Hello again! Thanks so much to those who have reviewed, favourited and followed this little story, it is very encouraging and I'm happy to see you enjoying it.
This chapter is a little interlude before Sherlock works up the courage to face Molly, told from John's perspective. The calm before the storm, as it were. Spoilers for the episode: The Final Problem are still in effect.
I hope you enjoy it and the last chapter will be up very soon.
Note: I made a big booboo in this chapter! I had the boys at Baker street when we all know it was blown up. Many thanks to ISolemlySwear2 for pointing it out so I could fix it! Sorry everyone who was left scratching their heads going "didn't their flat blow up?"
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the show. I'm only using them for my own entertainment.
Chapter 2: The Truth
"What are you going to tell her?" John Watson asked softly, sitting across from Sherlock in a quiet hotel room that Mycroft had provided in the mean time while Baker street lay in ruins after the explosion. Mrs H was staying with a friend until repairs could begin. They had been sitting that way for a good hour since one of Lestrade's people had dropped them off and after John had showered to wash away the mud and grime from being stuck at the bottom of a well, both contemplating the events of the day and the last few months really. Their thoughts were heavy, weary things, and both men were down to their last legs. It was only now, when a sense of calm had settled over them, that John felt it was time to break the silence. Sherlock didn't look at him, his gaze fixed on the low crackling fire in the fire place, his brow furrowed.
"The truth," he replied finally, his voice low, and John nodded. He had seen what had happened in that room with the coffin intended for Molly Hooper. He had seen what it had done to his friend when he had had to make Molly tell him she loved him in order to save her life. It hadn't shocked him when Molly demanded that Sherlock say it first; she had become so much stronger over the years and her ability to stand up for herself, to stand up to Sherlock, had gotten stronger every day. What had shocked the ex-army doctor was how Sherlock had said the words. He knew Sherlock would say them, anything to keep his friends alive and safe, that was what the man did for those he cared about. But the way Sherlock had said them, as if he had realised in that moment, as the words left his lips, that he meant them. One only had to remember the way Sherlock had completely lost it and obliterated the coffin intended for Molly to understand that the consulting detective's feelings for the pathologist ran much deeper than any of them could have guessed.
It was bittersweet, John thought, that after all that had happened, his friend was finally allowing the walls around his heart to fall away. John knew that he had had a hand in breaking down those walls and Mary...oh, Mary...she had sweet talked and cheekily outwitted Sherlock into finding a place in his heart as well. Rosie was a given; the cheerful baby girl was all smiles when Sherlock was around and the consulting detective was hard pressed to stay indifferent. The members of Sherlock's family already had their place, including Mrs H who was like a second mother to him, no matter how much Sherlock griped about their interference in his life. Irene Adler had had a fair crack at breaking down his walls, allowing John to see a side of his friend he had never seen before. But it was Molly, Molly Hooper, who had stood the test of time, who had remained unshaken in her faith in him, in her trust in him, her loyalty and willingness to do whatever she had to to help him, that caused Sherlock's walls to come crashing down. John only wished that it hadn't taken their lives to be threatened, for Molly's life to be threatened, for Sherlock to realise what he had.
John watched his friend quietly, taking in the stillness, the almost rigid way the man held himself. His face was a study in concentration, his fingertips pressing beneath his chin has he gazed into the fire. John knew Sherlock's thoughts were far away; his sister was once again locked up in Sherrinford, unresponsive to any communication; Mycroft was rattled, shaken, trying to deal with the consequences of the plans he had set in motion so long ago; and Molly, Molly who was mostly likely sitting in her living room, curled up on the settee with a cup of tea cradled in her hands to soothe her nerves, her cat Toby pressed against her side, was surely running over and over in her mind her conversation with Sherlock. John hoped that Molly would let Sherlock explain, that she wouldn't shut him out. He hoped that they could sort it out; he would be devastated to lose her friendship if she and Sherlock couldn't resolve this. John sighed.
"When are you going to see her?" He asked and Sherlock closed his eyes, huffing quietly.
"Well, seeing as you practically begged me to stay here instead of going to her flat tonight like I wanted to, I suppose I will see her tomorrow." Sherlock muttered, frustration clear in his voice and also a hint of wistfulness. John snorted and rubbed at his tired eyes.
"You have had an emotionally and physically draining day, Sherlock," John reminded him, looking at his friend pointedly. "You would be useless in trying to explain yourself to Molly. Sherlock, you have just found out that you have a sister, that she had killed your best childhood friend, and then you saved her from herself," John said gently, his expression softening when Sherlock's face twisted, the man's throat working as he swallowed heavily. "And you realised that you love Molly Hooper."
Sherlock's head snapped around to stare at his best friend and John sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the pain and fear flickering in his blue-green eyes. The consulting detective exhaled shakily and rubbed a hand over his weary face, his gaze returning to the fire. John bit his lip and leaned forward in his chair, wanting his friend to clearly hear what he had to say next.
"I know that terrifies you, Sherlock. But remember when I told you that you should give it a go with Irene Adler?" He hid a smile when Sherlock frowned, glancing at John out the corner of his eye. "I know, but I thought you two might have had something going on – " Sherlock was shaking his head.
"It's really only been texting since I saved her in Karachi and I hardly ever reply, haven't replied in a long while actually," Sherlock muttered, running a hand through his dark curls, his frown deepening. "But, Molly..." John nodded.
"Molly. It actually doesn't surprise me too much," he inclined his head when Sherlock turned fully to face him, his eyes wide. "I've seen how you are with her since you came back, Sherlock. You care for her and you show it in so many little ways that if I wasn't your best friend I would have never noticed. You care for her and today you realised it was much more than you thought it was. And you realised that she cares way more for you than you ever thought she did." His friend blinked rapidly and his eyes glistened brightly in the light of the fire. John's voice softened.
"Don't let this opportunity pass you by, Sherlock. There is a woman out there who loves you, who wants only the best for you. That woman has put up with every single hurtful thing you have said to her and has come out stronger. She tells you when you are wrong, she tells you to stop when you're hurting yourself, when what you are doing is hurting the people that care about you. She worries about you, she misses you when you're gone, she smiles when you come back," John's voice cracked as memories of Mary flooded his mind, the memory of her own beautiful smile bringing tears to his eyes. "That amazing woman loves you, Sherlock, and you would be a fool to let her go." A grin appeared on John's face as Sherlock nodded, a tear sliding down his cheek. The consulting detective looked back into the fire and wiped the tear away, exhaling shakily.
"I know," Sherlock said quietly and then laughed softly, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. "A fool indeed." John smiled before a yawn overtook it. Stretching, John stood.
"I'm gonna head off to bed. I'm picking up Rosie early in the morning," John said and smiled down at his friend. "Get some rest, Sherlock, you'll need a clear head when you talk to Molly tomorrow." Sherlock nodded, returning John's smile with a weary one of his own before his gaze returned to the fire, his busy mind preoccupied once more. John sighed and turned away, heading for the stairs that would take him up to his room. Sherlock would get some sleep eventually, John knew, no matter how much the prat insisted the body was only transport and didn't have needs. He also knew that Sherlock wouldn't set one foot in his bedroom until he had worked out exactly what he was going to tell Molly tomorrow. John wished him luck, his eyes already drooping in exhaustion.
As he flopped fully clothed onto his bed, almost instantly falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, thoughts of seeing his beautiful little daughter in the morning caused a content smile to curl his lips before he slipped into dreams. Dreams where Mary, her blue eyes twinkling cheekily and a sunny smile curling her soft lips, stood waiting for him.
Thanks for reading! Last chapter up soon!