"No, Sherlock, I am not coming over."
"What ab..."
"...And neither is Mrs Hudson."
"...ot your housemaid!" a distant voice could be heard on the phone.
"But..."
"You change the bloody cat litter. You insisted on going personally, now deal with it!"
"But it stinks!"
"Pretend it's some experiment of yours."John began, then sighed. "I've really got to get back to work. It's just a cat, Sherlock, any normal person can take care of a..." He hesitated. "You know what, just leave it. I'll come over in a couple of hours. Just, don't do anything...Don't do anything."
Sherlock would have protested at John's insinuations, but the doctor had hung up.
Molly was going to be away for a week. John would never stay here for a week.
"I could always just call one of the Irregulars." He muttered. Surely one of them would be willing to do anything for a few pounds, even clean up that foul, vile...
Sherlock looked down as something rubbed against his leg, purring.
"What do you want?" He asked flatly. The cat looked up at him and meowed.
Sherlock stared back.
"What?" He asked again. Then he crouched down, stroking the feline's head as Toby's tail wrapped around his calf. "I've missed you, too." the consulting detective murmured quietly.
Toby,having received due greeting, waked away with his tail upright, the tip curled gently in friendly relaxation.
Sherlock stood up and looked around.
He hadn't walked past the front door since she had left for Manchester.
There were evident signs the home had been emptied of most personal items, leaving the objects Molly had found when she walked into the furnished apartment for the first time: the pictures on the wall had been taken, except for a mediocre still-life of some oranges hanging in the kitchen, the shelves had been gathering dust, all throw pillows were gone and there were no custard creams in the jar.
The place didn't even smell like her, any more.
And everything was so...Neat.
Molly had never been particularly untidy, although she would always get flustered and run to pick up some stray cardigan from the sofa, or snatch a mug of unfinished tea from the coffee table, hurrying to the kitchen to wash it, fretting to tidy up whenever he would appear at the door. He would always show up unannounced, and she would always apologise for the mess...But he didn't care if it was messy. He never did.
Sherlock blinked and looked at the living room floor. It was littered with boxes, practically of them open and empty; his eyes fell on a partially closed one, and he walked closer to it. Inside he could see a photo album and some fabric. He picked up the blue knitted wrap.
Her mother's handiwork, definitely.
Why was it here and not in Molly's suitcase? She would always show off her mum's knitting and talk about it for hours, whether or not Sherlock was interested...Why wouldn't she want to take this with her?
He hesitated, then brought the wrap closer and breathed in deeply.
No.
It didn't have her perfume.
His head lowered, and for a moment the man stood silently in the empty room.
Very soon, however, his reverie was brusquely interrupted: Toby had started meowing very loudly.
"What now?" Sherlock grimaced, letting the wrap fall on the sofa.
"Meow!" The cat replied emphatically.
Sherlock looked at the clock. "6:30. Right on time. You're as bad as John." He sighed. "Right, let's get you your dinner, then." He walked into the kitchen and started opening cupboards. Toby had gotten even louder since the human had stepped into the eating area.
"You know, you're a predator;" Sherlock muttered, crouching to find the cat food. "You should go and get your own meals, not have people open a tin for you. London is full of rats, you could..."
"Don't go giving him any ideas."
Sherlock shot up, a tin of KingKitty in his hand.
Molly stood at the door.
He had left it open, and was so used to her walking in... That was a problem. That would have to change.
She was flustered, ever so slightly short of breath, and there was mud on her shoes; her hair was completely dishevelled, there was no lipstick nor gloss on her lips, the once-subtle smoky eye make-up was smudged under her left eye, her nose and cheeks were red from exposure to the cold.
She looked beautiful.
.
.
"All is clear, sir."
"Excellent. Please inform Security at Heathrow that the threat has been averted and all planes headed for Italy are free to depart. Then call Home Office and tell them it was just a case of mistaken identity, Miss Ligaya Masipag is to be released immediately."
"Yes, Sir."
" Thank you, Anthea...And send someone in with some tea, please."
"Yes, Mr. Holmes."
She walked out and left the man alone in the room.
"Brother mine," he sighed. "Will I ever stop babysitting you?"
.
.
Sherlock stood in the kitchen, a tin of cat food in his hand, staring at her.
He looked thinner than she remembered, almost gaunt...And paler.
Maybe he was on a new case and had forgotten to eat again.
He should eat something.
She had expected him to start talking at her, but instead he just stood perfectly still, looking at her quietly.
Molly hesitated.
This was a mistake.
She should be at the airport.
No, it was OK: there was still time. The plane was delayed.
She had time.
No big deal.
Breathe.
"You should be at the airport." He stated, his expression unreadable.
She forced herself to breathe steadily.
"My flight's been delayed." She answered matter-of-factly.
He nodded.
What am I doing?
There was silence.
This was a mistake.
"Thank you for taking care of Toby." She said, cringing at the awkwardness in her voice.
"I had the keys." Sherlock looked down and opened the tin.
Desperate to have something to do, Molly picked up Toby's bowl from the floor and emptied the cat food in it. She then stepped past the consulting detective, threw the tin in the rubbish bin and washed her hands, painfully aware of a pair of icy eyes fixed on her.
She turned the tap off and took a deep breath.
It was a small kitchen.
Too small.
Much, much too small.
"Would you like some tea?" She turned around to face him, forcing as much cheer as she could in her voice.
A few silent minutes later,they walked into the living room, mugs of tea in hand.
Molly rushed to the sofa, hastily picking up the blue wrap and placing it into a box. She could have sworn she had put it away earlier! "I'm sorry for the mess." She apologised.
Sherlock did not respond.
"Please, sit down." She offered. Her smile felt strained.
Sherlock sat on the sofa. After a moment of hesitation, she joined him.
"It...It really was very kind of you to offer to take care of Toby."
"It's just for today. I'll have one of the Irregulars come here and watch out for him, until your mother can take over."
"Well...Thanks, anyway."
Sherlock nodded quietly.
They drank their tea in silence.
This was a mistake.
I should go.
Just go.
Molly stood up and took the mugs to the kitchen. She put them down and held onto the sink with both hands, taking steadying breaths.
Courage, Molly. Courage.
She finished washing up and returned to the living room. Sherlock stood up from the sofa when she walked in.
Face him head on.
Before you go.
Just...try.
"Why did you come, Sherlock?"
He stood so very still.
"I mean, I'm grateful, but...Why come in person, and not send someone else straight away? This isn't like y..."
Sherlock interrupted her, putting his hands behind his back and pacing as he talked.
"Well, I was going to send Mrs Hudson, but then John pointed out that the amount of time I have spent here warrants a personal visit, in order to return the favour of your hospitality. It's silly, of course, but you know John..."
Of course.
Of course.
"Well, It was very kind of you nonetheless, thank you."
His back was turned on her when he nodded.
Stupid Molly. What were you thinking? She chided herself.
"I guess I ought to leave now. I wouldn't want to miss my flight." She said.
"Obviously not." Sherlock nodded. "James is waiting for you."
"Yes. Yes, that's right, he is." She repeated firmly.
"Well, have a nice trip."
"Thank you...And Happy New Year."
Sherlock faced her and stepped closer. He then looked at her, lingering just a moment before smiling and leaning in. "Happy Ne..."
"No." She moved away as he was about to give her a peck on the cheek. "Don't. Just...Don't. Please."
It hurt too much.
She couldn't take it.
Not again.
Sherlock stepped back as if she had slapped him. "Quite right. Sorry." He put his hands in his pockets.
"Goodbye, Sherlock."
"Goodbye, Molly Hooper."
This had been a mistake.
She turned her back to him and walked to the front door.
"Molly."
"What is it?" She stopped, but didn't face him.
"Are you happy, Molly?"
She turned around.
"Pardon?"
"Are you happy? The last time I saw you, you didn't look happy, but John said nobody is happy at funerals -which is of course false, especially in a murder case, as I pointed out to him- but...I just wanted to know if you're OK, if you're happy." His steel blue eyes looked intently at her.
"So...Are you happy, Molly Hooper?"
Molly forced a laugh. "What a silly question!"
He didn't move, his eyes intent on her, waiting for an answer.
Molly hesitated, it wasn't like him to be so quiet. What was wrong? Something was wrong.
She took a step forwards, her brow beginning to furrow in concern.
"Are you happy, Sherlock?"
"My happiness doesn't concern me"
"Oh, and mine does?" Molly asked, smiling wryly.
He frowned slightly. "Of course it does, it always did."
"Oh."
Oh.
Why did he say such things? He would always waltz in, with that black jacket and blue eyes of his, say something that would get her all flustered and confused, then he'd suddenly return to being distant and hurtful and horrid and he'd just rip her heart out all over again.
She couldn't let this happen any more.
No, not this time.
She had a good thing going with James.
He would never hurt her.
He would never let her down.
He would love her.
Actually, really love her.
"Well, thank you, but you don't need to worry about me, Sherlock: I'm happy. Very happy. Blissfully so." She said, her chin tilting up, almost defiantly.
She didn't see it, but Sherlock's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"Why did you leave your mother's Christmas present here? Why didn't you take it with you?"
Molly blinked. "I don't like it."
His hands came out of his pockets, closing into tight fists at his sides.
"Look," she continued uncomfortably. "I've got to go, so...Have a Happy New Year, OK, Sherlock? Bye."
Molly walked to the front door and put her hand on the handle and turned it.
Suddenly, from her right an arm wrapped around her midriff and a hand went under her left arm to grip her left shoulder, pulling her back against his chest.
She felt his stubble against her cheek as he lowered his head, his eyes closed while he gripped her firmly but gently to him.
"Don't lie to me. Please."
"Sherlock..."
"In all the time I've known you, you never lied to me. You were the one person I could always, always trust, no matter what...In the past five minutes you have lied to me twice, and I can't take that."
His embrace tightened, ever so slightly, and Molly could feel the warmth of his chest against her back as he spoke.
"I can let you go, I can tolerate James, I can give you up forever if I have to...Dear God, I can even accept your hatred if it helps! But I cannot cope if Molly Hooper, my Molly Hooper, starts lying to me."
There was a pause, a brief moment of complete, utter stillness, where even breathing seemed impossible.
Then her trembling hand rose to rest on the arm with which he held her midriff. "Sherlock, it's all right. I...I wont lie to you again. I promise. I'm sorry."
Upstairs, her neighbours were having a party. She could hear their footsteps as guests came in, laughing.
He slowly let go of her. As if awakening from a dream, Sherlock shook his head slightly and took two steps back before turning to face the window. He stood very straight, his hands in his pockets, his chin held high.
"Sherlock..."
"No, Molly, please forgive me: I'm the one that should apologise."
He ran his hand impatiently through his hair. "I never seem to learn, do I?" He sighed.
Sherlock glanced at her fleetingly, then lowered his head to look at the floor. "That day, that time...I asked you to stay. I shouldn't have. I was being selfish, I'm sorry. "
He took a deep breath and faced her. "You deserve happiness, Molly, so you go and do whatever it takes to be happy. I'll try not to get in the way again."
Molly still had one hand on the handle, and the door was half open.
She could walk out, go to James the ambassador, probably travel around the world, get married and have some children.
She would be content, maybe even happy.
She should leave.
It would be the sensible thing to do.
She should leave.
Molly blinked at the sudden sense of Déjà vu.
How many times had this happened to them?
Someone upstairs popped a bottle of champagne. The party guests cheered.
"The definition if insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results." The quote sprang to her mind.
A cold wind blew in from the open door, moving tendrils of hair against her cheek.
Sherlock smiled encouragingly, but his eyes...Those eyes...
What to do?
What should she do?
I'm scared.
Of course you are.
You're at the edge of the precipice, Molly.
But this time, don't run away.
Don't be afraid.
This time...
JUMP!
"What do you want from me?" Her voice quivered. She saw him stiffen as he understood the question."You don't want me to lie; I need you to tell me the truth, just this once. So..." She took a deep breath. "What do you want from me, Sherlock Holmes?"
He didn't move. "I am a selfish man, Molly."
"What do you want?"
He paused.
"Everything."
His eyes met hers. They bore into her, fierce and steadfast.
"I want your time, your thoughts, your strange sense of humour and your mediocre coffee. I want your loyalty, your compassion, your faith in humanity and your conscience. I want your courage, your trust and your kind, kind heart. I want all of you, Molly. Everything you have to give me I'll take without hesitation, and Ill never be done, Ill never be satiated and I'll never have enough of you."
There was raw ferocity in his voice, an intensity that matched the fire in his gaze as the words erupted from him like a too-long dormant volcano.
"I want everything, everything you have to give me, Molly Hooper."
His palms opened towards her, empty and hopeless. "But I have so little to offer in return."
Sherlock ran his hand through his hair, looking away and pacing the room.
"You know me, Molly. I'm a high-functioning socio-path. That's not...I'm not...Enough. You deserve better."
"Sherlock, you can be such an idiot sometimes."
He looked up in surprise as Molly's voice cracked. Her eyes were welling up, yet she was smiling.
"Of all the men in the world, why do you think I chose you? Despite all my best efforts, I keep choosing you, over and over again, because I don't want 'better'. I want you."
Sherlock slowly took a step towards her."I'm a very selfish man trying to do a selfless thing, here, Molly. You're not making it very easy."
"Then be selfish." She said boldly, moving closer to him.
"I'm a flawed man."
"I'm not perfect, either."
"You're fine as you are."
"So are you."
They were so close that Molly had to tilt her head up to look into his clear, warm and unbarred eyes.
"Molly, I'm not...I'm not good in Human matters. I want to try, but I'll probably mess it up. I'm sorry, I don't know..."
"It's all right, Sherlock." Molly whispered, reaching for his hands.
"We'll figure it out together."
"Molly..." The broken, hopeful prayer of a drowning man.
Their fingers intertwined.
Unimpressed byt the scene, Toby languidly stretched and sauntered away, turning his back on those two foolish, flawed humans as they stood, as one, in a room full of empty boxes.
The End.
.
A/N
It's over! I can hardly believe it! This story has taken almost a year and a half to complete,
As a sign of my gratitude to those who comment, I give a little reward to every hundredth review, the winners so far are Reneissancebooklover108, Atlasina7 (who has already claimed her prize) and RockingtheRedhead!
I would also like to thank SaraBahama for the encouragement and Elanor25, thegirlwhoneverforgot, Atlasina7, OpalSkyLoveDivine, guest, Rocking the Redhead, Icecat62, mrspencil and SammyKatz for the reviews. I am truly grateful.
Hopefully you readers have enjoyed my humble little story, and it is with some sadness that I close this final chapter. It has been fun.
Thank you for going on this journey with me.
Sincerely,
Feralandfree.