GUYS. I'm so sorry. Like so…so sorry. Writer's block just crippled me on this one in a wicked way. So, this is the final chapter. I wanted to end it on a nice note (with a first kiss!). Thanks to hobbitsdoitbetter for kicking my brain into gear and helping me to finish this one out. She's got more stories out (Nil by Mouth is the latest and it's absolutely beautiful) go check her out please.
Thanks for hanging in there with me. I can't tell you how much I've appreciated the reviews and support - razzle-dazzle1606, standasawitness, Angels-heart1, JimMoriarty'sGirl, Misabel the Miserable, Rocking the Redhead, TooLazytoLogin, DoctorSherlockStarkMillsPotter, MissLuciusNightWings, Lady Faye Rosethorn, guestllyguest, Maddy, DoraLupinTonks, Vicky Connolly and all the Guests. You guys are so patient and wonderful, thank you.
Disclaimer - not mine.
~oOo~
Sherlock was… brooding.
Two hours after he'd rescued...no...he'd done nothing of the sort. Molly had quite capably rescued herself, after all. Two hours after he'd found Molly, they arrived at Baker Street. Throughout the helicopter ride (thanks to Mycroft's way with high-profile strings in Her Majesty's Government) and taxi home, he could see exhaustion covering her as if it were a weighted cloak. Despite her outward bravado - smiles to the pilot, thank you's to the taxi driver - she'd clung to him, picking at the dried blood (Hawthorne's? Hers? His stomach churned anew) under her nails as she snuggled herself into his side. He'd wished that he could have truly put her safely in his pocket to warm and comfort her... Yet all he could do was tuck her securely to him while he distracted her with comments about the landscape or the passersby.
Lame efforts at best, he told himself, but, for her, he would do what he could - no matter how insignificant it might seem - in order to help her feel safe.
He owed her that much.
The journey to Baker Street seemed to take forever, but eventually it came to an end. He and Molly (Bodyguard James remained on guard at the front door) had no sooner stepped on the stairway to his flat when Mary practically flung herself out of the door. The pounding of her best friend's shoes reverberated in the small space as she reached Molly and enveloped her in a fierce hug. Sherlock looked up to the top of the stairs to see the faces of Mrs. Hudson and John peeking out of the doorway - relief evident in their shining eyes.
He prepared to reprimand the unwelcome group of visitors (at this moment anyone coming between him and Molly were practically invaders) when Molly's voice broke the silence.
"Oh, Mary…" Molly's voice was muffled - cracking - as she spoke into Mary's shoulder. "Mary, it was…"
And then Molly was crying.
She hadn't cried during the trip here - Sherlock thought - hadn't given any indication of needing to cry, in any case. If she had, he'd, yet again, spectacularly failed to see the signs. Because here she stood, her shoulders and back pulsating up and down as the sobs poured forth. Mary's hands traveled over Molly's back as she swayed from side to side while whispering soothing words to her friend.
Sherlock clenched his fists - the anger that had mostly subsided since their departure from Hawthorne's location returned in a rush. Seeing Molly, bloodied and huddled against the wall in that house was one thing. Watching her break down emotionally, the aftermath of all she'd endured, was almost enough to propel him back out the door to track down and beat Charles Hawthorne, quite literally, to death.
But before he set about in his plan to ruthlessly murder Molly's kidnapper, it startled him to realize that nothing right now (maybe...ever) was about Sherlock Holmes. It was most certainly about Molly Hooper and what - who - she needed right now. And right now, she needed him not to be a first class pillock running about playing at revenge. She needed him to be with her. Molly needed all of them to be with her. Her friends. Her family.
Her...boyfriend.
To Sherlock's surprise, that word and all its implications wasn't quite as unsettling as it had been even a day ago. He understood what it meant now; Almost losing Molly had solidified the concept in his mind. If he hadn't found her… if she hadn't gotten away… But 'boyfriend' didn't effectively define what Molly and he shared. It implied a casualness…an adolescent and simple interchange between two people that consisted of shallow conversation and nights out at the cinema or pub and maybe, admittedly, some snogging and groping in the dark. But that didn't encapsulate what he felt, or how he intended their relationship to move forward.
No, Molly and he wouldn't be classified in with normal, run-of-the-mill relationship definitions at all.
So he stepped forward and placed his hand lightly on the back of her head, stroking softly as Mary continued to rock her gently from side to side. A few more moments passed before the sobs turned to sniffling and Molly slowly stepped back from her friend's embrace.
Mary smiled at her and touched Molly's face before she nodded and turned, making her way back up the stairs. Sherlock once again pulled Molly to his side as they ascended one step at a time. They entered the flat, and Sherlock was thankful that, for once, Mrs. Hudson stood back and remained quiet. The last thing Molly needed right now was to be overwhelmed with well-wishes.
She simply smiled and said quietly, "It's wonderful to have you home, my dear."
Home. The turn of phrase should have jolted him. Made him anxious about the suggestion of what that might mean for him. But it didn't. When Molly had looked up at him during the helicopter ride - those big brown eyes weary with fatigue - and told him she wanted to go home, Baker Street was the only option in his mind. And when the taxi had pulled up to 221B, she didn't protest. Didn't correct his assumption.
Yes. Molly was home. Her mere presence made it so.
He walked her to the sofa, but Molly pulled up short and placed her hand on his arm. Sherlock glanced down to see her tired, but earnest smile.
"I'd relish a shower." She whispered, her eyes darting briefly around the room. He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. Exhausted, bruised and terrorized she may be, but Molly Hooper would never be rude to her friends.
No, that was the "boyfriend's" job. And, if he could do nothing else for her, Sherlock would be that. So...
He cocked a droll eyebrow at the assembled party. Pretended not to hear John's chuckle of amusement at what he obviously knew was coming next. "While I'm certain Molly appreciates you all being here to welcome her home," he drawled, "she needs rest."
Mary nodded. "Quite right she does."
Sherlock's smile widened. "So kindly- to use a technical phrase- sling your collective hooks, everyone." He nods to Mary. "Even you, blondie."
Mary snorted. "You say the sweetest things." Nevertheless, Molly's best friend came forward again and placed her hands on either side of Molly's face. "You're home and safe now. Sherlock, John...Mrs. Hudson and me...we're going to take care of you." Mary kissed Molly on the cheek and winked, a warm, loving gesture that made Sherlock appreciate the woman even more than he already did.
Mary regarded Sherlock next. "I left her a few changes of clothes in your room. Get her fed and don't leave her side, yeah?"
Sherlock responded by pulling Molly closely into his side which seemed to be all the answer Mary needed. With a last glance, Mary and John picked up their coats and disappeared through the door. Mrs. Hudson patted Molly's arm on her way out. "The fridge is stocked and there's ice in the freezer so don't you worry about that. You ring if you need anything." And then she was gone too.
Sherlock and Molly stood in the quiet of his flat - her small, warm body flush against his. He opened himself to the moment. Relishing the feel - the smell - of her next to him. Relieved that not only was she safe, but that she was safe with him. He wanted her to know that. He wanted her to understand that she could be open with him - cry with him as she did with Mary. In order for her to truly trust him, he had to earn it - act like a proper bloke instead of Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Prat.
The small movement of Molly's hands forced Sherlock out of his brief reverie. He turned and looked down at her small frame. She really was a tiny little thing, looking all the more fragile as she smiled wanly. Sherlock could see the strain in her face as she struggled to put him at ease. The telltale signs were evident - Molly didn't want to upset him. Her strength had waned and been replaced by exhaustion and unease. Even after all she'd been through, she was concerned for his feelings. Which, after all his protestations about relationships - about sentiment - was entirely understandable.
"Molly...my sweet, brave Molly." He placed his hands on her shoulders and shifted her to face him. "You needn't worry about me - or what I think about you...or us. You don't have to guard yourself from me."
The shift of her eyes to look away from him spoke more loudly than her words ever could.
He placed his hand under her chin and gently tilted it up. "Molly, I admit that a...relationship and its implications unsettled me. Frankly, it still does. I am not boyfriend material, as you well know and I am entirely sure that I will manage to disappoint you in a myriad of ways."
The words came forth more easily than he would have imagined. Molly did have a magical effect on him, after all. "But I intend to be there for you. Now. And in the future. If not as a...a paramour... then as something else. Anything else. It doesn't matter, because it will be with you- I want to be with you.
So I assure you, Molly Hooper, that there is nothing you could ever do to put me off..." He stroked the side of her face with his long fingers.
"You don't have to hide yourself from me. I don't want you to. Alright?"
She nodded slowly. "Alright." Molly's quiet voice danced in his ears. How sweet it was to him. Soothing.
Her shoulders relaxed and the smile that spread across her face was genuine and warm. How he'd become accustomed to that face. That smile - awkward and hopeful- greeting him in the lab at all hours of the day and night. He was well and truly a spectacular git for ever thinking he could be content without Molly Hooper in his life.
For that, he supposed he owed The Great Psychopath, Charles Hawthorne a thank you.
Send him a gift basket in prison - he can share it with his new friends.
He brought his hands to cup her face and studied her - truly seeing now all the beauty evident right in front of him. The grace and sweetness that epitomized Molly Hooper. Her eyes were expectant, but wary. When they'd stood in front of the Armenian restaurant, Sherlock had the inclination to kiss Molly. Wanted to. He'd shied away - the implication of what that one not-so-simple act would mean for his life had scared him.
Now, after all that had happened...after truly realizing that this relationship was what he wanted, he wouldn't be shy any longer.
He brought his head down slowly and ghosted his lips across Molly's. Not surprisingly, they were just as soft as he could have imagined. The Woman's lips were hard, guarded. But Molly...oh, his Molly's were warm and pliant and gentle. She hesitated only slightly then welcomed his mouth on hers and opened to him. Kissed him back.
The sensation of her lips on his spurred feelings in his chest that no longer could be kept under lock and key.
That was her way of things. Molly always managed to weave her way through his carefully constructed suit of emotional armour. She always managed to manoeuvre herself beneath it, right next to his skin. His heart.
And, he supposed, he would be quite content to let her do so for as long as she pleased.
Molly separated herself from him and stood just underneath his chin, her eyes closed. He watched her take a deep breath to calm herself. Always trying to be in control, his Molly.
When she was ready, she looked up at him - her eyes still so full of spark and life despite all she'd experienced. He saw the wetness in her eyes - she was fighting the tears again - and he moved his thumbs to caress her cheeks. A smile worked it's way into the corners of her mouth.
"If I'm not to hide from you...that means you aren't to hide from me, either."
Sherlock smiled back. "I suppose that's right."
"If we are to be paramours...that is." Her eyes sparkled at the mention of the word and it made Sherlock's heart swell anew. It also made his cheeks redden.
A good vocabulary really could get a man into trouble.
Rather than dwell on that he reached down, kissed her again. "You are a remarkable woman, Molly Hooper. I hope you know that."
Molly shrugged. "I've always known. You're the idiot who took so long to figure it out."
Sherlock laughed and pulled Molly into an embrace. He had been an idiot, alright. A quite spectacular one at that.
"Quite right." They held each other for a moment, the silence comfortable between them. "I'm afraid my being an idiot may continue for the foreseeable future, you know."
"Don't worry. I'm used to it by now."
Sherlock smiled. So long as she never developed an immunity to his idiocy they'd be just fine.
~oOo~
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