Title: Stay with Me
Summary: One day he looked into the mirror and saw a weak and soft guy he had never recognized. Sentiment is a dangerous disadvantage, he thought, look at what it has done to me.
Author's note: No, I don't own anything of Sherlock (BBC).
Stay With Me
"No. No. No." Sherlock ran to the edge of the cliff. "Molly!"
The only thing he caught was the glimpse of Molly falling into the bottomless dark abyss. "Molly!"
The ocean drowned his words along with Molly.
Sherlock tilted his head and woke up abruptly.
"Bad dream?" In front of him sat Molly, "I know Scrabble must be really easy for you, Sherlock. But watch out! You might actually lose it."
"How long have I been passed out?" Sherlock rubbed his eyes. That was odd, especially for him.
"A few seconds." Molly stood up and went to get a cup of tea for Sherlock. "The last case must be exhausting."
"No, it was dull and simple." Sherlock took a sip, "like this game."
Despite his bitter comments, Sherlock couldn't help but grinning. It was Molly's idea to play scrabble in the first place to alleviate the awkward silence on his first night being "dead" in her flat. It might seem unconvincing, that Sherlock got into it. The possibility, the uncertainty, the challenge and the need of a bit of luck allured him. And most of all, he did think that when Molly won, the way she wrinkled her nose in a grimace was…
How could he describe it?
No, it was not cute. "Cute" was for some clumsy kids who had made mistakes for their incompetence but could be forgiven considering their immature nature. Molly had passed that phase. It was certainly not "beautiful" as someone might claim it to be. "Beautiful" along with many other words are just stuff men say to get laid. Sherlock was never concerned with such superficial and dreadful things. It was just a facial expression, nothing special. Sherlock could do it (although he would rather not to), John could do it, even Anderson could do it, yet there's something about her that only she possessed, something delightful.
Yes. That's the word.
His phone buzzed and Molly stood up to get it for him.
Lunch at Angelo's?
Sherlock looked at Molly.
"Stay with me, Sherlock." Molly begged, "We are just about to have fun."
The moment he walked out of her door, he secretly hoped that she would ask him to stay.
They both knew how dangerous it was going to be and the chance that he might be able to make it was not promising. They could, of course, run away and never come back. The only people who knew his situation were Molly and his brother. Sherlock was sure that Mycroft could fake their identities at any time and Molly would definitely run away with him if he ever dared to ask.
But he still had unfinished business with Moran. He couldn't sit and watch Moran swallowed and perished the whole England, or the world, with what he inherited from Moriarty.
Even if he could let Moran go free, he could never ask her to leave with him.
On what ground?
They were never intimate. She slept on the bed and he took the sofa. There were never any vows or promise. He never mentioned what he would do after put Moran behind bars. She asked for nothing in return from him. She listened to him when he needed a sounding board to think or an audience to show off how brilliant he was. He carried her to bed when she drifted into sleep in the middle of writing papers.
They were neither lovers, nor friends.
One day he looked into the mirror and saw a weak and soft guy he never recognized.
Sentiment is a dangerous disadvantage, he thought, look at what it has done to me.
"Sherlock, dear."Mrs Hudson knocked on his door, "Are you awake?"
Sherlock murmured as Molly stroke his hair, "Go away, Mrs Hudson. I need some sleep."
Molly raised her furrow at him but said nothing.
"But, Sherlock…It's been days…" Mrs Hudson sounded worried.
He was curling against Molly and they were so close that he could smell her shampoo. He noticed that she used the same bottle as him.
He was always at ease around her. And he disliked being interrupted by others, no matter how much he adored that person.
"One moment, please, Mrs Hudson."
Sherlock reluctantly got out of bed and opened the door.
Mrs Hudson was holding a tray of food.
"Afternoon, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson was as cheerful as always. "I thought you might be hungry."
Sherlock frowned. Why would Mrs Hudson bring him food? He thought Mrs Hudson already knew that he would eat when necessary.
Seeing Sherlock had no intention to take the tray, Mrs Hudson sighed. "Your friend, DI Lestrade, came this morning. He said he might have a case for you but you hadn't returned his calls."
Sherlock nodded. "I see."
"Don't go, Sherlock." Molly said and patted the bed, "Stay with me."
Sherlock looked at her, thinking.
"Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked.
Sherlock turned his head back to Mrs Hudson.
"Are you gonna return his calls, then?"
"Stay." Molly smiled at him.
"I have a case to work on." Sherlock gazed at Molly and shut the door.
He climbed back to the bed.
"We could be together," Molly dropped soft kisses on his forehead, "forever." while she put hands on Sherlock's chest.
On the edge of the cliff stood Molly and Moran.
"So, Sherlock…"Moran smirked with a gun in his hand pointed at Molly, "How is it going to end? Your choice."
Carrying tears in her eyes, Molly was slightly weak at the knee.
Sherlock understood perfectly that he had only two options. Either he pushed the button of the bombs at Leicester Square and hundreds of people would die, or Moran shot Molly on the spot.
Moran was playing a far more dangerous game than Moriarty.
He could choose Molly and let those people die. Why would he care? Justice and righteousness was never his primary concern. He barely cared about others and he certainly didn't have a heart.
But he couldn't live with the way Molly would look at him.
He couldn't watch Molly die, either.
He was silent.
Molly glanced at the cliff once and looked back at Sherlock with tenderness.
Sherlock's heart sank.
She was not going to do anything stupid, was she?
Molly stopped weeping. There was determination in her eyes. She made his decision for him.
No. No. No.
Molly took a big step behind. Before Moran noticed her, she fell.
Sherlock fired a gunshot at Moran immediately. Moran dropped dead on the ground.
They were cuddling on the couch and watching an American movie.
"What do you think?" Molly asked him.
"What?" Sherlock was lost.
"Not in your mind palace, again!" Molly complained, "I thought you liked this, considering you haven't said anything during the movie."
Sherlock didn't know what to say. He recalled the magic word John once taught him to use if he didn't know why the person he was talking to was upset, especially to a woman.
Sherlock dragged her onto the beach and put his arms around her. She was silent, stiff and terribly cold. "Molly? Stay with me, Molly. Molly!"
As he pushed her chest and tried artificial respiration over and over again, he kept thinking that he must be dreaming. This was just a nightmare and when he woke up, Molly would open the window and complain how much cigarette he smoked last night.
His efforts to revive Molly were futile. A small voice inside his brain told him that Molly was already gone.
"Sherlock."Lestrade put a hand on his shoulder.
Sherlock ignored him.
"Sherlock." Lestrade called his name again, "Let the ER take care of her."
He didn't want to give up, not yet. But his rationality kicked in.
He released Molly and laid aside with his eyes open. The medics lifted Molly onto the stretcher. One of the medics came to him but he refused to get up. There were noises and shouting all around him. He couldn't care less about them. The flashing light on top of the police cars blinded him. He didn't talk. He didn't seem breathing, either. All he did was laying there while his eyes and mouth open like the dead.
It was as if his soul was sucked away.
"Get out." Sherlock yelled as Molly was preparing the second pot of coffee.
Molly turned around in shock. "Sherlock?"
"Get out of my head. You are not real." Sherlock took away the kettle from her.
"We could be together forever," Molly gently brushed Sherlock's cheek, "just the two of us."
Sherlock missed a heartbeat.
What took him so long to realize he had been hallucinated?
All those flashback kept reminding him what had happened. Even his subconscious gave hints during those delusions. The scrabble spelt schizophrenia, the movie was American Psycho and Molly smelt just like him. He was so lost in what had happened and, what could have happened but never would.
"I can't go on like this, Molly." Sherlock confessed. "Moran's network still hasn't completely cleaned. I have some work to do."
"Stay with me, Sherlock." Molly wrapped around him. "Don't leave me alone."
Sherlock hugged Molly for the last time. "You never asked me to stay. You would never do. You always let me have what I want while I was too stupid to see what I really need." He pulled her away, "Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I didn't leave you that day."
There were things that should have been said, done, and cherished. Sherlock guessed that was why he kept imagining having Molly around closely.
Guilt. Regrets. Love.
He was ruined.
"I can't stay in my comfort zone forever. I have to let you go, Molly."
Molly merely looked at Sherlock with the same tenderness as the day she jumped off the cliff.
"Goodbye, Molly." Sherlock lowered his head and kissed her.
The moment their lips touched, the image of Molly shattered into pieces of glass.
He saw her again, a year after her death when he got into a cab with John back from the trial of Moran's henchmen. She sat in the front seat, turned around and winced at him.
"What are you grinning at?" John was lost in confusion.
"Nothing." He quickly dismissed by looking out of the window.