John Watson looked at his best friend carefully. He had noticed the change in Sherlock since he'd been back. At his wedding he was almost…sentimental. And the incident with Magnussen…completely selfless. It didn't surprise John really, he'd always seen the best in Sherlock, lord knows he wouldn't have stuck around otherwise…but his friend didn't seem as keen to hide his goodness as he once was.
"Sherlock," John started, eyeing the subject of his address carefully. "What brings you round at 6:30 in the morning? Not that I'm not glad to see you, but…"
"Really, John." Sherlock turned from where he was inspecting the baby-proof outlet covers John had recently installed. "I would think you'd be eager to get this Moriarty mess solved, what with the imminent birth of your child."
"But Sherlock, we haven't anything to go on. Mycroft already traced the source of the broadcast, a dead end since the system was hacked remotely. If his people can't go any farther, what hope do we have of getting more from it? We'll just have to wait for the next move, if there is one."
"I can't do that John." Sherlock said, turning away to fiddle with the child-proofing on the kitchen drawers.
"You handled it just fine last time. In fact, I think you rather enjoyed playing his game,"John replied,just a hint of irritation creeping into his voice.
"Well, it's not a game anymore." Sherlock said this quietly, as if it were a secret.
John was slightly surprised by this remark, albeit a little vindicated. It had always irked John how callous his friend could be regarding his cases, only seeing them as puzzles to be solved, not considering the lives of those involved.
"What's brought this on then?" John asked, hoping Sherlock truly was undergoing some sort of emotional transformation.
"He's in love with the pathologist," stated Mary, stifling a yawn as she waddled into the kitchen. John hadn't even known she was awake, and was constantly surprised how quietly she could move through the house considering her 38-week belly.
"Don't try to make deductions, Mary. In your state there is not enough blood circulating to your brain as it is," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, but with no real malice.
"You didn't deny it though, did you?" Mary asked in a sing-song voice, grinning now, and slowly lowered herself into a kitchen chair, clearly unperturbed by the detectives comment.
"I'm quite fond of Dr. Hooper, naturally. She's literally the only competent pathologist at St. Bart's. But I have no idea what that has to do with putting this Moriarty business to rest."
John was silent, looking back and forth between his wife and best friend as if watching a tennis match.
"So it doesn't bother you that he slept with her?" Mary asked with a knowing raise of her eyebrows.
Sherlock opened his mouth as if to reply, but promptly shut it again. He then quickly turned and was gone out the kitchen door with a flourish of his Belstaff.
oooooooooo
Molly had quite the headache. True to her prediction, she had not been able to go back to sleep last night, and so she had imbibed in several glasses of wine in order to remedy the situation. That being the case, she was grateful for the solitude and silence her work provided as she slowly began the work of cataloging the demise of a body presumed to be Miss Eva Ó Muircheartaigh, aged twenty, killed in an automobile accident. Normally, since the death was accidental, Molly would have let it wait until tomorrow and taken a sick day. However, if it was confirmed to be her, the girl's body would likely be sent back to her family in Ireland for burial, and Molly felt it cruel to prolong it.
The girl's face was unrecognizable, the impact breaking enough bones to make even basic features indistinguishable. Fingerprints would be the quickest, if she was in the system. If not, she would have to send out for dental records for comparison. She got out her fingerprinting supplies, gently yet efficiently manipulating the girls's still hands to get a full set of clear prints. She scanned these into the computer, and set the program to start searching for matches.
While the computer worked, Molly sat down to catch up on paperwork. She constantly fell behind, especially when Sherlock was around making demands on her time. She shook her head, knowing if she started thinking about him now, about everything that had happened last night, she would never get anything done today.
Just barely making a dent in the amount of work to be done, Molly looked up when she heard the door open.
"Dr. Hooper?" it was Mycroft's voice she heard from the morgue floor, much to Molly's surprise. The eldest Holmes had only communicated with her a handful of times, including the setting up of Lazarus, and never did it directly, always sending an assistant or lackey in his stead.
"Mr. Holmes," Molly addressed the man, walking out into the morgue from her small back office. "How might I assist you?"
"Well, Dr. Hooper, I have a proposal that would be of mutual benefit, if you are amenable to it's terms, of course." Mycroft's opening line reminded Molly of playing chess with her grandfather, a champion-level player. It gave her the same feeling of a plan being set up before her, if only she were clever enough to see it.
Molly nodded, letting Mycroft know he might continue his explanation. "At my brother's request, I am offering to place a security detail on you for the foreseeable future, or until the current predicament has been resolved."
"In return for?" Molly asked, skeptical. She had to admit she would feel safer knowing they were there, however, knowing Mycroft, she was suspicious the cost might be too dear.
"We'll just say…you owe me a favor. Nothing too distasteful, I assure you. A man in my position likes to have…connections in certain departments. You would be one such connection, should I have need, Dr. Hooper."
Molly considered. Owing a debt to someone like Mycroft Holmes was not something to be taken lightly. Yet, she had a feeling he meant to call in his marker in a way concerning her profession, which wouldn't likely be "too distasteful" as he put it. She had long ago grown accustomed to taking professional risks on a whim for the younger Holmes, why should the elder be any different?
"Thank you, I accept," she said, sounding more sure than she truly felt.
"Splendid. My men will be around. You won't see them. Carry on as normal-"
Mycroft was cut off by the computer to his right ringing, the sound loud and echoing in the quiet morgue and drawing is gaze briefly. This signaled the fingerprint program had found a match, the results now flashing on the screen.
"Well, I'll be going then. Have a fine day, Dr. Hooper," and with that Mycroft was gone, leaving Molly with her confirmation of the girl's identity, and a very sad phone call to make.
oooooooooo
How in the sodding hell had he missed that? Bloody Sherlock Holmes, missing the the completely bloody obvious. Of course Moriarty and Molly had been…intimate. He had been committed to the illusion they were in a relationship, and even Sherlock knew that involved certain…technicalities.
That's what she had meant when she said he'd been in her flat, he realized. Sherlock felt slightly nauseated. He told himself the tightness in his chest came from having missed such an elementary deduction.
Lost in his swirling thoughts, he was not surprised to suddenly find himself back at Baker's street.
"Oh, Sherlock, you're up early," Mrs. Hudson was coming down from his flat. "Was wondering where you were. Off on a case then?"
It was just then that she really looked at the detective, and seemed startled by what she saw. "My dear boy, are you alright? You look quite…pale."
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Yes yes, Mrs. Hudson, quite alright, I assure you. Quite busy at the moment, excuse me." He tried to brush past his landlady into the sanctuary of his flat, but she caught him by the arm.
"Sherlock, I know it's been…different since you've been back. And then that dreadful business of being shot…well, I just want to say that, I've grown quite attached to you over the years, never had any children of my own, you know…" She trailed off for a moment, seeming to be lost in memory. But then she continued, "and with John having Mary and the baby now, I feel like part of quite the little family. It's good, Sherlock. Family. And it's alright to care for your family." She finished her speech, and looked at Sherlock, searching for some sort of understanding in his face.
Without even thinking about it, Sherlock found himself wrapping Mrs. Hudson in a hug. She had arguably been one of the first people he'd shown affection for, not tolerating Mycroft's rudeness in her presence and taking it as a personal offense when John had suggested she leave Baker's street. The woman was maddening, to be sure, but she…accepted him.
Mrs. Hudson hugged him back, letting out a sound of delighted surprise. "Alright then, Sherlock, off you go. Puzzles to solve and all that." The older woman pulled back, feigning nonchalance, but Sherlock noted the moisture that had gathered in her eyes.
The detective slipped back into his own indifference, taking a step back. "Regarding that, Mrs. Hudson, I have a few questions you might be able to provide answers to."
"Me?" She laughed. "Well, if you think so. Let me just put the kettle on, and we'll discuss it over tea."
Sherlock followed her into her flat, made himself comfortable in his usual kitchen chair as she busied herself gathering the things for tea. He didn't know what he really intended to ask her, he really wanted her to explain all the questions he had swirling in his head about Molly, but he couldn't just come out and ask, it had to sound like it was for a case….
"So, what was it you wanted to ask me, then?" Mrs. Hudson sat down and began pouring the tea, making Sherlock grateful she wasn't looking him in the eye. He decided to take a round-about approach.
"What happened when I was-" Sherlock paused, not wanting to say 'dead'."Gone?"
Mrs. Hudson didn't look surprised by the question. In fact, she smiled at him knowingly before answering. "Well, John moved out, that much you already know. Didn't come around much, I suppose he couldn't really, poor boy. Gave him a piece of my mind for that, I did. Your brother came by, after the funeral. Told me if I didn't want to rent out the flat, your flat, he'd keep paying the rent. I thought it was kindness, at the time. Greg took me to tea every Sunday, for a time-"
"Who?" Sherlock interrupted.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade, Sherlock! My goodness…" She focused on regaining her train of thought. "Felt very guilty, he did, for not believing you, once it all came out. Oh, and that lovely girl Molly, she came by quite a bit. Came up with reasons, borrowing a book from your flat, looking for this or that you'd taken from St. Bart's…but , really, I think she felt responsible for me, somehow. Darling girl." She stopped, giving Sherlock a look he couldn't decipher. "You should thank her for that, Sherlock, really. After all she's done for you, 'twould only be polite."
Sherlock sighed. Leave it to Mrs. Hudson to go straight for the kill, in her way. But, this was a good reason to do something nice for Molly, he really was quite fond of Mrs. Hudson.
"If you insist, then I suppose I have no alternative, Mrs. Hudson. I suppose a written 'Thank You' will not suffice?" he feigned annoyance, but really, he was fishing for what the pathologist might appreciate.
"Oh, no, Sherlock. You might get her a gift, or take her to dinner…"
Sherlock felt panic rise inside him. He had never been one for giving gifts. And while he had faked his way through dinner dates with women before, he found the pressure to make adequate conversation stifling.
"…maybe the cinema, a comedy would do the poor girl good, lord knows…"
"What do you mean, a comedy would do her good?" Sherlock was pulled from his own misgivings by Mrs. Hudson's implication.
"Well the poor thing's been through the wringer, lord knows. First, that dreadful business with Moriarty and faking your death, then her fiancee breaking off the engagement…"
Sherlock had nearly forgotten about…What was his name? Tom. He's noticed she'd not been wearing the ring, but had gotten distracted by other things.
"Well, I'm sure you'll figure something out, Sherlock. After all, that big brain of yours has to be good for something then, doesn't it?"
Sherlock was once again startled out of his own thoughts by the Mrs. Hudson speaking to him.
"Sorry? Yes, quite. Very good. Good day then, Mrs. Hudson."
He beat a hasty retreat up the stairs to his own flat, heaving a sigh of relief once the door was shut behind him.
Finally in the comfort of home, the kind of comfort that comes from unwavering consistency, Sherlock Holmes relaxed ever so slightly. He was never quite the same outside of these four walls, in the ever-expecting gaze of the world-
The thought came to him suddenly, as all his most brilliant ones did. He would have Molly come here. Yes, that would be perfect. Perhaps here, things between them would make sense. They could eat take-away and he would thank her to appease Mrs. Hudson…
He took out his phone to text the pathologist, his preferred method of communication.
"Take-away at Baker's street for dinner. Matters to discuss," he typed out. Squinting slightly, he tried again. "Take-away at Baker's street tonight, if you're free. Matters to discuss. Thank you."
He nodded, satisfied his message didn't sound too…demanding, and sent it. The reply was almost instantaneous.
"Alright."
oooooooooooo
Molly wasn't sure what prompted her to agree to have dinner with Sherlock. She still had a slight headache, which hadn't been helped by the bit of crying she'd done after informing the poor girl's family…She didn't cry over her work often, you got used to that sort of thing…but every once in a while, a case would come along that got under her skin. She didn't mind, really. It was good to know death still effected her, no matter how hard she tried to keep it out. It meant she was human.
Whatever the reason, she now sat across from Sherlock in what was formerly "John's" chair, eating her favorite dish from her favorite Chinese restaurant. She supposed it wasn't surprising that Sherlock had known her favorite, he had seen her eating it enough at St. Bart's, and he was brilliant at remembering things.
"First, let me just say Thank You." Sherlock said, beginning his carefully thought out monologue. "For looking in on Mrs. Hudson while I was away. You didn't have to, but I know it meant a lot to her."
Molly blinked. It was no secret that Sherlock cared for his landlady, but expressing gratitude was not characteristic…at least, it wasn't before. He had thanked her for her help with faking his death, after all. Even kissed her on the cheek...
"It was nothing. She'd always been kind to me, and I felt guilty, knowing what I knew, and watching them grieve…" she trailed off, and shrugged her shoulders. "I just didn't want her to be alone."
Sherlock inclined his head in assent, gathering courage. "I know it can't have been easy for you, then. And popping back up the way I did…I apologize if it was inconvenient for you." His gaze went to her ring finger, now empty except for a very faint tan line.
Molly followed his gaze and blushed. "Oh, that. No, nothing to do with any of that. Tom and I…actually, I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, this was exactly what he had planned. "Forgive me. I just thought that's what people, friends, do. Talk about…things."
Molly studied the man across from her. Seeing nothing to make her believe he was insincere, she was struck with inspiration. "Alright then. We'll talk. But quid pro quo, Mr. Holmes. If I have to talk, so do you."
Sherlock steepled his fingertips just in front of his face, considering. He did have several things he wanted cleared up regarding his pathologist, and, despite his own misgivings regarding sharing information about himself, there was this recent part of him which craved to be…known.
"Agreed."
Molly smiled. "Alright then. Tom. Tom just wanted things…too fast. I never trusted him completely, I guess."
Sherlock thought for a moment, weighing her answer. Before he could reply, Molly cut in, "Your turn, then. Why did you do what you did, for John?"
Sherlock knew she was referring to killing Magnussen. He also knew she knew the reason, as he did. Therefore, her motivation must be to get him to admit it out loud. He decided he would oblige.
"Because I was his best man, and I am his best friend, and I care for him. I want him to be happy."
Molly's traitorous heart gave a little twitch. The look of pure adoration on his face when he spoke of his friend…What would it be like to have someone look like that when speaking of her?
"Why didn't you trust Tom?" Sherlock asked, continuing their game.
Molly looked down at her food and gave a little laugh. "Well, I guess you could say I don't have the best track record, do I? He didn't really ever do anything to give me reason to distrust him though. I suppose it wasn't fair."
Sherlock tensed at her reference to her relationship with Jim from IT, aka Moriarty. Given his reaction earlier today, he knew this was a road he didn't want to go down, at least not now.
Molly's turn. "When you took drugs that time six months ago, was it really only for a case?"
Sherlock closed the container holding his dinner thoughtfully, and set it aside. The answer to this question would bring them in dangerous proximity to things Sherlock didn't even fully understand about himself. He could deflect, offer up a half truth hidden by a cold remark, but he found he didn't want to.
"Mostly," he replied honestly. "When I used drugs before, it was to help slow down my mind, so I could relax, just for a time. I learned to cope in other ways, obviously, hence my sobriety. However, when I came back, things were different. I was different. I had to learn, am learning, to cope again. That time…may have been partially a reflection of that."
Molly was startled by Sherlock's honesty. She hadn't realized it when she asked the question, but it had been a test of sorts. The classic Sherlock response would have been full of denial and barbs. Yet instead, the man before her had answered honestly and with a vulnerability that moved her down to her bones.
"Last night. Why did you really ask me to stop, Molly?"
Molly blushed. She'd started this conversation, she wouldn't be the coward to ruin it. "I…well…I remembered something you'd said…about my…" rather than speak aloud, she gestured to her chest, letting him fill in the blank.
"Molly, I-"
Molly cut him off with a wave of her hand. "We addressed your…remarks…last night. We needn't talk about it again, really."
This would be the point where most people would offer up an apology, for even if it truly wasn't necessary, social protocols definitely called for it. But this was Sherlock. And so he simply nodded, a sad resignation in his eyes.
Molly closed her styrofoam take away container, setting it on the floor next to her. Sherlock looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue, or for her to ask the next question. She did neither. Instead, she stood, reaching her hand out towards the man seated before her. When he took it, questions written all over his expression, she guided him to his feet, and enclosed him in the strongest hug her slight frame could produce.