On the tenth day of Sherlockmas: Warmth, for minirose96
Author: Doctor WTF
Title: Warmth
A gift for: minirose96
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Warnings: AU & Major Character Death (sort of)
Summary: On his last night in London he comes to her to say goodbye. In three years her life has changed, but then again so has he.
Author's Notes: Happy Holidays! Forgive me for the lame ending, I’m not the best at those, but I hope you enjoy this little tale during this season of darkness and chill.
He picked the lock.
It was largely a sentimental gesture. There was little point to doing such things when one could dissolve into individual molecules, squeeze through the cracks, and reform into solid matter on the other side. Not that he particularly trusted that process. It broke the laws of physics, made what he believed to be the only reality into a joke. His entire life had turned into a joke.
Well, unlife. You needed to have a pulse in order to have a life.
There were three heartbeats in the flat. One was fast, a hundred sixty-five beats per minute by his count. The feline. Molly had told him the name once, Toby. As he walked through the lounge it hissed at him and darted under the settee to quake. All animals seemed to loathe him now. John’s dog had a similar reaction before it wet itself and tried to hide under a chair. It seemed that they were the only ones who could innately sense what he had become.
Perhaps it had something to do with his scent? Pushing that thought away he paced towards the bedroom, his feet making no noise on her floor. It was his last visit and then he would be gone. He’d looked in on John, on Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, he’d peered in on his mother and left the Master drinking brandy with Mycroft and renegotiating… something. It should have bothered him more that Mycroft had known when he hadn’t had the faintest inkling of what lurked in the deepest shadows of the world. It should have, but didn’t. Not much did anymore.
There was a man in Molly’s bed. He was tall and thin with dark hair that curled. Kneeling by the bed he gazed into his face, glad for the changes to his eyes for once. The man’s features were as clear as day, the red of the pulse in his neck distracting but ignorable as he took in his features. Narrowing his eyes he clapped his hand over the man’s thin lips, holding tight as he jerked. The man’s eyes flew open, panic filling them for a moment.
“Shhhhush,” he hissed softly. For a moment his eyes own burned from the force of his own will and then it was over. The man’s eyes glassed over, becoming unfocused as he went limp. Removing his hand and rubbing it against the duvet, he took another moment to study the man. Blue eyes. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. If there was more time he would have liked to pry the man’s mind open, determine if he was suitable or not, but there wasn’t so he didn’t. He would have to trust in Molly.
Molly.
She’d slept through the man’s momentary struggles. Laying on the farthest edge of the bed, in danger of falling off, with her back to the man she slept on, undisturbed. From her body language he would have thought that this was a one-off, a one night stand that would turn awkward in the morning if the man’s scent had not so strong in the room. If the stone that glittered weakly in the darkness hadn’t been an engagement ring.
Placing his hand on the man’s face he focused his will once more. “Sleep,” he ordered and with a sigh the man was sound asleep. He wouldn’t budge again until after dawn. The problem taken care of he walked around the bed to stand next to Molly’s side.
She’d cut her hair short. Shoulder length, just long enough to capture it in an elastic band as it was now. Her face was slack, peaceful in the darkness. Innocent. Unsuspecting. He could take her if he wanted to. Rip her throat, feast on her blood, and leave her cold in his wake.
For a moment he wanted to, to know what she tasted like and the noise she would make when life left her. The darkness welled inside of him, Moriarty’s voice ringing in his ears. The promises and threats of power, of being gods among ants, and then the blood. There had been so much blood. He’d practically bathed in it, the liquid surrounding him until all he could see was red. The stench of death. Iron manacles around his wrists. The sun that burned and then the offers set before him that he had sent away again and again until the hunger grew too much and then the screams as fangs tore flesh.
He could taste it now. The blood. It was stale and flat, holding none of the richness he recalled and suddenly he realized it was his own. His own teeth digging into his bottom lip as his hand hovered over Molly Hooper, ready to seize her so he could strike. It trembled above her and he considered it. Ending her.
Yanking his hand back he spun away, sitting hard on her floor. Grabbing himself he breathed heavily, body shaking as the hunger and the human fought within him. Sweet blood, Molly was so sweet already how much better would she taste on his lips?
He shook his head. No. Not her. Not Molly Hooper.
She saw him when no one else could.
She counted.
She believed in him and hadn’t stopped even when the press had torn him to pieces. Stitching him back together she’d told him that she trusted in him, that she knew he was a great man and a good one too.
For her, he wanted to prove her right.
So caught up in the battle to win his own humanity he didn’t notice her awaken until her hand was threading into his hair. He froze at the touch, eyes snapping shut. “Sherlock?”
Leaping to his feet he spun to look down upon her. Molly’s brown eyes were wide, her face flushed as she gazed up at him. “Molly, I-“
“Sherlock!” she gasped and suddenly her arms were around him. Her body pressed tight to his, her face at his neck, arms tight around him and squeezing with all the force they could muster. In his head Moriarty screamed once more for blood but this time he cast the thought easily aside. Trembling, he slowly wrapped his arms around her, bowing his head to hers.
“Molly.”
She pulled back at the sound of her name. Instantly his body protested, craving her warmth but then her hands reached up to cup his cheeks and he stilled. “Oh!” she gasped, at the touch of his skin. “Sherlock, you’re freezing! Here, let me make you a cuppa and… Oh no, Tom!”
Taking in her panicked glance at the man in her bed he quickly raised his hand and shook his head. “It’s alright Molly. He shall not wake.”
Her eyes went back to him, widening to almost comical levels. “Did you… Sherlock did you drug him!?”
The barest of smiles crossed his lips as he stepped back to allow Molly room to get out of bed. “Something like that.”
“You can’t just go around drugging people!” Molly hissed at him, crawling over to the man. Making little sounds of distress she checked his pulse and slapped his cheek gently and when that didn’t wake him she snapped on a light to peer at his eyes. “It’s not going to hurt him, is it?”
“No,” he assured her. “He shall wake feeling refreshed and having no memory of any of this.”
Molly scowled at her, her nose wrinkling in a way that reminded him of a bunny rabbit. Sighing, she climbed out of bed, reaching for a dressing gown to cover up her sleep shirt and ratty pajama bottoms. Obviously she and this Tom fellow were at a point in their relationship where Molly no longer cared how she appeared in front of him. He told himself that there was no reason to feel pained at this revelation. That he had held no claim over Molly or her affections. Yet apparently a heart not beating could still experience heartbreak for he felt pain in his chest.
“You better be right,” Molly sighed, leading the way into the kitchen. He followed, wincing every time Molly flipped a light on and his over sensitive eyes struggled to adjust. Gesturing for him to take a seat, Molly filled the kettle and plugged it in before rummaging through the cupboards. “Is earl grey fine with you?”
“Yes,” he said, leaning up against the wall and simply watching her. John had punched him upon being awoken by him, Mrs. Hudson had burst into tears and beat at his chest, Lestrade had launched into an angry lecture and rummaged for his handcuffs, and yet Molly had embraced him. It had been a long time since he’d been touched in a way that did not involve pain or death. He wondered if it were possible to coerce her into doing it again. To create a memory of warmth to lock away in his mind palace for when only the chill remained.
Dropping a tea bag into a mug and pouring hot water over it, Molly turned and handed him it before creating her own mug. The heat seeped through the porcelain, warming his hands yet never touching him. Still leaning against the wall he took a sip knowing that it was scalding and not feeling a thing. “Hardly the recommended method of brewing tea, Molly.”
“I don’t have a tea pot,” she murmured, eyes going to her own cup. There were no bags under her eyes he noticed. When he had left there had been dark ones. A long history of a lack of sleep that he feared he had been the cause of. Now that he was gone she could sleep. Find a mate. He should have felt happiness for her but he felt nothing. “Is it done then?”
Turning the cup in his burning hands he pretended not to understand the question. “Is what done?”
“Your mission. Have you finished dismantling Moriarty’s network? Is it safe for you to come home?”
After he had informed them of his reasons for faking his death, John had asked the same question. So had Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. He gave her the same answer. “No.”
“No?” she repeated, voice going weak. She looked at him with despair in her eyes as she clutched her mug tighter. “It’s been three years, Sherlock. How can you not be done?”
“There were complications.” An understatement. A massive one. “The network goes deeper than I ever could have imagined. There’s no end to it. It cannot be dismantled.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you here then?”
Setting aside the cup of now cold tea, he’d sucked the warmth from it yet still felt chilled, he met her eyes. “I’m here to say goodbye, Molly. After I leave I’m going back.”
“To keep trying to dismantle it?”
“To join it.”
Salt. He tasted it in the air before the tears appeared on her cheeks. With Mrs. Hudson he had tasted those tears after he’d wiped her mind. Caught them on his fingertips and supped from them before leading the dazed woman back to her room and tucking her into bed. John and Lestrade had been too angry to cry, their fury dying and leaving the room cold as he tore the memory of their meetings from their minds. He had hoped Molly would be too angry to weep as well. He didn’t want to remember her in tears. Anger would have been better.
“I don’t understand,” she said again, sinking into a seat. “H-how can you join them?”
“I don’t have much choice,” he sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his curls. “There’s not space for something like me among humans anymore.”
Confusion filled her features at his words, her brow furrowing. “What are you talking about Sherlock?”
At last the difficult part. It had taken the others longer to get to this, but Molly had them at a disadvantage. She’d already known he was alive. “My time away. I was changed, Molly. Moriarty wasn’t what he seemed.”
“I know. He pretended to be from IT when he was really a-“
“Worse than that, Molly,” he interrupted, wishing she didn’t look so concerned. So worried over his safety when she was the one who was in danger. From him. Every time he looked at her he could see her pulse beating and couldn’t shake wondering what she’d taste like. He had to get out. This had been a mistake. Yet Molly deserved her explanation and goodbye even though he couldn’t allow her to keep the memory of it. It was this need for speed that caused him to skip the convoluted explanation to the hated word. “He was a vampire, Molly.”
Her brows furrowed deeper as she rapidly blinked and then it was worry more than confusion that painted her features. “Sherlock-“
“I am neither high nor insane, Molly,” he said, voice and body stiffening at her disbelief. While he had not expected her to believe him immediately, he would have been concerned if she had, her lack of faith in him still hurt. “He was a vampire and two years ago he captured me and turned me into one as well.”
Molly stared at him with wide eyes, her pulse jumping. He stared at it, the steady beat of it making his fingers twitch and his fangs lengthen. It was illogical. He hadn’t been so affect by visiting any of the others, why was seeing Molly bringing him so close to losing all control?
“W-What sort of vampire?” Molly finally asked, her gaze going down to her tea. Her lips twisted into a frown. “Do you… crave blood and sparkle in the sunlight?”
It would figure that she would first think of the most twee example of vampire. Audibly scoffing he rolled his eyes and swept into the seat across from her. His sudden appearance in the seat startled her, tea sloshing over her hands as she jerked upright. “A bit more Bram Stoker, thank you. I am neither a ‘vegetarian’ nor do I play baseball.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “You read the books?”
“I saw the movies as well. Moriarty thought they were ‘funny,’” he said. Reaching across the table he took the mug of tea out of her hands and set it down to place his hand in hers instead. Turning his wrist towards her fingers he met her eyes evenly. “I did quite a bit of research when I was first turned to attempt to learn about my condition. Moriarty did not dissuade me. Most of the information in popular media was worthless though. Full of superstition or simply not accurate, it did very little to teach me what to expect.”
Her eyes were searching his, looking for delusion or madness. Apparently she saw neither for her brow furrowed once more. To her credit, despite the confusion evident on her face her fingers still pressed against his wrist, searching for a pulse. “Sherlock, vampires are impossible. People can’t get up and walk after they’re dead. If they could, my job would be much more exciting.”
“I know. I once thought the same.”
Attention going to his wrist, Molly frowned and pressed her fingers to his wrist more firmly. Her lip twitched as she didn’t find his pulse and he could see how her heart beat increased once more. Brow set she firmly reached for his neck and he turned it towards her, baring his carotid artery to her. Once again she found no pulse and this time she paled. Heart beating rapidly she stood and ran from the room. For a moment he heard her rummaging through her cupboards and then she reappeared with a bag in hand. Wrenching it open she removed a stethoscope and put the earpieces in.
“Unbutton your shirt.”
He smirked at the firm tone of her voice even as the coldness swept through him. The Molly he had left behind would have stuttered to give the Sherlock he had been that order. Yet he followed it nonetheless, unbuttoning the auburn shirt to his waist and parting the fabric so she could have access to his heart. The stethoscope was room temperature and so felt pleasant on his skin and he smiled as Molly mouthed the numbers as she counted to sixty. When she was done she pulled away, hands shaking and her face grey.
“You have a heartbeat of five a minute. That’s impossible.”
Nodding in agreement he gestured to the bag. “You can take my temperature if you wish. I should be approximately the same as the room.”
“And your blood pressure?”
“Practically nonexistent. Just above nothing if I’m between feedings and a bit above that if I’ve recently eaten.”
She sat down hard in the kitchen chair next to him, hands fiddling with the stethoscope. “Do you - do you really feed on blood?”
Tongue running over the fangs in his mouth he hesitated, the silence stretching between him before he nodded. “Yes. I haven’t had access to the proper equipment to confirm it, but it would seem that all of my biologic processes have changed to accommodate the taking in of blood. My digestive system directly absorbs it rather than breaking it down and I seem incapable of producing fresh blood myself. I am in a constant drive to take in more.”
“The sunlight thing? Is that true?” Molly asked after a moment, her gaze still firmly away from him.
“Yes. It burns.”
“Why? I saw Jim out in the daylight and it didn’t seem to bother him.”
“Moriarty was turned in the 1850s during the Irish Great Famine. Apparently sunlight is something that you learn to deal with as you age, but I have not learned that trick yet,” he shrugged, smoothly getting out of his seat to stand before her. “I don’t know why it affects me so. I haven’t had the time to experiment.” Face smooth he reached down to take Molly’s chin and draw her eyes up to his. It was time to leave. To wipe Molly’s mind and make her forget he’d ever been there. It would be kinder to make her forget rather than know what he had become. How he’d devolved into a monster.
“Is that why you’re here then? I could help you with them. The experiments, I mean. Maybe we could find a cure.”
Freezing he straightened, staring down at her. Molly’s eyes were so earnest, so trusting that he had come to confess this to her in order to obtain her help. He could picture it too. The two of them locked away in the safety of the morgue and lab at St. Barts, the fear of sunlight a distant concern as the two of them poured over blood samples and scans. Between the two of them they’d be able to figure it out. Unlock the secrets of his body and determine how he’d come to be. How he’d been changed and what his limitations actually were. Maybe, just maybe, they’d really be able to find him a cure. Determine a way to undo what had been done and make him normal again. Change him back and enable him to return to London again.
To his own life.
Shaking his head, he summoned all the coldness he could muster and pushed those thoughts away. They were impossible and dwelling on them would only make things worse. Hope was useless to one such as him and staying with Molly would only prolong that delusion. “No, I’ve come to say goodbye, Molly. Only to say goodbye.”
Shutting her eyes tight, she jerked her head away from him and crossed her arms. “Y-You’re leaving him? To go join him? H-How could you? After everything he’s done, how can you leave and join Moriarty?”
Mouth tightening, he shook his head. She wasn’t looking at him though and he needed to fix this. Even if she wouldn’t remember this night he couldn’t allow her to think so little of him. “I’m not joining Moriarty. He’s dead.”
“Actually dead or just vampire-undead?”
“Actually dead. I saw his head removed and his body burnt. That kills even our kind.”
“Then who are you joining?” she demanded, looking up to glare at him. “Other vampires? If they allowed someone like Moriarty into their ranks then you can’t trust them, Sherlock. They’re not nice people.”
A smile threatened to cross his lips. “I’m not a nice person either, Molly.”
“That’s not true!” she practically shouted, leaping to her feet. “You’re a good man, Sherlock Holmes! One of the best! I won’t let you run away and join some-some- mosquitos just because they forced you to become like them! You’re better than that and you deserve to have a choice!”
The threatened smile bloomed across his face and a laugh was in danger of crossing his lips. “I did have a choice. I chose to follow my Master.”
Her eyes went wide for a moment and then deeper fury crossed her features. “See! That’s how I know you have a problem! Why would you ever choose to call someone your Master!? What do they have on you? I’m sure that we can stop them if we work together. Have you talked to John yet? He’ll help too, I’m positive he would.”
The others hadn’t put up such a fight, he wondered why Molly was as he sighed. “I call him my Master because that is what he expects of me. He was the one to kill Moriarty for interacting too closely to the moral world and he took me in instead of killing me as well. He’s an older vampire, he can teach me how to survive. I don’t understand my own body anymore, Molly. I need him to teach me in order for me to go on.”
Salt was in the air again as Molly began to pace, her heart beating furiously. “So you’re going to follow him and just vanish into the darkness? Will I ever hear from you again?”
“No.”
“T-then how will I know if you’re okay?”
Reaching out he touched her cheek, stopping her pacing and drawing her near to him. The tears ran freely down her cheeks and for a moment he wished to taste the salty tracks more then he wanted the blood that pounded through her veins. “You won’t,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “In fact, you’re not even going to remember that I was ever here.”
“H-how-?”
“I’m going to erase this night from your memories,” he told her, voice even as he drew up the power within him. “Just as I did to John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. I don’t want any of you remembering what I’ve become, but I still had to see you all. Had to say goodbye. Goodbye, Molly. I’m sorry, but it would be better if you all thought me dead.”
Her eyes were wide as he reached into her mind, searching out the memories. Weakly, she pressed against his chest as he found them, trying to beat them back. “Sherlock-“
“Shush. It won’t hurt you.”
“It will,” her voice was sluggish, slurred, but her words caused him to hesitate anyway. Pulling away ever so slightly he waited for her to finish her thought. “I never thought you were dead. I thought you were out there and struggling to find a way to return to us. If you- if you take my memories, I’ll always think you’re out there. I’ll always wonder when you’re coming back.”
Once again there was that pain in his chest, burning almost as much as the hand that touched her cheek. She was so warm, so full of life when he was cold and empty. All he wanted was to pull her to him and sink his teeth into her neck, drink up everything she had to offer and hope it made him feel whole. He swallowed heavily, pushing the thought of his arms around Molly and her warmth pouring into him out of his mind and refocused his will. “Then I shall erase the memory of you aiding me in faking my death as well. You can believe that I’m dead too. It is, after all, true now.”
“No,” she whispered and her hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing tightly. “No Sherlock. Please.”
“It shall be alright, Molly. You won’t miss those memories. You’ll be able to move on properly at last with that man in your bed. The one you’re engaged to.”
“Tom?” she whispered.
Her eyes went glassy and her limbs slack. Moving forward to catch her as she fell, he pulled her close to support her body with his own. “That’s it Molly,” he said, voice soft as he searched out the last of the memories. They played through his head, a rush of colour and warmth that he pushed aside in search of the darkness he’d surely left within her. “I’m almost done.”
At last he found it, the memory of their time together in the morgue. Molly’s heart had been beating so fast and she’d been so afraid. Terrified for the man in front of her, the man she swore at that moment to protect with her own life. Smiling at the memory, at the woman in his arms, he began to surgically remove it.
“NO!” came the shriek and suddenly Molly was beating his chest with her fists. Wrenching out of his arms she collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath as tears streamed down her cheeks. Eyes wide, he reached for her and she slapped his hands away with a growl. “Don’t, Sherlock! Just, just don’t.” She pulled away from him, getting to her feet on her own and turning her back on him. Arms wrapped tightly around herself she stared at the floor. “Y-you can’t take my memories. Not without my permission and I don’t want to think that you’re actually dead.”
“I am dead,” he said, looking away.
“No you’re not!” she snapped, whirling on him. Eyes bright with tears and full of fury she stabbed him in the chest with a finger, forcing him back as she bore down on him. “You might not be exactly alive, but you’re not dead either. Not yet. No matter what’s been done to you, I’m sure that there’s some way that we can reverse it if we work together and that’s what we’re going to do! No arguments!”
Smiling, he took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly as the heat soaked into him. “Molly, I have to leave. That’s why I’m here, to give you closure and say goodbye.”
“I said no arguments!” she nearly screamed at him.
Tears continued to course down her face. Hers was not one of those beautiful faces seen in the movies where even tears were beautiful. Molly’s face was red and splotchy, her nose and eyes running clear liquid as her chin wrinkled from the convulsions of her mouth, holding in sobs. It was breathtaking. That someone could feel so much emotion for him still after all he’d done to her and after all he’d attempted to do.
“Do you really think I’d find peace thinking you’re dead?” she accused, voice breaking as she struggled to get the words out. “I worry about you every day, Sherlock! Every damn day! I worry about whether you’re safe and secure, if you’re getting enough to eat, hell, I worry about if you’re lonely or not! The only thing that made any of it better, the only thing, was knowing that I helped you get off that rooftop. That I made it so that you lived, even if it was for a little while longer. That, if miracles could be true, you’d come back someday.
“And you are! You’re back. It’s not… It’s not how I ever pictured it, but you’re back. That’s all that really matters, Sherlock. If you take that away from me then I will spend the rest of my life thinking that I never counted to you and I’ll always wonder if I could have somehow stopped you from jumping. And that… That would destroy me.”
His body moved without thought. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he crushed her against his chest. Tears soaked the fabric of his shirt as her arms latched around him, fisting in the fabric. He held her as she trembled and sobbed against him, stroking her hair and making gentle soothing noises. The heat of her soaked into him, melting his shattered heart and he felt pain that he had never experienced before bloom in his chest. Worse was the realization of how perfectly Molly fit against him. Of how her head fit just perfectly under his chin and how their curves fit together. How had he not seen it before? How cruel was fate to bring him this knowledge when it was far too late for him to act on it?
Pressing a kiss to her forehead he took a step back, pulling away but not leaving her grasp. “Fine, Molly,” he rumbled, meeting her watery gaze evenly. “I won’t take your memories.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her hands tightened on him as she bit her bottom lip. “Do you really have to go and follow this Master of yours? You could stay here if you like. Baker Street’s still open and I still work the night shift at Barts. We could look for a cure for you. Figure out a way to turn you back.”
Smiling, he brushed the tears from her cheek and shook his head. “No, I have to go. Being around people is a temptation for me and I’m not willing to risk it. I refuse to kill anyone else simply to sate my hunger.”
“Else?” she repeated, brow furrowing.
Wishing that he’d not said that last sentence he detached her hands from him and stepped outside her reach. “Goodbye Molly. Remember me as I was.” He turned to go, unwilling to frighten her with one of his ‘tricks’ and headed for the door. He paused as Molly called his name.
“Sherlock?” Her eyes were wide, hands clasped before her. “If you can’t stay, can I come? With you?”
The world seemed to freeze. Every fiber of his being screaming yes as his mind raced. “Why would you ever want to come with me?” he questioned, shaking his head as she approached him again. His eyes traveled around her flat, desperate to lie on anything but her. If he looked at her his heart would overrule his mind and he’d take her. He was a greedy as a dragon and Molly, well, she was the sweetest of prizes. “You have a job, a flat. Responsibilities. Who would take care of your cat or that man in your bed?”
“Toby,” Molly breathed, her face falling a moment as she glanced over towards her settee. Her expression hardened though as she reached out to take Sherlock’s freezing cold hands in her own. “Meena’s been talking about getting a cat. I can text her and she’ll collect him and all his things in the morning. I can quit my job and break my lease too.”
“And the man?”
They both looked down at the engagement ring on her finger, the diamond sparkling in the dim light. “I love him,” Molly confessed, sending a stab of pain through his heart. “I love him a lot actually. He’s been there for me this last year and a half, always so supportive and kind. He’s a good man, a very good one.”
She took a deep breathe though and met his eyes. “But Sherlock, I’ve cared for you since the day you stepped into my morgue, brilliant and mad though you were. I know you’ve never felt the same for me, I don’t know if you ever could, but if the choice is a lifetime with Tom or one more day with you, I would choose you every time.” Her hands on him tightened as salt pervaded the air again. “Because I love you, Sherlock Holmes. You probably think I’m an idiot for it, but I love you. I love your stupid hair and your cheekbones and your lips, but mostly I love you. How insanely brilliant you are. How you see the world and find wonder in it after all this time and how you make me feel. With you around I want to be the best version of myself and it’s only you that makes me feel that way. If that’s not love then I don’t know what-“
He kissed her.
Hands cupping her cheeks he kissed her, Molly frozen in shock. Slowly she melted, her hands going to his waist and pulling him closer as her lips moved against his. Far too soon she pulled away to breathe and he looked at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re right,” he told her. “I do think you’re an idiot.”
The smile she gave him was beautiful and for the first time since he’d been changed he felt warm. “I’m coming with you,” she said firmly, smile still in place. “There isn’t anything you can do or say that will stop me.”
“I know.” A small part of him was protesting, arguing that he couldn’t do this to Molly. That she would be better here, happier with Tom then she ever would be with him. He didn’t care though. He wanted, no needed Molly and she wanted him. While he knew he didn’t deserve her, he could always try to be better. To become the sort of person she did deserve to be together with. “I’m not arguing anymore.”
She grinned at him, and this smile was brighter than the one before, warming him down to his toes. “Let me pack a bag and leave a note for Tom. He deserves some sort of explanation at least.”
Nodding, he pulled back. Eyes tracking her every movement, memorizing it as she headed towards the bedroom. “I’ll be here.”
Looking back at him from the doorway she paused, worry crossing her brow. “You promise? Because Sherlock, even if you leave here right now I’m still coming with you. Even if I have to hunt you to the ends of the earth I’m going to follow you and nothing will stop me.”
A smile split his lips at her declaration, warmth swelling within him. “I won’t leave you again. I promise.”
It was an oath he upheld. The minutes ticked on, dawn uncomfortably close by the time Molly was ready to leave, but it was worth it. Her hot hand in his, hateful ring left behind, they escaped the flat, fleeing the encroaching sun as he pulled her into his world of darkness. It was alright though. So long as Molly was at his side his days were full of light and warmth and, in the end, that was all that mattered.
Title: Warmth
A gift for: minirose96
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Warnings: AU & Major Character Death (sort of)
Summary: On his last night in London he comes to her to say goodbye. In three years her life has changed, but then again so has he.
Author's Notes: Happy Holidays! Forgive me for the lame ending, I’m not the best at those, but I hope you enjoy this little tale during this season of darkness and chill.
He picked the lock.
It was largely a sentimental gesture. There was little point to doing such things when one could dissolve into individual molecules, squeeze through the cracks, and reform into solid matter on the other side. Not that he particularly trusted that process. It broke the laws of physics, made what he believed to be the only reality into a joke. His entire life had turned into a joke.
Well, unlife. You needed to have a pulse in order to have a life.
There were three heartbeats in the flat. One was fast, a hundred sixty-five beats per minute by his count. The feline. Molly had told him the name once, Toby. As he walked through the lounge it hissed at him and darted under the settee to quake. All animals seemed to loathe him now. John’s dog had a similar reaction before it wet itself and tried to hide under a chair. It seemed that they were the only ones who could innately sense what he had become.
Perhaps it had something to do with his scent? Pushing that thought away he paced towards the bedroom, his feet making no noise on her floor. It was his last visit and then he would be gone. He’d looked in on John, on Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, he’d peered in on his mother and left the Master drinking brandy with Mycroft and renegotiating… something. It should have bothered him more that Mycroft had known when he hadn’t had the faintest inkling of what lurked in the deepest shadows of the world. It should have, but didn’t. Not much did anymore.
There was a man in Molly’s bed. He was tall and thin with dark hair that curled. Kneeling by the bed he gazed into his face, glad for the changes to his eyes for once. The man’s features were as clear as day, the red of the pulse in his neck distracting but ignorable as he took in his features. Narrowing his eyes he clapped his hand over the man’s thin lips, holding tight as he jerked. The man’s eyes flew open, panic filling them for a moment.
“Shhhhush,” he hissed softly. For a moment his eyes own burned from the force of his own will and then it was over. The man’s eyes glassed over, becoming unfocused as he went limp. Removing his hand and rubbing it against the duvet, he took another moment to study the man. Blue eyes. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. If there was more time he would have liked to pry the man’s mind open, determine if he was suitable or not, but there wasn’t so he didn’t. He would have to trust in Molly.
Molly.
She’d slept through the man’s momentary struggles. Laying on the farthest edge of the bed, in danger of falling off, with her back to the man she slept on, undisturbed. From her body language he would have thought that this was a one-off, a one night stand that would turn awkward in the morning if the man’s scent had not so strong in the room. If the stone that glittered weakly in the darkness hadn’t been an engagement ring.
Placing his hand on the man’s face he focused his will once more. “Sleep,” he ordered and with a sigh the man was sound asleep. He wouldn’t budge again until after dawn. The problem taken care of he walked around the bed to stand next to Molly’s side.
She’d cut her hair short. Shoulder length, just long enough to capture it in an elastic band as it was now. Her face was slack, peaceful in the darkness. Innocent. Unsuspecting. He could take her if he wanted to. Rip her throat, feast on her blood, and leave her cold in his wake.
For a moment he wanted to, to know what she tasted like and the noise she would make when life left her. The darkness welled inside of him, Moriarty’s voice ringing in his ears. The promises and threats of power, of being gods among ants, and then the blood. There had been so much blood. He’d practically bathed in it, the liquid surrounding him until all he could see was red. The stench of death. Iron manacles around his wrists. The sun that burned and then the offers set before him that he had sent away again and again until the hunger grew too much and then the screams as fangs tore flesh.
He could taste it now. The blood. It was stale and flat, holding none of the richness he recalled and suddenly he realized it was his own. His own teeth digging into his bottom lip as his hand hovered over Molly Hooper, ready to seize her so he could strike. It trembled above her and he considered it. Ending her.
Yanking his hand back he spun away, sitting hard on her floor. Grabbing himself he breathed heavily, body shaking as the hunger and the human fought within him. Sweet blood, Molly was so sweet already how much better would she taste on his lips?
He shook his head. No. Not her. Not Molly Hooper.
She saw him when no one else could.
She counted.
She believed in him and hadn’t stopped even when the press had torn him to pieces. Stitching him back together she’d told him that she trusted in him, that she knew he was a great man and a good one too.
For her, he wanted to prove her right.
So caught up in the battle to win his own humanity he didn’t notice her awaken until her hand was threading into his hair. He froze at the touch, eyes snapping shut. “Sherlock?”
Leaping to his feet he spun to look down upon her. Molly’s brown eyes were wide, her face flushed as she gazed up at him. “Molly, I-“
“Sherlock!” she gasped and suddenly her arms were around him. Her body pressed tight to his, her face at his neck, arms tight around him and squeezing with all the force they could muster. In his head Moriarty screamed once more for blood but this time he cast the thought easily aside. Trembling, he slowly wrapped his arms around her, bowing his head to hers.
“Molly.”
She pulled back at the sound of her name. Instantly his body protested, craving her warmth but then her hands reached up to cup his cheeks and he stilled. “Oh!” she gasped, at the touch of his skin. “Sherlock, you’re freezing! Here, let me make you a cuppa and… Oh no, Tom!”
Taking in her panicked glance at the man in her bed he quickly raised his hand and shook his head. “It’s alright Molly. He shall not wake.”
Her eyes went back to him, widening to almost comical levels. “Did you… Sherlock did you drug him!?”
The barest of smiles crossed his lips as he stepped back to allow Molly room to get out of bed. “Something like that.”
“You can’t just go around drugging people!” Molly hissed at him, crawling over to the man. Making little sounds of distress she checked his pulse and slapped his cheek gently and when that didn’t wake him she snapped on a light to peer at his eyes. “It’s not going to hurt him, is it?”
“No,” he assured her. “He shall wake feeling refreshed and having no memory of any of this.”
Molly scowled at her, her nose wrinkling in a way that reminded him of a bunny rabbit. Sighing, she climbed out of bed, reaching for a dressing gown to cover up her sleep shirt and ratty pajama bottoms. Obviously she and this Tom fellow were at a point in their relationship where Molly no longer cared how she appeared in front of him. He told himself that there was no reason to feel pained at this revelation. That he had held no claim over Molly or her affections. Yet apparently a heart not beating could still experience heartbreak for he felt pain in his chest.
“You better be right,” Molly sighed, leading the way into the kitchen. He followed, wincing every time Molly flipped a light on and his over sensitive eyes struggled to adjust. Gesturing for him to take a seat, Molly filled the kettle and plugged it in before rummaging through the cupboards. “Is earl grey fine with you?”
“Yes,” he said, leaning up against the wall and simply watching her. John had punched him upon being awoken by him, Mrs. Hudson had burst into tears and beat at his chest, Lestrade had launched into an angry lecture and rummaged for his handcuffs, and yet Molly had embraced him. It had been a long time since he’d been touched in a way that did not involve pain or death. He wondered if it were possible to coerce her into doing it again. To create a memory of warmth to lock away in his mind palace for when only the chill remained.
Dropping a tea bag into a mug and pouring hot water over it, Molly turned and handed him it before creating her own mug. The heat seeped through the porcelain, warming his hands yet never touching him. Still leaning against the wall he took a sip knowing that it was scalding and not feeling a thing. “Hardly the recommended method of brewing tea, Molly.”
“I don’t have a tea pot,” she murmured, eyes going to her own cup. There were no bags under her eyes he noticed. When he had left there had been dark ones. A long history of a lack of sleep that he feared he had been the cause of. Now that he was gone she could sleep. Find a mate. He should have felt happiness for her but he felt nothing. “Is it done then?”
Turning the cup in his burning hands he pretended not to understand the question. “Is what done?”
“Your mission. Have you finished dismantling Moriarty’s network? Is it safe for you to come home?”
After he had informed them of his reasons for faking his death, John had asked the same question. So had Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. He gave her the same answer. “No.”
“No?” she repeated, voice going weak. She looked at him with despair in her eyes as she clutched her mug tighter. “It’s been three years, Sherlock. How can you not be done?”
“There were complications.” An understatement. A massive one. “The network goes deeper than I ever could have imagined. There’s no end to it. It cannot be dismantled.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you here then?”
Setting aside the cup of now cold tea, he’d sucked the warmth from it yet still felt chilled, he met her eyes. “I’m here to say goodbye, Molly. After I leave I’m going back.”
“To keep trying to dismantle it?”
“To join it.”
Salt. He tasted it in the air before the tears appeared on her cheeks. With Mrs. Hudson he had tasted those tears after he’d wiped her mind. Caught them on his fingertips and supped from them before leading the dazed woman back to her room and tucking her into bed. John and Lestrade had been too angry to cry, their fury dying and leaving the room cold as he tore the memory of their meetings from their minds. He had hoped Molly would be too angry to weep as well. He didn’t want to remember her in tears. Anger would have been better.
“I don’t understand,” she said again, sinking into a seat. “H-how can you join them?”
“I don’t have much choice,” he sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his curls. “There’s not space for something like me among humans anymore.”
Confusion filled her features at his words, her brow furrowing. “What are you talking about Sherlock?”
At last the difficult part. It had taken the others longer to get to this, but Molly had them at a disadvantage. She’d already known he was alive. “My time away. I was changed, Molly. Moriarty wasn’t what he seemed.”
“I know. He pretended to be from IT when he was really a-“
“Worse than that, Molly,” he interrupted, wishing she didn’t look so concerned. So worried over his safety when she was the one who was in danger. From him. Every time he looked at her he could see her pulse beating and couldn’t shake wondering what she’d taste like. He had to get out. This had been a mistake. Yet Molly deserved her explanation and goodbye even though he couldn’t allow her to keep the memory of it. It was this need for speed that caused him to skip the convoluted explanation to the hated word. “He was a vampire, Molly.”
Her brows furrowed deeper as she rapidly blinked and then it was worry more than confusion that painted her features. “Sherlock-“
“I am neither high nor insane, Molly,” he said, voice and body stiffening at her disbelief. While he had not expected her to believe him immediately, he would have been concerned if she had, her lack of faith in him still hurt. “He was a vampire and two years ago he captured me and turned me into one as well.”
Molly stared at him with wide eyes, her pulse jumping. He stared at it, the steady beat of it making his fingers twitch and his fangs lengthen. It was illogical. He hadn’t been so affect by visiting any of the others, why was seeing Molly bringing him so close to losing all control?
“W-What sort of vampire?” Molly finally asked, her gaze going down to her tea. Her lips twisted into a frown. “Do you… crave blood and sparkle in the sunlight?”
It would figure that she would first think of the most twee example of vampire. Audibly scoffing he rolled his eyes and swept into the seat across from her. His sudden appearance in the seat startled her, tea sloshing over her hands as she jerked upright. “A bit more Bram Stoker, thank you. I am neither a ‘vegetarian’ nor do I play baseball.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “You read the books?”
“I saw the movies as well. Moriarty thought they were ‘funny,’” he said. Reaching across the table he took the mug of tea out of her hands and set it down to place his hand in hers instead. Turning his wrist towards her fingers he met her eyes evenly. “I did quite a bit of research when I was first turned to attempt to learn about my condition. Moriarty did not dissuade me. Most of the information in popular media was worthless though. Full of superstition or simply not accurate, it did very little to teach me what to expect.”
Her eyes were searching his, looking for delusion or madness. Apparently she saw neither for her brow furrowed once more. To her credit, despite the confusion evident on her face her fingers still pressed against his wrist, searching for a pulse. “Sherlock, vampires are impossible. People can’t get up and walk after they’re dead. If they could, my job would be much more exciting.”
“I know. I once thought the same.”
Attention going to his wrist, Molly frowned and pressed her fingers to his wrist more firmly. Her lip twitched as she didn’t find his pulse and he could see how her heart beat increased once more. Brow set she firmly reached for his neck and he turned it towards her, baring his carotid artery to her. Once again she found no pulse and this time she paled. Heart beating rapidly she stood and ran from the room. For a moment he heard her rummaging through her cupboards and then she reappeared with a bag in hand. Wrenching it open she removed a stethoscope and put the earpieces in.
“Unbutton your shirt.”
He smirked at the firm tone of her voice even as the coldness swept through him. The Molly he had left behind would have stuttered to give the Sherlock he had been that order. Yet he followed it nonetheless, unbuttoning the auburn shirt to his waist and parting the fabric so she could have access to his heart. The stethoscope was room temperature and so felt pleasant on his skin and he smiled as Molly mouthed the numbers as she counted to sixty. When she was done she pulled away, hands shaking and her face grey.
“You have a heartbeat of five a minute. That’s impossible.”
Nodding in agreement he gestured to the bag. “You can take my temperature if you wish. I should be approximately the same as the room.”
“And your blood pressure?”
“Practically nonexistent. Just above nothing if I’m between feedings and a bit above that if I’ve recently eaten.”
She sat down hard in the kitchen chair next to him, hands fiddling with the stethoscope. “Do you - do you really feed on blood?”
Tongue running over the fangs in his mouth he hesitated, the silence stretching between him before he nodded. “Yes. I haven’t had access to the proper equipment to confirm it, but it would seem that all of my biologic processes have changed to accommodate the taking in of blood. My digestive system directly absorbs it rather than breaking it down and I seem incapable of producing fresh blood myself. I am in a constant drive to take in more.”
“The sunlight thing? Is that true?” Molly asked after a moment, her gaze still firmly away from him.
“Yes. It burns.”
“Why? I saw Jim out in the daylight and it didn’t seem to bother him.”
“Moriarty was turned in the 1850s during the Irish Great Famine. Apparently sunlight is something that you learn to deal with as you age, but I have not learned that trick yet,” he shrugged, smoothly getting out of his seat to stand before her. “I don’t know why it affects me so. I haven’t had the time to experiment.” Face smooth he reached down to take Molly’s chin and draw her eyes up to his. It was time to leave. To wipe Molly’s mind and make her forget he’d ever been there. It would be kinder to make her forget rather than know what he had become. How he’d devolved into a monster.
“Is that why you’re here then? I could help you with them. The experiments, I mean. Maybe we could find a cure.”
Freezing he straightened, staring down at her. Molly’s eyes were so earnest, so trusting that he had come to confess this to her in order to obtain her help. He could picture it too. The two of them locked away in the safety of the morgue and lab at St. Barts, the fear of sunlight a distant concern as the two of them poured over blood samples and scans. Between the two of them they’d be able to figure it out. Unlock the secrets of his body and determine how he’d come to be. How he’d been changed and what his limitations actually were. Maybe, just maybe, they’d really be able to find him a cure. Determine a way to undo what had been done and make him normal again. Change him back and enable him to return to London again.
To his own life.
Shaking his head, he summoned all the coldness he could muster and pushed those thoughts away. They were impossible and dwelling on them would only make things worse. Hope was useless to one such as him and staying with Molly would only prolong that delusion. “No, I’ve come to say goodbye, Molly. Only to say goodbye.”
Shutting her eyes tight, she jerked her head away from him and crossed her arms. “Y-You’re leaving him? To go join him? H-How could you? After everything he’s done, how can you leave and join Moriarty?”
Mouth tightening, he shook his head. She wasn’t looking at him though and he needed to fix this. Even if she wouldn’t remember this night he couldn’t allow her to think so little of him. “I’m not joining Moriarty. He’s dead.”
“Actually dead or just vampire-undead?”
“Actually dead. I saw his head removed and his body burnt. That kills even our kind.”
“Then who are you joining?” she demanded, looking up to glare at him. “Other vampires? If they allowed someone like Moriarty into their ranks then you can’t trust them, Sherlock. They’re not nice people.”
A smile threatened to cross his lips. “I’m not a nice person either, Molly.”
“That’s not true!” she practically shouted, leaping to her feet. “You’re a good man, Sherlock Holmes! One of the best! I won’t let you run away and join some-some- mosquitos just because they forced you to become like them! You’re better than that and you deserve to have a choice!”
The threatened smile bloomed across his face and a laugh was in danger of crossing his lips. “I did have a choice. I chose to follow my Master.”
Her eyes went wide for a moment and then deeper fury crossed her features. “See! That’s how I know you have a problem! Why would you ever choose to call someone your Master!? What do they have on you? I’m sure that we can stop them if we work together. Have you talked to John yet? He’ll help too, I’m positive he would.”
The others hadn’t put up such a fight, he wondered why Molly was as he sighed. “I call him my Master because that is what he expects of me. He was the one to kill Moriarty for interacting too closely to the moral world and he took me in instead of killing me as well. He’s an older vampire, he can teach me how to survive. I don’t understand my own body anymore, Molly. I need him to teach me in order for me to go on.”
Salt was in the air again as Molly began to pace, her heart beating furiously. “So you’re going to follow him and just vanish into the darkness? Will I ever hear from you again?”
“No.”
“T-then how will I know if you’re okay?”
Reaching out he touched her cheek, stopping her pacing and drawing her near to him. The tears ran freely down her cheeks and for a moment he wished to taste the salty tracks more then he wanted the blood that pounded through her veins. “You won’t,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “In fact, you’re not even going to remember that I was ever here.”
“H-how-?”
“I’m going to erase this night from your memories,” he told her, voice even as he drew up the power within him. “Just as I did to John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. I don’t want any of you remembering what I’ve become, but I still had to see you all. Had to say goodbye. Goodbye, Molly. I’m sorry, but it would be better if you all thought me dead.”
Her eyes were wide as he reached into her mind, searching out the memories. Weakly, she pressed against his chest as he found them, trying to beat them back. “Sherlock-“
“Shush. It won’t hurt you.”
“It will,” her voice was sluggish, slurred, but her words caused him to hesitate anyway. Pulling away ever so slightly he waited for her to finish her thought. “I never thought you were dead. I thought you were out there and struggling to find a way to return to us. If you- if you take my memories, I’ll always think you’re out there. I’ll always wonder when you’re coming back.”
Once again there was that pain in his chest, burning almost as much as the hand that touched her cheek. She was so warm, so full of life when he was cold and empty. All he wanted was to pull her to him and sink his teeth into her neck, drink up everything she had to offer and hope it made him feel whole. He swallowed heavily, pushing the thought of his arms around Molly and her warmth pouring into him out of his mind and refocused his will. “Then I shall erase the memory of you aiding me in faking my death as well. You can believe that I’m dead too. It is, after all, true now.”
“No,” she whispered and her hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing tightly. “No Sherlock. Please.”
“It shall be alright, Molly. You won’t miss those memories. You’ll be able to move on properly at last with that man in your bed. The one you’re engaged to.”
“Tom?” she whispered.
Her eyes went glassy and her limbs slack. Moving forward to catch her as she fell, he pulled her close to support her body with his own. “That’s it Molly,” he said, voice soft as he searched out the last of the memories. They played through his head, a rush of colour and warmth that he pushed aside in search of the darkness he’d surely left within her. “I’m almost done.”
At last he found it, the memory of their time together in the morgue. Molly’s heart had been beating so fast and she’d been so afraid. Terrified for the man in front of her, the man she swore at that moment to protect with her own life. Smiling at the memory, at the woman in his arms, he began to surgically remove it.
“NO!” came the shriek and suddenly Molly was beating his chest with her fists. Wrenching out of his arms she collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath as tears streamed down her cheeks. Eyes wide, he reached for her and she slapped his hands away with a growl. “Don’t, Sherlock! Just, just don’t.” She pulled away from him, getting to her feet on her own and turning her back on him. Arms wrapped tightly around herself she stared at the floor. “Y-you can’t take my memories. Not without my permission and I don’t want to think that you’re actually dead.”
“I am dead,” he said, looking away.
“No you’re not!” she snapped, whirling on him. Eyes bright with tears and full of fury she stabbed him in the chest with a finger, forcing him back as she bore down on him. “You might not be exactly alive, but you’re not dead either. Not yet. No matter what’s been done to you, I’m sure that there’s some way that we can reverse it if we work together and that’s what we’re going to do! No arguments!”
Smiling, he took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly as the heat soaked into him. “Molly, I have to leave. That’s why I’m here, to give you closure and say goodbye.”
“I said no arguments!” she nearly screamed at him.
Tears continued to course down her face. Hers was not one of those beautiful faces seen in the movies where even tears were beautiful. Molly’s face was red and splotchy, her nose and eyes running clear liquid as her chin wrinkled from the convulsions of her mouth, holding in sobs. It was breathtaking. That someone could feel so much emotion for him still after all he’d done to her and after all he’d attempted to do.
“Do you really think I’d find peace thinking you’re dead?” she accused, voice breaking as she struggled to get the words out. “I worry about you every day, Sherlock! Every damn day! I worry about whether you’re safe and secure, if you’re getting enough to eat, hell, I worry about if you’re lonely or not! The only thing that made any of it better, the only thing, was knowing that I helped you get off that rooftop. That I made it so that you lived, even if it was for a little while longer. That, if miracles could be true, you’d come back someday.
“And you are! You’re back. It’s not… It’s not how I ever pictured it, but you’re back. That’s all that really matters, Sherlock. If you take that away from me then I will spend the rest of my life thinking that I never counted to you and I’ll always wonder if I could have somehow stopped you from jumping. And that… That would destroy me.”
His body moved without thought. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he crushed her against his chest. Tears soaked the fabric of his shirt as her arms latched around him, fisting in the fabric. He held her as she trembled and sobbed against him, stroking her hair and making gentle soothing noises. The heat of her soaked into him, melting his shattered heart and he felt pain that he had never experienced before bloom in his chest. Worse was the realization of how perfectly Molly fit against him. Of how her head fit just perfectly under his chin and how their curves fit together. How had he not seen it before? How cruel was fate to bring him this knowledge when it was far too late for him to act on it?
Pressing a kiss to her forehead he took a step back, pulling away but not leaving her grasp. “Fine, Molly,” he rumbled, meeting her watery gaze evenly. “I won’t take your memories.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her hands tightened on him as she bit her bottom lip. “Do you really have to go and follow this Master of yours? You could stay here if you like. Baker Street’s still open and I still work the night shift at Barts. We could look for a cure for you. Figure out a way to turn you back.”
Smiling, he brushed the tears from her cheek and shook his head. “No, I have to go. Being around people is a temptation for me and I’m not willing to risk it. I refuse to kill anyone else simply to sate my hunger.”
“Else?” she repeated, brow furrowing.
Wishing that he’d not said that last sentence he detached her hands from him and stepped outside her reach. “Goodbye Molly. Remember me as I was.” He turned to go, unwilling to frighten her with one of his ‘tricks’ and headed for the door. He paused as Molly called his name.
“Sherlock?” Her eyes were wide, hands clasped before her. “If you can’t stay, can I come? With you?”
The world seemed to freeze. Every fiber of his being screaming yes as his mind raced. “Why would you ever want to come with me?” he questioned, shaking his head as she approached him again. His eyes traveled around her flat, desperate to lie on anything but her. If he looked at her his heart would overrule his mind and he’d take her. He was a greedy as a dragon and Molly, well, she was the sweetest of prizes. “You have a job, a flat. Responsibilities. Who would take care of your cat or that man in your bed?”
“Toby,” Molly breathed, her face falling a moment as she glanced over towards her settee. Her expression hardened though as she reached out to take Sherlock’s freezing cold hands in her own. “Meena’s been talking about getting a cat. I can text her and she’ll collect him and all his things in the morning. I can quit my job and break my lease too.”
“And the man?”
They both looked down at the engagement ring on her finger, the diamond sparkling in the dim light. “I love him,” Molly confessed, sending a stab of pain through his heart. “I love him a lot actually. He’s been there for me this last year and a half, always so supportive and kind. He’s a good man, a very good one.”
She took a deep breathe though and met his eyes. “But Sherlock, I’ve cared for you since the day you stepped into my morgue, brilliant and mad though you were. I know you’ve never felt the same for me, I don’t know if you ever could, but if the choice is a lifetime with Tom or one more day with you, I would choose you every time.” Her hands on him tightened as salt pervaded the air again. “Because I love you, Sherlock Holmes. You probably think I’m an idiot for it, but I love you. I love your stupid hair and your cheekbones and your lips, but mostly I love you. How insanely brilliant you are. How you see the world and find wonder in it after all this time and how you make me feel. With you around I want to be the best version of myself and it’s only you that makes me feel that way. If that’s not love then I don’t know what-“
He kissed her.
Hands cupping her cheeks he kissed her, Molly frozen in shock. Slowly she melted, her hands going to his waist and pulling him closer as her lips moved against his. Far too soon she pulled away to breathe and he looked at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re right,” he told her. “I do think you’re an idiot.”
The smile she gave him was beautiful and for the first time since he’d been changed he felt warm. “I’m coming with you,” she said firmly, smile still in place. “There isn’t anything you can do or say that will stop me.”
“I know.” A small part of him was protesting, arguing that he couldn’t do this to Molly. That she would be better here, happier with Tom then she ever would be with him. He didn’t care though. He wanted, no needed Molly and she wanted him. While he knew he didn’t deserve her, he could always try to be better. To become the sort of person she did deserve to be together with. “I’m not arguing anymore.”
She grinned at him, and this smile was brighter than the one before, warming him down to his toes. “Let me pack a bag and leave a note for Tom. He deserves some sort of explanation at least.”
Nodding, he pulled back. Eyes tracking her every movement, memorizing it as she headed towards the bedroom. “I’ll be here.”
Looking back at him from the doorway she paused, worry crossing her brow. “You promise? Because Sherlock, even if you leave here right now I’m still coming with you. Even if I have to hunt you to the ends of the earth I’m going to follow you and nothing will stop me.”
A smile split his lips at her declaration, warmth swelling within him. “I won’t leave you again. I promise.”
It was an oath he upheld. The minutes ticked on, dawn uncomfortably close by the time Molly was ready to leave, but it was worth it. Her hot hand in his, hateful ring left behind, they escaped the flat, fleeing the encroaching sun as he pulled her into his world of darkness. It was alright though. So long as Molly was at his side his days were full of light and warmth and, in the end, that was all that mattered.