Another revolutionary heavenly romance. (Sherlock BBC)
Title: Another revolutionary heavenly romance.
Author: andrea_deer
Characters/Pairing(s): Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Molly.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, lots of giggling and some bad taste in men.
Spoilers/Timeline: All episodes, quite heavily.
Summary/Prompt: Molly suddenly transfers her crush to John. Neither Sherlock nor John quite know how to feel about this. [ here]
Word Count: 2,800.
Beta: None :(
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. And I sort of enjoy this lack of responsibility.
A/N:Written for sherlockbbc_fic.
One could hope that after the meeting with Jim Moriarty Sherlock would finally pay closer attention to Molly. After all, Moriarty did. And Sherlock should be obsessed with the mad criminal mastermind, about every smallest thing he could learn about his nemesis, but as it turned out he was more preoccupied with the things he discovered about himself rather than Jim.
He questioned Molly, of course he did, but his tone stayed cold and detached, as if he was questioning a stranger. He excused himself to talk with Lestrade as soon as her eyes watered. It obviously didn’t matter to him at all, he still didn’t care and the only sign he at least vaguely realized it wasn’t the right thing to do was his clear avoidance of John's gaze and therefore not noticing his glare.
John sighed defeated and moved a chair next to molly, sitting down beside her and gathering her slowly into his arms. Ignoring for the moment his own bruised body and mind, letting it all go, so he could comfort the trembling figure in his arms as she started to weep, choking sobs ripping through her body.
"Shh," he whispered, his hand petting her hair gently. "It's alright, Molly. No one blames you, it wasn't your fault. He's a genius and a really sneaky bastard."
"He was always so sweet and funny, you know? I finally felt as if I could talk to someone, he was always paying attention, remembering the smallest details I mentioned... Now I guess he probably had some surveillance or something, but then it seemed so amazing. Sometimes almost scary, but amazing. Somebody finally paid attention..."
"Shh, I know, Molly. It's alright," he said soothingly just as Sherlock re-entered the room with sergeant Donovan right behind him, obviously annoyed that she was made wait for so long to take an official statement. John met Sherlock's surprised gaze with a small smile as he continued speaking to Molly: You just have a really bad taste in guys, Molly.
She giggled slightly hysterically and he squeezed her tighter for a second before slowly letting her go.
"Are you ready Miss Hooper?" asked Sally in calm, reassuring voice, so much different from the tone she used around Sherlock. She smiled encouragingly at her witness.
Molly nodded steadily, clenching John's hand tightly as if to ground herself. John squeezed her hand under Sherlock’s watchful gaze.
The very first time John noticed something was wrong, was almost three months later, when he and Sherlock visited Bart’s morgue while on the case. They were waiting for the corpse Sherlock wanted to exanimate to back up his theory about poisoning, when Molly brought John a cup of coffee, startling him into surprised smile. He glanced quickly at Sherlock, but the detective was stubbornly staring ahead, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Uh, thank you Molly," he said surprised, because she rarely even noticed him when Sherlock was around, but also rather grateful, wrapping his rather numbed fingers around the warm cup.
She nodded at him with a smile as he took a slow, deliciously hot sip with a blissful sound, watching her curiously. Fair enough, they did get closer recently. They used to chat now, when Sherlock was running around Bart's, looking for bodies or new experiments or staring into microscopes for hours. John pitied the mess Molly got herself into and she did made terrific coffee. And once even offered him her sandwich, when his stomach grumbled. Sherlock dragged him out on the case that night and once again forgot to stop for long enough to let John actually grab something to eat.
Still, John would never expect Molly to pay any attention to him, while Sherlock was actually in the same room and about to make his deductions, beaming triumph at them all.
"I thought you could use it. It's rather chilly and Sherlock is probably making you run around London all day long," she said still smiling charmingly at him.
John let out a small chuckle, barely sparing a glance at the detective, when the man sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Two days long already, actually," he noted. "Really, Molly, thank you so much."
"You're welcome," she said and opened her mouth to add something more, when the sound of the corpse being rolled in on the high table interrupted her. Sherlock snapped on his rubber gloves, glaring at John and Molly shortly before focusing on the victim.
"If you wouldn't mind taking this outside? The idle chat makes my mind rot and I doubt the victim would appreciate this lack of attention."
John rolled his eyes in at the egocentric git he was friends with, looking back only when Molly opened the door and called cheerfully back:
"Sure thing. Coming, John?"
She smiled invitingly and he could only blink in surprise. He looked back at Sherlock as if it was his automatic response to the state of confusion, but the detective merely raised his eyebrows at him.
"I'm not stopping you."
"Still, I think I'd better stay. I promised detective inspector Lestrade I wouldn’t let Sherlock ditch me again. Apparently last time he managed that, he attempted to break into a house and desecrate a grave, all in less than an hour."
"I did not 'attempt' anything," murmured Sherlock, but everyone ignored him.
"Maybe next time," John only added to retreating Molly with a tight smile that he lost the moment the door closed behind her. "What fresh hell was that?!"
Sherlock didn't even glance up from the corpse, unbuttoning its shirt to look at the purple marks spreading over the chest.
"Probably some kind of poison as I thought. Obviously spreading through the blood, look at the discoloring of the veins..."
"I meant Molly, Sherlock."
The look John finally received from his friend spoke even more of his annoyance than his scathing tone or words.
"John, we're investigating a murder here. If you think your love life is more important perhaps you should attend to it. As I said, I can very well manage here on my own... Oh, fine, what is it?"
"What love life?! I have no love life! Especially not with Molly!"
"Could have fooled me," mused the detective, taking off his gloves with a loud snap. "It certainly fooled, Molly. Now," he added meeting John's eyes with a maniac grin "I believe we have an unfaithful spouse to catch."
He left with a swirl of his coat and John followed dutifully after a stunned moment, his mind still buzzing with questions. Finally the most insisting one slipped from between his lips.
"The spouse did it?" he called, quickening his steps to keep up with his excited friend.
Sherlock glanced at him with a self satisfied smile and started explaining in his usual fashion, never waiting for John to catch up and still trusting him to manage. And never getting disappointed.
"Bother to enlighten me now?"
"Hmm? Oh, I was sure you followed my explanation for the Yard. I assure you I can't make it any clearer, John," drawled Sherlock in a bored voice as he throw his coat on the sofa and fell back into his armchair, his muscles finally relaxing.
"I meant about Molly," clarified John walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
"What about her?" frowned Sherlock.
"You said she's my love life," said John leaning against the kitchen's entry and watching the detective. "She's not my love life. What did you mean I fooled you both?"
Sherlock was frowning at him as if John had honestly managed to surprise him.
"I thought it was obvious. I saw you at her questioning, you obviously provided the comfort she needed, I assume you got closer after that. The increasing of talks and flirting suggested as much. Not to mention the obvious signs of the number of smiles you exchange or the casual touching."
John blinked, looking stunned, which apparently made Sherlock even more confused.
"You honestly paid no attention to all those details?" he questioned in surprise. "Fascinating."
"You apparently did for the both of us!" exclaimed John, more annoyed with the fact that he apparently led a poor girl on without noticing a thing than with Sherlock vaguely suggesting he's a blind fool. Again.
The detective looked away with an awkward scratch to his head that John will one of these days tell him to stop, because the last time John saw Sherlock so awkwardly insure there was a smell of chlorine and a bomb, and John think he may be having a slight case of post traumatic stress disorder.
"Could have warned me," spoke John quickly to erase the picture of dark pool from his mind and continue their conversation in slightly less murderous theme. "You know that not all of us are geniuses."
"You do insist you're more experienced in this area," protested Sherlock. "And the signs really were rather obvious."
"You must've made me immune with your lack of respect for personal space. I mean, after The Pool you even made me tea once or twice," murmured John and suddenly remembered about his own abandoned tea-making activities and went back to the kitchen.
He poured water into the cups, frowning at the silence from his friend. He put down the kettle loudly, forgetting suddenly about such trivial things as sugar or milk, as he went back into the living room, staring at Sherlock in shock.
"Yes, well..." admitted Sherlock awkwardly.
"Oh," breathed John. Shocked. Astounded. Completely stunned.
Sherlock finally met his friend's gaze, now with a put out glint in his eyes as if blaming John for being so obviously dense.
"I assumed obviously that lack of reaction and the increasing interest in Molly were a rather clear rejection."
"Oh."
"Your current admission somehow changes my view on the matter, however I honestly don't know how could I have been any clearer-"
In few quick strides John crossed the living room, sliding over Sherlock's lap and silencing him with a kiss. Stunned, the detective stayed immobile for a fracture of second, the feel of John's tongue surging him in to the action, hands flying to John's face to bring him closer, savor him, mouth opening wide, tongues playing and sliding teasing against each other.
John moved his head back, ignoring Sherlock hungry growl and pressing his forehead against the detective's.
"That wasn't obvious, this is obvious. Next time you need to be more like that. I am apparently dumber than we both assumed."
"I'll draw you a chart," growled the detective and swallowed John's giggles.
The next time they walked into Bart's there was something different about them. John hoped it was subtle, but really wouldn't mind if it was not. For Sherlock signs were vivid, but he was aware that people were too often so painfully unobservant. He made sure to be even more obvious, when they met up with Molly.
His fingers danced lightly over John's tanned neck. He teased the skin of John’s wrist with his thumb, when he caught doctor’s hand to get his attention. He stayed half a step closer than usually, crossing firmly the line of personal space. John barely noticed, only lifting his eyes to the detective in surprise and easing down as he saw Sherlock's small, reassuring smile.
"Oh," gasped Molly staring between them and Sherlock met her gaze steadily as John just frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, I will just..."
She mentioned towards the door nervously and left quickly just as John finally figured out what have happened. He punched Sherlock hard in the arm, making him wince in sudden pain.
"That wasn't kind, Sherlock. You..." he run a hand over his face in exasperation. "I'm going to talk to her, you stay here and get a look at the body. And for God's sake try not to hurt its feeling as well, would you?"
"What the hell was that all about?" exclaimed Lestrade and Sherlock looked at him above the corpse.
"Why would you assume, I would know?" he asked with fake innocence.
"Fine, whatever. Just look at the victim of the strangler and tell me how can he have an alibi."
"Oh, that actually is rather obvious. This isn't his victim, but a copy-cat," said Sherlock thoughtfully still carefully examining the body and comparing the bruises with the ones left on the previous victims. Thoughts of Molly and John disappearing from his head for the moment.
Molly obviously wasn't easily distressed for which John was grateful, he didn't feel like drying anyone's tears at the moment. Not to mention he rather doubted he was the right person to console a girl whose two love interests just hooked up. Especially since apparently he was one of them and still couldn't stop grinning just thinking about the after-mentioned hook up. He watched her from the door, thinking about the proper course of action as she filed the folders she held. She obviously needed a moment to get a grip, but when she put the last file into the cabinet and shut it with a loud clinking sound, she turned to John with a small smile and offered him some tea.
They stood arm to arm, leaning against her desk and most of the time, rather than watching each other, they stared at people’s silhouettes barely visible through the frosted glass of her office. John looked at the hot tea in the pink cup with a kitten he was holding in his hands.
"Molly-" he started vaguely unsure how he should proceed, but feeling as he should at least try to say something. Sorry I stole the guy you fancied a bit longer than I did? Sorry I didn't notice you were fancying me? Sorry you always choose guys who like somebody else better or like to blow people up? Maybe it was better that she interrupted him before he decided on anything.
"It's okay, John, really. Can't really blame you, can I? He is rather captivating person. I would know."
"Yes, Molly, actually that's what's bothering me here. You certainly... have a type," he said carefully. Psychotic, genius, powerful. "Smart, captivating personalities, I honestly have no idea how you ended up interested in... well, me."
She let out a small chuckle, stirring her tea mechanically, obviously deep in thought.
"I guess I just... tried really hard to break the scheme? I was so mortified after Jim and you were there being so nice and comforting and..." She shrugged. "Natural human reaction to provided comfort is a raise of sympathy for the comforting party. Not to mention the obvious craving to not choose another psycho boyfriend, obvious adjustment to look for the exact opposite... I felt so stupidly guilty, you know? Always falling for the geniuses that are better than the rest of humanity. That bend the rules and reality around them. Seriously with the type I have it's a miracle I hadn't scored more criminal masterminds. Though now that I think about my high school boyfriend, Arthur..."
John laughed, incredibly glad for her being so strong and charming. He put an arm around her shoulders, hugging her lightly and feeling vaguely guilty himself. He wasn't anyone special, he just needed a bit of mad brightness in his life. He understood Molly perfectly.
"If there's one person to understand your affection for that type, I guess it's me. But I'm afraid I may have stolen the last mad genius on the side of light," he concealed.
"Shame," she sighed jokingly and added in the similar tones: "If he only had a brother we could be both be psychotically happy... What?"
She looked with confused frown at his suddenly thoughtful face and slowly spreading smile.
"The funny thing is, he actually does."
She blinked slowly and watched John questioningly, but he only smiled at her without uttering another word on the subject, making her even more intrigued. She smiled slowly at him, giving in to the feeling of the unknown, already caught in the secret they were about to share. She did love men who were genius enough to be a mystery and never before did she thought she'd meet one who'd be more mysterious than Jim.
Two figures were chatting outside, when Sherlock and John left the room, carrying a bag with Sherlock's newest experiment. The pair ahead of them chuckled at something, both of them clearly at ease with each other. John smiled, hearing Molly's excited voice, followed by Mycroft's pleased smile and polite nodding while he listened with rapt attention.
Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.
"John... what have you done?"
The End
Author: andrea_deer
Characters/Pairing(s): Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Molly.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, lots of giggling and some bad taste in men.
Spoilers/Timeline: All episodes, quite heavily.
Summary/Prompt: Molly suddenly transfers her crush to John. Neither Sherlock nor John quite know how to feel about this. [ here]
Word Count: 2,800.
Beta: None :(
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. And I sort of enjoy this lack of responsibility.
A/N:Written for sherlockbbc_fic.
One could hope that after the meeting with Jim Moriarty Sherlock would finally pay closer attention to Molly. After all, Moriarty did. And Sherlock should be obsessed with the mad criminal mastermind, about every smallest thing he could learn about his nemesis, but as it turned out he was more preoccupied with the things he discovered about himself rather than Jim.
He questioned Molly, of course he did, but his tone stayed cold and detached, as if he was questioning a stranger. He excused himself to talk with Lestrade as soon as her eyes watered. It obviously didn’t matter to him at all, he still didn’t care and the only sign he at least vaguely realized it wasn’t the right thing to do was his clear avoidance of John's gaze and therefore not noticing his glare.
John sighed defeated and moved a chair next to molly, sitting down beside her and gathering her slowly into his arms. Ignoring for the moment his own bruised body and mind, letting it all go, so he could comfort the trembling figure in his arms as she started to weep, choking sobs ripping through her body.
"Shh," he whispered, his hand petting her hair gently. "It's alright, Molly. No one blames you, it wasn't your fault. He's a genius and a really sneaky bastard."
"He was always so sweet and funny, you know? I finally felt as if I could talk to someone, he was always paying attention, remembering the smallest details I mentioned... Now I guess he probably had some surveillance or something, but then it seemed so amazing. Sometimes almost scary, but amazing. Somebody finally paid attention..."
"Shh, I know, Molly. It's alright," he said soothingly just as Sherlock re-entered the room with sergeant Donovan right behind him, obviously annoyed that she was made wait for so long to take an official statement. John met Sherlock's surprised gaze with a small smile as he continued speaking to Molly: You just have a really bad taste in guys, Molly.
She giggled slightly hysterically and he squeezed her tighter for a second before slowly letting her go.
"Are you ready Miss Hooper?" asked Sally in calm, reassuring voice, so much different from the tone she used around Sherlock. She smiled encouragingly at her witness.
Molly nodded steadily, clenching John's hand tightly as if to ground herself. John squeezed her hand under Sherlock’s watchful gaze.
The very first time John noticed something was wrong, was almost three months later, when he and Sherlock visited Bart’s morgue while on the case. They were waiting for the corpse Sherlock wanted to exanimate to back up his theory about poisoning, when Molly brought John a cup of coffee, startling him into surprised smile. He glanced quickly at Sherlock, but the detective was stubbornly staring ahead, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Uh, thank you Molly," he said surprised, because she rarely even noticed him when Sherlock was around, but also rather grateful, wrapping his rather numbed fingers around the warm cup.
She nodded at him with a smile as he took a slow, deliciously hot sip with a blissful sound, watching her curiously. Fair enough, they did get closer recently. They used to chat now, when Sherlock was running around Bart's, looking for bodies or new experiments or staring into microscopes for hours. John pitied the mess Molly got herself into and she did made terrific coffee. And once even offered him her sandwich, when his stomach grumbled. Sherlock dragged him out on the case that night and once again forgot to stop for long enough to let John actually grab something to eat.
Still, John would never expect Molly to pay any attention to him, while Sherlock was actually in the same room and about to make his deductions, beaming triumph at them all.
"I thought you could use it. It's rather chilly and Sherlock is probably making you run around London all day long," she said still smiling charmingly at him.
John let out a small chuckle, barely sparing a glance at the detective, when the man sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Two days long already, actually," he noted. "Really, Molly, thank you so much."
"You're welcome," she said and opened her mouth to add something more, when the sound of the corpse being rolled in on the high table interrupted her. Sherlock snapped on his rubber gloves, glaring at John and Molly shortly before focusing on the victim.
"If you wouldn't mind taking this outside? The idle chat makes my mind rot and I doubt the victim would appreciate this lack of attention."
John rolled his eyes in at the egocentric git he was friends with, looking back only when Molly opened the door and called cheerfully back:
"Sure thing. Coming, John?"
She smiled invitingly and he could only blink in surprise. He looked back at Sherlock as if it was his automatic response to the state of confusion, but the detective merely raised his eyebrows at him.
"I'm not stopping you."
"Still, I think I'd better stay. I promised detective inspector Lestrade I wouldn’t let Sherlock ditch me again. Apparently last time he managed that, he attempted to break into a house and desecrate a grave, all in less than an hour."
"I did not 'attempt' anything," murmured Sherlock, but everyone ignored him.
"Maybe next time," John only added to retreating Molly with a tight smile that he lost the moment the door closed behind her. "What fresh hell was that?!"
Sherlock didn't even glance up from the corpse, unbuttoning its shirt to look at the purple marks spreading over the chest.
"Probably some kind of poison as I thought. Obviously spreading through the blood, look at the discoloring of the veins..."
"I meant Molly, Sherlock."
The look John finally received from his friend spoke even more of his annoyance than his scathing tone or words.
"John, we're investigating a murder here. If you think your love life is more important perhaps you should attend to it. As I said, I can very well manage here on my own... Oh, fine, what is it?"
"What love life?! I have no love life! Especially not with Molly!"
"Could have fooled me," mused the detective, taking off his gloves with a loud snap. "It certainly fooled, Molly. Now," he added meeting John's eyes with a maniac grin "I believe we have an unfaithful spouse to catch."
He left with a swirl of his coat and John followed dutifully after a stunned moment, his mind still buzzing with questions. Finally the most insisting one slipped from between his lips.
"The spouse did it?" he called, quickening his steps to keep up with his excited friend.
Sherlock glanced at him with a self satisfied smile and started explaining in his usual fashion, never waiting for John to catch up and still trusting him to manage. And never getting disappointed.
"Bother to enlighten me now?"
"Hmm? Oh, I was sure you followed my explanation for the Yard. I assure you I can't make it any clearer, John," drawled Sherlock in a bored voice as he throw his coat on the sofa and fell back into his armchair, his muscles finally relaxing.
"I meant about Molly," clarified John walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
"What about her?" frowned Sherlock.
"You said she's my love life," said John leaning against the kitchen's entry and watching the detective. "She's not my love life. What did you mean I fooled you both?"
Sherlock was frowning at him as if John had honestly managed to surprise him.
"I thought it was obvious. I saw you at her questioning, you obviously provided the comfort she needed, I assume you got closer after that. The increasing of talks and flirting suggested as much. Not to mention the obvious signs of the number of smiles you exchange or the casual touching."
John blinked, looking stunned, which apparently made Sherlock even more confused.
"You honestly paid no attention to all those details?" he questioned in surprise. "Fascinating."
"You apparently did for the both of us!" exclaimed John, more annoyed with the fact that he apparently led a poor girl on without noticing a thing than with Sherlock vaguely suggesting he's a blind fool. Again.
The detective looked away with an awkward scratch to his head that John will one of these days tell him to stop, because the last time John saw Sherlock so awkwardly insure there was a smell of chlorine and a bomb, and John think he may be having a slight case of post traumatic stress disorder.
"Could have warned me," spoke John quickly to erase the picture of dark pool from his mind and continue their conversation in slightly less murderous theme. "You know that not all of us are geniuses."
"You do insist you're more experienced in this area," protested Sherlock. "And the signs really were rather obvious."
"You must've made me immune with your lack of respect for personal space. I mean, after The Pool you even made me tea once or twice," murmured John and suddenly remembered about his own abandoned tea-making activities and went back to the kitchen.
He poured water into the cups, frowning at the silence from his friend. He put down the kettle loudly, forgetting suddenly about such trivial things as sugar or milk, as he went back into the living room, staring at Sherlock in shock.
"Yes, well..." admitted Sherlock awkwardly.
"Oh," breathed John. Shocked. Astounded. Completely stunned.
Sherlock finally met his friend's gaze, now with a put out glint in his eyes as if blaming John for being so obviously dense.
"I assumed obviously that lack of reaction and the increasing interest in Molly were a rather clear rejection."
"Oh."
"Your current admission somehow changes my view on the matter, however I honestly don't know how could I have been any clearer-"
In few quick strides John crossed the living room, sliding over Sherlock's lap and silencing him with a kiss. Stunned, the detective stayed immobile for a fracture of second, the feel of John's tongue surging him in to the action, hands flying to John's face to bring him closer, savor him, mouth opening wide, tongues playing and sliding teasing against each other.
John moved his head back, ignoring Sherlock hungry growl and pressing his forehead against the detective's.
"That wasn't obvious, this is obvious. Next time you need to be more like that. I am apparently dumber than we both assumed."
"I'll draw you a chart," growled the detective and swallowed John's giggles.
The next time they walked into Bart's there was something different about them. John hoped it was subtle, but really wouldn't mind if it was not. For Sherlock signs were vivid, but he was aware that people were too often so painfully unobservant. He made sure to be even more obvious, when they met up with Molly.
His fingers danced lightly over John's tanned neck. He teased the skin of John’s wrist with his thumb, when he caught doctor’s hand to get his attention. He stayed half a step closer than usually, crossing firmly the line of personal space. John barely noticed, only lifting his eyes to the detective in surprise and easing down as he saw Sherlock's small, reassuring smile.
"Oh," gasped Molly staring between them and Sherlock met her gaze steadily as John just frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, I will just..."
She mentioned towards the door nervously and left quickly just as John finally figured out what have happened. He punched Sherlock hard in the arm, making him wince in sudden pain.
"That wasn't kind, Sherlock. You..." he run a hand over his face in exasperation. "I'm going to talk to her, you stay here and get a look at the body. And for God's sake try not to hurt its feeling as well, would you?"
"What the hell was that all about?" exclaimed Lestrade and Sherlock looked at him above the corpse.
"Why would you assume, I would know?" he asked with fake innocence.
"Fine, whatever. Just look at the victim of the strangler and tell me how can he have an alibi."
"Oh, that actually is rather obvious. This isn't his victim, but a copy-cat," said Sherlock thoughtfully still carefully examining the body and comparing the bruises with the ones left on the previous victims. Thoughts of Molly and John disappearing from his head for the moment.
Molly obviously wasn't easily distressed for which John was grateful, he didn't feel like drying anyone's tears at the moment. Not to mention he rather doubted he was the right person to console a girl whose two love interests just hooked up. Especially since apparently he was one of them and still couldn't stop grinning just thinking about the after-mentioned hook up. He watched her from the door, thinking about the proper course of action as she filed the folders she held. She obviously needed a moment to get a grip, but when she put the last file into the cabinet and shut it with a loud clinking sound, she turned to John with a small smile and offered him some tea.
They stood arm to arm, leaning against her desk and most of the time, rather than watching each other, they stared at people’s silhouettes barely visible through the frosted glass of her office. John looked at the hot tea in the pink cup with a kitten he was holding in his hands.
"Molly-" he started vaguely unsure how he should proceed, but feeling as he should at least try to say something. Sorry I stole the guy you fancied a bit longer than I did? Sorry I didn't notice you were fancying me? Sorry you always choose guys who like somebody else better or like to blow people up? Maybe it was better that she interrupted him before he decided on anything.
"It's okay, John, really. Can't really blame you, can I? He is rather captivating person. I would know."
"Yes, Molly, actually that's what's bothering me here. You certainly... have a type," he said carefully. Psychotic, genius, powerful. "Smart, captivating personalities, I honestly have no idea how you ended up interested in... well, me."
She let out a small chuckle, stirring her tea mechanically, obviously deep in thought.
"I guess I just... tried really hard to break the scheme? I was so mortified after Jim and you were there being so nice and comforting and..." She shrugged. "Natural human reaction to provided comfort is a raise of sympathy for the comforting party. Not to mention the obvious craving to not choose another psycho boyfriend, obvious adjustment to look for the exact opposite... I felt so stupidly guilty, you know? Always falling for the geniuses that are better than the rest of humanity. That bend the rules and reality around them. Seriously with the type I have it's a miracle I hadn't scored more criminal masterminds. Though now that I think about my high school boyfriend, Arthur..."
John laughed, incredibly glad for her being so strong and charming. He put an arm around her shoulders, hugging her lightly and feeling vaguely guilty himself. He wasn't anyone special, he just needed a bit of mad brightness in his life. He understood Molly perfectly.
"If there's one person to understand your affection for that type, I guess it's me. But I'm afraid I may have stolen the last mad genius on the side of light," he concealed.
"Shame," she sighed jokingly and added in the similar tones: "If he only had a brother we could be both be psychotically happy... What?"
She looked with confused frown at his suddenly thoughtful face and slowly spreading smile.
"The funny thing is, he actually does."
She blinked slowly and watched John questioningly, but he only smiled at her without uttering another word on the subject, making her even more intrigued. She smiled slowly at him, giving in to the feeling of the unknown, already caught in the secret they were about to share. She did love men who were genius enough to be a mystery and never before did she thought she'd meet one who'd be more mysterious than Jim.
Two figures were chatting outside, when Sherlock and John left the room, carrying a bag with Sherlock's newest experiment. The pair ahead of them chuckled at something, both of them clearly at ease with each other. John smiled, hearing Molly's excited voice, followed by Mycroft's pleased smile and polite nodding while he listened with rapt attention.
Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.
"John... what have you done?"
The End