A/N: I was inspired by the sadness of a cover I'd done of the song Oh, What a Night at the end of TSoT, and one of the beautiful titles off the second Sherlock soundtrack. Does this qualify as angsty fluff? I don't know. I normally write post-Reichenbach Molly as a strong fortress, but this time, I wanted to know if she too could fall somewhat. If she had felt some fear, if she too had some trauma from it all. Thus. x
Blood On The Pavement
She would walk past that spot every day, just to remind herself that it was clean. Every night she would have the same nightmare, that there was blood on the pavement and that their plan had not worked. Every morning she would quickly walk to that spot and check that the pavement was clean, gray and free of blood. She knew he had survived. Their plan had been faultless. When one was working with Sherlock Holmes, failure was never an option. He was so clever, so careful and it always worked perfectly. Yes, she had saved him from certain death, but the certainty of it then had filled her with fear. What if she had missed the cues? What if she had been one second too late? What if she had not readied things properly? Despite the fact that there was no blood on the pavement, well, at least not Sherlock's, Molly was still wrecked with the frightful what-ifs. The what-ifs that would have led to his death.
As Molly headed home, she walked past the spot again, checking for its comforting gray surface. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw that it was clean. There was no blood, no death, no hurt.
When she opened the door to her flat, she had calmed down considerably, comforted from the last memory of the clean pavement. But her dark eyes betrayed the sleepless nights from the nightmares that still plagued her. Suddenly, she felt warm, familiar arms envelope her from behind, giving her a tender but earnest kiss on the side of her neck.
"I'm still here." he whispered.
"I know, I checked." she said, smiling, her eyes closed as she relished their embrace.
"There's no more blood on the pavement, Molly," he continued, keeping a firm hold around her.
"I know." she said, reaching to touch the arms that surrounded her.
"I'm right here, Molly."
"Yes, you are."
When Sherlock was sure she had calmed down fully with no trace of panic in her pulse, he slowly released his hold on her. He turned her to face him and kissed her on the forehead.
"I have to go," he said, holding her face in his hands.
"Yes, I know," she replied, "Be careful."
"I will." he said with a gentle smile, "Try to get some sleep."
"I'll try," she said, returning his smile.
It was about three in the morning when Sherlock crept back into Molly's flat. He was not a religious man, but he prayed that Molly managed to fall sleep. As he crept into her bedroom, he saw her figure toss and turn frustratedly. Quickly, he removed his coat and got into bed with her, slipping his arms around her and shushing her.
"I'm here," he said, his lips pressed grazing the back of her neck.
Molly relaxed as her flitting nightmares faded and the reality of his warmth filled her entire being.
"You're here…" she murmured, curling herself up against him.
"Yes, I am." he said, kissing her hair.
The fear of death gripped them both on nights like these. Yet, it was these very moments when they held each other that the fear slipped away. They could rest, knowing that never again would there be blood on the pavement. At least not tonight.
END