Realisations

AN: It’s the Penultimate Chapter of my Anne of Green Gables Sherlolly AU (wow, that’s a mouthful!!) Read the first 5 chapters on AO3 and FF.net. :) A million thanks to @buttercup59 for Beta-ing!

Previously:

‘I pride myself on my genius, my ability to read people, and I know that you feel something for me that is deeper than mere friendship.’ Sherlock stepped away, shuttering himself off from her. ‘But if you won’t accept that, there is nothing I can do. You believe that friendship will be sufficient, but this past year has made it clear to me that it will never be enough for me.’

A sob bubbled up and Molly stepped toward him, reaching out. ‘Sherlock, please-’

His gaze softened and he reached out to cup her cheek. Against her will, she leaned into the warmth of his hand and she covered his hand with hers, closing her eyes.

Suddenly there was a soft pressure on her other cheek. Her eyes flew open and her heart skipped a beat to find Sherlock pulling back, his eyes, so beautiful and clear and close, taking her in. ‘I do hope you find the love you are looking for, Molly.’

Then he was gone, striding away into the night, turning up his coat collar as he went.

Molly stared after him, her heart feeling empty and a small voice whispering that she had just lost something irreplaceable.

Two Years Later

I’m sure you’ve heard by now, dearest Molly, of the sickness that has nearly taken Mrs Holmes. She fights it with a fury only she could muster and it may very well crumble to her will. We can only pray she grows stronger every day and comes through the other side.

Though I know you have not been in touch for near gone two years now, I feel I should tell you of Sherlock’s return. The very day after we sent word of his mother’s illness, he arrived upon the morning train having travelled all night. He later sent for his things and declared himself educated sufficiently enough to leave ‘that wretched institution they insultingly call higher education.’ But John and I know he has returned for the sake of his father and mother and to support them during this time. He is a far greater man than he would ever believe of himself.

Alas, I must stop writing or risk running late to tea with Harriet. We miss you terribly, especially little Rosie, who even now is asking for her ‘An-Mowwy.’ And I expect you to visit within the season, for it has been far too long since we have seen you.

Love,

Mary

oOo

‘Molly, darling, you’re a bit distracted tonight.’

Molly turned her head away from where she’d been staring out the window. Tom was looking at her with a slight frown. They’d been courting for nearly a year after she had been introduced to him by her pathology mentor. Tom was a brilliant pathologist, albeit a bit stiff and aloof, but Molly knew in her head that theirs was a smart match. They were a powerful couple and they would make ground-breaking discoveries together in the world of pathology. But as the months passed, she slowly began to feel as if something was off. Yet she pushed aside her doubts.

She smiled and reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. ‘I’m sorry, what were you saying?’

Tom smiled crookedly and shook his head. ‘Daydreaming again, sweetheart?’

Molly’s smile cooled instantly and she clenched her teeth. There was that condescension. It had been creeping into his tone more and more as of late.

‘Just thinking about my residency. I can’t believe I start in less than two weeks!’ She watched the look that passed over his face with a sinking stomach. It wasn’t the face of a man proud of the woman he loved’s accomplishments. It was the face of a man who had humoured the girl he was courting.

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He lifted her knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss. When they had first begun courting, the action had sent Molly’s heart skittering. Now… it made her feel like an object. ‘If we’re to be married within the year, should you really be planning on a career? What about children?’

Molly tugged her hand from his grasp and sat up straighter. ‘I would love to have children someday. But I thought you understood, and appreciated, what a career in pathology means to me. I’d like to finish my education and establish myself before I have children.’

Tom’s smile instantly dropped and his nostrils flared. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘On the contrary, I very much am,’ Molly clipped.

‘Molly, sweetheart,’ he tilted his head forward and smiled patronisingly. ‘No one is going to take you seriously as a pathologist. Why waste all that time fighting against society’s expectations only to fail when we can instead start on the family we’ve always wanted.’

Molly stared at him and tried to control her breathing. ‘Thomas, I thought you understood… not just understood, but appreciated my intelligence and desire to be a pathologist. If you can’t accept that, then I would suggest that you find another woman who is willing to not strive for anything but to bear your children. Because I am not, and will never be, her.’

His mouth gaped open as she pushed her chair back and stood, laying her napkin on the table.

‘Molly, wait.’ He grabbed her arm as she walked past. ‘Won’t you reconsider? We’re an admirable match, you must see that! Our marriage would be advantageous to both of us. Don’t throw it away on some pipe dream of being a pathologist.’

Molly looked down at him, a familiar voice echoing in her mind.

I think it admirable.

Even now, two years later, she remembered them as clearly as if Sherlock had spoken them yesterday. Never once had he made her feel foolish for pursuing pathology. Never once had he condescended to her. No, Sherlock had always challenged her mind, encouraged her, and it was his words of affirmation that had her standing tall and confident even when others tried to put her down.

She’d been waiting for a man who would complement her and she’d thought she’d found that in Thomas.

Finally, Molly’s heart closed the gap on her mind. She realised what she’d been looking for had been in front of her all along. She had ignored her heart’s protestations and foolishly thought that her perfect match would be found in a man like Tom: a pathologist, well-respected, from a good family, but who would never see her, her passions and intelligence. She was simply his means to an end.

And in her foolishness, she had spurned the man she now realised was that perfect match in every way, even the one she hadn’t expected. He had loved her.

And she loved him.

A smile pulled at the corners of her lips. Tom, thinking she was agreeing with him, smiled back and relaxed his grip.

‘Thank you, Tom,’ she said and stepped away. ‘For finally making me realise I could never marry you.’

His mouth dropped open in surprise, but she didn’t stick around to hear his sputtering.

Gathering her coat close to her chin and holding her hat atop her head, she hurried out into the cold winter air. She breathed out, the mist surrounding her, and she grinned widely, almost stupidly. It was as if she had been wearing a blindfold, shackling her heart down into a tiny box, and had now set it free. The darkness, like the mist of her breath, faded away and suddenly everything was bright and her feet were back on solid ground.

And she wasn’t going to waste one second more. She had a train to catch.

I can’t believe how my request for an Anne of Green Gables AU turned into this wonderful multi-chapter gem!! 😍😍😘😘

Brave of Heart

Spells shot around her at frightening speed. Molly dove behind a tree just as a Curse flew past where she had been standing a second before.

Darkness had fallen and it was difficult to tell where her opponents stood in the shadows. 

Suddenly, the curses stopped and a chill swept over her. She looked around the tree to see the perpetrators fleeing, then glanced to the sky with dread. A trio of Dementors drifted overhead and down toward the east end of the park.

The last place she’d seen Sherlock dash off to.

Heart in her throat, she raced down the pathway, wand at the ready. As she rounded the curve, she could see two figures battling, spells being deflected as quickly as they were being cast. 

The Dementors swept high, then dived. 

‘Sherlock!’ She bellowed and cast as many protective spells as she could, but to no avail.

The cold chilled down to her bones. Sherlock’s opponent had turned tail and run at the sight of the Dementors.

But Sherlock had not been so fortunate, his demons rising up darker and stronger than anyone else’s to cripple him under the Dementor’s power. He raised his wand shakily and tried to say the spell, but the silver mist sputtered and died at the end of his wand.

The Dementor grasped his neck and opened his mouth. Sherlock struggled in futility to free himself and slowly weakened, the light of his soul rising from his chest into the air.

‘No!’ Molly screamed. ‘You can’t have him!’ 

From deep within her, she pulled up every memory of Sherlock she’d stored away. Their First Year when her levitating charm had given him a new hairstyle and they’d laughed for hours. His begrudging smile when she’d saved the Quaffle just as he caught the Snitch and she still won the game for Gryffindor by 10 points. The moment she’d looked across the Potions classroom in Fifth Year and realised she’d fallen in love with her best friend. His excitement when he defeated a rising dark wizard and became the first Consulting Auror and twirled her around in celebration. The look in his eyes not an hour before when they’d been called to Regent’s Park to handle a wizarding fight that broke out and they’d arrived to find a trio of dark wizards wreaking havoc on Muggles. Wands out, he’d made her promise to stay safe before rushing into the fray. But the look in his eyes spoke volumes.

It was all these memories and more that rose up within her as she raised her wand, a buzzing filling her ears and drowning out all other sound.

‘Expecto Patronum!’ 

From the end of her wand, a silver panther erupted and bolted at the Dementor, headbutting it and sending it hurtling into the sky. The other Dementors fled at the ferocious silver panther and Sherlock dropped to his knees, the light receding back into him. 

Molly rushed to his side and caught him just as he was about to fall and his head dropped against her shoulder. Her wand fell to the grass and she wrapped her arms around his chest, soothing him as he took gasping breaths.

The silver panther padded over and curled around them, letting out a contented purr before fading into the night. 

From all around, their fellow Aurors streamed through the park, capturing the fleeing dark wizards and setting about repairing the damage. 

‘That’s why,’ Sherlock said cryptically and pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes. Molly brushed the sweaty curls from his forehead. 

‘What are you on about now?’

He smiled and shakily stood to his feet, pulling her with him. ‘For years, you’ve questioned why the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor.’ With a flick of his wrist, he magicked her wand up and placed it in her hand. ‘You just rushed three Dementors and fought them off single-handedly to save me. You’ve proven what I’ve known all along. That you are the bravest, most courageous witch I’ve ever known, Molly Hooper.’

Blood rushed to Molly’s cheeks and she bit her cheeks to hold back her smile. 

Brave. Courageous. 

Molly breathed in deep and let his praise settle on her heart. Yes, she was brave. She was a Gryffindor. And she wouldn’t waste another moment being afraid, hiding her heart, not when she’d come so close to losing him just minutes before.

Standing on her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. His lips parted in a huff of laughter before pressing hard against hers, his arms slipping around her waist to pull her up against his chest.

There would be time for paperwork and debriefings later. Right now, they lost themselves to the kiss that would shape their futures, forever intertwining them.

Spoilers Ahead

Just a little aside, not touching on anything plot related.

John Watson had an affair. It wasn’t explicitly stated or shown, but sending secret texts to another woman and clearly feeling the guilt of something weighing down on him toward the end are clear enough indicators that something immoral was happening, physically and/or emotionally.

There is very little in this world that makes me as sick to my stomach with fury and disgust as infidelity, even fictional.

And then to have it all end the way it did… was that whole side thing with the strange woman necessary? Because instead of feeling sorry for John, I’m having a hard time looking past the fact that he, for all intents and purposes, cheated on his wife who was only trying to protect him and their daughter.

I loved the episode, the action, the twists and turns, even the devastating ending. But I feel as though I got caught in the mire of their domestic problem and cannot move past it.

The optimist in me wants to think it's just friendship but the pessimist in me thinks it was an emotional affair.

Can we do another, “Reblog with what your reaction will be if Sherlolly becomes canon?” (in a happy way, like, no one dies)

Christmas Cheer

I was going to wait to post this until the official start of 12 Days of Sherlolly, but with the influx of hate in the tag, I thought we could all to with a little fluff right now. :)

I like to think of this as just a group of friends forming a family… pre-Sherlolly. :)

Miss Hooper’s flight has been cancelled due to inclement weather. MH

Why does that concern me? SH

I assumed you would want to be aware of the current status of your pathologist. MH

Don’t assume, Mycroft. You know what the goldfish say. SH

Considering you are already an ass, I shall take the risk of being labelled the same. Though in this case, I know I am correct. MH

A car is waiting for you outside. MH

Merry Christmas, brother mine. MH

It was with a heavy heart that Molly let herself into her flat and dropped her bags to the floor. She leaned back against the door and tried not to cry. The flat was dark and lonely. She hadn’t taken any of her Christmas decorations out of storage and had sent all of the gifts she’d bought for Matty and Jenna and the kids on ahead. To the US. Where they would be celebrating Christmas without her. Again.

Stupid snow. Stupid weather.

Her bottom lip trembled tellingly and she took a shuddering breath.

Knock knock knock.

Sucking in her breath, she wiped away the tear that had fallen and reluctantly turned around to peer through the peephole. A mass of something green blocked her view.

‘Molly, let us in. This is rather cumbersome.’ Though his voice was muffled by the door, Sherlock’s baritone was unmistakable.

With a confused frown, Molly opened the door and her eyes widened in surprise.

Standing on the landing were the Watsons, carrying all kinds of holiday boxes and bags, their cheeks rosy and their hats covered in snow, and who she assumed was Sherlock, as all of him but his leather glove-clad hands were obscured by a huge Christmas tree.

‘Merry Christmas, love!’ Mary greeted her with a smile and a kiss before pushing past her into the flat. John kissed Molly’s cheek and then followed his wife, the sound of bells jingling with every step he took.

‘What are you- How did you-?’ She stammered in shock as Sherlock shuffled inside and she had to step back to avoid being smacked by a pine branch.

‘Do shut the door, Molly, you’re letting the cold air in,’ Sherlock drawled. Snapping out of her shock for a moment, she dutifully closed the door as Sherlock began barking orders to the rest.

‘John, move the armchair. No, not that one, that one! Honestly, you’re a right idiot.’

‘How was I supposed to know which one?!’

‘Obviously, I meant the one nearest the window. Who would put a Christmas tree against that wall? An idiot, that’s who.’

‘Look, mate, I’m not above shoving that tree up your-’

The boys continued bickering, leaving Molly to drift toward Mary, who was unpacking the multiple boxes and bags. Strings of fairy lights joined garlands and ornaments in one pile. Another pile consisted of what appeared to be aisle 7 of the local grocer: two bags of flour, powdered sugar, eggs, and more.

And at her feet was a large box overflowing with brightly wrapped gifts.

‘Mind giving me a hand with the lights?’ Mary smiled up at Molly and handed her one end of the strand.

‘What are you all doing here?’ Molly whispered, shooting a confused look at John and Sherlock, who were now struggling to affix the tree to the stand. John was on his stomach on the floor under the tree, while Sherlock held the tree up and demanded John to hurry up.

Mary smiled and began to untangle the lights. ‘Sherlock told us you couldn’t make it to your brother’s for the holidays and we decided to bring the holidays to you. Oh, and you’re coming over tomorrow morning to open gifts with us and the baby; Sherlock’s parents are here, too. They won’t let Charlotte out of their sight.’ She smiled. ‘Now, where shall we start hanging these? How about over the window!’

Speechless, Molly stumbled along behind her friend, still holding one end of the lights. ‘Y-you all came for me?’

She glanced over her shoulder where the boys were now hotly debating with side of the tree should face the room.

‘Why?’

Mary climbed up on the armchair and draped the end of the lights over the curtain rod. ‘Because we love you, silly. Now budge up and give me a bit more slack.’

Warmth spread across Molly’s chest and tears pricked her eyes. Blinking them back, she smiled and handed a few more feet of lights to Mary.

She might not be able to visit her brother for Christmas.

But she would still celebrate with family.

A Halloween Tale

Halloween meant absolutely nothing to Sherlock Holmes. Originally meant as a three-day festival to remember the departed Saints, it had devolved into a ridiculous custom of going about in costumes that were outlandishly fantastical; babies as pumpkins, little girls and boys as princesses and dragons, adults going about in skimpy outfits hoping for a hook-up. 

And so, like nearly every Halloween for the past 3 decades, Sherlock was alone, hunched over his microscope in 221B in the darkening evening, the only light coming from the slide lamp. Thus far, no child had ventured to his doorbell. 

Happily content in the quiet, Sherlock lost himself in the experiment for hours. 

The black of night had fallen and he was just about to make a mark in his notebook when the sound of a floorboard creaking caught his attention. He paused. 

Creak.

Turning his head, he looked into the lounge. The moonlight shone across the floor, casting long shadows of his music stand, the chairs, and a multitude of book piles.

Creeeak.

He sat up and held his breath, listening intently.

Creak.

Silently, he got up and crept toward the lounge, adeptly avoiding all the floorboards that might give him away. He reached out and slid his hand up the wall, feeling for the light switch and, finding it, flicked it on. 

Nothing.

He scowled. The light from his microscope was still on, so it wasn’t a power failure. The lights weren’t burned out… someone had been in his flat and planned this.

His heart was beginning to pound harder, the adrenaline and excitement heightening his senses as he stepped fully into the lounge. 

Empty.

Creak.

He spun around. The intruder had gone around him through the landing; they knew his flat and how to maneuver one step ahead of him.

He grinned with growing excitement. This adversary held promise for an interesting challenge.

As he crept back into the kitchen, his eyes were immediately drawn to the open door at the end of the hall. His bedroom door was cracked open, a sliver of moonlight shining through. And he knew he had shut it this morning, as he always did.

He made his way cautiously down the hall. 

Ting-a-ling-a-ling

He paused. A bell?

A faint scent filled the air. He inhaled deeply and ran through the past few minutes in his mind. 

And there was only one conclusion he could come to.

Oh, yes.

With a swagger in his step and a smirk on his face, he strode into the bedroom. There, laying on her side in his bed, was a smug Molly Hooper. Clearly having lied (rather convincingly) about working tonight, she was dressed in a tight black leotard with ample cleavage and opaque stockings. A black headband with cat ears, a fake tail, and a painted-on nose and whiskers completed her look.

Sherlock casually placed his hands in his trouser pockets and looked her over with an appreciative eye.

‘There appears to be a stray cat in my bed,’ he commented, his voice deep.

Molly sat up on her knees and twirled her silky tail in her hand, the other hand reaching out to slide along the lapel of his dressing gown.

‘Do you intend to put me out?’ She pouted demurely.

Sherlock grinned wickedly and reached over to shut the door ‘Oh, I’m afraid not. You’re one stray I intend to keep permanently.’

Her giggles turned into squeals of delight as he pounced on her.

A Most Unsuitable Arrangement

Watson snorted and jolted awake, running a hand over his face.

‘Please tell me that we have arrived,’ the doctor grumbled.

‘Just about,’ Holmes replied, not looking away from the passing London streets. The early morning fog wound around each building as their carriage rolled along the cobblestone.

‘Our wives will certainly be glad for us to be home,’ Watson remarked idly. ‘Though she never wrote it in her letters, Mary did hint at being worried about us.’

Holmes hummed distractedly.

‘How did Mrs Holmes seem? Married not yet three months and you called away for a case in Scotland. I can’t imagine it was an easy decision for you to take it.’

‘Why would it not be?’ Holmes finally turned and looked at his friend, a frown on his face. ‘I agreed to this marriage arrangement under the condition that she understand my work comes first.’

Watson shook his head. ‘She’s your wife, Holmes. You need to understand that now there is another person in that little world you inhabit and you need to have a care how you treat her.’ He furrowed his brow in thought. ‘Did you write to her at all during this case? Reassure her of your safety?’

Holmes rolled his eyes. ‘How many times must I tell you, when I am on a case, I have no need for distractions, especially of the ‘marital’ kind. She knew this when she agreed to the arrangement.’

‘Bloody hell, Holmes! A whole month without a word from you? You never sent her a letter or anything? Not so much as a telegram? She must think you dead!’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Watson.’ Holmes waved him off. ‘If she were so inclined to think so, I am sure either my brother or your wife would assure her of my continued existence. Why should I be expected to waste valuable time doing such an unnecessary, domesticated chore?’

Watson gaped at him, then grimly shut his mouth and shook his head. ‘You’re a fool, Sherlock Holmes. A bloody fool.’

oOo

It was just past 7 when Sherlock strode through the front door of his Baker Street home. Having dropped Watson off at his house beforehand and witnessing Mrs Watson rush outside to welcome her husband home with a warm smile and open arms, Sherlock had spent the remaining ten minutes ride fighting down an unfamiliar sense of foreboding and the stranglehold of guilt.

Perhaps he should have taken a moment or two during the case to send word to his own wife. He barely knew her beyond what Mycroft had told him when he’d drafted the contract, but as their first few months of marriage passed he found himself contemplating the mystery of her. Shy, a bit bumbling, not at all the sort of woman he’d expected his brother would force him to marry. But the inheritance her late father had left her, on the condition of her marrying, was enough to keep him happily solving crimes until a ripe old age, should he live to see the day. And she would be free to do…. well, whatever it was a woman of society did. Embroidery, gossip, and other such ridiculous frippery, he’d assumed, bracing himself for a life of mindless chittering.

Yet, to his surprise, she had slid into his life with ease, leaving him to his experiments and cases, but nearby with a cup of tea or some bread before he knew he needed it. She quietly read or scribbled in that journal of hers while he sojourned into his Mind Palace. She listened as he talked himself through his cases and experiments. She offered the occasional question that, on more than one instance, had led him to the right conclusion.  

She had been perfectly attuned to what he’d needed in a companion. But truth be told, he knew very little of her. And until this moment, he’d never considered it a bad thing.

Tossing his coat over the banister, he strode down the hall. Upon entering the lounge, he found it practically undisturbed from how he’d left it. His violin rested on the table, his music sheets scattered haphazardly about, his books and notes on his experiments were in disarray on the coffee table.

Nothing in the room spoke of another person living here. In short, there was nothing to warrant the growing sense of unease in his gut. His wife’s things were relegated solely to her room and her timidity prevented her from encroaching on what she considered his space. Yet there was something amiss in the empty room that sent a foreboding rolling over him.

Sherlock spun on his heel and made for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The door at the top was cracked open and he shoved it open, letting it bang against the wall, and came to dead stop.

He had not been upstairs since they’d been married. The only time they had shared a room, his bed, had been their wedding night. But he had slipped out while she slept. When she came to him the next morning and said she would take the upper room for herself, he had assumed she was as uncomfortable with their arrangement as he was and wanted her own space.

His heart pounded and his hands clenched into fists at his side as he took in the room: bed was made and hadn’t been slept in for at least four nights and a thin layer of dust had settled on the nightstand and bureau. He stormed over to the wardrobe and flung open the doors, staring in growing horror at the empty rack.

She hadn’t given him space because it was what she wanted; no, she’d done it because she thought it was what he had wanted.

Watson had been correct.

He was a fool.

Grovel and beg, Sherlock! 😂

I’ll Follow You

AN: Back from vacation and powering through my many, many, many unfinished drafts (there are a ton… a TON). Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. Any guesses which chick-flick inspired this fic? ;)

The murmur of voices broke through Sherlock’s thoughts and he slowly withdrew from his Mind Palace. Opening his eyes, he took in the battered wall of his flat tacked over with clues from a case he hadn’t wanted to take and breathed in deep.

Ah. John and Mary.

He listened to their whispered conversation from the kitchen. He heard the name Molly drift over and his stomach clenched. It had been five weeks since that night.

The night he’d solved the Fauxriarty case. The night he burst into her flat to make sure she was safe. The night they slept together. The night he snuck away, leaving her rumpled and smiling peacefully in her sleep.

He had purposefully avoided her ever since.

‘What about Molly?’ He bit out as he strode into the kitchen. John and Mary looked up at him in surprise, then exchanged uncertain, almost guilty looks.

John heaved a breath and stood up, Mary following suit. John crossed his arms and stared Sherlock down. The army doctor was not one to beat around the bush, one of the many reasons Sherlock kept him around. But this time, the doctor’s frankness knocked Sherlock’s world off its axis.

‘Molly’s leaving.’

Sherlock froze.

‘She took a job in Edinburgh.’ By the look she was giving him, Mary knew Sherlock had done something to cause Molly’s sudden decision to leave London. ‘She leaves today.’

For the span of two heartbeats the three of them stood in an odd staring match. Then, in the blink of an eye, Sherlock spun on his heel and with an almost inhuman speed was out the door and running down the stairs.

John and Mary looked at each other in surprise (with just a hint of an ‘I told you so’ smile on Mary’s face) before they scrambled after him. They burst out into the bright mid-day sun just in time to see Sherlock commandeer a passing motorcyclist. He grabbed the helmet from the confused man and tossed something at him before revving the engine, the tyres squealing, and he shot down Baker Street.

The motorcycle-less driver gaped at his disappearing bike, holding a police badge belonging to a Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

A laugh bubbled out of John’s mouth and he pulled Mary against his side as they stared after their friend. ‘He’d better ask me to be his best man.’

Adrenaline surged through Sherlock as he sped through the London streets toward Molly’s flat. Molly couldn’t leave. She was integral to his work. To London. To him. How could she leave?

Maybe because you bedded her then slipped away like an average scumbag. He shoved away John’s unwelcome voice. He already knew he was a pillock and what he’d done to Molly was unforgivable.

But he desperately hoped that her almost inhuman ability to forgive could extend to him again.

He swerved out of the way of a merging car, causing a chorus of horns to sound around him, which he ignored completely, focused solely on getting to Molly before she left.

He’d been hiding away, losing himself in mediocre cases, to avoid facing what he’d done. Oh, he had no regrets of the night they’d shared. And though the way he’d left was the lowest of the low, that wasn’t what made his stomach turn the most.

No. The worst thing he’d done was not tell her what she meant to him. That she was his everything.

Turning onto Grosvenor, Sherlock skidded to a stop at a light. Between the passing cars in front of him, he could see Molly standing outside her flat, hugging her landlady as a cab idled nearby. The old woman dabbed her tears and waved goodbye as Molly let the cabbie take her bag. Sherlock flipped up his visor.

‘Molly!’ He bellowed, but his voice was lost in the thrum of traffic. She slid into the back and the cab pulled away from the curb. Away from him. Sherlock revved the engine and was about to go full speed through the intersection when the horn of a double-decker brought him up just short of being clipped by the bus. When the bus passed, Molly’s cab had disappeared into the sea of cars.

The light turned and Sherlock was gone, his body low as he wove through cars. He slowed down as he came parallel to a black cab and looked in the back.

No Molly.

He sped up and circled around to the next cab. He leaned over to look in the back and found an elderly couple staring back at him in confusion.

Three more cabs and no Molly.

He was getting panicked now, which only made him that much more determined to find her.

A cab several cars ahead turned right and he caught a glimpse of a familiar head of brown hair in the back.

Molly!

Pushing the bike to its limit, Sherlock sped through a light and took the corner hard, his knee almost grazing the ground.

Among the London traffic on this street was a single black cab.

Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat. Quickly, he caught up to the cab and came alongside it. Flipping up his visor, he saw Molly looking out the opposite window.

‘Molly!’ He shouted, banging his fist on the window. She jumped and turned to him with wide eyes.

‘Sherlock?’ She mouthed, scooting over and rolling the window down. The wind whipped her hair around her furious and confused face. ‘What the hell are you doing?!’

‘We need to talk!’ He glanced back at the road then back at her. ‘Pull over!’

‘Are you insane?!’

‘Pull over!’

Gaping at him for a moment, Molly finally leaned forward and asked the poor, confused cabbie to pull over. They slowed to a stop and Sherlock kicked the stand down on the bike, pulling his helmet off and tossing it aside as Molly jumped out of the back and slammed the door shut behind her.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? You could have been killed!’ Her eyes flashed dangerously and he had a sudden flashback to the Slapping Incident. The sun overhead illuminated the red-gold highlights in her hair and he swore for a moment she looked like an avenging angel.

Sherlock swung his leg over the bike and strode over to her, ignoring her gesticulating hands.

‘-no longer your pathologist, so find yourself someone else to manipul-mmmpfff!’

He cut her off with his lips, one hand wrapped around the back of her neck and the other around her waist. Her arms windmilled and she stiffened in surprise. He persisted, his heart pounding in anxious anticipation. Finally, she relaxed and her lips moved against his, turning a desperate kiss into a passionate snog. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she leaned up on her toes, curling her body into his and wrapping her arms around his neck.

The cabbie’s honk broke them apart, breathless and panting.

‘Molly, I…’ He tried not to, but the tinge of desperation in his voice came through clear. He rested his forehead against hers. Her breath caressed his neck and he shivered.

‘What… are you… doing?’ She huffed and moved her hands down to his chest, punching him lightly over his pounding heart. Pulling back, she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips reddened and swollen (not altogether unappealing, though he knew he could do better). He reached up and cupped her cheek, ignoring the grumbling cabbie watching them in distaste.

‘Trying to convince you to stay.’

Hurt and anger flashed across her face and he rushed on.

‘Stay here… with me.’

She looked at him dubiously.

‘I’ve been an idiot,’ he admitted. ‘I am sorry for leaving you that morning. I was a coward and all I can do is beg you to forgive me and give me another chance.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And I won’t screw it up this time. Because I love you. So much. Please, Molly. Please tell me I haven’t lost you.’

Tears filled her eyes and he felt his thundering heart plunge into his stomach. Then her lips turned up in a wobbly smile. ‘Sherlock Holmes… begging.’ Her eyes twinkled. 

An answering smile crossed Sherlock’s face and his heart suddenly felt as light as air. ‘Only for you, Molly.’

Lifting herself onto her tip toes, she wrapped her hands around his neck and tugged him down for a sweet, brief kiss. ‘I love you, too. My genius idiot.’

He was just about to steal another kiss when the gruff voice of the cabbie stopped him. ‘What you wan’ do, lady? I can’t waste all day waiting for your lad to get a leg over!’

Molly blushed bright red and the sight of it distracted Sherlock from snapping a reply. Instead, without breaking his gaze from Molly, he reached into his pocket and tossed the man a badge and wallet he’d nicked from Dimmock. ‘Take the lady’s belongings to 221b Baker Street.’ Molly’s eyes widened. ‘She has other means of transportation.’

With a mumbled curse, the cabbie got back in his car and pulled away. Sherlock took Molly’s hand and tugged her toward the bike. He swiped the discarded helmet from the ground and put it on, handing the spare from the back to her with a raised eyebrow.

Grinning madly, she slipped it on and swung onto the bike behind him. He kicked up the stand and turned the motor on.

‘Hold on tight,’ he called, revving the engine. Her arms slid around his waist and he felt warm all over at the press of her front against the length of his back.

‘Always,’ she promised.

With a wide grin, Sherlock pushed off the ground and leaned forward, merging into traffic.

Seems like it’s the ending from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

Knew there was a reason I loved you. :)

Bwahahaha, thanks dear!

I knew my voracious consumption of chick flicks and chick lit will come in handy one of these days! 😂😜😂😜

I’ll Follow You

AN: Back from vacation and powering through my many, many, many unfinished drafts (there are a ton… a TON). Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. Any guesses which chick-flick inspired this fic? ;)

The murmur of voices broke through Sherlock’s thoughts and he slowly withdrew from his Mind Palace. Opening his eyes, he took in the battered wall of his flat tacked over with clues from a case he hadn’t wanted to take and breathed in deep.

Ah. John and Mary.

He listened to their whispered conversation from the kitchen. He heard the name Molly drift over and his stomach clenched. It had been five weeks since that night.

The night he’d solved the Fauxriarty case. The night he burst into her flat to make sure she was safe. The night they slept together. The night he snuck away, leaving her rumpled and smiling peacefully in her sleep.

He had purposefully avoided her ever since.

‘What about Molly?’ He bit out as he strode into the kitchen. John and Mary looked up at him in surprise, then exchanged uncertain, almost guilty looks.

John heaved a breath and stood up, Mary following suit. John crossed his arms and stared Sherlock down. The army doctor was not one to beat around the bush, one of the many reasons Sherlock kept him around. But this time, the doctor’s frankness knocked Sherlock’s world off its axis.

‘Molly’s leaving.’

Sherlock froze.

‘She took a job in Edinburgh.’ By the look she was giving him, Mary knew Sherlock had done something to cause Molly’s sudden decision to leave London. ‘She leaves today.’

For the span of two heartbeats the three of them stood in an odd staring match. Then, in the blink of an eye, Sherlock spun on his heel and with an almost inhuman speed was out the door and running down the stairs.

John and Mary looked at each other in surprise (with just a hint of an ‘I told you so’ smile on Mary’s face) before they scrambled after him. They burst out into the bright mid-day sun just in time to see Sherlock commandeer a passing motorcyclist. He grabbed the helmet from the confused man and tossed something at him before revving the engine, the tyres squealing, and he shot down Baker Street.

The motorcycle-less driver gaped at his disappearing bike, holding a police badge belonging to a Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

A laugh bubbled out of John’s mouth and he pulled Mary against his side as they stared after their friend. ‘He’d better ask me to be his best man.’

Adrenaline surged through Sherlock as he sped through the London streets toward Molly’s flat. Molly couldn’t leave. She was integral to his work. To London. To him. How could she leave?

Maybe because you bedded her then slipped away like an average scumbag. He shoved away John’s unwelcome voice. He already knew he was a pillock and what he’d done to Molly was unforgivable.

But he desperately hoped that her almost inhuman ability to forgive could extend to him again.

He swerved out of the way of a merging car, causing a chorus of horns to sound around him, which he ignored completely, focused solely on getting to Molly before she left.

He’d been hiding away, losing himself in mediocre cases, to avoid facing what he’d done. Oh, he had no regrets of the night they’d shared. And though the way he’d left was the lowest of the low, that wasn’t what made his stomach turn the most.

No. The worst thing he’d done was not tell her what she meant to him. That she was his everything.

Turning onto Grosvenor, Sherlock skidded to a stop at a light. Between the passing cars in front of him, he could see Molly standing outside her flat, hugging her landlady as a cab idled nearby. The old woman dabbed her tears and waved goodbye as Molly let the cabbie take her bag. Sherlock flipped up his visor.

‘Molly!’ He bellowed, but his voice was lost in the thrum of traffic. She slid into the back and the cab pulled away from the curb. Away from him. Sherlock revved the engine and was about to go full speed through the intersection when the horn of a double-decker brought him up just short of being clipped by the bus. When the bus passed, Molly’s cab had disappeared into the sea of cars.

The light turned and Sherlock was gone, his body low as he wove through cars. He slowed down as he came parallel to a black cab and looked in the back.

No Molly.

He sped up and circled around to the next cab. He leaned over to look in the back and found an elderly couple staring back at him in confusion.

Three more cabs and no Molly.

He was getting panicked now, which only made him that much more determined to find her.

A cab several cars ahead turned right and he caught a glimpse of a familiar head of brown hair in the back.

Molly!

Pushing the bike to its limit, Sherlock sped through a light and took the corner hard, his knee almost grazing the ground.

Among the London traffic on this street was a single black cab.

Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat. Quickly, he caught up to the cab and came alongside it. Flipping up his visor, he saw Molly looking out the opposite window.

‘Molly!’ He shouted, banging his fist on the window. She jumped and turned to him with wide eyes.

‘Sherlock?’ She mouthed, scooting over and rolling the window down. The wind whipped her hair around her furious and confused face. ‘What the hell are you doing?!’

‘We need to talk!’ He glanced back at the road then back at her. ‘Pull over!’

‘Are you insane?!’

‘Pull over!’

Gaping at him for a moment, Molly finally leaned forward and asked the poor, confused cabbie to pull over. They slowed to a stop and Sherlock kicked the stand down on the bike, pulling his helmet off and tossing it aside as Molly jumped out of the back and slammed the door shut behind her.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? You could have been killed!’ Her eyes flashed dangerously and he had a sudden flashback to the Slapping Incident. The sun overhead illuminated the red-gold highlights in her hair and he swore for a moment she looked like an avenging angel.

Sherlock swung his leg over the bike and strode over to her, ignoring her gesticulating hands.

‘-no longer your pathologist, so find yourself someone else to manipul-mmmpfff!’

He cut her off with his lips, one hand wrapped around the back of her neck and the other around her waist. Her arms windmilled and she stiffened in surprise. He persisted, his heart pounding in anxious anticipation. Finally, she relaxed and her lips moved against his, turning a desperate kiss into a passionate snog. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she leaned up on her toes, curling her body into his and wrapping her arms around his neck.

The cabbie’s honk broke them apart, breathless and panting.

‘Molly, I…’ He tried not to, but the tinge of desperation in his voice came through clear. He rested his forehead against hers. Her breath caressed his neck and he shivered.

‘What… are you… doing?’ She huffed and moved her hands down to his chest, punching him lightly over his pounding heart. Pulling back, she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips reddened and swollen (not altogether unappealing, though he knew he could do better). He reached up and cupped her cheek, ignoring the grumbling cabbie watching them in distaste.

‘Trying to convince you to stay.’

Hurt and anger flashed across her face and he rushed on.

‘Stay here… with me.’

She looked at him dubiously.

‘I’ve been an idiot,’ he admitted. ‘I am sorry for leaving you that morning. I was a coward and all I can do is beg you to forgive me and give me another chance.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And I won’t screw it up this time. Because I love you. So much. Please, Molly. Please tell me I haven’t lost you.’

Tears filled her eyes and he felt his thundering heart plunge into his stomach. Then her lips turned up in a wobbly smile. ‘Sherlock Holmes… begging.’ Her eyes twinkled. 

An answering smile crossed Sherlock’s face and his heart suddenly felt as light as air. ‘Only for you, Molly.’

Lifting herself onto her tip toes, she wrapped her hands around his neck and tugged him down for a sweet, brief kiss. ‘I love you, too. My genius idiot.’

He was just about to steal another kiss when the gruff voice of the cabbie stopped him. ‘What you wan’ do, lady? I can’t waste all day waiting for your lad to get a leg over!’

Molly blushed bright red and the sight of it distracted Sherlock from snapping a reply. Instead, without breaking his gaze from Molly, he reached into his pocket and tossed the man a badge and wallet he’d nicked from Dimmock. ‘Take the lady’s belongings to 221b Baker Street.’ Molly’s eyes widened. ‘She has other means of transportation.’

With a mumbled curse, the cabbie got back in his car and pulled away. Sherlock took Molly’s hand and tugged her toward the bike. He swiped the discarded helmet from the ground and put it on, handing the spare from the back to her with a raised eyebrow.

Grinning madly, she slipped it on and swung onto the bike behind him. He kicked up the stand and turned the motor on.

‘Hold on tight,’ he called, revving the engine. Her arms slid around his waist and he felt warm all over at the press of her front against the length of his back.

‘Always,’ she promised.

With a wide grin, Sherlock pushed off the ground and leaned forward, merging into traffic.

Seems like it's the ending from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

Mr Holmes and the Maid

AN: Heading off for a much-needed vacation, so I’m throwing this early-1900s AU out there. It’s been sitting in my draft folder for ages, so I finished it up quick and am gifting it to all you lovely Sherlollians! Happy October 8th! 

Also on FF and AO3!

The warm sea air tugged at her hair, pulling it from the loose plait and brushing it across her face in a comforting caress. Here, in the quiet of her home village, Molly looked out across the moonlit water and for the first time in her life, felt she didn’t belong.

Her heart ached for the home she’d made back in London. In the chaos of the city, the foggy nights and overcast days, the crowded streets and neverending noise.

The quaint flat on Baker Street.

The three cherubic girls with innocent smiles that belied the mischievousness in their twinkling eyes.

And their father.

Mr Holmes.

The reason she had run away.

oOo

She hadn’t meant to fall in love with him.

It started as awe; his brilliance and intelligence drew Molly’s thirsty mind to him. He had an awful manner with his ‘clients’, those who came to him for help. But he still helped them. And so Molly’s awe faded into a deep respect.

She had expected him to be a distant father and that, in addition to being the housemaid, she would be the caregiver to the girls. But he surprised her. It had positively warmed her heart to see that he always was home to tuck them into bed with a story or lullaby on his violin; even the one time he had raced across London after having taken an unexpected dip in the murky Thames, his coat waterlogged and sweat mixing with the odor of the polluted waters.

That was the first time Molly had stood up to him. She’d barricaded the stairs with her significantly smaller person, knowing he could pick her up and move her out of his way if he wanted, but she didn’t let that deter her. Arms akimbo and legs splayed, she’d demanded he rid himself of those clothes, burn them possibly, and at least rinse out his hair, before he came within ten feet of his girls.

He’d scowled, but begrudgingly did as he was told, muttering about bossy maids all the while.

And that night, as he’d regaled his daughters with the story of how he’d captured the criminal, despite having been shoved into the frigid Thames, Molly listened outside the door and smiled. Yes, it was obvious the girls adored him and he them.

More than a year passed in that manner. And Molly had been happy. Content.

Until the morning everything changed.

She had walked into the sitting room and found Mr Holmes standing in the middle, his girls in various stages of climbing him.

Georgina, the eldest, was sat upon his shoulders, her head nearly brushing the ceiling! Gillian, the middle child, had a latched herself onto his forearm and was dangling several inches off the floor, her feet kicking out. And Genevieve, the youngest at four now, had wrapped her arms and legs around his left leg, giggling as he pretended to have difficulty taking a step.

Their laughter filled the room and Molly’s heart. She watched unseen for a moment, smiling at the sight.

But then Mr Holmes looked up, that smile still on his face, and caught her gaze.

In that instant, the entire world faded away and one thought consumed her.

She loved him.

Her smile faded and she found she couldn’t look away.

The spell was broken when Mrs Hudson called out as she came up the stairs, breakfast tray in hand.

Molly blinked and looked away, gathering her wayward thoughts before following Mrs Hudson into the kitchen area and setting about preparing the meal.

She’d gone through the motions and watched briefly as Mr Holmes and the girls sat down. The entire scene was so homey and comforting, it filled her heart full to bursting.

Until the voice of reality broke over her like a pail of ice water.

This isn’t yours to have.

If she’d given herself time, she could have talked herself into staying, pushing down whatever romantic notions her newfound feelings would bring and continuing on. But instead, she’d taken the cowardly way out and run that very night, away from the girls she adored and the man she loved.

Keep reading

Uncle Mycroft

Mycroft Holmes. The very name struck terror into the heart of world leaders. The Ice Man would appear seemingly out of thin air, his cold eyes staring down anyone who dared not cower under his gaze.

He brooked no insubordination and demanded the fiercest loyalty from those beneath him.

Women seduced by his aloof manner and emanating power were eviscerated verbally, for the Ice Man was no fool. Men loathed him out of spiteful jealousy, but he garnered their reluctant respect and none dared speak a word against him.

Yes, it was good to be Mycroft Holmes.

Except perhaps today.

‘And the 'wan’,’ his charge demanded, forcing a glittery plastic stick into his clenched fist.

He sneered down at the object. A star made from the same plastic decorated the end and a tassle of ribbons were tied around the neck. To be fair, the colorful ribbons complemented the rainbow tutu and bejeweled tiara she’d foisted on him, as well as the play makeup she had insisted on applying to his cheeks and eyelids.

He’d drawn the line at lipstick.

'Perfeck!’ Georgina exclaimed. She stepped back and looked at her Uncle Mycroft with her hands on her hips. Her wide grin and beseeching brown eyes were all Molly, but the mischievous gleam in her eye was a perfect mimic of her father.

Sherlock.

The very thought of his brother, the reason Mycroft was in this predicament, caused the Ice Man to scowl deeply.

'Smile, Unca Croft!’ Georgina demanded. 'Happy!’

For some reason, this little curly-haired cherub had wrangled her way into his deeply hidden affections. And despite his grumpiness, Mycroft found himself smiling. With a wave of his wand, loose glitter flying about, he fell into character.

'Off to the ball with you!’ He pitched his voice high, adopting his fairy godmother persona, and was chuffed when Georgina beamed.

oOo

*Two Hours Later*

Georgina had worn herself out dancing and playing after a while. Seeing her begin to droop, Mycroft had scooped her up and settled down on the couch. She had wrapped her little arms around his neck and fell asleep almost instantly.

Feeling the pull of sleep, as well, Mycroft began to doze and missed hearing the sound of the door below opening and two sets of footsteps on the stairs.

It wasn’t until he heard snickering and the tell tale sound of a phone camera’s shutter that he peeked one eye open.

Molly and Sherlock stood over them, biting back huge grins, tears of mirth in their eyes.

It took a moment for Mycroft to realise he was still dressed as the fairy godmother.

Crimson burned his cheeks and he scowled up at them. Carefully standing, he shifted Georgina over to her father and, with as much grace as he could muster under the circumstances, removed the tiara and tutu.

Molly took the costume items with a pinched smile, clearly holding back gales of laughter. Mycroft scowled and narrowed his eyes, muttering darkly, 'Whichever one of you dared to take that photo will delete it immediately. Understood?’

'It’s very difficult to take you seriously when you look like that,’ Sherlock whispered.

Whipping out his hankerchief, Mycroft dabbed the makeup from his face.

'It was so sweet of you to play with her, Mycroft,’ Molly said quietly, placing a kiss on his cheek. Before she dropped to her heels, she whispered in his ear, 'Sherlock was the one who took the picture!’

Mycroft glared over her head at his brother.

Oh, he’d get his revenge, he thought darkly.

And it would be sweet.

Starlight

Based on Neil Gaiman’s Stardust… love the book, adore the movie, and couldn’t help myself to make something Sherlolly out of the premise! Enjoy, my loves!

It was hopeless. They were weaponless, defenseless, and exhausted. Irene, the last of the three witches, approached them, her once gorgeous black locks gray and limp, but with a triumphant grin on her weathered face. 

‘I am grateful to you, Sherlock,’ the witch cackled. ‘What good was a star’s heart to me broken?’  Her greedy gaze fell on the petite woman beside Sherlock.

Sherlock protectively stepped in front of Molly, hiding her behind him. His body wouldn’t be any defense against the witch’s power, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do everything he could to save her. His Molly. His star.

But then Molly grasped his hand and turned him around. ‘Hold tight and close your eyes.’

‘What are you doing?’ He frowned.

She smiled, her eyes shining with love. ‘What stars do best…’

Her arms wrapped around him and her breath tickled his neck. He heard Irene’s footsteps falter behind him.

‘Shine.’ 

As soon as the whisper left Molly’s lips, the room began to brighten and Sherlock closed his eyes. He held tight to his star, trusting her to keep him safe. Her body warmed delightfully, not hurting him in any way, but enveloping him, the light emanating from her soul filling the dark places in his perfectly. She smelt of dew and night air, the memory of star gazing and hopeful wishes.

Distantly, he heard Irene’s desperate scream, then sudden silence.

Molly’s arms slid down his arms and she pulled back, reining in her starlight. Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, turning his head to look behind him. 

Where Irene had once stood was now only a pile of black dust. 

He turned to Molly, a giddy smile growing on his face. She smiled shyly back at him, only to shriek in surprised delight when he grabbed her round the waist and twirled her in circles, the skirt of her gown trailing around them. 

‘You’re brilliant!’ He exclaimed.

Molly could only laugh joyously at his exuberance.

Setting her back on her feet, Sherlock didn’t even give her a moment to get her balance before he swooped down and kissed her with all the longing and love he felt. 

Immediately, she melted against him, her arms winding around his neck, and returned his kiss with equal fervor.

Breathless and dazed, Sherlock pulled away to catch his breath and rest his forehead against hers. 

‘I’m so glad I found you,’ he whispered. ‘My star. My love.’

Molly beamed up at him, the love for him shining out of her eyes as brilliant as her starlight.

And as they left the witch’s mansion, hand in hand, the other stars twinkled happily above them, pleased to see one of their own had found her place beside the man she had once loved from afar.

The Battle Lost

AN: So…um, sorry ahead of time.

‘You did it.’

Sherlock stared unseeing at the wall of silver coolers. Slowly, he turned.

Molly smiled up at him. She wore her favourite cherry jumper over a bright blouse, her hair pulled high in a silky ponytail. Her smile spoke of understanding and contentment.

'You defeated him. You won, Sherlock.’ She stepped up to him and cupped his cheek. Sherlock swallowed thickly and, just for a moment, let himself turn into her warmth, memorizing the feel of her hand against his skin.

'I may have won the war, but I lost the battle.’

Her eyes filled with understanding and a tear spilled over her cheek. 'Battles are won and lost everyday, don’t let his victory steal yours.’

'I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

Even in her tears, Molly managed a bright smile, a spot of sunshine despite the darkness.

'You know I forgive you. You did everything you could and that, that is what matters to me.’

'I still failed,’ he cursed himself and turned his head away.

She turned his face back to hers and the fierceness in her eyes nearly buckled his knees. 'You never failed me. You fought an impossible battle, you tried even when you knew there was no chance of victory.’

Suddenly overcome, Sherlock gasped and lost his composure, the weight of his loss crushing him.

He dropped his head into his hands and screamed, desperate for the ache to loosen, for the nightmare to end.

'Sherlock,’ Molly’s soft voice seemed so far away and with great effort he lifted his sorrowful, teary gaze to hers. She pulled him close, tucking herself into him, fitting perfectly in his embrace. 'Oh, Sherlock. Selfishly, I’d want you to grieve a bit. But don’t let it consume you, don’t forget to live. Please.’

Sherlock hesitated, wanting to hold onto her for just a minute more. But as soon as he agreed, she stepped back.

She was already starting to fade. 'I loved you, you know. I loved you so much.’

Sherlock desperately tried to hold it together, to keep her there. But when he reached for her, his hand passed through her.

His hand shook and he clenched it tight. 'I love you, too. I never said it, but I love you so much. I’m sorry,’ he sobbed, tears raining freely down his cheeks. 'I’m sorry you never knew.’

She smiled softly. 'I knew. You never had to say it.’

With one last smile, she slipped away. Sherlock stared at the spot she’d been until he was pulled out of his Mind Palace as the car came to a stop.

John and Mary were looking at him, concern and understanding in their eyes.

'We’re here, Sherlock,’ John said quietly.

Sherlock sighed heavily and looked out the car window.

Mycroft was speaking softly to a teary Anthea. Mummy was dabbing her eyes, trying to maintain her composure while Papa stood stoically, his stiff upper lip the only tell of his inner sorrow. Greg Lestrade and Sally Donovan were in their polished uniforms, doing their best to hide their own sadness by checking on everyone else.

They all turned as Sherlock got out of the car after John and Mary. Their sympathetic looks would, under any other circumstances, have disgusted him. But today… today they were his comfort.

In spite of his grief, Sherlock felt a warmth suffuse his heart.

Molly had no family left, only friends. But as he looked around at the gathering, he realised that she’d made her own family, pulling them all in: the sociopath, the soldier, the assassin, the Ice Man, and so many others. She’d loved them unconditionally and completely.

And they’d all loved her back just as fiercely.

The thought of facing tomorrow without her was terrifying and heartbreaking in equal measure. But as they all looked around, they knew that Molly would still be with them. They’d feel her warmth in a hug or see her in a smile or remember her in a morbid joke.

And that made tomorrow worth facing.

A league of furies awakened. The women I… WE have lied to, betrayed. (The Abominable Bride 3/?)