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The wedding ceremony for John and Mary Watson had been beautiful. Outside the church the confetti flew. Pictures were taken. Molly had looked to Sherlock to see how he was doing, social gatherings were not really his forte. What she saw was the maid-of-honour standing close to Sherlock’s side quite cheerfully, Sherlock looking nervous and unsettled but not averse to the attention. In fact he seemed okay with the company of the woman in lilac, a beautiful brunette who was clearly flirting with Sherlock. The next thought that ran through Molly’s mind was, ‘what just happened’?
oh jealousy, ooh jealously
Is she fine, so well bred?
The perfect girl, a social deb?
Is she the sort you’ve always thought
could make you what you’re not?
Other than a few hiccups in his best-man speech Sherlock was fitting in during the reception well. With the maid-of-honour still hovering near him practically all evening he actually looked normal. The woman was beautiful, of course, perfect smile, gorgeous full hair, nice round curves, and possessing an ease of socializing that anyone could envy. Sherlock danced with her and he actually seemed to be enjoying himself, his steps sure and elegant, somehow making the woman in lilac look even more beautiful.
Molly looked to her own date, her fiancé, and couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Sure he was sweet and he was cute in a loyal puppy sort of way, but he wasn’t Sherlock. Meat dagger? Really? Tom was still a little upset she had stabbed him with a fork, the plastic utensil had snapped and flown up and spun in the air spectacularly. Really, though, he was being a prat, wondering if Sherlock was drunk because of the way he was acting. Anyone who truly knew Sherlock knew that something was terribly wrong. Now Molly was trying to remember why she had agreed to marry Tom. Was it because she truly had wanted to marry him or was it because she was in love with the idea of being in love and of getting married? She wanted to prove that she had moved on, to the others and to herself. Who was she trying to kid? She still had feelings for Sherlock, but he was unreachable emotionally, incapable of a regular relationship, or so everyone thought. What, then, was going on between Sherlock and Janine? Was Sherlock trying to conform? John was moving on with things, was Sherlock trying to do the same to keep up with his friend? Pick the perfect girl, let her make him seem normal? Molly knew Sherlock better. He could never be ‘normal’. It just really hurt that if that was really his plan that he would choose someone he’d just met over the woman who’d been in front of him for years. Then again, she was the one who had stopped waiting in the wings for him. What right did she have to be jealous?
Ooh jealousy, ooh jealousy
Is she bright? So well read?
Are there novels by her bed?
Is she the sort that you’ve always said
could satisfy your head?
After seeing Sherlock leaving the night-do early Molly didn’t ponder her theories about Sherlock with Janine much. Janine had ended up dancing with someone else that night and Sherlock had silently slipped off of the dance floor. Molly had almost gone after him, he had looked so sad, but she was brought back to her own reality by a touch from Tom. She knew it would be improper of her to go after Sherlock. If he was leaving early maybe it was because it was all too much, he had done spectacularly all day, maybe he just wanted to be alone.
Molly still felt bad about not going after Sherlock, which is why she was at Baker street now with a peace offering. It was a few days after the wedding and she had not seen Sherlock at Barts at all. She thought the lungs he had been asking for would cheer him up. She hefted the cooler up the stairs and knocked lightly on the door she was surprised to see closed.
Instead of Sherlock answering the door there was Janine. The other woman had swung the door open and smiled brightly. She was dressed stunningly, of course, and her presence surprised Molly so much she nearly dropped the cooler.
“Er, hullo,” Molly said awkwardly, “is Sherlock in?”
“Yeah, come on in,” Janine said as if she owned the place. “Sherl!” she called out.
Sherl? Since when did Sherlock allow someone to call him ‘Sherl’?
“Who is it?” Sherlock asked as he walked out of his bedroom tying his necktie. He was dressed smartly in a suit she had never seen him in before. “Oh, hello, Molly,” he said upon looking up. His expression reminded her of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“Hi, um, I just thought you’d like this right away, it’s the-”
“In here would you, Molly,” he cut her off, gesturing to the kitchen.
“Umm, okay,” Molly was about to follow him when Janine stepped in front of her.
“It’s okay, you can discuss work. I’m going to grab a cab for us, Sherl. Try to be quick, our reservation is for six,” Janine said then kissed him rather passionately before turning about and smiling at Molly and winking. Molly felt as if the woman had just thrust a knife into her chest.
“I won’t be long, I promise,” Sherlock told Janine and she sashayed off. “So, what have you got for me?” he asked Molly.
“The lungs you wanted. I thought it might be a welcome distraction, what with John and Mary still hiding in newlywed bliss, but I can see you’ve found your own distraction. Not that it’s any of my business. Hope you’re enjoying it, I mean, of course you are, not that you…oh, anyway, here,” she handed over the cooler. He looked at her quizzically but still took the cooler and emptied the contents into a special section inside his refrigerator, the inside of which looked neat and tidy. Since when did Sherlock keep a neat and clean fridge? Sherlock even changed his usual MO for Janine? Molly felt kind of dizzy. He handed her back the cooler and was still eyeing her curiously.
“Well, I should get going don’t want to make you late for your date,” Molly knew she was rambling, “have fun, be safe and all that. Bye, Sherlock!” she tried hurrying out before the tears came, she could feel them burning in her eyes.
“Molly,” he called after her just as she reached the door.
“Sherlock?” she didn’t turn around, she could hear his footsteps stop just behind her.
“You seem,” he paused to find the right word, “upset.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. He had stepped around her to look at her face and so she smiled even though her eyes were watery. He assessed her, it was obvious she was telling a falsehood. His eyes did that squinting thing they did when he was trying to compute the data his eyes were telling him because something didn’t add up. She didn’t expect him to question her further, he didn’t disappoint; Sherlock didn’t do sentiment, not normally.
Molly went about her way, fighting back the ache she felt. She didn’t have any right to feel the way she did, she told herself, looking down at the ring on her finger. She returned the cooler to work, she did a little extra work she didn’t need to do, getting a head start on the next day, she reasoned with herself. Anything to not go home yet. Her stomach made her have to finally give in and go home.
Molly checked her mobile to find the myriad of messages she knew would be there from Tom. She texted him back saying she was sorry and that she’d had a rough day. He, of course, was nice about it and offered to try and make her feel better; but Tom couldn’t make her feel better and therein was part of her problem. This wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair to her and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to Tom. And so she invited him over.
A short while later, after eating dinner and then tearfully breaking it off with Tom, more tears from him than her (what did that even mean?) Molly sat alone on her couch. Toby made his way over to sit on her lap and she scratched his head as she ruminated over what a mess she’d made of her relationships. Still, she knew she had made the right decision about Tom. Her heart hurt but it ached more for Sherlock than Tom solidifying her belief that she’d made the right choice.
She kept thinking about that woman, Janine, with Sherlock. Janine had kissed him and he’d kissed her back. What was it about Janine that Sherlock found so appealing? Was Janine some extremely clever person? Was she one of those really book smart people that could appear normal and Molly failed to see how smart she was because of how beautiful she was? Sherlock didn’t tolerate idiots, he abhorred stupidity, so Janine had to be intelligent. Could she carry on a conversation with Sherlock and keep up? Was she perhaps smarter than Molly, was that her appeal to Sherlock? Did Janine perhaps challenge his mind with her wit? It all came back to the age-old question didn’t it? Molly wondered, what has she got that I haven’t got?
Ooh jealousy, ooh jealousy, ooh my jealousy
Does she talk the way I do?
Is her voice reminding you,
of the promises, the little white lies too?
Sometimes, tell me, while she’s touching you,
just by mistake, accidentally do you say my name?
Neither Sherlock nor John had been in contact for a few weeks after their last encounter. This fact alone didn’t surprise her, their habits had always been irregular. What did surprise Molly was the reason why John did finally call her and brought Sherlock to her at Barts, so Molly could drug screen Sherlock. Molly knew she hadn’t reacted to the results well but, then again, neither had Sherlock. He could use a bit of scolding now and again anyway.
Molly had wondered if Sherlock was still with Janine, a question that was answered by nearly every newspaper in the country a few days later. Sherlock had been shot and nearly killed, that in itself had been sensational news, front page worthy. Of course it made all the reporters once again determined to dig up all they could on the consultant detective. This time their digging turned up newsworthy gold, Janine.
Janine had told every reporter that would listen all the sordid details about her relationship with Sherlock. At first the pictures and headlines had made the green monster within Molly rear its’ ugly head, then Molly actually read the articles. Molly knew Sherlock, at least she thought she did, and what she read did not match up with the man she knew.
Molly had taken to stopping in to check on Sherlock before her shifts started, after her shifts ended and sometimes on her lunch breaks. Sherlock was usually asleep when she visited him in his hospital room. This time when she went to visit Sherlock he was awake but he already had a visitor. Molly wasn’t intending to be nosy but when she saw Janine fiddling with Sherlock’s morphine drip she was concerned. She was about to burst in and intervene when Sherlock woke up. Molly hid herself from being seen through the room’s windows. She could still hear them through the door.
It was all fake, all of it, the entire relationship. Sherlock was just using Janine, a means to an end. In retaliation Janine had used her connection with Sherlock, making money off of her stories.
Molly couldn’t help but make comparisons. How many times had Sherlock complimented her to get his way for something or other, all in the name of a case or experiment? He didn’t really mean the compliments, didn’t care about such frivolous things, but Molly still got flustered and gave in to his requests when he said them. Had Janine believed the act Sherlock put on? Obviously she must have because the farce had lasted a month.
Molly wondered if Sherlock had used his experience in complimenting for gains with her on Janine, a lesson in human female interaction. Did Janine react in the same way Molly did? Did she reply with the same befuddled phrases? Did he tell her that she counted? Did Janine believe him when he told her nice things?
Molly listened as the conversation turned more personal, hinted at the fact that Sherlock never was intimate, never physical, at least not that far. Molly couldn’t help but smirk at Janine not being able to accomplish that endeavour. Molly walked away feeling like a voyeur and not wanting or needing to hear anymore. Did Janine regret that she hadn’t managed to convince Sherlock to go there with her? It had sounded like she did. In Molly’s mind the perfect scenario would have been that during one of Janine’s attempts at intimacy Sherlock would forget who he was with, just a little slip, like he sometimes did. Sometimes he called Molly John when his mind was active and they had replied in a similar fashion to each other. Did Sherlock make that same mistake when Janine was close to Sherlock, when she was caressing him? Would Janine have just brushed it off the way Molly did or would she have gotten really pissed off that in between the kisses and the sighs and the intimate touches Sherlock had whispered ‘Molly’?