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He knew things were going to have changed while he was gone. He was not naïve enough to think that people would stay exactly the same in his absence, much as he would wish it otherwise. He himself was a different man, two years later…why would it not be the same for the others? It was preposterous to think they would be the same way as they had been when they’d left. He’d hoped that Mycroft would have told him more about these changes before he’d dropped in on them, but he supposed his brother had to have his amusements. Fine. So be it. Let Mycroft be a bit of an arse that way.
But there was absolutely no excuse, absolutely none, for not informing him of the closeness that had developed between him and Molly Hooper while he’d been off going around the globe taking care of the Moriarty problem.
He had to have known there was a closeness between him and Molly. If it hadn’t been obvious before he left, it should damn well have been while he was gone. He had tried not to be, of course, but he knew he had asked Mycroft to make sure of Molly’s safety more than the others, had wanted him to pay particular attention to any threats that may encroach her life. If that wasn’t a flashing neon sign that Molly was special to him, then Mycroft was slower than Sherlock thought.
And now that he had come back, he discovered that Mycroft and Molly were friends.
He was having to get used to Mycroft being at the morgue, or being at Molly’s flat when he’d turn up. So not only did he have to deal with Tom in the picture, but he had to deal with Mycroft there as well. It was twice as much headache to deal with. But even as he could see Tom slipping out of Molly’s life, Mycroft was staying put, much to Sherlock’s irritation.
In fact, Mycroft seemed to be digging himself in.
He wasn’t very pleased with that.
It was a few days after the wedding, after the phone call with Mycroft, after he had clearly seen Molly stab Tom’s hand with a fork at the reception. He wasn’t sure she’d want to see him, to be honest. She wasn’t sure she’d want to see anyone, as she’d been avoiding phone calls from everyone, it seemed. He made his way to her flat and then knocked on the door. After a moment, she opened it, clad in her pyjamas and dressing gown, hair haphazardly pulled up in a bun on top of her head. Her eyes were wide. “Oh! Sherlock. I…wasn’t expecting you.”
“You weren’t expecting anyone, I take it,” he said.
“Well, not just yet,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Date with Tom?”
She flushed slightly at that. “It’s over between us,” she said quietly. “I gave him back his ring two days ago.”
“Oh,” he said quietly. “My apologies.”
She waved her hand. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s better this way. We were fooling ourselves. He wanted things one way and I wanted them another and there was really no way we’d ever compromise. It would have been a rather miserable marriage.”
“Still,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged slightly at that. “It’s all right.” She pulled her dressing gown tighter around her. “Is there something you wanted?”
“I…just wanted to see if you wanted to…” He wasn’t really sure why he had come, to be honest. He wanted to spend time with her, but she seemed not to want to spend time with her. She was waiting for someone else. “You’d rather be with whoever it is you have plans with. I’ll leave.”
“It’s just lunch with Mycroft,” she said.
His jaw set at that. “What’s so special about my brother, anyway?” he asked before he really thought about it.
She blinked at the vehemence in his question. “I…we’re just friends,” she said, looking up at Sherlock. “He made it a point to keep me informed as to how you were doing and we would chat and I started to look forward to those chats. He’s interesting.”
“But how does he feel about you?” Sherlock asked, crossing his arms. “I mean, if you find him interesting, how does he see you? He spends all this time with you, he must like you at least somewhat.”
“I think he’s fond of me,” she said.
“Fond,” Sherlock said bitterly. “If he finds you interesting, maybe he fancies you. And if he does, he’s just…he’s not right for you.”
Molly gave him a bemused smile. “Sherlock, when I say Mycroft is fond of me, it’s more like the way you’d be fond of a little sister. He fancies his assistant. You can see it quite plainly when they look at each other.” Then she grinned slightly. “Are you jealous, Sherlock?”
Sherlock blinked and then looked down. Damn it all, he should have kept his mouth shut. Hell, he should have just stayed away from her flat, not come over at all. Then she wouldn’t know that he did care, that he cared very much, that he hated the idea of her being with Mycroft. Hell he hated the idea of her being with anyone other than him, if he was going to be truthful. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I suppose I am.”
“I could always cancel my lunch with Mycroft and go out to lunch with you, if you’d like,” she said, in a slightly teasing voice. “If you’d simply ask.”
He looked up, saw she had a warm smile on her face, one that reached her eyes and lit up her whole face. She seemed to really want him to ask, wanted him to try. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, what with her just ending her engagement with Tom a few days before, but if he didn’t, he knew he would regret it to the end of his days. “Molly, would you have lunch with me this afternoon?” he asked.
“Yes, Sherlock, I’d love to,” she said. She opened her door a little wider. “Why don’t you come in while I get dressed and then we can go somewhere, all right?”
He nodded. “All right,” he said. He stepped inside and she shut the door after him. She gave him a grin before heading to her bedroom and after a moment his mobile buzzed with a text alert. He pulled it out and looked at it. About time, dear brother, it read. He rolled his eyes and stowed his mobile away. He got the feeling he’d have to continue to deal with Mycroft being a friend of Molly’s, but at least now he didn’t have to feel jealous that Mycroft’s intentions were romantic. Molly’s heart was his, and that was all that mattered.