I just finished Season 3 this weekend. So, if you've read up to this point and were thinking "Well, there's not much referring to this season" - that's why. I may or may not bring in those elements, but I hope it will still be a fun ride for everyone.
Your reviews - seriously - they're so, so encouraging. I've doubted myself along the way and with the amazing beta from hobbitsdoitbetter, this story is turning out to be more fun to write than I thought it would be. So, thank you to those reviewing. Thank you to those following (you can always put a little note in that box down there just for me) and favoriting as well.
Miss Murder X.x, MizJoely, trinicutiegal, The Adventures of, draccmalfoy, A.M.C. Theaters, SammyKatz, Nocturnias, Insanetrouble, KeidaHattori, Renaissancebooklover108, SharpestSatire, AJP910, Torchwood95 - thank you for the kind and supportive words. XXOO
As always, these characters aren't mine - I just torture them for awhile.
~oOo~
Molly Hooper was laughing. Whether it was at him or the situation, he wasn't entirely clear - but she was definitely having a good and proper howl. He ran over the last few minutes in his head - not entirely certain anything he'd said would elicit such a response. He'd… he'd simply stated matters as he saw them, hadn't he? He hadn't…he didn't …he felt a bit flustered, not knowing what he had done that would cause this, and he certainly didn't know how to deal with being flustered, of all things.
"Molly, what, may I ask, is so amusing?" he asked truculently.
Her hand flew to her mouth as she regarded his confused reaction. The corners of Molly's eyes crinkled with a smile as her deep brown eyes found his. A strand of hair had fallen down across the side of her face and she reached up to fix it, the hand which had been at her mouth hooking it behind her ear. The thought came, unbidden, as it had so often of late: She really was quite fetching when she was like this. When she was his Molly.
He had to fight back a wince of consternation, not entirely used to thinking such things. About...about feelings and attractions and whatnot.
Although, he mused, if he's going to think them, he supposes her the best person to think them about.
"Sorry...I'm sorry," she said. "It's just...what you said and he's been so annoying since we went out. I've never seen him so flustered before and I thought it was brilliant that you put him in his place and then you said that I...I was your pathologist. That you would keep me safe no matter what and I just...it...well, it struck me as all a bit overwhelming and I suppose I lost it a bit."
She straightened her face with an effort - she'd enjoyed that laugh at his expense, Sherlock thought. And then she crossed her arms and looked up at him questioningly. Her gaze seemed to bore into his for a moment, then slide away, and it occurred to Sherlock that she was steeling herself for something.
Sherlock was not entirely sure he wanted to discover what.
"Did you...did you mean it?" she asked, then, her voice quiet. "I mean, that I was…that you would. You know. What you said."
Molly stood before him with the same vulnerability as when he'd tongue lashed her in front of their friends at his Christmas party. (God, he was an idiot.) Her emotions were an open book (nervousness, embarrassment, hope) as she anticipated his next words. Sherlock understood that he could either lay himself bare before Molly Hooper and reveal these messy, complicated emotions - or completely chicken out and lose this chance for good. John's warning from the previous day echoed through his mind (but if you let things go any longer without telling her and something happens...you'll never forgive yourself, mate.) and he knew that the time had come for Sherlock Holmes to deal with these messy, complicated feelings.
He cleared his throat and began. "I have always believed it to be true that caring about others was not an advantage. It was a philosophy I lived by and thought that it served me well. And it did, for the most part. However, it became evident during my associations with those closest to me that friendship and caring were more important than I previously believed." He remained where he stood - almost afraid that should he move, afraid whatever bravery he had found would desert him should he break the moment. That Molly was staring at him with those wide, brown eyes of hers helped not one bit. "During my absence, I had ample opportunity to reflect on my life and the people in it," he continued, after a brief pause. "I told you that you counted, Molly, and you do. Very much. More than I have been ready to admit until now."
Molly's eyes grew wide. Hopeful. Radiant. But beneath that he could see the old wariness, the memory- not consciously recalled- that he had often cost her pain. He hated it, wanted to make it go away.
He could only hope that the next part of his speech would.
"Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake," he said. "Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person who mattered the most. I am not accustomed to...romantic relationships"- the words sounded so foreign- "and have no idea what is involved to make a partnership work but, for you, I am-" He takes a deep breath, makes himself way it. "For you, I am willing to try. And...things."
She smiled. It was the sweet, gentle smile Molly Hooper saved only for Sherlock. He knew she'd been waiting for this moment for years and a sharp pang of hurt flew through his chest as he replayed the ignorant remarks he'd made to her in the past. She deserved more from him and, from this moment forward, he would try to be the man she hoped he could be.
He had his doubts about how successful he'd be, but he's determined to try.
"Thank you, Sherlock. Thank you for saying that. I know it's not easy for you to say those things." Molly moved to step toward him, but restrained herself - she was still tentative, wary. "I believe you know how I've felt about you all these years so me saying yes probably won't be a surprise." Surprise, or not, hearing it spoken aloud made something twist in Sherlock's chest, just a little bit. "But, I want you to know, Sherlock, that I'm not same Molly Hooper you left two years ago," she said. " I won't be pushed around, yeah? I don't expect you to change who you are, but if this-" Her hand pointed from her to Sherlock and back to her again- "Is going to have any chance, then I expect you to be a bit more mindful of my feelings."
He nodded his head and smiled back at her. "Understood."
"Good...well...then I suppose we should get back to work." She took a step back from him, the apprehensiveness all too obvious on her face. Her body language told him she wanted to move to him, most likely embrace him yet she feared his reaction.
"Molly."
She stopped. "Yes?"
Sherlock slowly and silently crossed the short distance between them and took her by the elbows, pulling her toward him. For a moment she seemed confused and then she acquiesced, understanding. Stepping closer so that her body was flush with his. Molly's cheek rested on his chest and her arms wrapped around his waist. For a moment her fingers brushed the small of his back, bunching the fabric of his shirt but at the last moment they fanned upwards, bringing their warmth to rest on his shoulder blades. Sherlock waited, catalogued this feeling. Comfortable. Relaxing. Her warmth settled him, calmed his constantly spinning mind in a way that drugs or nicotine never had. His uni career would have gone much more smoothly if he'd only had access to this. So much time wasted, he thought ruefully. So many opportunities lost. She could have been his anchor, his touchstone to the mortal world that so often shunned him as a freak.
Thankfully, however, she still appeared up for that job.
They stood, comfortable in the silence, for several minutes before Sherlock kissed the top of Molly's head and separated from her. A bit awkward and unsure for their first official foray into physicality, but it felt right nonetheless. She looked up at him and smiled before the two of them moved back to their respective workstations. He'd only just resumed his notes when the security guard poked his head inside the door.
"A few students here to see Dr. Hooper."
Molly looked at her watch. "Oh, yes, the demonstration." She waved her hand. "Send them in, please."
The man (Sherlock should probably ask his name at some point) stepped back outside and held open the door for the four medical students. Three men (William not among them) and one young woman entered and made their way toward Molly. They all glanced at Sherlock nervously as he regarded them only with a raised eyebrow. They were anxious - due to Sherlock's presence or the idea of examining a body, he couldn't be absolutely positive but either reason amused him greatly. Molly smiled her charming Molly smile and greeted them as if they were all there for a tea party.
"Right. Afternoon everyone. Today you get to perform an autopsy and see what's inside the marvelous human body. Follow me, now." She began walking to the door and the group followed like white coated ducklings after their mother. "Oh, and if anyone needs to...well...vomit...there's a loo right over there."
Sherlock almost laughed out loud at how two of the group (both males) physically blanched at the thought. Molly held the door for the four of them as the filed into the other room, then turned to Sherlock.
"Be an hour or so, then, handsome." She whispered, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Sherlock squinted his eyes at her. "Don't make me regret our conversation, Hooper."
She snickered. "One whisper of commitment, and you're already bossing me around."
She winked, noticing the ghost of a smile that played across his lips, and disappeared into the autopsy theater. He settled himself in front of his laptop and set to working on the identity of the Scalpel Artist. With Paul Lewis identified as Molly's anonymous flower deliverer, Sherlock had one less person for whom to search. Normally that would have been an encouragement, but someone who would sneak into the morgue and deface a body in order to show off to Molly was much more concerning to him.
He'd searched the previous evening for any internet content that might be focused on Molly. There were two websites dedicated to her (Didn't compare to his 47 but still, not bad, Hooper). The content was mundane and harmless - fan clubs, for the most part - praising Molly for her role in Sherlock's death; questioning her relationship with Sherlock (and Lestrade?) and various comments regarding her independent fashion sense.
It was the Sherlock websites that held more concerning subject matter. Jealousy. Petty insults. Threats. The internet was full of individuals posturing for attention and Sherlock was sure that the great majority of these people used the websites to showcase themselves by insulting others (Sherlock preferred to do it in person). However, someone - maybe someone on one of these sites had taken it a step too far. Threatened Molly with an obscene love letter that spoke of a deranged mind and plans for Molly Hooper that would, undoubtedly, be less than pleasant. And the mere thought of 'less than pleasant' made Sherlock clench his jaw in anger.
Sherlock spent the next hour searching the internet and tasking his homeless network with surveillance; Barts, Molly's flat, John and Mary's as well as Sherlock's home would be watched as well. He finished his last text as Molly's students made their way from the other room - once again stealing glances his way, as if he were an object in a museum. One of the young women smiled flirtatiously as she exited the room.
Molly stepped in behind them and raised her eyebrow in his direction as she noticed the medical student's reaction to Sherlock. Annoyed. Jealous. Amused. She shook her head from side to side as she made her way back to her desk.
"Do you need some lunch? I'm getting hungry."
"I never eat in the middle of a case, you should know that. I still need to work on identifying the culprit behind the defaced corpse. He's elusive, this one. No obvious clues, nothing on the security camera that stands out. I'm reduced to following breadcrumbs in the forest. Bloody frustrating, really."
"Oh. Right. Sorry."
The old Sherlock would have ignored her comment and continued with his search, focused more on the outcome than anything else. But the tone in her voice made it unacceptable for him to disregard. Disappointment was evident, obviously, given their earlier conversation. However, apprehension (fear) was more prevalent in her countenance. He glanced over to where she sat, looking so small and fragile as she attempted to busy herself. The skin around her eyes was grey and her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Had she slept last night? Most likely not. Probably hadn't eaten much either. His obsession with solving the case would not help Molly in the short term. He needed to keep her safe - not just by finding her stalker but by ensuring she took care of herself physically.
He spun on the seat and bounded up from the chair, clapping his hands together as he rose.
"On second thought, I could use something to eat. Probably help the brain work more efficiently with some proper nutrition, after all. Get your coat, Molly, we're going to lunch."
Molly held his gaze and nodded, her soft smile conveying her understanding of Sherlock's small sacrifice for her. He retrieved his belstaff from the counter as Molly took off her lab smock and draped it over the chair.
"I need to stop by my locker to get my coat and bag."
"Obviously."
Molly paused before they moved toward the door. "Sherlock...thank you."
He waved his hand dismissively. "No thank you's necessary. Food benefits us both. And there is a small Armenian restaurant just down the street that owes me a debt."
"Armenian food? Can't say I've ever tried it."
"No? Well, their byoreks are really quite remarkable."
He knew Molly's gratitude wasn't solely directed at his offer of lunch, but one deep conversation was quite enough for the day (if not a lifetime). Although, if he were to be completely honest, it wasn't such a painful thing to express his feelings to Molly. It actually felt...right. Freeing. Then again, most things related to Molly Hooper felt right and freeing.
As they made their way out of the lab and down the hall to the locker rooms, (asking the bodyguard his name as he followed - James, it was) Sherlock once again placed his hand at the small of Molly's back. Yes, that felt right.
~oOo~
Some letters in that box down there would be fabboo, kids.