A/N: Sooo, did you miss me? Well, I'm baaack! Apologies for the long break, hope this chapter makes up for it! When last we saw Our Heroes they'd had a huge fight and Molly's Mum was urging her to break things off. Well, apparently Sherlock had the same idea. Let's see how that works out...
John stared at Sherlock, utterly gobsmacked. "You're breaking off your engagement? Why?" His brow wrinkled as he very obviously - and somewhat laboriously, in Sherlock's opinion - tried to work out what might have gone wrong between his two friends. "Does this have something to do with that case you took Molly on?"
Sherlock shrugged at John's question, turning to gaze unseeingly at the bookshelves lining the study wall. They were at the family pile in the country, good old Musgrove, where Sherlock was about to break the news of his broken engagement to his parents, as he'd just announced to John.
"That's it, isn't it," John pressed him. "She assured us she was uninjured, that nothing happened while the two of you were in that deuced mess - I knew Mary and I should have postponed our honeymoon, damn it all!" he broke off to exclaim. "She urged me to do so, but no, I swore no cases requiring our attention were in the offing -"
"Nothing happened," Sherlock said, finally turning toward his agitated friend. "She was indeed uninjured, as the two of you witnessed upon your return from the Cotswalds or wherever it is you ended up."
"The Shetlands," John automatically replied. "So?" he pressed. "If not the case, then what?"
"What do you think?" Sherlock snapped irritably. "I was myself, John, what more reason would any woman need to break off an engagement to me?" He gave up on trying to distract himself with a book and instead moved toward the little sitting area, throwing himself into one of the overstuffed leather chairs and folding his arms together.
John, ever the bulldog, was not to be deterred. He stomped over and stood in front of him. "Sherlock, you have to fix this."
"Oh, do I?"
John glared down at him. "Yes, you do. Immediately. Before -"
"Before what? Before I've done irrevocable damage to our relationship?" Sherlock let out a bitter bark of laughter. "Sorry, old chap, I'm afraid that ship's well and truly sailed." He raised his cigarette to his lips, took a deep draw, and puffed the smoke deliberately in Watson's direction.
John stepped back, his scowl deepening. "Look, mate, I don't know what you did to cause this rift between Molly and yourself but you need to fix it. If not for her sake, then certainly for your own!"
That got Sherlock's attention. "For my sake?" he repeated, cocking his head to one side. "How could mending my relationship with Miss Hooper do me any good?" He didn't bother hiding the sneer in his voice as he spoke the hated word. What had this so-called relationship done for him except cause him trouble and strife - no, stop that, no Cockney rhyming slang. Molly was not and never would be his wife.
John continued scowling at him. "What good would it do?" He gestured toward the French windows, looking out on the garden, as if that was some sort of answer. "Sherlock, having Molly as your wife will open an entire new world to you, and no, I don't just mean sex."
"According to Mycroft, sex frightens me," Sherlock shot back, but it was a weak effort and he knew it. John certainly knew it, if the knowing grin he gave him was anything to go by.
"According to Mycroft," John said, "sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. And we both know that's nothing but the purest of bullshit. If anyone's afraid of sex - love - it's your brother."
He gave a sharp nod and rocked back on his heels, hands in trouser pockets, as if he'd just scored a point. Sherlock was quite happy to disabuse him of such a foolish notion. "Mycroft is," he said sharply, "at least in these circumstances, absolutely correct. My engagement to Miss Hooper has been nothing but the purest folly, pursued only that I might have quicker access to my inheritance and thus free myself from my brother's meddlesome presence in my financial life."
John's frown returned. "Wait, are you saying Mary was right?" he demanded. "That you never intended to marry, that this entire engagement's been a, a fake?" Sherlock could see the telltale signs of clenched fists as John began to withdraw his hands from his pockets, only to have them catch on the fabric in a rather farcical manner until he was forced to relax his fingers from their curled positions. "Have you been toying with Molly's affections this entire time?"
When John took a belligerent step forward, Sherlock sighed and broke the tense silence. "No, John, I've never lied to Molly about the true nature of my affection for her - or rather, the lack thereof. She knows I'm incapable of falling in love, and would, I suspect, have been more than capable of figuring it out had I tried such a thing."
He was unaware of the fond smile that touched his lips as he continued speaking, but had he been paying attention, he certainly would have realised that John had no problem seeing it. "She's too clever, too clear-headed to allow sentiment to clog her own observational skills, nor would she tolerate any such behaviour from me or any other suitor. No, Molly Hooper is no love-struck fool, I recognised her intelligence from the very first - What?" he interrupted himself irritably as he caught John's knowing grin.
"Oh, nothing," the other man said, pretending a nonchalance that did nothing to cover his obvious glee. "Just - it's very interesting, that's all. To hear you praising Molly's intelligence and common sense the way other men might praise a woman's beauty."
"Molly would be the first to insist she's no beauty," Sherlock snapped back defensively. With a quick, irritated motion he stepped toward the desk and pulled his cigarette case out of the lap drawer. "Her lips are too small, and some of the dresses she chooses for herself are clearly meant to compensate for the size of her…" He cupped his hands at chest height to illustrate the body part in question. "Even though she doesn't need any such enhancement. Societal expectations be damned; why can't a woman simply be herself, without a need to impress or allure or -"
He foundered to a stop, suddenly realising what he was saying - and what it might mean, should he allow himself to consider it.
John gazed at him for a long, long moment, then shook his head. "My God," he said softly. "You do have it bad, don't you, old man."
Sherlock could have continued to protest, to declare himself free of the dreaded sentiment John was accusing him of harbouring - but found himself incapable of doing so. A long, silent moment passed, and when he broke it, it was with but a single word, an admission he'd long been struggling to deny.
"Yes."
End note: Thank you as always for your reviews for this fic. they make me smile! Next chapter will be Molly's chat with Mary. Let's see how that goes, shall we?
