As Above As Below 10
"Molly."
"It's fine."
"No, Molly, I..."
"Sherlock, it's fine."
"Molly, I need coffee."
Molly took a deep breath and resisted the urge to run out of the bathroom and throw something heavy at him. She spied her reflection on the mirror. Her lips were swollen and there was a small mark on the side of her neck. She sighed, and then looked at her poor slippers in the bin. There was no way she could ever wear those again.
When she got out of the bathroom, all changed, refreshed and suddenly feeling apprehensive, Sherlock was sprawled on her couch, though he seemed to look a lot better. His face was a lot less pale, for one, and his breathing was normal again. "Better now?" Molly asked, summoning the courage to look at him. He bolted upright, almost as if he was chagrined to show any weakness (for God's sakes, he had just thrown up on her!) and nodded.
"I informed Mycroft," he said. "Didn't really want to, but I decided that it would do to tell that fat git that his mistake has been rectified. Could I get some coffee?"
Molly, who had just sunk down absent mindedly onto her armchair, snapped her eyes on him, "I'm sorry, what?"
"Coffee," Sherlock repeated. "I need coffee. Tea would suffice, but coffee would be heavenly, since apparently I haven't had coffee for two months."
Molly twirled a stray lock of brown hair around her fingers as she got up, "How much do you remember…?"
Sherlock shrugged, "Not much. It's a bit of a nuisance; it seems my child self did not have the sensibility to store everything in his—my mind palace," He paused, took a deep breath then continued, "As far as I'm annoyed that I now have two months of no recollections, it is for the best. I don't need to have unnecessary additional 'childhood' memories to go through and erase."
Molly paused in the process of adding sugar to the coffee (black, two sugars—she hadn't forgotten) and tried not to feel too hurt. This was Sherlock, she reasoned, he wasn't one for sentiments. Of course he wouldn't regret losing those memories. Those memories were for her to cherish alone. The thought made her feel awfully lonely.
"I have hurt you," Sherlock stated quite plainly as Molly handed him a steaming mug. "Was it something I said?"
"You did just kiss me then throw up on me," she countered feebly.
"Ah, yes, that. Most probably the sudden flood of hormones. I did skip the teenage years," Sherlock said briskly.
Molly would have appreciated an apology for being manhandled, but for the life of her she couldn't bring herself to reprimand him. She was hurt, of course, but experience had prepared her for such an outcome. At the very least, she could have the memory of being able to kiss those beautiful Cupid's bow lips.
Sherlock was still looking at her with that piercing gaze. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he said, "Come here, Molly," gesturing towards the seat next to him. Molly frowned at him, puzzled, but complied. The moment she sat down, Sherlock laid his head right across her lap and she squeaked. "What?" Sherlock's brow furrowed.
Molly swallowed and then asked, "What are you doing?"
Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "Oh yes. Would you mind doing that thing you were doing with your fingers through my hair? There's a good girl." And with that, he took Molly's hand without so much as a by-your-leave and treaded them through his curls.
Molly's fingers hesitantly curled through his hair and he pouted (bloody pouted like the six year old he was barely four hours ago). "You don't have to be so stingy with your touch Molly," Sherlock said with a slight whine to his voice.
In retaliation, Molly more or less buried her hand into his hair, and tugged slightly while using her nails to scratch a path through his scalp, as she had when he had kissed her. Sherlock purred, not unlike Toby when she petted him, though Sherlock's purring—in that deep velvety voice of his—was much more pleasurable to hear.
"Fascinating, dear brother," said a cold voice from the mouth of the hallway. "Have you turned into a cat this time?"
Molly squeaked and jumped, accidentally hitting Sherlock on the forehead with her elbow. Sherlock scowled at his brother, sitting upright and rubbing the sore spot.
"Ho-how did you get i-in…?" Molly asked Mycroft, who seemed to be severely nonchalant for someone who had just entered a house by less than lawful means.
"He had a spare key made, obviously," Sherlock answered her, not pausing in his glare marathon.
Mycroft twirled the umbrella in hand elegantly before sitting on Molly's armchair. "I take it you remember most things, then?"
Sherlock shook his head. "No, but it wasn't a difficult leap. You always were a bit of a sneak."
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Ah well. But I think Ms. Hooper," he glanced at Molly in a manner that she didn't really like, "Is a bit…disappointed."
"What?" Molly blurted, turning a very interesting shade of red.
"Why would she be disappointed?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows at his brother. Molly realized that the Holmes' brothers had a rather annoying habit of talking about someone right in front of them and not paying attention to the fact that they were sitting right there.
"Oh no matter," Mycroft said regally. "Will you be joining us at once?"
Sherlock nodded. "Yes of course, is everything ready?"
"Ready?" Molly interjected quickly. "What do you mean ready? Are you leaving now Sherlock?"
Sherlock looked at her, "Obviously. I haven't been on the case for nearly six months, no doubt Moriarty's web as grown more widespread. If I am to clear my name, it's best if I get back to work quickly."
Molly knew that what he said made sense (of course it did) but she still objected, "You were sick just a few moments ago, how can you just-"
Mycroft cut across her, "I assure you Ms. Hooper, there will be no long term effects; even if there is, my brother is in more capable hands than that of a pathologist."
"Mycroft!" Sherlock hissed, displaying a surprising level of concern. The last time Sherlock had looked at his brother like that, Mycroft had told Mrs. Hudson to shut up.
Mycroft's eyebrows made a beeline for his hairline. "Interesting. Well, I'll be in the car. Good…day, Ms. Hooper."
After the British Government had exited the flat, Sherlock was a bundle of energy, grabbing the duffel bag Mycroft had dropped near the door and leaving the room to change. Molly sat there, trying to process what the hell had just happened.
Sherlock was going to leave. After all those months of looking after him, he was going away, without a second thought. She knew that the sooner he tracked down the web, the sooner he could come back. That's all that should matter, really. Then why she so sad? It was selfish of her, to want Sherlock to stay, to want the smaller Sherlock back, the one who appreciated her, the one who used to carry a teddy bear, and the one who would insist on being the Doctor in their games…
Sherlock exited his room, all suited up and dressed in his trademark Belstaff. Molly stared; she couldn't help it, it had been such a long time since she last saw him like that, the Sherlock of old, his eyes on fire with the thrill of the chase.
Unbidden, a thought of the three year old Sherlock, looking so smug in the mini Belstaff look-alike Anthea had got him, flashed in her mind.
"Molly, I'll be going then."
She jumped out of her reverie and went to stand next to him. "When will you be back?"
He shrugged. "I can't say. Depends really."
"Oh." Unable to think of anything to say, Molly forced herself to smile at him.
Sherlock's eyes softened, "Th-Thank you for…everything, Molly."
Molly bit her lip. "Wait just a mo."
She scampered off and Sherlock stared after her, nonplussed. When she came back, she was clutching the model sonic screwdriver in her hand. She slid it into the inner pockets of the great coat and said, "Keep this. As a sort of…token."
Sherlock kept on looking at her and Molly suddenly went red. "As in, well, I'm keeping the bear you used to play with, you don't remember, you used to play with that as well, and I want you to keep that-"
Sherlock leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Molly Hooper." And then he was gone.
"Why did you lie?" Mycroft asked as the car drove through a London that was just waking up. Sherlock scowled at his brother but didn't answer. "The drug doesn't cause memory loss; you should remember everything that happened to you while you were a child. Why did you lie to Molly Hooper?" Sherlock remained silent.
"Ah yes," Mycroft said smugly, "Didn't want to have to hurt her feelings, so you decided to absolutely smash her heart," he chuckled, "You really are my brother."
"I didn't want to!" Sherlock shouted indignantly, "If she knew that I remembered everything, everything I said, that I meant everything I said, she wouldn't have let me go! And I…I…"
"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. You and I…we aren't meant to have what other ordinary people let themselves have. If we did, we would cease to be the two brilliant minds that we are and decrease to the standards of the masses." Mycroft paused. "It's better if you just…delete her."
For once in his life, Sherlock wondered whether his brother had a point.
A/N: Hello! So here we are, new chappie! Sorry it took so long; damn life got in the way! I'm sorry for not replying to all your lovely reviews, but I can absolutely tell you how much they made my day! Thank you for the favs, follows and reviews- magicstrikes , Lucy36 , MadAsAHatterJayy , LoryLily, whytejigsaw, Empress Of Verace, lulu, lililoop, lostmypen120, daisherz236, nhaquyen, syNemYoa, MorbidByDefault, Alice Hollow, Beth-Tauri Chick, SammyKatz, Unified Nations, Supahninjagirl, Sherlockreader starshortcake, Hermione-amelia-rose, Ssmill, Lono, princeofthefallingangels, MissplacedHyperQuill, Jess-Stark-Lover Of Downey Jr and friend2friend1!
Lots of love to my beta A Pirate By Any Other Name and also to NoveraDeMedeci!
Hope you like this chapter and please review, makes my day!
Love,
Adi x