Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.
So, this is it. The last chapter . I warn you, Sherlock may be a little too occ, and I apologies for that . I tried to keep him in character, but I fear that in someway I failed him . And there are a lot of quotes. From movies, books, tv series, simple thoughts from my favourite actors...I don't know why I did it . I just wanted to . Anyway, thanks to everyone. First of all, thanks to the people on the Sherlolly tag on Tumblr who encouraged me to try and write a Sherlolly story. Thanks to readers, followers, etc. You've been so kind to me, and to my story . I'm profoundly grateful for that...and now, without further ado, another chapter for you, my brave readers !
"Technically, I didn't kiss him . He kissed me. And just for the record, IT'S . NOT . YOUR . BUSINESS! "
Sherlock Holmes, the great and only consulting detective, didn't react . He didn't even flinch at Molly's raised voice. He observed Molly in silence, trying to decide if he wanted to deduce her or not . He always missed something. A few days ago (when John had started to blink more frequently, and to type more slowly on the laptop, while he was trying to understand who "the mysterious limping doctor" was ), John wasn't trying to protect Lestrade . He was trying to protect himself . And now what he had imagined, that kind of dream induced by John's words, had more sense. John kissing Molly - he still found it strange, out of place, but it was his subconscious trying to point out what he had blindly and too quickly discarded before .
Molly was right. He had no right to be...angry ? Offended ? "Jealous, you're jealous, Sherlock " John would have said . He honestly didn't know. He knew he had no right to snoop into her life like that . He was neither his brother, or any kind of relative figure; nor he was his "boyfriend". He had no right to snoop into her life, yet he had done it several times. To protect her from another failure, he had said to John, when his blogger had questioned his manners and timing . He had been cruel to her, with the selfish use of the knowledge that she was infatuated with him, with his careless words of flattery; mostly, with his indifference towards her . Sherlock had treated her worse than John, Lestrade or Mrs Hudson - not that he had treated them too kindly.
After his return, his landlady (but Mrs Hudson was more that that, to him: a real mother figure, more present and affectionate than his real mother ) had said to him : " It's very strange, that the people we love are often the people we are most cruel to " . It sounded like a paradox, but it was true, indeed . He would only dissent with the choice of word. Love. He despised the term. So overused, it was almost void of any significance . " I love that dress ! I love that film ! I love you, honey !" . How many times had he heard people use it without really meaning a thing ? Instead, he understood the concept behind the simple word, because it was because of love, that he had risked his life, jumping from St. Barts roof, to save the person he cared for . His family . Because they were his family, a family he had chosen for himself, and for that reason more dear to him than the one the genes had given him . It was because of love, that the woman in front of him had risked her life, her career, to help him faking his death . At least, he had believed it until months ago, until she had gradually distanced herself from him. Maybe it had been love then, but right now ? He wasn't so sure anymore . And he hated doubt .
" I beg to differ "
" What ?! " Molly spluttered .
" It's my business . John is my blogger, my flatmate and my best friend . You are...my...pathologist. Two of the people I trust most - and please, Molly, don't do that face, it's highly unattractive on a woman of your age , plus I've told you before that I trust you - lied to me, and kissed each other . As you can see, it's pretty obvious that it's my business "
" We didn't lie to you !" the pathologist retorted, incensed .
" Lying by omission is still lying, Molly...but it's not what I'm interested in. You said before it was innocent, didn't you ?"
" Yes, but-" Molly admitted, but Sherlock continued " I don't believe you . Prove it to me "
" What ?! How ?! We didn't film it, Sherlock ! I may try to phone John again, and you can ask him..." . It seemed all a really bizarre dream, to Molly : maybe she was dreaming, yes, it was plausible...
" He's not going to answer his phone . You will have to show me. Kiss me "
Sherlock Holmes had seen Molly Hooper do some odd things . He had caught her eating a disgusting chocolate concoction covered with an insane amount of sugar; during his brief stay in her flat, he had once witnessed her perform " The Empire strikes back " from beginning to end, doing all the parts ; but the way she was laughing at him now...well, this took the first prize .
Molly calmed down, and tried to not start to laugh in Sherlock's face again . " Al- alright Sherlock, you're funny, really . Make me sit down just a little bit, because I'm feeling a little strange, right now..." she continued to giggle, but in a subtle way .
" It was not a joke . I'm serious . Show me "
"He's toying with you , Molly . He's testing you, God knows why. Do you want him to win like that ?" her mind chided her . " Ok "
He would have liked to say that he was not surprised, but in the last six months Molly Hooper had done it a lot . Surprising him,keeping him on edge with her changes. It had been...challenging. Even refreshing, sometimes . Surely exciting, now .
" Where did it happen ?"
" Baker Street . Mrs Hudson called me because John was drunk, and she was frightened he would do something rash"
" And then ?" Sherlock insisted .
" I found him drunk, on the sofa . I tried to comfort him, and then...it happened. Like this" . With those words, she leaned towards Sherlock, who had reached her on the sofa, and quickly pecked his lips. She didn't allow herself the time to satisfy her curiosities about the texture of his mouth, and retreated, waiting for his reaction.
" Wrong. That's not how it happened" he stated firmly .
" Excuse me ? You weren't there, Sherlock ! How could you possibly know that ?"
" So you confirm it, don't you ? Anyway, you said he was drunk, wasted . No drunk man (or woman) possess the ability to kiss someone else so delicately"
" Alright, it wasn't like that . Now that we agree on this, let-"
" Was it more like this ?" . Sherlock didn't give her the time to reply,because this time he was the one initiating the kiss . He took her lower lip between his, and sloppily suck it. The tip of his tongue caressed briefly the skin, before stopping altogether . His voice was only slightly breathy when he asked her " Am I correct ?".
She nodded . Her lips - so thin, too thin, he had once said - were tingling . He just kissed me...Sherlock Holmes just kissed me...Why ? His voice interrupted her reverie .
" Well, now I agree with you . It was just an innocent kiss - because I'm inclined to believe that, if John were really interested in you, he would have done this" and with that Sherlock tried to capture her mouth again, only to be stopped by Molly's hands on his lips .
" Stop it, Sherlock . Stop, please " . Sherlock obeyed, and Molly dropped her hand on the soft leather of the couch .
" We need to talk, Sherlock . You need to explain yourself, because right now, I really can't understand you "
Sherlock nodded, and waited fro Molly to remove her fingers . " Molly, during all my adult life, I believed that attachment is the great fabricator of illusions, for our society . Reality can be attained only by someone who is completely detached from the others, and to be the best at what I do, I need to distance myself from the others . Said that, I'm not a machine, like John once told me . I have feelings, yet I simply choose to ignore them, most of the time...because the feelings, every kind of feelings - anger, attraction, jealousy - risk to cloud my judgement, I can't risk that . "Alone protects me" is my mantra, my supreme rule . But every rule has an exception . How many times did Lestrade, John, Mrs Hudson, and you Molly, protect me ? From my self-destructive tendencies , from my enemies ? I wouldn't be here without your help, Molly . What I'm trying to say is that...the fall, it changed something in me . My mind is letting the reins loose, sometimes . I don't despise compassion, and empathy, like I did before , because it was because of them, that you decided to help me, a man who cinically used you for years, and didn't show his appreciation once . There's a constant turmoil, and I feel like a human contradiction, because a part of me consider feelings, emotion, a weakness...and that's why your crush for me stopped . Because you saw that day that I'm weak, pathetic, ordinary..."
" Did I mention before that you're a moron ? Because that's what you are, if you believe that I stopped...having feelings for you . That day I saw you . All of you . The man-child, the genius, the friend, the handsome man, the annoying little brat, the meticulous scientist . All the aspects of your personality. Until that moment, I had put you on a pedestal, like the teenagers do : you were perfect, without a flaw . In one word : fake . That day, I put together all the pieces, and I understood that it was not a childish crush anymore . It was love . A sentiment that I tried to fight, because love, caring so deeply for another person, it hurts, Sherlock . Love makes you vulnerable . You build this wall around you, brick after brick, and this person, without your permission, breaks in and start to wander around . He takes a piece of you, something that you wouldn't rationally give...your heart . If you're lucky, this person will treat your heart like its own, and protect it like the most precious treasure . It takes a lot of trust, a lot of courage, to let someone handle your heart ; but in the end, there's nothing you can do against it; there's no way to know the future. The only thing I know, is that I'm stuck with you . I keep wanting to move on, and I can't . I love you. I wish I didn't...but I can't help it . So please Sherlock, if what you did before was only a way to make fun of me, stop. You're entitled to be who you are, just...don't try to confuse me ".
He remained silent, listening to her with great attention. Molly Hooper's heart was still in his hand . It was a great responsibility, he could understand that - but he didn't feel frightened . It was like he had solved a puzzle, which gave him the opportunity to start another one, even bigger, even more challenging and exciting .
" I believe it's only time to see if someone is clever enough to climb over my walls, then " . This time Sherlock gave Molly time to reject his attempt to kiss her. He moved very slowly, his gaze on her lips, slightly parted . He was cautious, at first, waiting for her to realize that he was not wearing a mask, letting his lips showing his intentions : then she let a sigh escape her lips, and he interpreted like a sign of trust . He started to caress her skin, and marvelled at how soft it was . He registered how the simple pressure of his tongue on hers could elicit more satisfying sounds, and how he didn't feel weak, but rather powerful, instead . His fingers found deftly the zip of her dress, and she tried to stop his ministrations when he was dragging it halfway on her back . " Do you want me to stop ?". His breath caressed the skin below her ear, and she shivered when his lips closed on her lobe . " No..it's just..." . Sherlock put her hands on her face, his fingertips grazing her cheekbones, and tilted her head, to let her look into his eyes. " Too fast ?"
" I've waited for years for this moment, Sherlock - the timing is not my problem. It's the setting . We are in Mary and John's new flat, I don't think it's appropriate for us to..."
" To do what we are doing, Sherlock !"
" And what are we doing, Dr. Hooper ?". Sherlock resumed to kiss her, concentrating on her collarbone and her neck now .
" Sherlock, you know...what I mean...we can't...here!" her voice took a higher pitch when he lowered the shoulder strap of her dress, revealing her lacy purple bra .
" Molly, don't worry . I have every intention to thank John in the most appropriate way for letting us stay in his flat tonight"
When John Watson and Mary Morstan arrived at their flat, the next morning, they honestly didn't know what to expect . They hoped for no dead bodies, nor unrequested nudity . What they found was surely unexpected . Four huge delivery men were carrying their leather sofa down the stairs; a fifth man gave him wordlessly an envelope and followed his coworkers . John opened the letter swiftly and read a note to his fiance .
" Dear Mary and John, during our staying overnight in your flat, Molly grew rather fond of your couch . I took the liberty to arrange its relocation to her flat, where you can find me for the next few hours . A bank transfer of 1000 pounds to your count to repay for your sofa should be finalized in the afternoon .
p.s: thank you , from the both of us "
I'm not completely happy with this last chapter, but in the end, I'm quite satisfied, because it's been the hardest chapter to write. Hope you're satisfied too, although Sherlock is not very Sherlockian here...Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you for reading and supporting this story , you've been fantastic ( watching too much Ninth Doctor these days...) !