Title: Nothing Says I Love You...
Rating:
M
Pairing:
Sherlock/Molly, John/Mary
Warning:
MAJOR SPOILERS FOR HIS LAST VOW. Past drug use and bad language
Summary:
Now that her engagement is over, Sherlock wishes to indulge in his long-held desire to pursue Molly Hooper. But recent developments- such as his revived drug habit and gunshot wound- makes the process difficult.
Disclaimer:
If I owed it DAT KISS would've been real.
Author's Notes: This story places Sherlock's initial shooting on September 10 and his escape on September 17.

September 17

"You're an idiot."

Sherlock groaned as he turned his head to look at the door. The pain lanced through his chest as he jostled himself. "Have you been talking to my brother?"

Molly shook her head slowly. "No. I came to that conclusion all on my own."

Sherlock could see the tears glistening in her eyes. Despite popular opinion, Molly Hooper didn't cry all that much, not honest to goodness tears. No matter how many times he wounded her with barbed words, she'd never cried. She'd cried the day they said good-bye. When he disappeared to take down Moriarty's Network, when they didn't know when- if- he would return.

"Are the tears because I'm still on drugs?" Sherlock asked. "I assure you, this is entirely for pain management and my levels are..."

"Shut up," Molly whispered, shaking her head. She dashed away her tears and moved across the room. She sat down beside him. "You got yourself shot."

"They do say drugs will lead you to a bad end," Sherlock quipped. He raised his hand, making sure his monitor stayed clipped to his finger. He gestured to his chest. "Unfortunately, this isn't the end of the case. More of an intermezzo. Try not to worry yourself too much. I do not plan for the rest of the case to end in gunfire."

Molly kept her gaze averted. Sherlock knew why she refused to look at him. She couldn't. Looking at him would just remind her of how angry she was.

"I should not have pointed out the end of your engagement like that," Sherlock said, trying to sound stoic. He knew he had failed, sounded emotionless instead. It was hard with Molly, maintaining his cool veneer. He was a wreck of emotions, many which he was only beginning to understand.

"I don't care," Molly hissed softly. She pushed her hands over her cheeks, banishing the new flow of tears. "Haven't seen that for a while from you, but when an addict falls off the wagon they often fall back into other old habits. I'm still angry at you for getting high in the first place."

"It was for a case," Sherlock insisted. He gestured to his bullet wound again. "A case where a little dope is the most innocuous thing to enter my body."

"You really are an idiot," Molly snapped. "You wanted an excuse to get high. You're as clever as they come, you could have found another way. No, you wanted to do it. You're stupid and selfish..."

Sherlock set his jaw. He could feel the words caged behind his teeth.

Molly was looking at him now. Her eyes- usually so sweet and filled with kindness were cold with their fury. "You're nothing but a selfish, sociopathic, junkie idiot."

Sherlock met those cold eyes. He couldn't hold in his deduction any longer. "And what makes you angriest is your engagement floundered because you're in love with a selfish, sociopathic, junkie idiot."

"Yes." There was no tremor in her voice. She stood up. "Were you trying to hurt me by saying that?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Merely pointing out I'm not the only idiot in this room. You deserve better."

Molly took a deep breath. Her tears had completely abated. "Then Tom... Or you?"

"Both." Sherlock fumbled to reach the morphine controls. "If Lestrade or John come to see you, tell them where I stayed after the Fall. Before I left the country."

Molly turned to the door. "You're going to get yourself hurt again, aren't you?"

"Not the plan," Sherlock replied. "But you never know."

Molly glanced over her shoulder. "Sorry to hear about your engagement."

Sherlock shrugged. "It was for the case and highly fictionalized."

Molly rolled her eyes. "I'm not that much of an idiot. Getting high you'll do for fun, but getting shagged? Of course that would be about work." She turned away again. "Try not to get yourself hurt again. But if I find out you're getting high again, you'll wish that bullet killed you."

With that, Molly strode out of the room.

Sherlock finally touched his fingers to the controls of his pain medication. He turned it off.


Molly let out a strangled squeaking noise when she spotted the dirty, strung-out young man poking around the lab.

"What are you doing here?" Molly demanded, grabbing for the phone.

He held up his grubby hands in surrender. "Wait! Don't call no one. It's me, right? Wiggins?"

Molly glared at him, clutching the receiver in her hand. "I know exactly who you are. Why shouldn't I call security?"

"Got a present for you," Wiggins replied. He held up a crumpled paper bag that had been sitting on the counter. "From Mister Holmes."

"You're calling him Mister Holmes now." Molly accepted the bag. "Thought it was Shezza."

"Turns out he don't really like that much." Wiggins shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Well, gotta run. Mister Holmes has another job for me."

Molly opened the bag, glancing in at the contents. Her brow furrowed. "Wiggins?"

"Yeah? What up?"

Molly drew out the sample cup filled with urine, a purple bow on top of the lid. "This is a cup of urine."

"It's a bit more personal than that." Wiggins shrugged. "It's Mister Holmes'."


September 26

"You sent Molly a urine sample." Mary said slowly as she pushed the tray of food towards Sherlock. "Just eat, Sherlock. I know you like looking all mysterious and inhuman, but you're recovering from a gunshot, which you tore open again playing marriage counsellor. You need your strength."

Sherlock picked up his fork and pushed at his food unenthusiastically. "Not a urine sample. Three so far. Every three days. She was angry with me for doing drugs. I wanted to assure I have not done any drugs save for the morphine. Even that I've been weaning myself off."

"Hm." Mary hummed softly, leaning back in her chair.

Sherlock's brow knit. "What's that about?"

Mary shook her head. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did," Sherlock replied. He groaned as he pressed the button to elevate the top of his bed a bit further. "What was that about?"

Mary crinkled her nose, shrugging. "I just don't know if a urine sample is really the kind of gift you want to send the woman you're in love with."

Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Mary glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you know about me and fibbing, Sherlock?"

Sherlock hummed now, considering the answer for a moment. "...That you're really, really good at it?"

Mary's jaw dropped. "Sherlock!"

"You shot me. I think I've earned the right to tease you a bit." A small smile spread across Sherlock's face.

Mary smiled back at him. "Still. You're full of shit and we both know it."

Sherlock relaxed back against his pillow. "How long have you known?"

"Ummm..." Mary tapped her finger against her lips. "About... Five seconds after I met Molly?"

Sherlock sighed. He dug his fork into the unidentifiable grey mush that was his dinner. "You think you're so clever."

"We both know I am," Mary retorted. She leaned over Sherlock, fluffing his pillow. While she was close, she gave him a smile before pulling back. "Just like I know you've already shagged her."

Sherlock sat up, regretting this action instantly as he groaned. "How do you know that?"

"Don't hurt yourself again," Mary chastised him. "So I'm right. Because John-" She stopped speaking, frowning deeply.

Sherlock reached out, taking a hold of her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "He's still not talking to you?"

"Has he said anything about me?" Mary asked softly.

"No idea." Sherlock shook his head. "Not talking to me either."

Mary sighed, shaking her head. She waved a hand to dismiss the topic. "Down that road lay tears and madness. We're talking about you. Anyway, I told him I thought you two had a thing and he laughed at me. Said she liked you, but you hardly gave her the time of day."

"After I jumped," Sherlock explained. "I stayed with her for a few weeks. Until I was sure the contracts were off. Things... Happened."

Mary frowned deeply. "Then you came back and she was engaged."

"It wasn't anything serious," Sherlock said firmly.

"Sherlock, fibbing."

"We didn't make any promises," Sherlock said firmly. "In fact, we did the opposite. She doesn't know how I..." He scowled. "My perceptions of her have always been inscrutable to her. She had no reason to believe I would ever return and if I did if our encounters would affect our relationship."

"But you love her."

"Molly just ended a year and a half long relationship," Sherlock pointed out. "She's also certain I'm a junkie."

"Still, you love her," Mary prodded.

Sherlock grumbled, lying back on his bed and glaring at Mary. "We all have our types. Mine are doctors who indulge my mad experiments and women who slap me. She's my type two times over."

Mary smiled. "She's more than your type, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "I know."