Chapter Text
Oh, it had been an absolutely shite week, Molly thought to herself as she trudged from the Underground stop towards her flat. Sherlock high on drugs, then him getting shot, then John and Mary separating, and then finding out details she wasn’t even sure she had wanted to know… Her head had been in a constant spinning state, and that wasn’t even taking into the fact her own life, with the end of her engagement. Not that that had really come as much of a shock to many, really, not since the return of Sherlock.
No, of course not, she thought to herself bitterly. And the whole time he expertly times coming out of my bedroom in his pants to Tom’s arrival he’s off wooing the damn maid of honour from Mary’s wedding and planning to propose to her. that fact stung the worst, that Sherlock had almost single-handedly ruined her engagement with that stunt while she was asleep in the guest bedroom while he had no intention of doing anything with her. And then he had the cheek to comment on her lack of ring while high as a kite! He was lucky all she did was slap him three times! She really wanted to give him a black eye, really. Or a kick in the bollocks.
And then he had to get himself shot. By Mary, of all people. She had gone to check on Mary after Sherlock texted her to, with an uncharacteristic “please” in the message, and Mary was crying and it all just rather spilled out, the whole story of how she had a hidden past and was in Magnussen’s sights and had shot Sherlock and all she could do at first was sit there in shock. She should have been angry, should have walked out in a huff. Didn’t she love Sherlock? Shouldn’t she have wanted to hurt Mary for hurting him? But when Mary explained, she understood. Sherlock had pushed. Sherlock had pushed limits he shouldn’t have, goaded her in a situation he shouldn’t have and she did what she had to do.
Molly had leaned over and given her the biggest hug, holding Mary while she cried on her shoulder for she had no idea how long, and then told Mary to get some things, she would be staying at her place for a while, until things were sorted out. No women should be alone at a time like this. Mary gave her the most grateful look imaginable and went off to pack a bag, and Molly sent Sherlock a text that Mary was staying with her and her home was not a bolt hole for the time being. He sent a text back with the word “Understood” and his initials, and that was that.
And she hadn’t heard from him since.
It had been a week since that had transpired, and in that week she’d had a heavy workload, she’d dealt with some of the most insufferable DIs in the Yard and Tom had come to clear out the last of his things. That last part had been excruciatingly bad, and she’d spent a few hours with Mary afterward, finishing off a bottle of Louis Latour - Meursault 2014 while Mary commiserated with her, eating a pint of Häagen-Dazs Yuzu Citrus and Cream ice cream while she had a Magnum Almond Tub. The worst of it was Tom wasn’t even particularly angry about anything. No pointed comments about Sherlock, no asking if there were any of Sherlock’s things about, no insinuating she was a horrible cheater. No, he said the barest minimum to her, instead simply walking around with boxes, occasionally asking if there were certain things she would prefer to keep, and then he left, leaving her key on the table by the door. She had never felt more miserable ending a relationship before.
Which led to today and a rather nasty hangover and low threshold for bullcrap. It had gotten to the point she started getting snippy with the people giving her attitude, and Stamford, the only person who knew about her engagement ending, stepped in on her behalf before it got to a point where official complaints were being made and suggested she take an early day and go home and relax. She was thankful for the suggestion because if she had to deal with one more idiotic person, she would most likely be fired on the spot.
This was unlike her, she knew, but she didn’t know how to make things better. She had never been in quite this position before, to have her personal life feel so...bleak. She could have been happy with Tom, really. Maybe not deliriously happy, but happy enough. She loved him, she cared. They could have made it work.
Oh, who was she kidding? She wasn’t in love with Tom. Sherlock had done her a favour. But the man she was in love with had been playing at a relationship with someone else, so...she had no clue what to do there.
She finally got home, rather surprised at that because she had been so lost in her thoughts, and reached in her handbag for her keys. She noticed, though, there was a floral arrangement on the ground and then she smiled slightly. Probably for Mary from John, she thought to herself before kneeling down to pick it up. It was actually quite lovely and she was surprised it hadn’t been snatched, even though her front door was behind a gate; it looked like a mixture of multicolored lilies and roses and looked so vibrant and cheerful. There was a card stuck inside and she looked at it, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw her name on it.
That was curious.
She managed to shuffle things around so that she didn’t drop the flowers and could still get her keys out, and took everything inside once she got the door open. It didn’t appear Mary was inside, so she took it all into her blue tiled kitchen and set the flowers on the counter before opening the envelope. Inside was a card with hearts on the front, and when she opened it in perfect cursive was written "Deep inside you there is a roaring fire that is not cooled by comfort or tamed by fear. A fire that burns in all things."
She stared at the note for a long moment and then set it down. Most people would be flattered to receive a note and flowers from a secret admirer, but most people did not have the friends she had. Most people had not lived the life she had. There was only one thing she could do: call Sherlock Holmes.