Marred

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"Teach me. Please?"

They needn't speak. Words and vocalization were irrelevant. All that was and would be between them was this place and this moment where a man and woman gave each other their attention. He needn't touch her but he did.

Simple. Tender. Honest. Pure.

A hand to her elbow, trailing along her forearm to her wrist, then finally to the back of her hand where his fingertips rested. His eyes were on here in adoration. He never lied when he was with her. He was real. Tangible. There.

Between them and this moment... they were lovers. They were false lovers. They were pretend lovers. They were practice dummies for each other. They pretended to be real. They lived a falsity that lasted mere minutes.

And she was there. Accepting his gazes and the touches. Accepting the fragile intimacy. Accepting the outcome of her request. Though, her hands were too shy and too inexperienced to understand what was to be done or acted upon. She was more flustered and embarrassed than she was shy.

His fingers moved to her wrist once again. He felt her pulse through the thin layer of flesh and veins. He felt her beat steadily with him.

For Molly, to touch Sherlock in this way was almost taboo and a fleeting dream never to be brought back. To touch her husband like this was... impossible... nearly so. Between her and the other pathologist, their pretend emotions felt so real. Their pretend intimacy felt so honest.

The soft tender touches and averting eyes led them to the end of the scenario. Their session of discreet and modest flirting was to a stop. Because something like that could never happen in their realities. Not Molly to her Sherlock nor Molly to Hamish. No way.

Her request had been fulfilled. Hamish had shown her what the simplest of touches and attention could do. He gave her a small demonstration of confidence.

"I'll try. I really will. Thank you." Molly smiled up at the tall blond and watched as he bowed his head and kissed the back of her hand. He shouldn't have done that. He was becoming too selfish.

"Whatever you wish," he jested to her but never met her gaze. How could he? Serenading as someone else to protect her. He felt the consequences of his lie now. Slow and gradual, they were. His insecurities tore away at his mental stability and emotional stance. Could he? Possibly—had he—felt a sort of fear after all this time?

What if she were to fall for this false body? Fall for this fake and nonexistent face? Fall in love with the man that he could never be or be forever? What if she fell in love with Hamish and only Hamish?

It was cruel.

Sherlock suddenly hated this disguise. Suddenly felt jealousy and envy for something he believed Molly to want more than he himself. Sherlock felt bitterness and despised the perfect monster he had so blatantly created.

There was a conclusion to the inner argument: It was all for her. To protect her. To be her confidant. To be her friend.

To be... a double agent.

"How do you do it, Hamish?" the male pathologist raised his head to Molly as she spoke to him. "Acknowledge and know each other, I mean?" Molly's voice was small yet meaningful. There was always a curiosity brimming out from her.

"Observation." Sherlock had let his own personality and self slip past the wall and character he had placed into view.

Molly's eyes quickly jerked up to his blue ones; because after all of this—she had never truly looked him in the eyes nor searched them like she did now. Her face was all pretty with shock and confusion before it was all erased away with that small smile of hers. A smile that was starting to feel like a familiar home to him.

"You sound like him." her laugh was sweet. "But he doesn't have what you have."

Hamish pulled back his head and frowned. "And pray tell, exactly what is that?"

The answer was simple as it was hard. "Love. Communication. Vulnerability. I guess, simple yet complex things?"

There was that ugly feeling again.

Jealousy.

Jealousy for the open and honest confessions she would make to him but not to Sherlock.

Then again, feelings and emotions were ugly regardless—or where they?

I really am sorry that it took a while for me to get this chapter up. After we got back we weren't feeling all too well and were restless. I took another week to get my bearings together and to get back into the habit back at home.

I really do apologize! Here is the next installment. A bit short but I couldn't fit the parts I wanted into this chap for the fact it would seem a bit cut off. There wasn't a way where I could easily transition one thing into another without it feeling forced or a bit out of place.

For those who are a bit confused to what might have happened here: Molly asks for Hamish's help in being more flirtatious. The flirting is discreet, low-key, and somewhat innocent. The flirting was simple as it was a game for the both of them. Molly tries to pretend that Hamish is her Sherlock—when in reality, Sherlock explores Molly more closely and intimately as himself. Of course, this means that Sherlock lets his selfishness get the better of him as he takes the chance to get a better and close look at Molly. Yet he realizes that Hamish is what Molly sees and he feels jealousy for this fake persona of his.

Fret not. There is more jealous Sherlock to be had. This is merely an opening and start of the emotional rift between these two to be explored.