A/N: I had this conversation lingering about in scattered pieces in my brain all day. So forgive me if this piece is either (a) terribly dull or (b) just weird. I just had to get it out of my head. x
She was waiting for him patiently in her flat. He had done two unusual things this evening. The first being asking if he could come over to her flat. Having barged into her flat or climbed through her windows numerous times, such politeness coming from Sherlock was foreign. The second unusual thing he had done was that he had waited for her consent. She was expecting him to just show up despite having asked. To her surprise, before she could reply to the first one, he had asked her again, adding that if she did not want him to come over, he would not and that he would wait for another time.
He was either really in need of something from her, or possibly dying. Molly decided that she was still going to be as good a friend as she could possibly be. It did not matter how awfully he treated her sometimes. It was to her moral benefit that she did not return his unsociable brand of social behaviour in kind. Molly really was quite the angel. And the last person she thought would ever realise this, was Sherlock Holmes.
Two quiet knocks at the door. Molly added that to her list as the third unusual thing he had done this evening.
"Hello. Come on in…" she said, opening the door for him.
"Thank you." he answered as he entered. He stopped to hang his coat up on the coat rack by the door.
"Why are you hanging your coat up? You never hang your coat up." Molly said matter-of-factly as she shut the door. "Would you like some tea? Coffee?"
"Whatever you're having."
"Tea it is then."
"Thank you." he answered, sitting himself by her dining table.
Molly brought out a teapot that held her favourite herbal infusion and set down two teacups and saucers on the dining table. There was something awfully formal about his presence tonight. Normally, she would have used mugs but his strange, almost proper behaviour had warranted a little bit of fine china.
"So, what's this about?" she asked, swirling a sugar cube in her teacup.
"I've come to tell you something, Molly." said the detective.
"All right." she replied, "I'm all ears."
He seemed hesitant and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Molly was still getting over the fact that he had hung his coat up. He rarely took it off because he was always scuttling about everywhere. It hardly made sense to remove his coat. Yet, here he was, coatless, scarf-less and without his usual cold, hard expression.
Yes. He must be dying, thought Molly to herself. This was all too peculiar.
"I've made an error, Molly." he said, finally. He had barely touched his tea.
"What do you mean?" she asked calmly.
"I've…hmm." he paused to clear his throat.
"I've made an error, Molly. An impossible one."
"Some context would be nice, Sherlock. I have no clue what you're talking about."
His lip twitched as he contemplated taking a sip of his tea. Instead, he fiddled with the delicate porcelain handle, his eyes fixated on the steam that rose from the teacup.
"Are you okay, Sherlock?" Molly asked. She was getting slightly concerned now.
"Molly…" he said, suddenly looking up, "This is a serious error."
"An error of what, Sherlock? What are you talking about?" Molly was genuinely puzzled.
"I've made the impossible error, the most infamous human error…" he began, clearing his throat once more.
He seemed to shift about in his seat again and his gaze seemed to settle on everything but her. Molly tried hard to catch his eyes but to no avail. With his head bowed and his speech so soft she could barely hear, he finally spoke.
"I adore you, Molly." he said quietly. He almost breathed it out as though he had been holding it in.
Molly's clear brown eyes widened like the moon outside. She slowly set her cup down and reached for his forehead.
"Have you got a fever?" she asked, her hand now shifting to the base of his jaw.
"No…No, of course, I haven't…" he remarked, frowning. Her unexpected response frustrated him. Then again, he had not even known what response to expect.
"Are you dying, Sherlock?" she asked him, staring seriously into his eyes.
"No, Molly, I am not…." he said with a sharp exhale.
"Then why would you say something like that?" she asked, "To me?"
"Is that something so hard to believe?" he said, staring intensely back at her.
"Yes, Sherlock. Terribly hard." Molly replied calmly. "I'm quite positive someone's popped you on the head. Or you're high."
Sherlock exhaled sharply again and had a long sip of his tea.
"I suppose, I just felt it was time to tell you." he said, "And whether you believe me or not, it's true."
"Human error, you said…" Molly was thoughtful and stirred at her tea again.
"Yes. Love is a mistake, always is. Clouds judgment, impairs the senses, favours the illogical… I could go on." he remarked.
"So, you love me?" asked Molly calmly.
"Yes. I always have." he answered.
Molly could not resist smiling to herself. She bit her lip hard to stop from smiling too widely. She knew how uncomfortable this whole business was for Sherlock. The fact that he had felt anything akin to love or affection was probably going to give him an aneurysm. For him to have come to her and articulated these feelings, she was surprised that he hadn't keeled over and just died at her feet. It would have been oddly romantic, in a tragicomic way.
"Well, I suppose it's not that serious. So don't worry about it." said Molly, gently patting his hand.
"Not that serious? What do you mean?"
"You seemed worried about this…human error of yours. That you felt love, that you…" she couldn't help but smile at the thought, "…adore me."
"And that's what I mean, you have nothing to worry about."
Sherlock frowned, unsure of Molly's little epiphany.
"You're not human, Sherlock." she said, getting up from her seat, "That's why you needn't worry."
"It's certainly affecting me like a human," he said, a little bruised that she had declared him inhuman. Though no one could blame her, really.
"Of course, it'd affect you. Love is a cause and it will always have an effect." she said, looking down at him, "But because you're not human, it won't be an error."
Not an error, he mentally repeated to himself.
"So…so you mean to say…" Sherlock thought hard but was unable to reconcile what she had said.
"it's not wrong to love me, Sherlock." she answered, smiling down at him.
Molly bent to kiss him lightly on the forehead and once more on the cheek before clearing her cup and the teapot. She left Sherlock alone with his thoughts and his cup of tea that had gone cold. When she was done packing up in the kitchen, she returned and pulled her chair right up to Sherlock such that she was literally face to face with him and carefully studied him.
"Are you all-…"
Before she could ask him how he was, he had interrupted her with a kiss of his own. He launched forward, two hands placed on each side of her face as he let his lips meet hers. He kissed her almost thoughtfully, contemplating the wonderful pleasure that electrified him and the mystery of why it did. The cool, soft skin of her mouth that touched his own melted him with each delicate, nuanced movement it made. It was just a kiss. He had mocked it so many times when others partook of it or raved about it as though it were more beautiful than the created universe itself.
As Molly's lips tentatively but fearlessly moved against his, coaxing him to relax and enjoy their new proximity, Sherlock had come to realise that he had made an error. Love was not the human error. Rather, it was choosing not to love that had been his greatest mistake.
When their faces parted, out of breath in the most pleasurable way, Sherlock smiled for the first time this whole evening.
"I should have told you sooner," he whispered, and moved to kiss her once more.
Sherlock was never going to make this mistake ever again.