Sorry
Disclaimer: No, I don't own it and I don't make a penny out of it.
Author's note: This is the fill for the prompt on LJ. The original prompt is very long so I will just choose one paragraph: "Then one day, after one very romantic night Molly finds out she is pregnant and everything falls apart. Sherlock is spiteful towards her, he doesn't want to talk to her and later he completely cut off all ties with her. 9 months later she gives birth to a boy or a girl (up to you) and Sherlock wants to have nothing to do with Molly and the child. She tries for him to change his mind but he doesn't. 2 moths later he asks Mycroft for his parental rights to this child to be terminated."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sorry
As Molly was busy cooking in the kitchen, Sherlock was reading the newspaper. The front page was a close-up of him with Lestrade in the background. He noticed the unnecessarily long hours Molly spent on those toasts, which meant she wouldn't get out until she could make the toasts perfectly crisp, then it suddenly hit him that it seemed like a reasonable and rational decision.
"Molly?"
"Yes, Sherlock?" Molly didn't drop what she was doing.
"Would you marry me?"
She stopped and immediately turned around, "What?"
"Marry me." Sherlock said as if he was talking about the weather.
"Why would I want to marry you?" Molly coughed.
"You fancy me." Sherlock turned the page. Wasn't that obvious?
"…Sherlock, we are not even in a relationship!" Molly shouted, "You do realize we didn't even date, right?"
"Does chasing Moriarty's hatchet men count as dating?" Sherlock took out his phone and started texting. He couldn't understand Molly's hesitance.
"Not really." Molly went back to check the both sides of the toasts, "Besides we haven't even kissed."
"Right." Sherlock put down his phone and walked into the kitchen when Molly was about to put the toasts on a dish. She turned around and that was when Sherlock grabbed her wrists and pressed her against fridge. His torso against hers, his mouth hovered above hers and his nose was brushing slightly the tips of hers. They were so close that he could smell the scent of corpse that she had attempted to cover with fruit-favoured perfume. Trying not to startle her further, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek. Seeing no signs of protest, Sherlock then kissed her lips softly. Molly was frozen at first but then opened her mouth fully and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck.
Sherlock looked at Molly's fully dilated pupils, "Can we marry now? If you want sex, we could do it here. Highly unhygienic, yet very efficient and convenient."
"Sherlock!" Molly was blushing, "Marriage means long-term commitment in a romantic way. It's not something you could just play with it and throw it away next day."
"I know and I'm ready for long-term commitment." Sherlock frowned. John was right. Women were a bit slower than needed.
She was lost for words for a second, and then she realized, "Wait. This isn't about shirking John, right? 'Cause if it is, I'm seriously gonna forbid your access to the morgue, my flat and my Toby."
"No, we talked yesterday."
"How was he?"
"Punched me in the face then cried like a baby." Sherlock shrugged, "Would you just marry me, Molly Hooper?"
"But shouldn't we take it slowly? We could just start with being boyfriend and girlfriend." Molly thought for a moment.
"They practically mean married couple. Why bother?"
"No they don't. People might be in a series relationship with others but they might not marry the partners."
"Oh you will."
"How can you say that?"
"Trust me. I know it."
"But…"
Sherlock groaned with frustration and parted his mouth, leaving her no chance to make any further protest.
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Back from shopping with Mrs Hudson, she couldn't wait to show Sherlock what they bought for the coming child. There was no word in this world could describe how cute those little shirts and socks were.
"And this is his detective hat, like the one his daddy has." Molly held it up, her eyes twinkling like stars.
Sherlock just sat on the sofa without saying a word or paying any attention to what Molly was talking about.
"Sherlock." Molly started to worry, "Is everything all right?" She gave a peck on Sherlock's forehead but Sherlock stood up and moved away from her.
"Sherlock?" Something was not right. Sherlock's whole body language was stiff and distant.
"I'm bored." Sherlock looked outside the window.
It must be her over-thinking. "Okay. Any news from Lestrade?"
"It's not about the cases, Molly. It's about you."
Molly's heart dropped. "What's going on, Sherlock?"
"You are boring me, Molly Hooper..."
"…"Molly didn't know what to say. She had known this day would come but she hadn't expected it to come so early, not after everything they went through.
"…With your chattering nonsense and annoying optimism…"
"…" Her heartbeat stopped at the word "annoying". No, he didn't really mean it, did he? This was simply a nightmare and when she woke up, he would be beside her, asleep like an angel, not as cruel as he was in her nightmare.
"And your taste for clothes sucks."
"…"She blinked and pinched herself hard. She needed to wake up, now!
"You are dull like everybody else."
"…" She felt ice-cold. She lowered her head, trying not to cry.
"What can I do for you today, Sherlock?" Sherlock mimicked Molly's high-pitched voice, "A cup of coffee? A dead corpse? A blow job?"
"Why are you doing this to me, Sherlock?" She finally answered him, looked him up, searching for any signs for explanations, affections, remorse and guilt.
But, no, she found none. Sherlock saw her with an expression that she used to see him give to an old boring dead body. She watched his lips as he announced her death sentence,
"I have had enough, Molly Hooper. Now get out."
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"Every one is wired." Molly switched TV remote control randomly but stopped when she saw the adorable penguins.
"Really?" Sherlock poured orange juice into a glass.
"Mike stops giving me any night shifts which is a bit unusual. Mary no longer asks me to go out to pub with her. Out of nowhere, John asked me what I think of the name 'Hamish'. Even the canteen lady gave me a particular smirk when she added extra mashed potato to my plate." Molly opened a packet of crisps, picked one and when she was about to eat it, Sherlock hurried and put it into his mouth. Molly shrugged and gave him the whole package. Sherlock handed Molly the glass of juice.
"Oh, thanks. I was thinking about getting it. "
Sherlock gave a soft kiss on her cheek and crushed on the sofa with her. Molly was going to change the channel because she knew Sherlock wasn't into fluffy animals but Sherlock stopped her when she lifted her arm, "It is fine. I would like to watch it."
Molly took a sip of the juice and suddenly she turned her head from TV to the man who was sitting next to her and rubbing her abdomen slightly.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, Molly?"
"Am I pregnant?"
Sherlock grinned, bent down to her abdomen and sang.
Hey, I just met you
And this is crazy
But here's your mummy
So call me daddy
Molly laughed, "You are a bad singer. Do you know that?"
Sherlock shifted slightly, turned his head back to TV. The penguins were lovely.
Lovelier than Molly. He thought.
"Wait. You didn't listen to that pop song just so that you could sing it to the baby right?" Molly narrowed her eyes at him.
He had every right to remain silent.
"You, oddly romantic man." Molly laughed again but kissed his forehead, "You know…Pregnant women are much hornier than usual…"
Okay. Maybe penguins were not as lovely as Molly.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They thought she was asleep. They thought the walls of the hospital were sound-proofed enough.
"Sherlock Holmes, it's your son! The person who carries your DNA. Don't you at least see him?" She heard John shouting furiously.
"No, John. I would rather not. Children are intolerable. Mind you, it might not even be my son. She does have a peculiar taste in men." Sherlock was loud as well. Molly found herself biting the duvet to prevent the sobs from escaping.
He always said such horrible things, always.
Then she heard slapping and Mary's screaming, "Don't you dare talk her like that, Sherlock Bloody Holmes!"
If Mary could be more crossed, then that would be caused by Sherlock's erotic ringtone.
"What was that?" Mary asked.
"My ringtone, obviously." Sherlock answered without patience.
Molly could guess whom it was, the woman who was the equivalence to Sherlock, whom Sherlock could identify without looking at her face, whom Sherlock held ultimate respect yet he would never admit, who would dominate the whole world including Sherlock.
How could she ever compete with the WOMAN?
She should have known.
"Please don't tell me that's…" Molly could imagine John's face-palm, "…You bastard!"
"If you excuse me, there's a dinner for me to catch." Sherlock said in his usual arrogant manner.
"Just go and check on her, Sherlock. She just gave birth." Was it her, or John actually sounded like begging?
"Why would I want to do that? I never care for her."
Never.
Was she just an experiment to him? A broken doll he could just throw away once satisfied?
He wanted her love, her soul, her dignity and her everything.
He took them all, had the world and fling, got his wish and prize.
He won.
And it was time for her to leave.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brain cancer.
He was observant about everything but himself.
There was a chance for cure but he couldn't stop, not now.
Sebastian Moran was still outside and looking for every chance he could have to get to Sherlock. He couldn't risk letting him getting close to John, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and most importantly, Molly and their unborn child.
Even if he did get cured, the brain damage would be unrecovered. Would Molly still love him if he was no longer brilliant, if he was just as normal as other men on earth? In the worse cases, he would become a liability to her. He would never give her a happy life. He couldn't bear the thoughts of her suffering because of him.
She made him happy and she deserved a healthy, intelligent and considerate man.
It was time for him to let her go.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Get out." Sherlock said in a cold stoned tone, throwing an empty cheque at her, "Take that horrible creature with you."
Molly was standing outside 221B, holding Arthur, who was crying as if he understood that he was abandoned by his father forever though being two month-old. She slowly bent down and picked up the cheque.
She was not here for his money. She was here simply to let Arthur to see his dad the last time before they moved to Manchester. A friend introduced her job there with higher salary and she already found a nice house which was close to schools.
She could live a better life without Sherlock. She had her son, after all.
She looked down at the cheque, "You do realize if you want to give me money, you need to sign on the cheque, right?"
Sherlock took the cheque back and signed on it. When he was about to give it to Molly, Molly turned around and left, "Keep it, Sherlock. That's the only thing you've got."
As she was walking down the alley, she realized that it was really the end of Sherlock and her.
She could do it. She was a strong and independent woman. She was not sad, not sad at all, because he didn't worth getting heartbroken for.
Yet her tears betrayed her.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John phoned her about Sherlock's death a month later. She couldn't believe it at first. She had thought it was just another trick Sherlock played, like the one he played the last time.
"Molly, it's real. He died because of brain cancer."
So there were no tricks, no rubber ball to hide pulses, no cyclist to distract audience's attention, no pathologist to fake a death certificate.
Sherlock Holmes was dead, for real this time.
She asked her neighbour to babysit Arthur and took the fastest train to London.
"There's something you need to see, Molly." John said in a husky voice and opened Sherlock's door.
Hundreds of photos were hung using strings inside the room, attached to the window, spread over the table.
They were all hers.
There were photos of her feeding Arthur, taking Arthur to the park nearby, singing lullaby to Arthur, taking tubes, working, preparing dinner, even borrowing books from library. Some of them were in London and some of them were from Manchester.
He was not with her but he was always there for her.
Bullets were shot on the wall, scattering in the form of the word "SORRY".
Somehow, Molly heard Sherlock saying "Would you marry me?"
She covered her mouth, trying her best not to cry.
Author's note: This is the fill for the prompt on LJ. The original prompt is very long so I will just choose one paragraph: "Then one day, after one very romantic night Molly finds out she is pregnant and everything falls apart. Sherlock is spiteful towards her, he doesn't want to talk to her and later he completely cut off all ties with her. 9 months later she gives birth to a boy or a girl (up to you) and Sherlock wants to have nothing to do with Molly and the child. She tries for him to change his mind but he doesn't. 2 moths later he asks Mycroft for his parental rights to this child to be terminated."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sorry
As Molly was busy cooking in the kitchen, Sherlock was reading the newspaper. The front page was a close-up of him with Lestrade in the background. He noticed the unnecessarily long hours Molly spent on those toasts, which meant she wouldn't get out until she could make the toasts perfectly crisp, then it suddenly hit him that it seemed like a reasonable and rational decision.
"Molly?"
"Yes, Sherlock?" Molly didn't drop what she was doing.
"Would you marry me?"
She stopped and immediately turned around, "What?"
"Marry me." Sherlock said as if he was talking about the weather.
"Why would I want to marry you?" Molly coughed.
"You fancy me." Sherlock turned the page. Wasn't that obvious?
"…Sherlock, we are not even in a relationship!" Molly shouted, "You do realize we didn't even date, right?"
"Does chasing Moriarty's hatchet men count as dating?" Sherlock took out his phone and started texting. He couldn't understand Molly's hesitance.
"Not really." Molly went back to check the both sides of the toasts, "Besides we haven't even kissed."
"Right." Sherlock put down his phone and walked into the kitchen when Molly was about to put the toasts on a dish. She turned around and that was when Sherlock grabbed her wrists and pressed her against fridge. His torso against hers, his mouth hovered above hers and his nose was brushing slightly the tips of hers. They were so close that he could smell the scent of corpse that she had attempted to cover with fruit-favoured perfume. Trying not to startle her further, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek. Seeing no signs of protest, Sherlock then kissed her lips softly. Molly was frozen at first but then opened her mouth fully and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck.
Sherlock looked at Molly's fully dilated pupils, "Can we marry now? If you want sex, we could do it here. Highly unhygienic, yet very efficient and convenient."
"Sherlock!" Molly was blushing, "Marriage means long-term commitment in a romantic way. It's not something you could just play with it and throw it away next day."
"I know and I'm ready for long-term commitment." Sherlock frowned. John was right. Women were a bit slower than needed.
She was lost for words for a second, and then she realized, "Wait. This isn't about shirking John, right? 'Cause if it is, I'm seriously gonna forbid your access to the morgue, my flat and my Toby."
"No, we talked yesterday."
"How was he?"
"Punched me in the face then cried like a baby." Sherlock shrugged, "Would you just marry me, Molly Hooper?"
"But shouldn't we take it slowly? We could just start with being boyfriend and girlfriend." Molly thought for a moment.
"They practically mean married couple. Why bother?"
"No they don't. People might be in a series relationship with others but they might not marry the partners."
"Oh you will."
"How can you say that?"
"Trust me. I know it."
"But…"
Sherlock groaned with frustration and parted his mouth, leaving her no chance to make any further protest.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Back from shopping with Mrs Hudson, she couldn't wait to show Sherlock what they bought for the coming child. There was no word in this world could describe how cute those little shirts and socks were.
"And this is his detective hat, like the one his daddy has." Molly held it up, her eyes twinkling like stars.
Sherlock just sat on the sofa without saying a word or paying any attention to what Molly was talking about.
"Sherlock." Molly started to worry, "Is everything all right?" She gave a peck on Sherlock's forehead but Sherlock stood up and moved away from her.
"Sherlock?" Something was not right. Sherlock's whole body language was stiff and distant.
"I'm bored." Sherlock looked outside the window.
It must be her over-thinking. "Okay. Any news from Lestrade?"
"It's not about the cases, Molly. It's about you."
Molly's heart dropped. "What's going on, Sherlock?"
"You are boring me, Molly Hooper..."
"…"Molly didn't know what to say. She had known this day would come but she hadn't expected it to come so early, not after everything they went through.
"…With your chattering nonsense and annoying optimism…"
"…" Her heartbeat stopped at the word "annoying". No, he didn't really mean it, did he? This was simply a nightmare and when she woke up, he would be beside her, asleep like an angel, not as cruel as he was in her nightmare.
"And your taste for clothes sucks."
"…"She blinked and pinched herself hard. She needed to wake up, now!
"You are dull like everybody else."
"…" She felt ice-cold. She lowered her head, trying not to cry.
"What can I do for you today, Sherlock?" Sherlock mimicked Molly's high-pitched voice, "A cup of coffee? A dead corpse? A blow job?"
"Why are you doing this to me, Sherlock?" She finally answered him, looked him up, searching for any signs for explanations, affections, remorse and guilt.
But, no, she found none. Sherlock saw her with an expression that she used to see him give to an old boring dead body. She watched his lips as he announced her death sentence,
"I have had enough, Molly Hooper. Now get out."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Every one is wired." Molly switched TV remote control randomly but stopped when she saw the adorable penguins.
"Really?" Sherlock poured orange juice into a glass.
"Mike stops giving me any night shifts which is a bit unusual. Mary no longer asks me to go out to pub with her. Out of nowhere, John asked me what I think of the name 'Hamish'. Even the canteen lady gave me a particular smirk when she added extra mashed potato to my plate." Molly opened a packet of crisps, picked one and when she was about to eat it, Sherlock hurried and put it into his mouth. Molly shrugged and gave him the whole package. Sherlock handed Molly the glass of juice.
"Oh, thanks. I was thinking about getting it. "
Sherlock gave a soft kiss on her cheek and crushed on the sofa with her. Molly was going to change the channel because she knew Sherlock wasn't into fluffy animals but Sherlock stopped her when she lifted her arm, "It is fine. I would like to watch it."
Molly took a sip of the juice and suddenly she turned her head from TV to the man who was sitting next to her and rubbing her abdomen slightly.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, Molly?"
"Am I pregnant?"
Sherlock grinned, bent down to her abdomen and sang.
Hey, I just met you
And this is crazy
But here's your mummy
So call me daddy
Molly laughed, "You are a bad singer. Do you know that?"
Sherlock shifted slightly, turned his head back to TV. The penguins were lovely.
Lovelier than Molly. He thought.
"Wait. You didn't listen to that pop song just so that you could sing it to the baby right?" Molly narrowed her eyes at him.
He had every right to remain silent.
"You, oddly romantic man." Molly laughed again but kissed his forehead, "You know…Pregnant women are much hornier than usual…"
Okay. Maybe penguins were not as lovely as Molly.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They thought she was asleep. They thought the walls of the hospital were sound-proofed enough.
"Sherlock Holmes, it's your son! The person who carries your DNA. Don't you at least see him?" She heard John shouting furiously.
"No, John. I would rather not. Children are intolerable. Mind you, it might not even be my son. She does have a peculiar taste in men." Sherlock was loud as well. Molly found herself biting the duvet to prevent the sobs from escaping.
He always said such horrible things, always.
Then she heard slapping and Mary's screaming, "Don't you dare talk her like that, Sherlock Bloody Holmes!"
If Mary could be more crossed, then that would be caused by Sherlock's erotic ringtone.
"What was that?" Mary asked.
"My ringtone, obviously." Sherlock answered without patience.
Molly could guess whom it was, the woman who was the equivalence to Sherlock, whom Sherlock could identify without looking at her face, whom Sherlock held ultimate respect yet he would never admit, who would dominate the whole world including Sherlock.
How could she ever compete with the WOMAN?
She should have known.
"Please don't tell me that's…" Molly could imagine John's face-palm, "…You bastard!"
"If you excuse me, there's a dinner for me to catch." Sherlock said in his usual arrogant manner.
"Just go and check on her, Sherlock. She just gave birth." Was it her, or John actually sounded like begging?
"Why would I want to do that? I never care for her."
Never.
Was she just an experiment to him? A broken doll he could just throw away once satisfied?
He wanted her love, her soul, her dignity and her everything.
He took them all, had the world and fling, got his wish and prize.
He won.
And it was time for her to leave.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brain cancer.
He was observant about everything but himself.
There was a chance for cure but he couldn't stop, not now.
Sebastian Moran was still outside and looking for every chance he could have to get to Sherlock. He couldn't risk letting him getting close to John, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and most importantly, Molly and their unborn child.
Even if he did get cured, the brain damage would be unrecovered. Would Molly still love him if he was no longer brilliant, if he was just as normal as other men on earth? In the worse cases, he would become a liability to her. He would never give her a happy life. He couldn't bear the thoughts of her suffering because of him.
She made him happy and she deserved a healthy, intelligent and considerate man.
It was time for him to let her go.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Get out." Sherlock said in a cold stoned tone, throwing an empty cheque at her, "Take that horrible creature with you."
Molly was standing outside 221B, holding Arthur, who was crying as if he understood that he was abandoned by his father forever though being two month-old. She slowly bent down and picked up the cheque.
She was not here for his money. She was here simply to let Arthur to see his dad the last time before they moved to Manchester. A friend introduced her job there with higher salary and she already found a nice house which was close to schools.
She could live a better life without Sherlock. She had her son, after all.
She looked down at the cheque, "You do realize if you want to give me money, you need to sign on the cheque, right?"
Sherlock took the cheque back and signed on it. When he was about to give it to Molly, Molly turned around and left, "Keep it, Sherlock. That's the only thing you've got."
As she was walking down the alley, she realized that it was really the end of Sherlock and her.
She could do it. She was a strong and independent woman. She was not sad, not sad at all, because he didn't worth getting heartbroken for.
Yet her tears betrayed her.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John phoned her about Sherlock's death a month later. She couldn't believe it at first. She had thought it was just another trick Sherlock played, like the one he played the last time.
"Molly, it's real. He died because of brain cancer."
So there were no tricks, no rubber ball to hide pulses, no cyclist to distract audience's attention, no pathologist to fake a death certificate.
Sherlock Holmes was dead, for real this time.
She asked her neighbour to babysit Arthur and took the fastest train to London.
"There's something you need to see, Molly." John said in a husky voice and opened Sherlock's door.
Hundreds of photos were hung using strings inside the room, attached to the window, spread over the table.
They were all hers.
There were photos of her feeding Arthur, taking Arthur to the park nearby, singing lullaby to Arthur, taking tubes, working, preparing dinner, even borrowing books from library. Some of them were in London and some of them were from Manchester.
He was not with her but he was always there for her.
Bullets were shot on the wall, scattering in the form of the word "SORRY".
Somehow, Molly heard Sherlock saying "Would you marry me?"
She covered her mouth, trying her best not to cry.