Three

This was far from the first time that Sherlock had abandoned John at a location, taking off and leaving John to find his own means of catching up to him. However, this was the first time that John was not pissed off at Sherlock for doing so. Now, John Watson felt a great sorrow and fear rise in his chest. He may not be nearly as clever as his best mate in terms of logic and deduction, but in matters of the heart…

Stepping outside of the cottage until he stood in the middle of the front path, John pulled out his mobile and phoned his wife. Thankfully, she picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, love! What are you two up to? Did a new case come in?"

"Mary, it's Sherlock. He's going to board a train back to London from Brighton very soon now. Please use your technological hacking powers, find out which one he gets onto, meet him at the station, and take him to ours? Emma should be a sufficient distraction for him at least until she goes to bed. Then, if he won't stay with us, I'm going to have to spend tonight at Baker Street."

Mary gave a small gasp from the other end. "Oh my God, a danger night, John? What's happened?"

"Yeah, it's…it's bad, Mary." And with that, John told her about everything that had happened and what he had learned today. It sounded even more heartbreaking as he told it aloud, making it all the more real.

Mary said nothing for a few moments after he'd finished, and the first thing John heard was her sniffle a bit before she spoke. "Oh, poor Molly…she doesn't deserve any of this…"

"No, she doesn't," said John. "Not losing Tom like this or the crap that Sherlock's thrown at her."

"I knew his situation with Molly had to come to a head at some point," said Mary. "She's too important to him and he's made so many mistakes in regards to her, but oh, that it had to happen like this! That it had to take something this tragic and horrible for him to realize not only that he had a heart but where it rested."

"And that it's breaking," he finished for her. John sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. "Well, if there's one thing I do know, it's my best mate. And right now, he's dealing with a lot of feelings and emotions that he's never had the courage to look at and won't have any clue of how to handle them in a safe way."

"Which is where we need to come in," said Mary. "I'm looking up his train number and time right now, and I'll give Mycroft a ring too. Just to be sure that he hasn't done anything stupid on the way home."

"Good idea. He'll find out eventually, but right now, just tell him it's a danger night for Sherlock. The last thing Sherlock needs is a lecture from his dear big brother about sentiment and caring."

"You've got that right. What about you?"

"I'm going to stay a bit longer, to see if either of them need anything that I can give or do. I'm not about to let Molly think she's going to have to go through this alone; she's had to do that for much too long."

"Absolutely, love. Let them both know that the both of us are there, one hundred percent. Let me know when you're heading back, and I'll let you know when Sherlock is with me."

"Thanks, Mary. I love you."

"I love you, too, John."

The good doctor arrived at his home just over two hours later. He let himself in the front door with his key, and Mary came into the front hall from the kitchen as he was hanging up his jacket. The moment after their eyes met, the couple went to each other. They embraced and shared a kiss, letting their emotions outpour in these loving actions.

Since Christmas, not a day went by that both John and Mary didn't remember all that they had been through, all that they had nearly lost, and all of the good that they had rebuilt together. Both of them knew how blessed they were in each other and their daughter, so knowing that their friends were going through two different but equally terrible heartbreaks more than hit home for them just how lucky they were.

Their arms still around each other, John was the first to speak when their lips parted. "Where are they?"

"In the living room. He's attempting to burp her."

John gave a snort of laughter, stole another kiss, and then walked hand-in-hand with her to that room. Sure enough, Sherlock was seated on their sofa while holding baby Emma to him. A burp rag was slung over his left shoulder, and he was methodically and gently patting her back. The pinched look of his eyebrows told the parents that he was not having any luck.

John walked to them and removed the rag from Sherlock's over and threw it over his own. Then he held out his arms and said, "Let me give it a go. I need a good cuddle with her, anyway."

Thankfully, Sherlock wordlessly and gently handed over the two-month-old to her father. She gave a happy coo at the sight of him, and John gave her a goofy smile and raspberry kiss to the cheek before sitting down in a chair to finish the job. Mary took the vacant spot on the sofa beside Sherlock.

The group sat in silence for a few minutes until a little, high-pitched belch sounded from the smallest member of said group. Mary laughed, John smugly grinned, and Sherlock looked a cross between impressed and annoyed.

"Now will you believe me when I say you have the magic touch?" Mary asked her husband.

John shrugged, nestling his daughter in the crook of his arm so he could tickle her tummy and see her smile. "If you say so. I'm the burp king and you're the diaper queen."

"Damn right," said Mary smugly.

Sherlock said nothing, and thus silence fell again, this one heavier than the previous one. The couple had no idea how to address the elephant in the room – an even worse one than the literal one that had appeared in 221B Baker Street a year ago – but it was finally Sherlock who spoke again.

"How long does he have, John?"

Surprised, John replied, "You saw him, too. Haven't you already deduced that for yourself?"

"You know how my brain is my hard drive, John, and because I am not a doctor, I do not have the knowledge that you have when it comes to these things. So, please tell me before I must ask you again as if you were a child."

The familiar formula of a compliment and insult in one relieved John somewhat. Whatever hurricane of emotions that Sherlock was trying his best to suppress, he was still himself. And the serious look in his eyes assured John that he was asking for the right reasons rather than the wrong ones.

Sighing, and cuddling his daughter a bit closer, John answered him: "A week…maybe two…"

Sherlock shut his eyes and turned his head. Mary covered her mouth for a moment before she spoke. "Did Molly tell you anything that we can do for her? For them?"

"They asked me to call his family, which I did. I told them where he was and to come as soon as they can. They're on their way down there now, and I know that at least his parents will stay close by until the end."

"Good, that's good," said Mary absently. "And Molly? Is she staying the night?"

"More than that," replied John, his eyes on his baby girl, who was happily sucking on his index finger. "I had a private chat with her just before I left. Apparently, she had a chat with Stamford just before she left Bart's today, telling him about Tom and that she needed a leave of absence. Thankfully, he granted it for as long as she needed, so she's going to stay with Tom until…well, until. She asked if one of us could go to her place and bring up some stuff that she'll need tomorrow; gave me her flat key to make it easier. But I'm working tomorrow, so –"

"Of course I'll go!" said Mary adamantly. "I'll text her to make sure I don't forget anything. Emma and I can make a trip of it together. I know that seeing her will do Molly some good; Tom, too, it that's ok."

"I can do it," said Sherlock, causing the couple to look at him. "I have no cases at the moment, and it would –"

"No, Sherlock," John said firmly, but his eyes were sad.

"Why not?" asked Sherlock, less like a petulant child and more like a hurt child.

John gave a great, fortifying sigh. "There's something else that Molly asked before I left, Sherlock…She asked me to tell you to please leave her alone. She doesn't want to see you or hear from you right now. I'm sorry, mate…but there's nothing you can do except honor that right now."

The expression on Sherlock's face was very reminiscent of the one he'd worn when Molly had first slapped him across the face months ago. His body slowly fell back into the sofa, as if he wished the cushions could just swallow him up, but of course they could only do so much. Neither Mary nor John could say anything, and for what felt like hours the only sounds in the room were their breathing and Emma's occasional gurgle.

Finally, Sherlock broke the silence with three words spoken so softly that the Watsons couldn't be sure he was even talking to them:

"She hates me."

There was so much shock and devastation in those softly spoken words that tears filled Mary's eyes. Reaching over, she took his hand and squeezed it. "No, Sherlock. Molly's not the type of woman to hate anyone, much less anybody she cares about. But she is angry, and has every right to be. You've hurt her, quite a lot, and I don't think she feels she can trust you anymore."

Sherlock shut his eyes tightly, as though he were trying to keep tears from falling. But the Watsons knew that he was trying to process this information that he never expected and never wanted to hear. He spoke again in that same soft and devastated tone as Mary moved her hand to his shoulder:

"I've been so stupid…"

John couldn't even enjoy hearing those words from Sherlock that he never thought would come from the consulting detective. "We've all been, mate. Even after everything she's done for you, for us, we all just assumed, the moment we looked at Tom, that he was just –"

"No, no, I knew ever since our wedding how much Molly loved him," said Mary in a tone that would have been smug under other circumstances; now, it was just somber.

"How?" asked Sherlock, wanting to hear what signs he had missed (accidently, purposefully, or unconsciously).

"At our wedding reception, I saw Molly practically necking him just before they got their picture taken," said Mary. "Now, I haven't known Molly for as long as you two, but I do know that she is a good, mature, strong and loving woman. And a woman like that will not do that to a man in public unless it's for one reason: she adores him."

John looked like he wished someone would come along and hit him over the head with a rugby bat, and Sherlock looked absolutely dumbfounded. "I…I had assumed…"

"What? That she was just doing it to make you jealous?" asked Mary with some disgust and an eye roll. "I did mention Molly was mature, Sherlock. No mature woman does that, least of all because it's not fair to the man she's with. Honestly, Sherlock, you really thought Molly was capable of that?"

"I…no, not…it's just…" Sherlock's tone and expression were the epitome of a man digging his own grave. He turned to his best friend for help. "It's not like she hasn't…John, you remember the Christmas party, right? The way she dressed up? Her gift for me?"

John certainly couldn't deny that fact, but thankfully, Mary was a clever woman who was immune to bullshit, both intentional and accidental.

"There is a very big difference between dressing up to impress a guy and using someone to make another person jealous," said Mary, giving Sherlock's shoulder a none-too-gentle shove. "Just as Molly could never truly hate anyone, she could never truly use anyone, either. And if John told me that story correctly, that didn't exactly go how Molly had hoped it would, did it?"

All Sherlock and John could do was hang their heads. Huffing, Mary got up and walked to her husband with her arms outstretched. "Here, hand her over. She's falling asleep, and you need to give your best mate a very important lesson about the fairer sex that he should have learned about twenty years ago."

After kissing Emma's downy head, he gently transferred her to her mother's arms. Then, because Mary was a clever woman who had an ultimately good heart to boot, she walked to Sherlock. Without hesitation, Sherlock leaned forward and gave Emma a kiss of his own. With a small smile, Mary walked out the sitting room and up the steps.

"Honestly, Emma," she murmured to her daughter. "You'll learn soon enough how dense men can be, and how lucky they are to have women like us in the world. We'll have our adventure tomorrow, and hopefully bring some sunshine to poor Molly and Tom. And hopefully your daddy can help your poor, blind godfather to learn his heart before it's too late and hearts are broken beyond repair."