657Hello Again! It has been a while sorry, but this story has been much more confusing to write and so it has taken longer to work out the plot etc etc. This fanfiction will be a Molly/Sherlock romance once again, but the plot takes a much more heavy focus. I hope everyone enjoys this opening chapter and I really hope people will tell me if anything isn't up to standard. Thank you
I don't own BBC Sherlock, or it's characters. I'm just having fun.
Chapter One: Sherlock is reinstated, Molly is delighted.
"Now for our top news story. You may remember the Reichenbach hero, Sherlock Holmes, taking his own life last June after it was discovered he murdered several innocent victims and kidnapped young children, all in an attempt to make himself appear a genius..."
Molly scoffed, glancing at the television screen across the room as she placed the milk back in her fridge. It was the usual morning BBC news, two reporters sat on the bright red sofas as they gave the woken world the latest updates. This was all she had heard for the past several months, Sherlock's name being discredited, disgraced all because of a malevolent criminal who liked to play games. She knew the truth, one Miss Molly Hooper, because she and Sherlock's own brother, Mycroft, had helped the perfect genius pull off the intricate deception. And no matter how many stories of him being a fake were thrown at her ears, she wasn't going to believe them.
"...Well it has been announced earlier this morning that Sherlock Holmes was innocent after all and faked his own death in order to expose the most dangerous criminal mastermind Britain has ever known. Jim Moriarty..."
The mouthful of tea Molly had just sipped, flung its way across her kitchen side, dribbling down her chin as her eyes widened an unnatural amount. He was back? Oh my god! He was back! She couldn't help the rush of emotions that coursed their way across her skin, the thumping of her heart against her lungs or the shaking of her hands. Molly squealed in delight, jumping around in circles on the spot before the tears of joy began to fall. He'd done it. Sherlock had defeated the enemy and was now able to return to his normal life. It was all Molly had dreamt about for months.
"...Now it is not exactly known how he managed to pull off the elaborate hoax and it was presumed that he had an aide to help save a nation. However, in an interview with the Independent, Sherlock Holmes denied all speculation that anyone else had been involved, including his close friend, Doctor John Watson and claims to have removed any threat to the nation singlehandedly. Melissa Arkwright reports."
She continued to high five the air, no one around to see the joy in which she felt in that moment. Molly switched off the television, picking up her tea and skipping to her room as she went to dress for work, utterly and completely thrilled to know she could finally stop worrying about him.
On her way to St Bart's, her only thoughts were whether or not she would see him soon. She guessed it wouldn't be for a while, too busy with being hassled by the press, the Reichenbach hero, a hero after all. Her suspicions were confirmed when she headed to the canteen first thing, a muffled chatter cascading its way across the room as the small television showed Sherlock and John pushing through a crowd of life-sucking paparazzi, attempting to leave 221B Baker Street. Molly's face rounded into a smile, those familiar black curls and prominent cheek bones making her heart flutter in her chest. It was an indescribable feeling of happiness that took hold of her, finally having the love of her life back in London.
But she couldn't let herself get distracted. She had half a dozen post-mortems on her list for the day and piles of paperwork to sort through, as well as having to deal with the looks she got from varying people down the corridors.
Her crush on him had been widely hypothesized throughout the hospital, or if people didn't speculate, they knew of Sherlock's almost constant presence in Molly's lab, him referring to her as the, "only competent Pathologist in the whole hospital." And it now resulted in funny looks, sympathetic gazes, pats on the back as she headed to her office. Molly attempted to ignore it all, already working a full day and didn't need the added distraction of Sherlock's reinstatement into the world.
She reached her lab, dumped down the heavy files clutched in her arms and looked at the clock. Sighing, usually enjoying her job though mind occupied elsewhere, she left the papers there for later, heading to the morgue to begin her day.
Most of the autopsies were simple, taking less than two hours each to conduct. Two car accidents, one heart attack, one drug overdose and a suicide. The final autopsy on her list would take another day of examination, the cause of death not overly straightforward to determine. This was a normal day for Molly however, there being almost always one bugger that died under suspicious circumstances.
The rest of her day she decided to spend catching up on the records, the most tedious and painstaking part of her job. After a break and some much needed crisps, Molly pulled up her lab stool and began to write, concentrating hard on the different forms that needed to be filled in.
She checked the time again, her twelve hour shift beginning to take its toll, thinking about the warmth of her bed and Toby scratching at the newly painted doorframes. Looking back to the lines and squiggles, Molly noticed an envelope poking out slightly from underneath her last few files, almost certain it hadn't been there that morning. She frowned, sliding it out and observing it closely. There was no name on the cream coloured front, nor any indication of the sender, but she could only assume it was for her. Why else would it have been hidden amongst her files, in her own personal work space?
Cautiously, the Pathologist opened the seal with a shaky finger, pulling out the small note inside, a piece of card, also cream and matching the envelope. The second her eyes landed on the handwriting, Molly knew who it was. That same rush of emotions clouded her brain and restricted her heart. It read:
Angelo's 10:30
Her cheeks began to ache, the smile on her face so big she was sure people would think her deranged, but she couldn't help it. How long had she dreamt of his return? His gallant, brilliant, fantastic return? Molly finished the rest of her work, packed her things quicker than she ever thought possible, switched out the lights and headed to the restaurant, wanting to make sure she wasn't late. He'd mentioned it in the past to her, this place, and she had a vague idea of its location, but just to double check, she'd used the map on her phone, not wanting to miss an opportunity such as this. An opportunity she had hoped and prayed for since the day he had left all those months ago.
Parking down a side road and still in her work clothes, Molly locked the car and nervously twisted her hands together, knowing she was about to meet the man that meant the world to her and whom she thought she would never see again. She rounded the corner and came to a halt, staring, confused, at the restaurant before her. No lights were on (none that she could see anyway) and the sign on the door said closed, despite the closing time being a half hour before midnight. In a panic, Molly yanked up her sleeve to look at her watch and rooted through her bag, unfolding the note and reading the details to make sure she hadn't got it wrong. But just as she frowned painfully and turned away, the door flung open, a round-bellied man grinning at her eagerly.
"Um, H-hello." She muttered warily, expecting to be greeted by someone else. The Pathologist glanced behind her, confused, and then looked back to the man, "I-I thought it was – did you send me the note?" The man just laughed and stood to the side, gesturing for her to enter the darkness. Molly's mind raced for a moment in hesitation, wondering whether this was some evil trickery, instead of what she had initially thought. Though she knew the handwriting and trusted the man whole-heartedly who had sent it. He wouldn't put her in danger, he would never put anyone he cared about in danger, so she stepped shyly inside, watching over her shoulder as the man with the long grey ponytail, closed and locked the door behind them.
"This way." He said in a thick, gravelly voice, walking to the back of the room to a more secluded part of the restaurant. There were a number of private booths, high wooden panels with a circular seat, a small light on the table being the only illumination.
And that was when she saw him.
Molly's breath hitched in her throat, tears formed in her eyes as she saw him sat in one of the booths. Sherlock was looking down at something, a menu presumably or his phone, hair on his head as perfect as ever and the flicker of a candlelight extenuating his perfect face.
The man, who she presumed owned the place, guided her over, making Sherlock look up from the table. He immediately stood, the faintest of smiles pulling at his lips, as though he was glad to see her, she hoped as much. His hands straightened his suit jacket and slipped casually into his pant pockets.
"Molly." Sherlock uttered and the Pathologist wasn't entirely sure if her knees would support her after the rumble of his voice coursed its way through her limbs. All she managed was a giggle, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she fought back the urge to hug him. He wouldn't like that, sentimentality and all. However, Molly would be exceedingly surprised if he and John hadn't hugged since his arrival back in London. They were best friends after all and John had thought Sherlock was dead and buried.
She took the last few steps to sit down, his familiar long coat placed carefully between them.
"Thank you, Angelo." Sherlock said dismissively to the man, unbuttoning his suit jacket and resting his back on the padded seat. Angelo nodded compliantly, exiting the room through a back door to give them some privacy.
"You did it." Finally finding her voice, she fiddled with the zip on her coat, not sure what this was all about, or whether she would be there long enough to remove her coat. Sherlock smiled brightly then and chuckled deeply, a hint of smugness in his eyes.
"Did you ever doubt me for a second, Molly Hooper?"
"No." She responded immediately, another giggle falling clumsily from her mouth. Tears still pricked at her eyes and her lungs felt restricted, "How did John take the news?"
Sherlock reacted with a small sigh, "He wouldn't speak to me at first, punched me, threatened to smash my skull." Molly's eyes went wide in shock, not thinking he was capable of such violence. Sherlock noticed and rolled his eyes, "The skull that I talk to, helps me to think."
"Oh."
"But I managed to charm him round, Mrs Hudson too."
Molly smiled, "Have you been back long?"
"A week." He said nonchalantly, "I've been hiding at Baker Street. Mycroft needed to clear up a few loose ends before I could reveal myself. Questions to answer, people to interrogate, that sort of thing."
"A-and you're back for good?"
"Hopefully. With thanks to yourself and Mycroft, John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson are out of danger." His voice dropped volume, "I owe you and my dear brother my life."
"I'd risk everything again, if it kept you safe."
There was a silence then, Molly not entirely sure what she was here for. Surely not idle chatter, Sherlock hated idle chatter. So she turned her attention to current events, the reason for this late night meeting, "What is all this?"
Molly observed him as he cleared his throat and lowered his eyes, "The press are all over my back as you have most likely noticed. They all want a little piece of me and I'm not willing to play into their hands." His words were spat like venom from a snake's mouth, not shy in letting Molly know how much he despised the life of fame, "This is why we are meeting like this. I needed to speak with you without raising suspicion."
"Why? Don't want the press to think you've got a girlfriend?" It was intended as a joke and Molly even laughed to add to the affect. But all she received in return was a look that said the joke was distasteful to him. He sighed dejectedly and she wanted to take it back, "Sorry." She whispered shyly.
Molly nodded awkwardly when Sherlock didn't respond and thought back to his request. She presumed it was another appeal for her help, access to the lab, documents to look at. She removed her coat, placed it down next to her bag and gave him her undivided attention. Angelo entered again at this point, carrying a tray. He rested the tray on the table, placing a bowl of pasta down in front of her, as well as a small glass of red wine. Molly couldn't help but raise her eyebrows, unsure what to think, watching as Angelo handed a mug of coffee to Sherlock before walking away.
"Um I-"
"Don't read too much into it." Sherlock said indifferently, his eyes a hint of teasing, the familiar snappy edge to his voice returning, "I had to thank you in some way, for the help you gave me-"
"Oh it was nothing." Molly felt like rolling her eyes at her own words, but Sherlock did it for her.
"Molly," God how she loved the way he said her name, "please, don't try to be the modest unknown hero. You risked your job, your career, everything you have ever known to help me. I should probably do more than buy you dinner, but you know I'm not one for grand gestures."
She laughed, gazing into his smouldering blue eyes, wishing she could run her hands through his hair and kiss those tempting lips, "You could just say thank you, you know. That would have been enough for me." Molly could see him holding back a grin, a slight twitch of his lip giving him away. Instead of responding to her, he took a sip of his drink, sniffing it casually before placing it back down on the saucer.
Molly tucked into her food then, secretly wondering if Sherlock had known her favourite pasta dish. Oh come on, Molly. Who was she trying to kid? Of course he knew. He probably only needed to look at state of her nails and he would be able to tell her everything she had done that day. He was a genius and she couldn't help the strange satisfaction she got every time his eyes travelled to observe her.
Silence had commenced between them for a short while, not an uncomfortable silence, just one that stated both enjoyed the other's company without a word having to be spoken. But Molly's mind raced with so many questions. Where had he been? What had he done? Were things going to continue as before? Was he okay? Did he-
"Go on." His voice rumbled.
"What?" She replied, still chewing on a slither of pasta. Sherlock's eyes moved around the room, his way of acting like he was only vaguely interested.
"Ask me." Of course he knew. Molly only hoped and prayed he couldn't read her thoughts all the time, otherwise she'd be walking around with her cheeks constantly flushed. But she wasn't curious about his actions over the last seven months. Molly was more concerned about how he was, if he had coped being without friends for months on end.
"Are you okay?" His face turned to stone at this, a face of surprise and unwillingness to express emotion, obviously not the question he had anticipated. His eyes averted her gaze and stared intently at the emerald green table cloth. He didn't respond, so she pressed further.
"I know it must have been difficult for you. Well I-I don't know personally because I've never had to- No, I mean..." She stopped and clutched her eyes shut for a second, trying to form a coherent sentence, taking a deep breath, "Seven months away from everything you care about, can't have been easy. I don't know what you've done in that time, or where you've been. But you must have found it hard. I know I would." His eyes were fixated on her, mouth faintly parted and a sad look washing over him.
He tried to seem unaffected by her words, putting on a cheerful tone as he spoke, "You're quite observant when you want to be, Molly."
"That's not answering my question." Sherlock wasn't going to get away with it again. He avoided questions about emotions and it wasn't the first time he'd done it to her. But Molly wanted to reassure him it was okay to care and he wasn't alone in all of this, "Are you okay?"
The detectives eyes didn't leave hers, the intensity of his gaze making her want to look away. But she couldn't. She needed to make her point and she wasn't going to back down.
He glanced down and took a short breath, "I used to live alone and it was easier than having to live with other people." There was a pause, "But seven months without contact with Mrs Hudson, John, Lestrade...you," Molly's breath hitched at this. She really did count, "Let's just say I wish I could have had someone to talk to."
Molly instinctively leant forward to comfort, though remembered who she was sitting with and so kept her hands free from his shoulder. Instead, she swallowed down the tears of sadness she felt for his struggle and tried words of reassurance.
"You could have talked to me. I-I'd have always been ready to talk, no matter where I was, or what I was doing."
"It wouldn't have been safe to contact anyone." Sherlock was clearly not happy with the way the conversation had turned, hands now fixed to the cup in front of him, "I had contact with Mycroft, my dear brother, but that was only when necessary. Updates on Moriarty's enemies, whether or not I'd been found and needed to change location. Not a conversation meant to console, let it be assured."
Molly wasn't sure what else to say. Her pasta had been forgotten about, his coffee finished long ago. In her ideal world, she would comfort him in the best way she could, a hug, words, anything she knew. Though, this was her and he was him and with her undying love and his constant indifference, Molly didn't know how to tell him everything would be okay now.
Though Molly regretted saying nothing, she wished she had said something, anything to prolong the moment, for he proceeded to wrap his scarf around his neck and grab his thick coat next to him. Without a word, he stood pulled his coat over his shoulders and smiled at her as he covered his hands in a pair of leather gloves.
"Mycroft will be in contact to debrief you. There are a few details that need to be covered."
"O-okay." Molly stuttered, sad that he was now leaving her presence. If only she had said something. Sherlock looked at her then, blue eyes piercing brown as his look became thoughtful.
"Thank you, Molly Hooper. For everything." And with that, he swivelled on his heel and headed through the back door of the restaurant. She continued to sit there, stunned and confused at the evening's turn of events. Sherlock had not only survived this ordeal, he had somewhat opened up to her and bought her dinner, three things Molly thought might never happen. A smile built itself upon her delicate face then, her back coming to rest down on the plush red fabric behind her.
She wondered where things would go from here.