Holy Molly!

p a r a l l e l s

Final chapter!

A few days after Sherlock and Molly’s day together, John drops in at Baker Street and discovers that his friend has developed a new interest…

You didn’t win.

I feel like his reaction to Molly stating that the fact she loves him has always been true in TFP is a bit similar to his reaction to her Christmas gift in ASiB. 

He deduces her and her presents scathingly until he finally sees that the gift is actually for him after reading the sweet tag Molly has placed there on the bow. His deduction stops before he can even finish it, and he looks shocked, and he even paces a little since he isn’t at all sure how to go about the situation now. He royally fucked up, and he feels bad, so he apologizes. It’s the first apology we ever see out of him, and it appears as if he means it. 

The level of shock that we see there in his face has always made me think that up until this point Sherlock never knew that Molly loved him. He knew she liked him and found him attractive, and in the first season he used that to his advantage, but this new revelation leaves him speechless until he finally pulls himself together and says he’s sorry for what he’s done. 

Day Three—The Yarders

And Then He Kissed You

“… and then he kissed you.”  Anderson pursed his own lips as if he were moments away from offering to demonstrate.  

“He kissed me?” Molly repeated, disbelief thick in her voice.  “He burst through the window—which somehow manged to repair itself minutes later because no one ever spotted it—kissed me breathless and then what?”

“Then he walked away with a final, heated backward glance, like a true romantic hero,” Anderson continued.

“You’re nutters.”  Molly dropped the uneaten half of her egg salad sandwich onto her plate.

“All right then.”  He leaned back in the creaky canteen chair and crossed his arms.  “Tell me what happened.”

“Sherlock faked his death and now he’s back.” Molly shrugged.  “How could you possibly think I had anything to do with it?”

“He needed an inside man at the hospital, and that had to be you.  It’s the only thing that makes sense.  All right, if it wasn’t the bungee cord …”  He reached down, picked up his messenger bag, and plopped it down on the table.  He pulled page after page of papers out of the bag and spread them across the table top.  “I’ve got other theories.”

“Oh my lord, you really do.”  Molly covered her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her laughter.  “How long have you been—Is that a giant balloon?”

Anderson quickly shoved the drawing back into the bag.  “It doesn’t hurt to explore every possibility, no matter how improbable.”

“Look, Philip,” Molly began.  “Let’s say for argument’s sake that I was involved.”

“Yes?”  He leaned forward, elbows on the table and his chin in his hands as if he were about to listen to a story.

“If I was involved, which I am not saying I was …”

“Yes?”  Anderson bit his lower lip in anticipation.

“I wouldn’t be able to say a word, because if I were involved I would have had a very long discussion with Sherlock’s brother—who I know you are acquainted with—and he would have sworn me to secrecy.  And I’m sure you agree that neither of us wishes to get on his bad side.”

Anderson slumped backward in his chair and grimace. “Bugger.”

“Indeed.”

He gnawed at his lip for a moment then glanced around to make sure no one was listening.  “All right, just give me this.  Purely hypothetically, throwing out the bit with the bungee cord, was there a kiss?”

Molly blushed.

Sherlolly. Rated T for brief language.

“Are you ever going to tell her?”

“That is exceedingly unlikely.”

“She deserves to know.”

“She made it quite clear the topic was closed.”

“That was four years ago, Sherlock.”

“I can’t imagine she has changed her mind.”

“No, she hasn’t. That’s my point. It’s been four years, and she hasn’t gone on a single date in all that time. She loves you. Still.”

“It is possible to love someone without wanting them. I should know.”

“And do you want her?”

“…yes.”

-x-

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Beta read by the lovely MizJoely. All mistakes are, of course, mine. This is based on a HC I posted here ages ago which wouldn’t leave me alone… 

                                                    Deus Ex Parent

Sherlock stares blankly down at the book in his hands, then up at the woman who gave it to him. Then back at the book, then up at Mummy Holmes, and so on, and so on, until John becomes genuinely worried that his friend has deleted what a book is some time in the last year.

After all, he thinks, in the last three weeks Sherlock has already declared the solar system, the monarchy and the current prime minister as superfluous to his mental needs- despite the coming of Brexit- so why would literature be any different?

Alas, John has been around his friend far too long to think that it would not and so, as always, he worries.

And, as if to give credence to John’s theory, Sherlock looks up at his mother, clearly about to ask what on Earth she bought him this for.

Before he can however she merely grins. Presses a kiss to his cheek and whispers something in his ear. Instantly he blinks, his expression turning buffering.

His hands tighten on the book, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Daddy Holmes looks at his wife- “Didn’t trust him to figure it out on his own, eh?”- and Mummy hushes her husband, giggling.

“Didn’t trust him to get a move on, more like,” she says. “You and I aren’t getting any younger, now are we, old bean?”

“You once said to me, that men like us can never be loved. She loves me. She told me. She loves me.” 

From a fic that I haven’t even yet started to publish.  WTF.  Sherlolly, post-TFP, very AU although you won’t be able to tell from this segment.  Some discussion of abortion, probably a “T” rating.

Molly tossed the stick into the bin, washed her hands with soap and cold water… the hot water heater hadn’t been replaced yet, wouldn’t be until the gas lines could be certified safe.  She sprinkled a few drops on her face, finger-combed through her hair, took a deep breath.  

Sherlock was slumped in his chair, staring into the fireplace, but he craned his head to watch her as she came out of the loo.

“You are,” she said, “Actually… right.”

“Of course.”

“…” she inhaled, “How?”

“Puffiness of the face, some mild swelling of the breasts.  It’s not diagnostic or anything, but it’s been indicative at least twice now.”