Just because - Part 5
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I like to see you, but then again…
The taxi stopped in front of her building. He watched as Michael Jones got out and reached inside to assist Molly. The conversation was too quiet for him to hear, but then Molly laughed and it echoed along the empty street.
She tucked her hair back and he could hear her saying to Michael Jones that she had a lovely evening. He responded in kind and then suddenly both leaned forward and bumped their heads. More laughter. Then Molly leaned forward again and gave Michael Jones a long kiss on the cheek. He reciprocated. They moved apart and with a wave and a “See you, gorgeous,” Michael Jones got back in the waiting taxi. Molly waved and smiled until the car disappeared from view. Then with a twirl, she stepped into her building.
He watched and waited until he saw a faint light coming through her window. Going to that play had been a bad idea. Agreeing to go to the pub with John, worse. But this, he thought, this was probably the worst one yet. His brain kept telling his feet to stop walking but before he knew it, he’d picked the lock to the front door and he was up the stairs to Molly’s floor.
He knocked. He knocked some more. And some more. And then suddenly, the door was open and a surprised looking Molly was standing there. She was still in the dress she’d been wearing to her date. The dress that he hadn't been sure if it was black or just a really deep green. Green. Definitely green.
“Sherlock! What are you doing here? And how did you…” she didn’t finish the sentence because Toby moved past her to wind himself around his legs.
He bent down to pat the cat. “He likes me,” he said, pleased. Why he felt so pleased by her cat’s affection was beyond him.
“He liked Jim too, so…he’s a bit of a tart,” Molly drawled.
He shot her an annoyed look. He picked her cat up and just like the last time, Toby immediately began to purr.
She reached out to take the cat away from him, “What are you doing here?”
What was he doing here? “I was in the…the case!”
“What case?”
“The one earlier.”
Looking confused, she said, “I thought that one was closed.”
He nodded, vigorously, “It is. But I thought we could discuss it further.”
“Why?”
He looked at her, sternly, “Because there are things…to be discussed.”
“Sherlock?”
“Yes?”
She looked bemused, “Are you high?”
He shook his head, smiling back, “No. No I’m not. I’m not.”
“Drunk?”
He nodded, grinning widely, “A bit.”
“A bit,” she repeated, still bemused. Toby looked so soft in her arms. He reached out to pet him.
“Just a teeny bit. An ickle bit. Little bit. A bit,” he said, scratching the cat under the chin.
Molly stepped back, as if to close the door, “I think you better go home and sleep this off, then.”
He looked at her, “Do you?”
That bemused smile, that wonderful smile, “Yes. I’ll call you a…”
He really needed to go. “Can I use your bathroom?”
She looked instantly concerned, stepped forward, “Are you going to be sick?”
Shaking his head again, “No. Just need to relieve myself. I’m pissed and I need a piss.”
She looked unsure for a moment, but then stepped aside, gestured down the hall, “It’s just…”
“I know where it is,” he said, moving past her.
“Of course,” he heard her mutter.
As he was washing his hands, he thought of the last time he’d been here. With her. And what an absolutely incredibly bad idea this was. Whatever the idea was. He shouldn’t be here. He thought he had made his mind up earlier, when he had that sobering walk. He should leave now, before anything happened.
As he stepped out the bathroom, he saw her holding out a mug. “I made you some coffee,” she said-
The only thing he could think of doing was accepting it, “Thank you.” He drank a good mouthful. Black, two sugars, just like he liked it.
“I can call you a cab, if you want,” she said, gesturing towards the phone.
“Yeah, I think that would be best.” Deep green. Definitely deep green.
“Or you could sit down for a bit and we can discuss the case,” she said, with a shy smile.
He really should leave now, he told himself.
“Or that. The dress looks lovely on you, by the way,” he found himself saying.
She looked away, blushing, “Thank you.”
“And you look lovely in it.”
She looked back, laughing, “Thanks.”
“This might be a strange question,” she added, “but were you or John or you and John at the Globe Theatre tonight?”
The lie came too easily, “No.”
“Oh. Hm. Funny.”A quick furrow of the brows. She had lovely eyebrows.
“I didn’t thank you for helping with the case,” he blurted.
She rolled her eyes, “Please, I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did. You showed me the bruising. And the BDSM.”
“I’m sure Fred would’ve mentioned it to you.”
He frowned, “I’m not so sure. I don’t think Fred likes me.”
“I think it’s more a matter of being scared of you.” She grinned.
He remembered that she had dimples, very small dimples. “You’re not scared of me.”
The grin disappeared, replaced by something he wasn’t sure how to read. “I used to be very, very scared of you.”
“But you no longer are. Why is that?” He suddenly became aware of how narrow her hallway was.
A long deep breath and then she said, “Because you know everything about me now, so there are no more secrets you can find out.”
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” he answered. If he reached out, he would touch her.
A corner of her mouth lifted, “You don’t think so?”
“No.”
“Hm.” She looked at him with her dark eyes.
“I see a detail and another detail and I make a logical connection. People don’t like it, people are baffled by it. It’s not always one hundred percent accurate. For all the things I see, it seems there is a lot that I don’t see. Things that I tend to miss.”
He leaned forward, whispered, “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
“It’s a secret between us,” she whispered back.
She was wearing a different scent tonight. Muskier.
“People like secrets, don’t they? But they’re boring, most of the time. Secrets should be exciting, dangerous, sexy,” he said, watching how her eyes dilated, adjusted.
“Sexy?”
“Yes,” he took a small step forward.
She leaned back, “Most of my secrets are boring.”
He reached out and with his index finger traced a line from her forehead down her temple, “There must be dirty, sexy secrets hidden in that head of yours.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t react. He ran his finger down her cheek.
“Sherlock?”
“Yes?” his thumb was nearly brushing her lower lip.
She reached up to take his hand off her face, “You've had a really good night, haven't you?”
He looked down at his hand in her hands. Her hands were tiny compared to his. “No. I just had more alcohol than I had in a while.”
She let go of his hand, took a step back, “I thought you didn't drink?”
“I don’t. Dulls the senses. Makes everything a bit fuzzy and…not clear.”
She nodded, “It's nice though, sometimes. All the voices quieting down.”
He searched her face, “You hear them too?”
“Hear what?”
“The voices.”
She looked straight back at him, “Doesn't everyone?”
The hall suddenly felt too small. He looked away.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come.”
“Why did you come?” she softly asked.
He couldn’t answer her. He didn’t know what the answer was.
Handing her the mug, he said “Thank you for the coffee and the use of the facilities. I'll see myself out.”
“Right,” she said, looking bewildered.
He left without another word.
Six years ago, he'd made a phone call that had probably saved his life.
On Sunday morning, he called Mycroft for a case.
Part 6
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I won't lie, this bit of genius sort of inspired above chapter!
And this just makes me think of Dylan Moran's stand-up bit about gin