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[theonewhocounted]

The Bright Spot Meme


(Was there every a more suitable meme for dear Molly?)

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[punchmeitssubtext]

"Good, then I've still got a change of clothes here from last time."

He's used her place as a bolthole a lot, over the years--enough to have started tucking a clean shirt and trousers into a corner behind some towels where they won't be in her way. Which means at least he won't have to go home in a sheet.

"And I'm okay to have the shower second, I need to check my messages anyway." He blinks, and glances down at the watch he'd forgotten he's still wearing. "Oh. Damn. Yeah, two seconds, I'll be right out and you can get started. Should let John know I'm not lying in a ditch somewhere."

[theonewhocounted]

"Oh," Molly says, not realizing that he'd tucked clothes away somewhere. Apparently she's really not cleaned out the closet in a while. "Well, that's good."

She's just checking her own phone on the nightstand when he mentions checking in with John. She reads her messages and huffs out a laugh.

"I think we've already been found out," she says as she holds her phone up for him to read the messages from John even though she assumes Sherlock's phone holds double the amount and of escalating concern.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Sherlock blinks at her mobile, and the instant he parses John's second message to her his whole face lights up bright red.

"Oh." He blinks rapidly. "Well. That. I guess that's sorted."

And it just now occurs to him that he forgot to tell John where he was going last night. He forgot to tell anyone, though he's sure his brother must know by now where he is and what he's been doing.

He can almost imagine the distasteful look on Mycroft's face. It's sort of a delight to think about, actually.

Trying to shake off the sudden embarrassment, he crosses to her desk to unplug his own phone, then sort of gestures towards the bathroom with it.

"Back in a minute, then we can discuss breakfast. Or... possibly lunch at this point."

(And because he's a very efficient multitasker when his mind is clear and the bathroom door is shut behind him:

To: John
From: SH
Sent: 11:57 AM

I'll bear it in mind. Check-in later. If this is on the blog no one will ever find your body.)

[theonewhocounted]

"Yes. I guess it is."

At least with John (and more than likely Mycroft). Molly feels some embarrassment that John already knows, although she also feels some pride. She knows John has pitied her over the years when Sherlock was awful to her and she still loved the man. She assumes everyone thinks she's a sad case whose love will always be unrequited, and she doesn't blame them. There were many times she thought that about herself.

She hopes Sherlock isn't too embarrassed that people find out she is...whatever she is to him. They're nothing official right now anyway.

"Alright. I'm going to go feed Toby before he scratches down the door."

When he heads to the shower, she deals with a very angry cat. She gives him extra portions for her negligence and then goes about putting the kettle on for them.

She then texts John back.

To: John
From: Mx

12:08: Thanks. We're sorted. Sorry to worry you.

12:10: Mind keeping it to yourself for a bit? I think Sherlock's embarrassed.

[punchmeitssubtext]

To: Molly
From: John

12:12: Of course.

12:14: I think all this is just new to him.

12:15: Space alien brain and all

12:18: Really, Molly, good on you. I know he's a monumental asshole but if anyone can get him to figure this out, it's you.

12:20: Offer of punching still stands, though.

For about the first thirty seconds of his shower, Sherlock feels like he's coasting on a very pleasant high, the kind that makes everything feel just a shade more manageable. Somehow that mellows into pure energy, as if he's gotten a week's worth of good sleep and excellent casework.

He knows, rationally, that it's all just brain chemistry. But it feels bloody amazing.

By the time he emerges and snags the spare outfit, Toby's been pacified with treats and Sherlock realizes, upon seeing the cat tucking in, that he's absolutely ravenous himself.

"Right. Lunch."

[theonewhocounted]

To: John
From Molly


12:22: Yeah, but he's our monumental asshole isn't he?

12:23: I'll keep it in mind. ;)

Molly feels a sudden surge of sadness for John though. Mary's gone. The love of his life is gone. It's not fair. And selfishly she also wishes she could see Mary's face when finding out about her and Sherlock. There could have been double dates (Sherlock would scoff but actually enjoy them) and Mary would make sure Sherlock was keeping in line, treating her well.

It's enough to make tears spring to her eyes as she pours the water for tea. She misses her friend.

When she hears Sherlock come out she tries to push back the sadness and blink away the tears with a smile.

"Tea and biscuits to tide you over while I get ready," she offers. "Or you can order delivery if you don't want to go out."

[punchmeitssubtext]

She turns back towards him and he sees the tears, hears the strain in her voice, and suddenly his stomach turns icy and starts to plummet into his feet.

Is this panic? It might be panic. Whatever it is, it drives him towards her, strips away any attempt he might have made at being charming.

"Molly--oh god, what did I do?"

It's always his fault; he knows that from experience. It's not often that he wants to make it right. There are very few people in the world who can get that out of him, and Molly Hooper has been working her way to the top of that list for years.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly feels guilty almost immediately because even if she tells him the truth it will still hurt him. He still blames himself for Mary. It's wretched either way.

"It's not you," she says shaking her head and swiping at her eyes. "You've been lovely...I...sorry....I was just thinking about... Mary and...well...I think I'm also just rather emotional right now."

In the past 2 days she's had her feelings laid bare in a horrible way, she's got Sherlock confessing his love to her, they just had some version of sex in her bed, and he's still here and wanting to do...this. It's a lot to manage in a short time.

[punchmeitssubtext]

There's really only one thing he knows from experience will work, with someone he cares for, and somehow it's even more awkward with Molly than it was with John.

He steps close, hesitant, and slowly puts his arms around her.

This is the awful thing about being human. Sometimes the people who make their way into your life and improve it die for no reason, and sometimes you hurt so deeply you want to destroy yourself, and sometimes you feel so unworthy that even a small kindness seems like a weapon turned against you. There is no logic that fixes it. There is no guarding against it.

It is what it is.

But Molly is warm, she's solid and flawed and somehow the only person he wants, and she knows he's a monster and loves him anyway.

"It's horrible," he murmurs, the most sincere sympathy he can offer, and presses a kiss into her hair.

[theonewhocounted]

They've already shared an incredibly intimate morning, but somehow this, a true, real, heartfelt hug from Sherlock Holmes feels by far the most intimate. Her arms easily wrap around his slim form tightly and take the comfort that he offers. He smells like her soap and his detergent and himself. It's new to have herself mixed in there and she likes it. The tears she tried to hold back, fall down her cheeks, but she doesn't dissolve into a crying mess. She's already done that enough for Mary.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to bring down the mood," she murmurs into his chest. "I was just thinking how pleased Mary would be..."

[punchmeitssubtext]

His mouth quirks in spite of himself. Somehow the good things about Mary, the challenges and the ways she made them all better, come more easily than the violent end when Molly's this close.

"She sent me this string of texts partway through the honeymoon, when she found out I hadn't danced with you at the wedding. A lot of them were just variations on 'Seriously?'"

You knew before I did, Mary, he thinks, and you were right, and John is right.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly huffs out a fond laugh, imagining her interrupting her whole honeymoon just to angry text Sherlock.

"Sounds like Mary."

She lifts her head to look up at him and the path of her tears is on her face but she doesn't look nearly as sad.

"I wanted to go after you, when you left," she admits. "So badly."

But she couldn't. And, at the time, she didn't think he'd really want her to anyway.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He's not really surprised to realize, as she says it, that he wishes she'd come after him too. It had been a vulnerable moment, and he'd been suddenly very aware that he was an observer and nothing else, a stranger at the feast.

That night will never come again, for either of them.

But that doesn't matter at all.

"You're here now," he says.

[theonewhocounted]

"So are you," she says back and lifts up on her tiptoes to kiss him. And that's the incredible thing of it. She's always been here. It's him who finally showed up. And boy did he. It could never be said that Sherlock did anything part-way.

"Enjoy your tea before it gets cold. I'm going to go shower."

She gave him a small smile and then disentangled herself from his arms (not without regret) and headed off to the bath.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Sherlock watches her go, her mussed hair and worn dressing gown somehow more arresting than the sight of Irene Adler stark naked, and for half a second when she disappears from sight he's tempted to leave. Just get his coat and scarf, get rid of any evidence that he was ever here, and vanish. Because the people who stay close to him end up taking blades and bullets for him, or else they get sick of him and turn their backs, and the end result is always that Sherlock Holmes is alone with his armor and his violin and the long shadows of his past.

But then he hears the shower turn on. And he doesn't know why, but that pulls him back towards the last twelve hours, to their hushed talk in the half-dark and the first time she slipped her fingers between his.

John is right. Molly is a good woman. She's assertive and intelligent and has a sense of empathy he can only wonder at, and he doesn't know how he of all people is going to deserve this when someone as fundamentally good as John Watson no longer has it in his life.

He knows Mary would tell him to get a head start by staying for lunch.

So instead he moves to the kitchen counter, where Molly's laptop is sitting idle, and pulls up online delivery menus. He studies her recent orders, the patterns that indicate which are staple favorite dishes and which are for well and truly indulging herself, files all of it away in his memory for later.

By the time she gets back he's got viable options narrowed down to four places within a one-mile radius. And, because he knows Mary would tell him to do it and John would back her up in that insufferable tag-team way they fell into naturally, he sets the default credit card in her browser autofill as his own.

He's also got twenty browser tabs open and is poring over a National Geographic article about the history of alcohol, but that's just Sherlock for you.

[theonewhocounted]

The shower helps to wash away any sad feelings Molly was experiencing. She instead focuses on the past 12 hours and lets herself feel the excitement and joy she should be feeling after Sherlock Holmes confessed his love to her. A scene from the movie Love Actually pops into her head of one of the characters celebrating after a successful first date. That's how she's feeling on the inside right now. She knows she's going to have a ridiculous look on her face for days. People at work will be asking about her new boyfriend for sure when they see her coming in with a smirk and a bounce in her step. She'll of course tell them nothing even though she will be dying to rub it in their faces. She is a lady though and doesn't kiss and tell.

Once she's done in the shower, she heads to the bedroom and pulls on some jeans and a jumper. The one she chooses is nicer and more fitted than some she owns. She does own clothes that fit her, she just doesn't see the use in wearing them to work where they'll be covered by a lab coat and possibly get chemicals and who knows what else spilled on them.

She runs a hair brush through her wet strands but leaves it at that before she heads back out to the kitchen to see what Sherlock's up to.

"Did you find something suitable for lunch?" she asks him when she sees him on her laptop, looking right at home in her flat.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He glances up to see her looking far more comfortable than usual, her wet hair and secret smile pulling his own mouth into a grin. It's not something he's aware of--after all, it's not quite as obvious as a victory dance--but it warms him, makes him look less like something unattainable and beautiful and more like a human being.

There is so much that's awful about being human. And then there's this, which is alien and exhilarating, and somehow satisfies a hunger in him he didn't know was there at all.

"I found four options." He turns the laptop towards her. "If we order now we can get something in before two."

That's the one! XD

[theonewhocounted]

When he grins at her, she can't help but grin back. Any small worries she may still have about him regretting this fly right out the window.

She walks over to him and looks at her laptop screen.

"Honestly, I could go for any of those," she says, noting that he's pulled up some of her favourites. "Do you need to be somewhere at two?"

She looks over at him. It's fine if he does. She doesn't expect him to spend all day with her.

I THOUGHT SO \:D/ that's absolutely her right now, bless.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"No. But it's well after half past twelve at this point, and based on traffic and average response time to delivery orders during a lunch rush, those will probably get here quickest."

He might not have any idea how to do romance, but he knows how to apply deductive reasoning, and he's fairly sure that could turn out to be an asset here in the long run.

[theonewhocounted]

[ooc: Like this isn't him right now. ;) ]

"Oh...right...well, in that case, quickest sounds good," she says as she looks at the options again. "How about the curry house? I'm starving and I know they give big portions."

As it is, she's going to need to eat some biscuits in the meantime to tide herself over.

"Is that alright?"

[punchmeitssubtext]

[ooc: also this. but Mary absolutely had this conversation with Molly. XD]

He's already pulled up her usual order on the menu and added the closest equivalent thing to the curry he orders in sometimes at Baker Street (though this place apparently adds coconut, which is a plus), so when she decides, all he has to do is click.

"It's ordered," he says, like he's just cracked something impossible in front of Lestrade and his whole team, and leans back to grab the mug of tea he's only half finished.

[theonewhocounted]

[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?"

[punchmeitssubtext]

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."

[theonewhocounted]

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.

[punchmeitssubtext]

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."