign to answer only pissed her off. Was he purposely avoiding what she actually wanted to know or had he really thought that's the answer she'd been looking for?

"You didn't have to come at all." He didn't answer at first and shifted uncomfortably in his chair before he finally let something out.

"I was injured and your skills are impeccable," he replied lamely. She saw through it in a heartbeat. She had been taken in by the meagerest of compliments in the past and allowed herself to do his bidding as a result. Not this time.

"Nothing you couldn't have fixed on your own. A Band-Aid could have taken care of it."

He looked away from her suddenly, off to another part of the room at nothing in particular. He didn't answer so she poked at the wounded and cornered animal that was sitting in her kitchen.

"Why?"

He didn't answer.

"Why?" she asked again.

Still, he said nothing. Now she was getting really angry. Everything she'd felt over the past few weeks started to come back and with a vengeance. The pain and loss she'd felt when he'd just been there one minute and gone the next, the worry over what had happened to him and what might still happen to him and the nagging feeling of being completely and utterly used by him came hurtling back to the forefront of her mind, driving her next words from her with the wrath of a woman scorned.

"You come in here, fuck me and then disappear. Then when you come back, injured again and looking for my aid, you don't have the common decency to answer one god-dammed question? You arrogant, selfish, ruthless bastard!"

"Molly I…"

"WHY?"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

She'd never heard him yell like that before. He'd snapped at people, at John or Lestrade but never in the almost scared way she'd just heard. It startled her a bit, took a little wind out of her anger filled sails but not completely.

"You don't know." She said quietly to herself. "That's… great." She'd looked down at her hands, still stained with his blood since she'd put on her latex gloves without washing her hands first. She took that moment to move to the sink and clean up. "You want to know what I know?" She didn't expect an answer to her rhetorical question but of course Sherlock would answer it.

"I would." He sounded hopeful and Molly wanted to scream at him for it. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek and just turned on the water before scrubbing her hands furiously beneath its warm stream.

"I know that I'll keep helping you." She heard him stand up from his seat, the stool scraping along the flooring as he did. "But," she added quickly, "we cannot do what we did last time."

"Why?" he asked quietly behind her, too close to her for her comfort. 'You selfish bastard.'

"You know why."

"If I did, I would not have asked the question." He shot back tersely. Damn him for that.

She squeezed her eyes shut and just held her hands beneath the water without moving. Did he really not? Was he really this obtuse? Could he really be this emotionally stunted? She didn't know if she wanted him to be lying to her or telling her the truth, either seemed rather terrible at the moment.

"Because," she took a deep breath, "because I can't be the person you do that with. If that's something you need, then find someone else." She frowned to herself but felt her normal rambling self start to burst through, too uncomfortable with what she was saying. Anger and adrenaline could only bolster her for so long. "I mean, not with someone you've been with before since you're obviously supposed to be dead but..." He cut her off before she could fumble over any other words.

"There wasn't anyone else before."

That statement made her eyes snap open. She turned suddenly, uncaring that her hands were soaking wet and dripping water everywhere. An unbelieving, incredulous laugh escaped her suddenly and without thinking she responded.

"You were a virgin?" He might not have winced at her words in the slightest but she certainly did. "I mean, you… never?"

"No. Not with another person. Hence my saying there wasn't anyone else before. Why does everyone make me repeat myself?"

"What the hell, Sherlock?" She just gaped at him, completely ignoring his rather mild insult and completely unprepared with how to respond to that. Of all the imagined conversations and arguments she'd had with her imaginary Sherlock, this had never been one of them, not even close. She thought back to the day of his fall, to the fumbled movements, the lack of coordination and his complete lack of attention paid to anything but himself. She'd attributed it to the drugs and his brush with death. This new bit of information was like the final piece of a puzzle.

"God, that… that makes sense actually. I mean the sex it wasn't very goo…" She stopped herself before getting out the last syllable, quickly realizing that he was actually in the room, that this was not one of her pretend conversations. Her eyes shot to his and she could tell that her words both increased his confusion and also looked like he might have been hurt by her words. She felt a pang of something akin to guilt but refused let it overwhelm her. She was too tired, too drunk and now too emotionally exhausted to feel anything too deeply. Instead, she laughed. It started out as little more than a giggle before morphing into a full-bellied guffaw. Tears started to stream down her cheeks as it continued, unchecked despite the cold look she was now receiving from the man standing only a few feet from her.

"Do not laugh at me, Molly Hooper." He spat through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, I..." But the laughter continued around her attempted. "I really am," she tried again, wiping at her eyes as she spoke, "but this is just too much." He was now starting to look as angry as she'd felt just before he'd knocked on her door. "I mean really, what do you want me to say? I've never been here before, never done anything like this and I've certainly never been anyone's first. Never thought I would be." It all came out in a rush and couldn't help the last little chuckle that escaped her when she realized she'd gotten all of that out without a single stutter.

"If it was my lack of experience that's vexing you, I would improve with practice, with instruction."

She gaped at him. He really didn't get it did he? He thought… She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Through the anger in his voice, he sounded so damned earnest. She couldn't help the little twist she felt deep in her belly when she realized that he wanted to be with her again. She thought about pressing him again as to why he'd ever wanted her in the first place but quickly realized he'd just get upset with her for asking the same question again and that he'd only give her the same answer once more, perhaps spitting out some snide comment about her ability to recall it. Instead, she tried a different tactic as she was now armed with this new knowledge. For the first time since she'd met him, she had the distinct advantage. He once again wanted something from her but this time she wasn't falling over herself to provide him with it.

"What do you get out of it?"

"I…" She was amazed that he seemed to be fumbling over his words. Oh how the tables had turned. "It feels good." He finally supplied rather lamely.

"So would your hand or have you never done that either."

He flushed; his cheeks actually coloring a pretty shade of pink after she said that.

"I have," he mumbled. "It's not the same."

"Explain to me how it's different then." She wasn't going to let him out of this one easily. He turned away from her suddenly, grabbing her nearly full glass of wine and downing its contents in several large draughts. He then flung the glass into her living room and it shattered against her wall. She jumped back, her eyes wide for a moment before irritation hit her. What a melodramatic git.

"Damn it, Sherlock!" On automatic pilot, she started to head for her broom closet to clean up the ridiculous mess he'd made but as she passed by him, she felt his hand wrap around her upper arm painfully as he spun her around. No soon had he turned her to face than, then his lips crashed down onto hers. If almost felt punishing but there was an air of desperation behind the act. At first, she did nothing, too stunned to even think. It didn't last for long however, before the two words she'd been echoing to herself for the past three weeks screamed out in her mind. 'Not again.'

With that, she violently pulled away from him and slapped him hard across the face, the resounding slap echoing through her small flat. He released her, the shock plain to see in his features. She held her fingers up to her bruised lips. She could still taste him and the wine.

"You can't just take it." She whispered, looking away from him to the floor between their feet. "You should go."

"No."

Her features pinched together in frustration.

"Just go." She didn't even have the strength to yell at him or even look at him.

"No."

"Fine." She stepped away from him, ignoring the shattered glass that was all over her floor in the other room. "I'm going to bed." She heard him moving behind her. "Alone." The movement behind her stopped. "You can have the couch, just make sure there isn't any glass on it." She didn't even look back before disappearing down the hall and locking herself in her bedroom. If he picked this lock, she'd upgrade his status to actually dead.

XxXxX

AN: So… Sherlock seems to have a bit of a habit forming. Get hurt, go see Molly, have sex but the girl finally got some brass. Too forceful? Did I stray into ooc territory with this one or did the situation make it believable? How about Sherlock? He's sooooo hard to write, it's ridiculous. Ugh. I haven't been this self-conscious about my writing in a loooong time. Hope it was enjoyable at least.

MizJoely: (2) I am, it's hard to let some storylines go so here I am. I might actually take you up on that. It seems I can never catch all my mistakes, not matter how many times I proofread it. (3) I love it when a line catches someone's attention enough for them to point it out me. ROFL, I've noticed that now that I've read some more of it. I'd love to read your take on it. MorbidbyDefault: He'd definitely getting distracted, we don't know if it's the cause of his injuries yet or not but we'll know soon enough. Yup, lots of miscommunication but Molly is trying. Unfortunately, for all his genius, Sherlock is out of his depth in this one and just not making the right connections. Plus, he's ridiculously stubborn and childish. Not a good combination for getting anywhere meaningful. LOL, thank you very much! CeffylGwyn: Thanks! You're too sweet. I'm glad you liked that, it was fun to think about, having him try to analyze it as it's happening, tehe. I think it's perfectly reasonable to feel bad for her, she's having to put up with a lot at the moment. KeeperoftheNine: (2) Glad you approve. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. As far as this chapter is concerned, he most certainly did but Molly finally got over her being gobsmacked by it and put her foot down. Go Molly! (even though I want to write some more smexiness, lol) (3) You know it! Very rocky since she's been too willing in the past and he's too emotionally stunted to deal with hit properly. We'll see how it goes from here. Kathmak: I agree completely with this never happening in official canon. In fact, I'd probably be pretty disappointed if by some bizarre turn of events, this sort of thing happened in the actual series. But in fanfiction… good golly Miss Molly, I'm all for it! :) cdsnow: Glad you thought so. Thanks for letting me know. kawoosh: I hope it was worth the wait.