Chapter Text
It had taken Sherlock’s continuous and awful rebuffs (especially at the Christmas party…dear God, that stung deep) and three horrible dates with Jim for Molly to finally realize something: she might like men, but she also liked women. And after all of her hassles with men, perhaps it would be best if she explored the side of her that liked women for a bit, saw if it was a phase or something more permanent.
She had met Clarissa at a pub. Not the normal one she went to; she’d been drug out for drinks with some of the younger crowd at St. Bart’s and they’d thought it might be fun to go someplace different, a bit more edgy. Clarissa was a knockout, with long black hair, striking green eyes and a curvy figure. Molly hadn’t felt at all attractive even though she’d worn the same dress she wore to the Christmas party. But Clarissa had come over to her and they started chatting. It was so easy to talk to her, especially the more drinks Molly had, and when they ended the evening by exchanging numbers and promising to meet for dinner the next evening, Molly thought she should have done this an awfully long time ago.
When Clarissa kissed her the next night, she had to admit that she didn’t find anything peculiar or strange about snogging a female. Hell, Clarissa was a better kisser than her last three boyfriends, and there was something about the kiss that caused her to curl up her toes and sigh a deep contented sigh. This? This was what she had been missing for all those years. And their relationship moved quickly without seeming like it was too fast. Nine months after they began dating they were living together.
John knew she had a girlfriend. Greg knew too, and while they both seemed a bit perplexed at first in the end Clarissa won them over. Sometimes the four of them would go out for drinks after a case wrapped up, and while Sherlock was always invited he never came. Molly was pretty sure that he thought it was beneath him. But as Clarissa kept telling her, Sherlock was a snob and a genius and some things were never going to change.
But then it did. Then came the day where Sherlock asked for her help, where he said he was going to die soon. This was a new side of him, one she had hoped to see years before but she had given up hope of ever seeing. The things he said, the way he spoke…if she had still been infatuated with him this would have kicked the crush up a notch, given her hope. But now she was happy with her girlfriend and she didn’t need Sherlock in that way. But he needed her help, and he needed a friend, and she could offer her expertise and her friendship, if that was what he needed.
After he got brought into her morgue and everyone had left they enacted their plan. She had had an unexpected visit with Mycroft, who took charge of the body swap, and after she set Sherlock’s broken wrist in a splint she had filched from hospital supply she spirited him off to her home. She hadn’t had time to tell Clarissa and she hoped she understood. Molly let the two of them into her flat and paused. “Clarissa?”
“Who is Clarissa?” Sherlock asked.
“My girlfriend,” Molly said, stepping into the flat. She set her purse down on the table by the door.
“I thought you liked men. You seemed to be infatuated with me, and then there was Moriarty.”
She cringed at Jim’s real name. “Yes, well, I’m bisexual. And things changed a while ago. Your brush-off at the Christmas party was the catalyst, I guess.” She looked around. Clarissa worked out of the second spare bedroom, having made it into a home office. She should have been home by now. “Clarissa, are you home?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m home, just give me a minute.” After a few moments Clarissa came out of the bedroom. She made it into the living room and then stopped dead in her tracks. “Bloody hell. Sherlock Holmes actually graced our home with his presence?”
“Sherlock, this is my girlfriend Clarissa Bannister.” She looked from Sherlock, who had his arms crossed across his chest, to Clarissa, who had the exact same pose. She sighed. This was not going to be easy. “Sherlock is supposed to be dead.”
“Dead? What’s going on, Mols?”
“Mols?” Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Molly blushed. “My nickname.” Then she turned to Clarissa. “He jumped off the roof at St. Bart’s. I’m helping him fake his death.”
“And now I’m thinking it’s a mistake that I came here,” Sherlock said. “I thought you lived alone.”
“There’s an awful lot you don’t know about me,” Molly said with a shrug, going over to her girlfriend. “It will only be for a week, until his brother can make other arrangements.”
“Why is he faking his death?” Clarissa asked, looking at Molly.
“I’m standing right here, you know,” Sherlock said with an exasperated sigh.
Clarissa turned to him. “All right, fine. Why are you faking your death?”
“Because my friends would have been killed if I didn’t. And Molly may have been included in that, I’m not sure.”
Clarissa dropped her arms, her eyes wide. “Oh. Well…then thank you, I suppose.”
Sherlock blinked. “For what?”
“For saving Mols.” She nodded towards the kitchen. “Want a cup of tea, Sherlock?”
He dropped his arms and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
Clarissa went into the kitchen and began to make the tea, and Molly started to relax. Maybe this wouldn’t be a colossal mistake after all…