Author: Howlynn
Realm: Sherlock
Story Title: A Statue in the Temple of Mendacity.
Summary: Molly counts. She Promised to help him. But, the reality of saving Sherlock ends up leading to places she never expected. Sherlock needs her again, but this time she must save John.

Character/Relationships: John and Molly would never have noticed each other if he were not dead. The thing is, Molly knows he isn't and she never expected things to get this complicated.

I Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

At half past ten they stood on Platform 1 of Paddington under the beautiful arch built in 1854 waiting to board the sleeper to Cornwall. John had spent the day teasing her about going to Hell. She quirked her head and told him he was being mean about his insistence that Hell exists in Cornwall.

Finally, after settling into their compartment he explained where they were actually heading. "There are no cars, no crime and there isn't much to do other than take long walks, watch waves, and exist. I used to go here as a child to visit Aunt Ida and Uncle Winston. Ida is my mother's sister. Their kids are a bit older than I am, but we used to have the grandest times. It is the place I was probably the most happy. Thought of just leaving London and going there when…he…But, I didn't have the ambition. The Isles of Scilly are like the spiritual gatekeepers of peace. Bryher is the smallest. I need to see it again and I am hoping that Hell's Bay will do for you what it has always done for me. If there is a storm, it is quite a show watching the waves crash in. There is only one hotel, which is often booked to the rafters or empty. We happen to be going on an off time, so I called my cousin who still lives there and we are expected for dinner and a little family howdy time, but other than that, we will have absolute privacy. Mycroft won't find us. The reservations are made in my cousin Kipper's name and there is no mobile service. The hotel has satellite internet, but if we don't log on, we won't have any bug infestations or any tails courtesy of Mycroft. It is a very tight place. There are less than 100 residents. I may be related to most of them, so be prepared."

Molly watches John as he speaks of their destination and his face has softened and his eyes are far away. She hasn't seen him this calm ever. Even when he was with Sherlock, they were usually on some case and dealing with Sherlock was not terribly conducive to inner harmony. "It sounds…just wonderful. Thank you. It sounds like this is a really important place to you…and…well…that you want to share it with me…"

"It's probably a little boring. I just thought all the glitter of Paris or the hustle of Brussels wasn't what we need right now. I wanted this to be more about us alone, rather than tourist schedules and crowded restaurants."

"It sounds lovely. I think you picked the perfect surprise." She squeezed his hand in reassurance.

"I am very glad. I know it's just stupid for me to have been so worried, last night, but I couldn't help but get that little skin crawl of fear that…It crossed my mind. A lot, actually, that this is not something I want to lose. I pictured it. You leaving or growing bored with me. I am ten years older."

"I'm not leaving. You make it sound like I can't do math. I knew how old you were, it's not new information. "

"I wondered if I am wrong to see how much I need this, so clearly. I know that we, well, I know I was just not in the best place to start any relationship. I am still on pretty shaky ground if I want to be honest about it. But I do want you to know that I am not just…on a lark for a warm bed. I don't think you are either, and I want you to know that I would never treat you like that. Casual, I mean."

"You know, there isn't anything wrong with casual. I am not one of those females who think everything is permanent. What we have is kind of perfect. I mean, we have fun and you are right, neither one of us is over him. We won't be for a long time—"

"But that is just it. You are the only one who could understand that. I will probably always love him. Not only that, but instead of it causing us problems, it's the very thing that brought us together. I don't have to hide how important he was to me. Not from you, because instead of being jealous and his ghost driving us apart, it's almost like it's guiding us." He is studying her, wondering if he's saying too much.

"Well that may be pushing it. If he were guiding us, wouldn't there be evil criminals and bodies involved?" Molly tries to lighten the conversation.

"That sounds about right. But, I think discovering that we have played porn stars to the British Government might count toward Sherlockish twists. I mean if any other girl I dated became aware of that fact, even now, I am sure at least two of them would have the means to disfigure me in a way that should not be mentioned." He smirks.

"Be careful. I do have a Stryker saw." Molly grins.

John nods as if he really should be a bit afraid. "Keeping that in mind. So Tea or sleep?"

They had a wonderful night exchanging silly stories of childhood and even landed on the subject of quirky former lovers. The knock on the door seemed far too soon, but John hopped out of bed and was smiling and tipping the steward before Molly comprehended where she was and why the bed was lurching. The smell of tea, had her up and making a quick trip up the corridor. John had breakfast all set out and the upper bunk folded back into place when she returned.

They sat facing each other balancing bowls of corn flakes, and cups of hot tea as they watched the sun come up. The ferry to the Isles of Scilly seemed sturdy and all business. Scillonian III was her name and Molly felt a flutter in her heart for her father as they pulled out of harbor. She wondered if he had missed this feeling of adventure just over the horizon when he pulled up anchor and opened his chip shop, so he could raise her.

There was another boat ride and quite a pleasant walk to the hotel. They took a late lunch at the cozy little bar all decked out in teal ocean blues and salt-washed wood floors and wicker. "Kind of New England meets Jamaica. It's very laid back here," John commented as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"I love it. I wish my flat looked like this, all open and cheerful."

They spent the afternoon, just walking. John stopped several times to talk to people. Most of them politely gave him their names and a detailed report on how they were connected. Molly lost track of it entirely once they got much past second cousins and John smiled and nodded politely. They stop by a tiny stone cottage and arrange to have dinner with Kipper the following night. They begged off that they were tired from travel and head back to the hotel. A few drinks, then it is off to see what absolute privacy might lead to, between two adults, who had rather extensively broad sexual boundaries.

The day is bliss. Molly always dreamed of making love on a windswept beach. John, true to his word, knew every nook and cranny of this island and soon found them a relatively private place with which to indulge her. She is mortified to discover that sand is not romantic when it discovers skin normally protected with a double clothing barrier. They giggle as they finally shower it all off and John slathers them both up with cream to relieve chaffing.

The evening is full of rowdy drinking and rich food, built mostly around freshly caught fish. It is glorious and welcoming and on occasion she could pick out an eyebrow here or a nose there or sometimes just a certain headshake that reminded her of John Watson. The next morning, John announces that he is going to be giving a few family check-ups, beings they all were complete bollocks at visiting the mainland for anything less than emergency amputation.

Molly laughs and decides she will grab a book and have a walk on the beach, poke around the ruins and when she got tired, she would flop down and read. She has her head bowed and is swept away somewhere in 1930's Chicago when John tickled her ear and handed her a perfect pink rose.

He plops down next to her. "I am in love with you." He says without preamble.

Molly's breath hitches, and she stares out to the water, stunned. "Oh. I thought."

"No. It wasn't just then. I thought I had better tell you. Give you time to make your excuses," he says trying to make it a joke.

"We shouldn't go too fast, John." She puts her hand on his knee. "Things could change."

"I see. Is there any hope that those feelings might be returned, someday?"

She hesitates, "Oh John. They already are. But we can't just…we have to be careful. I do think I love you, but it might be like this place. Not quite real, but a lovely idea."

He picked up a handful of sand and let it slowly filter through his fingers. "It feels pretty real to me. Having found it. I would like to think I won't let it slip through my fingers."

Molly sat quietly, her fingers feeling the warmth of the sand as they drug wavy lines in the surface. John picked up a stick and wrote 'Molly and John' in the sand. Molly leaned on him and his arm slips around her.

So low it just carries to his ears, barely above the breeze, she asked, "What would you do if he came back?"

John waits for her to say more. He has to swallow because his throat kept trying to close. Finally he kisses her ear and replies low and carefully, "He's not coming back, Molls. I'm sorry, but he's just not. That bag you saw me packing the first night? It wasn't just what you thought. See, I had it in my head that I needed to be ready. I told myself he was just away. I could make it through the day by planning for when he came and got me. I kept thinking that maybe he was off on some case for Mycroft and I was pretending. I packed things I might need. I kept waiting for a message telling me to come. I wanted that so much and every time I could get my hands on something I might need, I drug it home and put it in the bag."

He smooths her hair and kisses her temple. Molly looks up at him then buries her face in his neck. John speaks slowly and deliberately, "Every day I was just waiting. But, at night,…every night, I would be so disappointed. Sitting there, ready to go, everything I could need, from plasters to pain killers to an unmentionable amount of cash in six currencies. I kept saying, just one more day. I had been sitting with the bag and writing that letter for a long time. It was part ritual by then, the letter or the hope that escape bag represented. Every time I resolved to end it, I worried that he was on a plane right that moment. I could almost see him, bursting in the flat, not bothering to explain a damned thing and just demanding I go with him. I imagined his expression when I showed him that I had been expecting him. It would have pleased him, and yet he would have barely acknowledged that he expected any other outcome. Off we'd go without another word and he would find some item I forgot and we would bicker. He would say something like,' I gave you all that time to prepare, how could you forget to pack dental floss.' It was all I had, that little shadow of hope."

"You don't do that around me. When we are away from each other, do you?"

" Only once since. Soon after we started seeing each other. But, I promised you. I was so horrible to you. I know that. Don't know why you gave me a chance. But, that one night after we had, begun. I came to the end of my delusions. Reality kept showing me that I was going to lose my mind. Mycroft tried to tell me about the snipers. But, my guilt was too big. It was that last big story, about how he'd been cleared of all charges and Greg broke down, announcing it."

Molly nodded. "I remember."

" I knew then, really knew, was absolutely sure, he wasn't coming. Mycroft was busy crushing all the things crawling out of Moriarty's damaged web. Greg had spent months under fire to clear Sherlock's name. What did I do? I sat in a chair and blubbered and gave up on life. I had been utterly useless, and as horrible as I could be to anyone who wanted to help me. So, I decided to quit faffing around and I used to text him and I did that night. Last time, in fact. But, at the last second, and I mean the last second, I thought about you. I promised you. I kept meaning to tell you for days that we were done. But, I just couldn't get to the point where I didn't want to do one more day, with you."

Molly squeezes him, "I have never been so happy in my life, John. I have never been with anyone who I feel so easy with. I don't want to lose you."

John watches the waves and his eyes follow some seabird that flies close to the surf." I would have taken his place in a second, but I didn't get the choice. I would turn back time, and do it now. We didn't get to have any say in his bargain. I don't…God, you know how much I don't want to accept the truth. But we are alive and he isn't. So, I have two choices. I can follow him or I can take the life he left me and try to…make it worth his effort. I love you, and no matter what could have been, it doesn't make this less real. Just because neither one of us will ever forget him, doesn't mean, we have to avoid any hope for a little happiness. Feeling something good, doesn't erase him. But, just existing and never trying, doesn't honor him much either. You were so right about that."

"I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it. I have no right to judge you and I don't. You are better now and don't blame that all on me, because you would have found something. You're so strong. It was a terrible time for you and everyone…I mean everyone, has those moments."

"You don't. You get mad sometimes and you cry, but you don't ever stop being cheerful and caring about people. He did see more about you than you think he did. I ask Sherlock once, why he didn't ask you out." John smiles and plays with a strand of sea-grass, sticking it in his mouth like a toothpick.

"Do I even want to know…what he said? I mean, it had to be something…just awful." Molly says closing her eyes and wincing in expectation.

"He said, 'Because she would let me push her around until I ruined her, and I would never forgive her for it. Besides, she would make me sentimental for her when she finally did leave me and it would distract me. I break people, John. Precious things must be admired from a distance, that is the whole concept behind museums,' and I told him he was an idiot. He said I should ask you out." John leans back in the sand stretching out clasping his fingers behind his head.

"But, you never did. Can I ask why? You have dated a lot of girls since I knew you." Molly leans back on her elbow, but towers over him creating shade on his face with her head.

"Couldn't. Bloke code. You were still, his girl. Even if he didn't know how to process you as a living breathing person who might not appreciate being admired and never touched." he says and looks at her with a little regret at what he's about to say, "It took death for that rule not to apply and dating you meant I was admitting it was real. That is one of the reasons it was so bad the night we were drinking. I wanted you so badly. I made my play for you and then you left, but it dawned on me what I had just done. I even used it, his death, as the clincher to get you in my bed. So I had nothing more to wait for. I then got it in my head that he was alive and everyone was playing some horrible game with me, I didn't need to search out some motive for the supposed conspiracy because I was far too drunk to think logically. I fixed that by telling myself, you were playing with me too. Which in my mind, my drunken mind, justified my actions. All a bluff."

Molly looked at him like she was reliving that night in a way that didn't happen. "Don't. Because I saw your eyes. It was not a bluff. I was only gone for half an hour. Tell me the truth, what changed."

John frowns and shakes his head. His lips press between his teeth and he lets a heavy breath out through his nostrils. "Hard to explain."

"Try?"