Chapter Text
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. I just borrow these characters for a while and having some fun – a lot of fun actually!
. . .
”There are plenty of ways to die, but only love can kill you and keep to alive to feel it.”
– Leo Christopher
. . .
”What do you need?”
”You.”
. . .
Sherlock Holmes found himself lying on Molly’s sofa with his eyes closed, going through the last couple of days in his mind palace. He remembered John standing on the street, looking up at him while he begged him not to jump. The pain flooded through him as he remembered the pain he had caused the people he cared about today. He considered them his friends. This was a nightmare but it was for the best. It was something he had to do, for his friends, for their protection.
”Do you want some coffee?” Molly asked and Sherlock opened his eyes.
The pathologist was standing in front of the sofa, dressed in a pink dressing gown. She must have just gotten out from the shower because her face was flushed and her hair still wet. His sweet pathologist …
No! That was something he couldn’t think. Sherlock Holmes didn’t do that kind of deduction. He didn’t care if his pathologist looked sweet … even if she did. Shut it. He needed to delete those thought.
”Black, two sugars.”
”I know”, she said and walked over to the kitchen.
Sherlock decided to join her. He sat down at the kitchen table and looked over at Molly who poured them each a cup. She, too, took her coffee black, but without sugar.
”Here,” she said and gave him a cup. ”How are you feeling?”
”I jumped off a roof and all my friends think I’m dead. How do you think I feel?” he asked brusquely.
Her pained expression affected him in a way he hadn’t experiences before. Usually he didn’t care if he hurt others with his harsh words, not even Molly, but now …
”I’m sorry. Of course you don’t feel well. I shouldn’t have asked that,” she said and giggled, but there was a flash och pain in her eyes. Sherlock kept his gaze on her. He could see that he had upset her. Maybe he had been a bit harsh?
”I’m sorry Molly, forgive me.”
He didn’t know why he apologized, but it felt like the right thing to do. Something John would do. She turned and faced him. He could see that her eyes were damp. Had she been crying? Obviously he had upset her in some way. He wished that John was here so he could tell him what to do. Sherlock wasn’t good with these emotional things.
”Oh Sherlock …” Molly whispered. ”It’s okay, I’m alright … I’m just being silly, that’s all.”
”You’re not silly Molly.”
”I’m not?” she asked doubtfully. ”So what am I then? I just helped someone I consider a friend fake his suicide. I let him into my home and he doesn’t ever consider me as a friend. I’m not being silly? Well that’s where you, for once in your life, are wrong Sherlock Holmes.”
She was angry now. Sherlock had almost never seen her angry and it made his chest tighten. He didn’t want her to be angry or sad, not because of him.
”You are my friend.”
”No, I’m not Sherlock. I’m just your pathologist whom you are using to get what you want. I don’t matter. I know I don’t. You don’t have to pretend with me Sherlock.”
Sherlock felt confused. Was this what Molly believed? Hadn’t he been clear enough? She did matter, he had told her that? Hadn’t he?
”Molly I …”
”No Sherlock. You don’t have to explain anything. This is just too much for me. I was petrified when I saw you on that table today. It was just excruciating imagined that it was you lying there. Please, just let me grieve and be silly for a moment. Please.”
”No,” Sherlock said simply and stood up.
He rounded the table. Molly eyes grew big when he got closer. Then he cupped her face, pressed her up against the sink and kissed her. He didn’t know where this sudden desire had come from, but all of the sudden he found himself kissing Molly Hooper. Pressing his body against her, keeping her close as if his life depended on it, and maybe in some way it did. Molly Hooper was the only one who could see him. See him for who he was. Everyone else just saw him, but Molly saw through him in a way no one else could. At first she was still. A heartbeat later she responded his kiss. Her hands in his dark curls, her mouth soft against his. The passion exploded between them and for once, Sherlock’s mind was quiet.
. . .
Naked. Sore. Vulnerable. Safe. These feelings flooded through her when she found herself in bed with Sherlock Holmes. Molly had had a crush on him for years. Then it had grown into love. And now … pain.
”I broke my own heart loving you,” she suddenly whispered.
It was met with a sudden movement behind her. Sherlock pressed her body even closer against his.
They were lying in bed, Molly’s back pressed against his front. It was in the middle of the night and they both was sweaty after hours of love making, sex, intercourse – whatever this was.
”Molly, you know I’m not capable of those sorts of emotions.”
”I know. It’s okay Sherlock.”
When Molly was seventeen and devastated after a break up, her mum had said: ”When the people you love hurt you the most it’s better to stay quiet. Because if your love wasn’t enough, why would your words matter?”
Molly had thought about her mother’s words. Back then she had believed that she loved that boy (now she couldn’t even remember his name). But it hadn’t been enough, he had broken up with her. Why should she beg him for another chance? Why should she ask what she had done wrong? It didn’t matter.
Now she found herself in completely different situation. Her love for Sherlock wasn’t enough to keep him with her. She knew that this was just sex for him. He had been through hell these couple of days, and now he needed something to keep his mind quiet. Her love was enough for both of them, or at least she hoped it was. She didn’t care if this was the first and last time she ever got with him.
Molly Hooper loved Sherlock Holmes, and that was enough.
The next morning she woke up alone in a cold bed and he was gone. A note was left on her bedside table with only two words written on it.
Thank you.
Molly felt her eyes fill with tears. This was reality and it was painful but she would go through it and it would strengthen her. She wondered why the only love she ever experienced hurt her, caused her so much pain that she sometimes wondered if it was worth it.
Her parents died, her boyfriend’s left or she left them. She had been looking for love but never seemed to find it. Molly found herself holding on to those who caused her pain, over and over again.
No one had caused her as much pain as Sherlock Holmes, and still, she loved him, with all her heart. It was strange, but she did. And she probably always would.
. . .
4 weeks later Molly took a blood sample and … shit.
What now?