Author's Note: Thank you for reading/reviewing/following/favorite-ing (not a word)! It means a lot to me. I know it's moving a little slowly, but I want to show Sherlock's growth in character. Some of you are eager for Sherlolly fluffiness, it's coming I promise! However our boy has been wicked, so he's gonna have to work for it! (That's my inner Irene Adler coming out, sorry). I hope you enjoy it! :)
*Italics are used for inner monologues
The rest of the evening at the Watsons was spent in tension-filled silence; to say it was uncomfortable was an understatement. Never one to pick up on social cues, Sherlock continued eating his dinner, satisfied that the "Molly conversation" had been dropped. However at the head of the table, John could barely contain his aggravation. Every time Sherlock brought the fork up to his mouth, he felt like reaching across and knocking the smug look off his face. The hostility in the room grew and grew with every scraping of plate and clatter of silverware. Finally John had enough.
"Are you really so daft that you think everything will go back to normal?"
Sherlock wiped his mouth, and threw his napkin on the table. "For God's sake, are we still discussing this?"
"Yes we are because I don't think you understand. You may not have had a "conventional relationship" but you obviously had something special; we all saw it! Can you honestly tell me that when you go to Bart's tomorrow, nothing will be weird?"
"Actually, I told Molly I would give her some space. So I won't be visiting anytime soon… Unless it's official business, of course," Sherlock replied somberly.
"Sure, because we all know how you love respecting boundaries," John mumbled and earned himself a scowl from his wife.
After spending most of the night tossing and turning, Molly got up and put the kettle on. Once her cup was ready she walked over to her favorite armchair to do some serious thinking.
Sherlock wanted to have sex. With her. But not date her. 'Ugh! What does that even mean?!' Was it just a casual thing? Did he expect her to be at his beck and call? She doubted that he would treat her like his whore (Sherlock wouldn't be so vulgar), but would they have some sort of system? Like appointments. Sex appointments? As ridiculous as it seemed, it wasn't too difficult to picture him taking out his mobile and scheduling 'sexy times' every other Tuesday at 3:00 pm.
Was she seriously considering this? She had dreamed about this for a long time. To be wanted and desired by Sherlock Holmes had been her wish since they first met. However, would she be happy being just a sexual partner? Was that enough? Her mind was bouncing back and forth between two sound arguments:
1.) she would regret never knowing what it felt like to be in his arms, and
2.) she would most likely hate herself when he inevitably broke her heart.
Remembering that no reasonable decision was ever made at two in the morning, she chose to let it go for the moment and tried to get some rest. There was no rush. After all Sherlock told her to 'take all the time she needed' right? Yes, there was no rush whatsoever.
She really should have known better…
The next morning she arrived at work to find the high-functioning sociopath himself sitting behind her desk.
"Ah Molly! There you are!" He greeted cheerfully. "Um- morning Sherlock," she returned the greeting half-heartedly. Her coffee hadn't kicked in yet and she wasn't ready to deal with him, or whoever this sunny version was. She busied herself hanging her coat and purse when Sherlock stood up from the desk chair and strode over to her side.
"Sooooo?" he said purposefully stretching out the last syllable looking at her expectantly. Molly sighed, "What?"
"Well did you think about what we discussed last night?"
"Yes. Have I decided? No." She didn't intend to snap at him, but after a night of unrest and a cup of what she now suspected was decaffeinated coffee, she couldn't be held responsible for her actions. Not entirely trusting herself in such close proximity, she figured it was a good idea to head towards the lab and get some space. He made no move to follow her so she began to believe she was spared the awkward conversation.
Molly had already removed some samples from the incubator and set up the day's experiment when she heard the lab doors close loudly. 'Come on Hooper, did you really think he would let it go that quickly,' she silently chastised herself.
"Well how about now?"
"Are you asking me if I made a decision in the last-" she glanced down at her wrist theatrically, "-three minutes? What happened to giving me time?" She really wasn't ready to deal with this.
"You had last night to think about it," Sherlock replied slightly baffled.
Pinching the bridge of her nose she began to explain herself. "That's not a lot of time Sherlock! What you are asking requires a lot of consideration. It might not seem like a big deal to you, but it is to me… We are friends now, and I would hate to lose that."
He made his way into the room with his hands clasped behind his back. "So you need more time?"
"Yes, that is what I am saying."
"Alright, Molly Hooper, then more time you shall have," he declared as he dramatically exited the lab.
The rest of the week was quite similar. Molly would arrive at work, find Sherlock there, inform him that she hadn't made a decision, and reiterate that she needed time without his pestering. For three days it was the same scenario. When she walked into her office Friday morning, she was surprised to find it unoccupied. Then she entered the lab and discovered it was empty as well. She shrugged her shoulders and went on with her day, all the while ignoring the feeling of disappointment.
Upon her return from lunch, she stumbled on three familiar crime-solving faces waiting outside the morgue. Greg Lestrade was the first to notice her arrival. "Hey Molls, have you finished the Phillips autopsy? His royal highness over here needs to take a look." Quickly she hugged him before opening the door to let the men in; she noticed Sherlock's eyes narrow and his jaw clench.
"Yes, I haven't performed the tox screen yet, but I suspect it wasn't suicide. I was-"
Unwilling to remain quiet, Sherlock interrupted, "See! I told you Geoff! What an incompetent lot you-"
"Sherlock…" John scolded before turning his attention to Molly.
"Hi Molly!" He walked over and kissed her cheek. "Hi John!" Sherlock and Greg continued their bickering as they walked towards the body. Not wanting to get in the middle of that, she stayed back with John. "How's Mary and Emily?"
"Oh they're great. Actually Emily just had a doctor's visit and she needed to get her vaccines. Poor thing she-"
"Yes, yes Emily is fine. Mary is fine. We are all fine!" Sherlock huffed impatiently. He turned to address Molly, "So you hug Gordon, kiss John, but you won't have sex with me? I don't understand. Everyone knows that you fancy me!"
Defying science, Molly felt herself pale and blush at the same time. "WHAT!" she roared. Sherlock didn't need John to tell him that that was "not good." He attempted to pacify the situation. "Forgive me. It was not my intention to offend you, all I meant was- er…" Sherlock turned to look at John as if asking for assistance and found that he was on his own.
Greg, who was slowly sidestepping his way to the door, cleared his throat. "Well it looks like I got what I need for now. Molls- um I mean Molly- please let me know when you get the tox results. Yeah, okay. I best be leaving!" He gave John one last pitying look before scrambling out of the room.
When Sherlock returned his gaze to Molly he could see that she was livid. Despite his many transgressions, he had never seen Molly in such a state. For once he was scared that he had gone too far.
She pulled back her shoulders, standing just a little bit taller, and inched towards the consulting detective. "Get. Out. Now." she bit out scathingly.
Sherlock took a few steps back. "Molly I know this isn't my area of expertise, but we should probably discuss-"
Her small hand came up to stop him, effectively shutting him up. (John made a mental note to ask her how she did that). "If you don't leave then I will. And if you follow me out, I will hurt you Sherlock Holmes. Now leave me alone!"
John placed his hand on his friend's arm and nodded towards the door. "Don't say anything, it will make things worse. Let's just go." Sherlock peeled his eyes away from the angry pathologist and escaped from the morgue. Before leaving, John pulled Molly into a tight hug. "I don't know what the hell that was, but I'll set him straight. You know how he is… he still has trouble with this. Being a friend... But as long as I am around, I won't let him upset you. And if he does-," he pulled back to look at her face, "remember I was a soldier." With one last kiss on the cheek and wink, he left.
He caught up with Sherlock outside, who already had a cab waiting. They remained silent on the drive to Baker Street, both of them looking out in hopes of delaying the confrontation a little longer. Once they reached the safety of 221B, Sherlock went directly to his chair and flopped down. John stood at the entrance of the flat and stared at his best friend. "No Sherlock. No mind palace this time. Now, what the hell is the matter with you?"
Sherlock wasn't really in the mood for sharing, but he realized he had no idea what he was doing. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help. So he spilled everything; his attraction to Molly, how he proposed this 'understanding', and the events of the past week in which he tried to sway her opinion in his favor. By the end of his long winded confession he had a splitting headache; and John had a shit-eating grin. He couldn't wait to tell Mary!
Sherlock left the Watsons completely exhausted, like on-a-case-that-rates-a-10 kind of exhaustion. He walked away from his friend's house in search of a cab. When his pursuit was unsuccessful, he decided to continue on foot. On the journey home to his bed, his mind began to wonder.
'What does it matter if I'm with Molly or not? And how is it any of their business? It does not affect them, so why do they care?' ' Sure they had had a hand in joining them. And had it not been for Mary intervening, Molly would have never forgiven him for that day in the lab when she kicked him out. And yes, John played a vital role in the establishment of this affair. Even though he repeatedly said that referring to it as an 'agreement' was a bad idea and not the way to win the affections of a woman, he still continued to support them. When he stumbled in the beginning, both John and Mary would patiently help him through it and 'see the error of his ways.' Actually, they were probably the reason why Molly stuck around for as long as she did. 'They are good friends. Molly was a good friend too…'
It was that last though that had him take in his surroundings. He was standing on the pavement outside of Molly's flat. 'Ugh! How did I get here?' From below he could see that the light of her bedside lamp was on. 'She's probably reading in bed' he thought as he smiled to himself. He always found it amusing that she would attempt to read in bed. She wouldn't even get through one page before she fell asleep. Sherlock couldn't count the number of times he came to bed to find an open book on her face, and a faint snore coming from underneath. Whenever he brought it up, she would just laugh. She thought it was embarrassing. He thought it was absolutely adorable.
Sherlock stood there a few more minutes; the weight of his fatigue beginning to take its toll. He thought about going up and sleeping there. Surely she wouldn't mind; how many times had she opened her home to him. He stumbled towards her door and raised his hand to press the doorbell. In a brief moment of clarity, he reconsidered. If he was going to have any chance of continuing his 'pre-agreement' relationship with Molly, it was probably best that he not piss her off. Since they couldn't be together, he would try his damnedest to be worthy of her friendship. And that meant respecting her wishes and giving her the time and space she needed. After all, a life without Molly was no life at all.
With one final look over his shoulder, he stared at the small bedroom window on the third floor. "Goodnight Molly Hooper… Sweet dreams." Summoning all the strength he had (both physical and mental), he turned away from the flat that housed many great memories, and headed home.
End notes: Please review, the only way I can improve is by getting some feedback! I am also open to any suggestions! Lots of love to you guys! :)