This was a brief fanfic I wrote roughly five years ago on Tumblr (when both Tumblr and fanfics were all the rage), and I waffled over whether to edit it and add more, or to present it as it was when I first posted the story. Ultimately, I decided to do a quick spellcheck, but left it mostly as-is. I will always be a faithful BBC Sherlock fan, and proud of my measly attempt at a fanfic.
LIST OF MORE AT SCREENRANT: Amazing Works Of Sherlock Fan-Fiction On A03
“This is where it happened, Molly.”
His eyes are moist, and his lips drawn tight. It’s a rare thing, seeing the Great Sherlock Holmes emotional, but I’m fortunate (unfortunate?) enough to be the one he trusts when he’s like this. When he’s hurt. When he’s afraid. When he’s missing her.
“I miss her so much, Sherlock,” I whisper, reaching out to touch his forearm.
We’re alone down here, aside from the fish, so he let’s me. When John is around he doesn’t always allow me to touch him…. kiss him.
I think it might be for John’s benefit. He tries to make things as much like they were before Mary.
“I…” he releases a tense breath, his eyes turn to the fish, and then the floor. “I think I hear her, at times. I hear her voice telling me things. But that’s not real, Molly. There’s no logical explanation, and,” he bites the corner of his mouth, eyes reconnecting with mine. “I really wish it were her. Hearing her voice helping me…. it feels like she’s gone all over again.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he’s not finished his thought.
“Of course, she’s not gone. We say gone like it’s a trip, like she left on holiday and will be back any day now. She’s not gone, she’s dead. Mary is dead, and we all have to live.”
My hand moves up and down his arm now, trying to comfort him. Trying to guide him to peace. But it doesn’t work. It never does. He’ll smile later and say I helped, but I know he’s being kind. I’ll see his sad eyes again when he thinks no one is watching.
He treats me like John in that way, now. I can see him vulnerable, but never sad. He’s learned sadness makes people worry.
I worry about him all the time, of course. But I don’t let him know that I do. Love is a bunch of little lies like that wrapped in a great big truth.
“She loved you, Sherlock. And she believed in you.”
A tired smile parts his lips. “She was so human, Molly. So full of life and vigor and deceit and love and care. She was warm and fury and cold and delight. She made us both better people. I know she was John’s wife- that he loved her more, and differently- but I can’t help but think I would not be here,” he pauses, and I know he means with me so I nod, “If it were not for her. Mary changed us all.”
“That’s what good people do,” I agree. “They change people. They find broken people and fix them.”
Sherlock closes the gap between us. His short breathes blow my fringe. “You’re a good person, too, Molly. I trust you know that, but John says some things are better to hear than to know.” His brow wrinkles, telling me he’s not really sure what John means, but he trusts him.
I smile. I don’t blush, though. That stopped after our first kiss.
“Mary brought us closer together,” I say.
“Indeed she did. She knew I needed you.” His voice is low, rattling my chest.
“And Eurus. Let’s not forget her,” I add with a small laugh tightening my throat.
“She has proved to be the more useful sibling. Perhaps that’s why Mycroft had her locked away.”
“Mycroft loves you in his own way,” I tell him.
“Mycroft…..” His words wander away from him.
“Loves you in his own way,” I repeat.
Sherlock doesn’t react at all. His way of saying someone else is right. Finally, he grins. “I should get you home, Molly Hooper. You know how Mrs. Hudson gets about me keeping you out late.”
“Tell Mrs. Hudson I can take care of myself.”
“I do,” he chuckles. “But she knows me so well.” Mischief flashes in his eyes, predatory like the fish in the tank behind us.
I step in the direction of the exit, Sherlock by my side. “Are John and the baby coming to dinner, too?”
“Yes. I believe so.”
“Good,” I clap joyfully. “I always love feeding baby Watson her din-din. I can’t wait to have a baby of my own.”
Sherlock’s foot steps fall silent. I face him, his eyes narrow and weary, like a cat in the path of a lion.
“One day,” I add, lips puckering to hide my grin.
He resumes his place next to me. “One day,” he agrees.
*Initial idea comes from Sherlolly_pop on Instagram*