theonewhocounted | (no subject)

[ooc: LOL. So accurate.]

Molly's eyebrows raise at how quickly he's got that done.

"Well...alright then," she says. "Someone's been doing their homework."

She smirks and kisses him on the cheek on her way by to pour herself some tea and grab the packet of biscuits.

"How's John?"

That casual intimacy is new, so new it almost startles him--and so new it somehow outwits his habit of being smug about a compliment. Every time she kisses him it's a little burst of knowledge.

He thinks he likes it.

"Better." It's sort of weird that talking about this isn't like having a tooth pulled, after what they've all been through recently. Tea helps, obviously, because there's science behind it and even Sherlock can understand that ritual can have a calming effect, but Molly's presence is just as great a factor. "We're surprisingly okay. The clean-up at the flat helps."

Molly prepares her cup and sits next to him at the counter with the biscuits.

"You still haven't told me all that happened," she says, remembering his words from the night before about the story being very long and that it explains why he is the way he is. She doesn't want to force him to go into it, but she is curious.

He eyes the biscuits, but realizes he'd actually like to watch her eat while he has the chance and wait for the leftovers. It's nice to be around someone who doesn't subscribe to all that fussy self-consciousness about eating in front of other people.

When she speaks again, his smile tilts a bit, and it's not unlike the look he'd given her that afternoon when he'd wished her happiness and truly meant it. And there is a part of this he both wants to spare her and is strangely hesitant about letting her see--the parts of the ordeal at Sherrinford she doesn't know and that will likely haunt him the rest of his life.

But that's not the part that's most important today. He's not a soldier here.

"I have a sister." It still sounds weird when he says it. "She's a year older than I am. And I didn't remember her till I saw her again."

Molly takes a biscuit out and leaves the package between them so he can grab one if he wants.

She dunks the chocolate digestive into her tea but it never makes it to her mouth as Sherlock drops that news.

"A sister?" she asks, like he didn't just say that clear as day. "Oh my god, Sherlock."

A million questions run through her head at once but none of them make it out of her mouth because where to start?

"That was more or less my reaction." He takes a breath--this part is difficult, every bit as painful in its way as working up the courage to talk to Molly was.

"Her name's Eurus. She's a genius, probably smarter than me and Mycroft put together. And... I don't know if sick is the right term to describe what she is."

Edited (repeating words words...) 2017-02-03 03:39 (UTC)

Molly can tell this is hard for him, that whatever happened over the past days has had a profound affect on him. This wasn't anything she could have possibly guessed though. A Holmes sister. A genius Holmes sister. Not that it's entirely surprising that she would be mentally gifted, but the idea of someone smarter than both Sherlock and Mycroft combined is...well, scary. Even Moriarty wasn't that brilliant.

"Is she the one..."

"Yes."

He's relieved he doesn't have to say it, but there's something heavier he needs to say. Some part of him, the part that curls into itself forever on the floor of the London Aquarium in self-loathing, hates that she'll have to carry the weight of this knowledge too.

"When I was five, I had a best friend named Victor. Eurus was jealous that I had a friend and she didn't. And..."

He almost chokes on this part, like it's a lungful of cigarette smoke inhaled too sharply.

"And she drowned him."

She nods and puts the half soggy biscuit down on the saucer as she listens to him. Her expression goes from one of concern to one of complete horror.

"Jesus..."

She's stunned. If Sherlock was five, that would have made his sister 6, maybe 7. How is a child capable of something like that?

Molly's hand covers his and holds on. It's unfathomable to her, that type of trauma at that age - enough that he apparently had blocked it entirely. What an awful thing to go through as a child.

Somehow the contact helps. This is still far too much like easing shards of glass out of his own lacerated skin, but Molly's touch keeps him from being drawn into the Sherrinford that exists in his mind, from the worst of the Hell he's been through recently.

He shakes his head, though, as something else bubbles up from the depths.

"It's so strange. Every time I mention his name I remember something else about him. There used to be a little shop on the way home from school with a gumball machine, and we'd race each other there every day. Winner bought a gumball for each of us. We used to go flat out for blocks trying to beat each other to it."

Molly listens to his memory with an understanding look, a bit of a sad smile on her lips. How disconcerting it must be to have a part of your life just be missing and then suddenly it shows up again.

"Sounds like you had a lot of fun together," she says, her thumb smoothing over his hand comfortingly as he speaks. He lost the bad memories but he also lost the good ones. As her parents always taught her you have to learn to live with both. Not every day will be good, but not every day will be bad. It's the combination that makes life what it is and worth living.

"It's still patchy, there are bits I'm still sorting out, but..."

But he can remember that Victor never called him stuck-up or weird for being clever. And he can remember that Victor never minded being first mate instead of captain when they played pirates, because a first mate did just as much important stuff on a pirate ship and had the captain's back besides. He can remember that Victor was the first person who didn't have to give him a birthday card and did it anyway, even though his letters were still uncertain.

"I think we did, yeah."

Molly squeezes his hand.

"That's good," she says and is quiet for a beat, before...

"I'm so terribly sorry that happened to you."

And Victor. Poor Victor.

She doesn't ask what happened to Eurus (she can imaging) or why Sherlock's parents let him just block out a huge part of his young life. And what about Mycroff? Did he also block it out? Or has he been keeping her secret all these years?

If Sherlock wants to explain these things to her, she knows he will. Her main purpose is to just be here for him however he needs.

Most of the time, when people say they're sorry for things that have happened as opposed to things they've done, Sherlock's response is to snap at them or make some sort of acidic remark about how culpable they actually are.

But when Molly says it, he thinks he understands what she's getting at. She's trying to take a little of the weight away, to let him know that this loss doesn't frighten or disgust her.

And it works.

He turns his hand, long fingers sliding through hers, holding on.

"Thank you, Molly."

She holds on right back, grateful that he feels comfortable to share this pain with her and to accept some of the comfort she can offer.

"Always," she says in return and it's the truth. She will always be there for him and listen to him.

She wonders what else went on between him and his sister other than the piece Molly was involved in. If she knew about Molly, then she certainly must know about John and Mrs. Hudson and Rosie. Molly's blood runs cold.

"You said John's okay. Rosie too?"

She tries to keep the worry she's feeling out of her voice. She can't imagine that he would be here at all if Rosie weren't okay, but she needs to hear him say it.

For the first time it really occurs to him that both he and Molly are Rosie's godparents. That John and Mary wanted the two of them to share in knowing and raising the baby. It's not really like being invited to be John's best man--similar, yes, in that it finally registers as a privilege he's never been worthy of before, but the fact that they were intended to share it is... actually he's not sure what it is, other than new.

"She's fine." He manages a smile, and though it's small it's genuine. "Somewhat disgusting, as most babies are, but otherwise pretty interesting. You can see a lot of neurological development happening up close."

Molly lets out a small, relieved breath and then laughs at his comment about Rosie being disgusting. It's kind of true. All sort of bodily fluids are involved with babies and most of them aren't really pleasant or controllable.

"Yes, she's pretty incredible," Molly agrees. Every time she watches her it's like she's learned to do something new. Recently she's been enthralled with everything - her eyes finally able to see beyond what's directly in front of her. "I'm supposed to watch her on Tuesday while John has an appointment."

"You're not working afterwards."

It's a statement, something he already knows to be true--he knows the morgue staff's schedule intimately by now--but it slips out of him almost sounding like a question.

Her brow wrinkles a bit. She feels like this is information he knows.

"No...I wasn't planning on it," she says, wondering if he's going to ask her to go in anyway. That's usually what he's after when he brings up her work schedule that he's already memorized. "I'm not on schedule."

"And therefore free to come over and have sex and dinner."

Okay, that part just kind of falls out of his head before he can stop it.

Molly chokes on her own spit in surprise and ends up coughing a bit while she's also laughing.

"Mm, sorry," she says as she takes a sip of her tea and then pulls herself together. "That was...just a surprise to hear come out of your mouth.

"A good surprise," she adds quickly. "And yes, I am free for both of those things. But...where are you staying right now?"

As she understands it, 221B will be uninhabitable for quite some time.

"With John--oh."

Now that he's suddenly faced with the prospect of another experience like this morning's, he actually comprehends why people care if someone else is in the house or flat. The thought of his best friend, the person he thinks of as his brother, accidentally overhearing any of this... that's too awkward even for Sherlock.

"I, uh. I do know a couple of hotel owners who owe me favors--"

"Don't be silly, we can just come back here," she says with a shrug. "Maybe we can go out to dinner first..."

They'll both be out at John's so they could just pop in somewhere for a bite before going to her flat. At this point they're kind of beyond proper dates, but well, a girl does like a little wooing regardless. She doesn't want this to just be the same as it was before except that he's nicer to her and they share more meals and have sex. She loves him, but he still has to prove that he's in this for real.

This isn't going to be an ordinary relationship, by any means--Sherlock knows there's likely going to be a disconnect between what he intends with a gesture and how it's interpreted, because there always is with him and most people. But he's a world's only, and he knows Molly's aware of that. She won't give him awful nicknames or expect him to bring her flowers once a week. She knows who he is.

And who Sherlock is, sometimes, is a man who's willing to meet someone in the middle if he cares enough.

"Ballet. Do you enjoy it?"

Molly definitely doesn't expect or want ordinary with Sherlock. She's had enough dull suitors and she knows what she's signing on for with him. He'll be entirely distracted while on a case. He won't remember important dates. He'll sometimes make her upset and won't understand why. But she's had those problems with other men. How much worse could it be? And on the plus side, she's already in love with him.

The change in topic throws her off.

"Ballet?" she asks. "Yes. I used to practice it even. Back in college anyway. Why?"