Fic for horrorfangirl: Where Speech Ends (Part 3/7)

[holmesticemods]

Were you popular in school?

He hated being in the spotlight. Well, that wasn't entirely true. It greatly depended on what he was in the spotlight for. He'd always been pleased to be front and center in scholarly pursuits, to have his name mentioned for academic acclaim. It was when it deviated from that that he was uncomfortable. He had never had many friends, few at all, all through the first years of schooling. He had faded into the background and preferred it to the times when he was picked on and beaten. No attention was better than the wrong attention. When he had gone to university he had tried to cultivate friendships, or at least acquaintances. But that had gone poorly as well. It was why he had spent the last few years looking back on his school years with disdain.

The period of time after he had met John but before his fall had been some of the best moments of his life to that point. Even with the unwanted popularity that had come with being lauded as the world's finest consulting detective, he'd had a friend, a true friend. Well, to be honest, it was plural. It wasn't until it was all gone that he realized that while John was his closest and dearest friend Molly, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were friends as well at various degrees. And when he had to leave them, he realized the sudden turn in popularity would never change how those four felt about him.

When he returned he knew it would be front page news. The great Sherlock Holmes, alive. The press was quite pervasive into his life for a while, but it had died down greatly by the time John and Mary became man and wife and was almost nonexistent by the time he'd hatched the plan to trap Magnussen. It had made pulling off a fictitious relationship much easier because there wasn't always a man with a camera nearby. But the minute Janine sold her fictitious story to the tabloids and he had shot Magnussen and Moriarty's “Miss Me?” message had popped up all over every screen in the nation, there was always someone with a camera nearby. The world had gone back to wanting any tiny nugget of his life they could get.

He had hoped by now the general public wouldn't be hanging on edge for glimpses into his life, but he wasn't that lucky. His popularity seemed to have an ebb and flow to it, and this was one of the times when the world gave a damn about him. That could pose some serious problems, so he was careful not to give the paparazzi anything to report on in regards to his personal life. Oh, he knew Molly would probably enjoy being close to him in public, holding his hand or giving him a quick kiss, but that would bring her into the public consciousness more than she was. For the moment they were pretending to be close friends. No one had to know the real depths of his feelings, depths he was continuing to figure out as more days went by. He didn't want undue attention brought to her because it would be the same hell it was for him and she didn't deserve that. But more than that, it would bring a spotlight to just how important she was to him, and that in turn would make her more enticing as bait for whatever it was Moriarty had planned for him this go round, or worse, it would make her more enticing as a target on her own. Keeping up pretenses of friendship would keep her safer, no matter how much harder it was doing so.

It led to him having to be creative for ways to make her feel as though their relationship was an ordinary one. He liked her home well enough and she seemed to be quite comfortable in his home, and for the most part had few objections spending time with him in either place. He was glad about that, because behind closed doors he could be affectionate, be the boyfriend she deserved. He reacted differently to the instances of physical intimacy with Molly than he had other times he had needed to have them. He would actually savor the feel of Molly curled up next to him, watching a film on the telly, and enjoy the moment when her hand would brush his when he insisted on helping to make whatever meal she had felt like preparing. The kisses, the moments when he felt a wellspring of passion inside him come to the surface, stayed with him and brought him out of the dark thoughts he would sink into as he continued to puzzle out Moriarty's end game. She was a bright spot in his life, and he was happy for the first time in a truly long time.

Something didn't seem to be right at the moment, though. It had been building for a while and seemed to be coming to a head tonight. She was being quiet, quieter than normal. The usually companionable silence between them was strained. She was also holding herself away from him, not giving even the barest hint that she wanted to be close. The distance she was putting between them was confusing. And on top of it all she seemed to have something on her mind, and he wanted to know exactly what it was. He couldn't attempt to figure out how to rectify the situation if he didn't know what the problem was in the first place. “You have something you want to say,” he said quietly after another conversation starter between them hit a dead end.

She was quiet for a moment, looking at her food. Then she picked up her glass of wine and took a long sip. He usually avoided alcohol, especially since the disaster that was John's stag night, but there was now always a bottle or two of wine around for Molly to have a glass from. He knew it was relaxing for her and therefore it was worth the space in the refrigerator. When she was done she set her glass down and looked at him. “I don't particularly care if the entire world knows we're dating.” He opened his mouth but she held up a hand and he stopped. “I care about you, Sherlock. Very much. And I understand the practical reasons for trying to convince the world we're just friends. But I would love to be able to shout it out from the rooftops that we're dating, to be honest. I know you want me to stay safe, and I want that too, but I don't want to hide it anymore.”

He looked down and thought. He should have known it would get to this at some point, where she would want to be open about it. But he really didn't want to. Practical reasons were the main reasons, of course, but there was also a selfish aspect to it, that he had something that was all his own, that no one could ruin or take away from him. “I see,” he said finally.

“I don't think you do,” she said. “Sherlock, it's not even a well kept secret. People talk, people speculate. I hear it and I see it in print and I just wish I could be honest, that I could say we are in a relationship and that we're quite happy with each other.” Then she paused. “If we are both happy, I mean.”

He looked up at her sharply. “Are you not happy with our relationship?” he asked.

“With most of it, yes. But with keeping it a secret? No. No, I'm not happy with that, not any longer.” She took the napkin off her lap and set it on the table next to her plate. “Do you want to make it public knowledge that you care enough about me to be in an exclusive relationship with me?”

“It's not the best idea,” he said. “Because--”

“Because Moriarty will find out and I'll be in danger? Because I'll be under the scrutiny of the tabloids? Because you'll have to admit that you care?” she said, her voice sounding angry. “I've been in danger the entire time, because we both know by now Moriarty has realized I helped fake your death. And the tabloids mean nothing to me. I don't care what other people think. I only care what you think. And I don't think you want to admit you care about me in that way in public, Sherlock, and that's the worst part.” She stood up and looked at him. “I'm sorry. I just...it's been a long week and this all bubbled up, and now that it's in the open I don't actually want to deal with it right now. I...we can talk about it later.”

He watched her leave the table with wide eyes. He should have made a move to stop her, but he didn't move an inch as she went to the coat rack and got her coat, then picked up her handbag off the table where she'd set it. He stared at where she had been when he heard the front door open and then close, still trying to process what she had said. Did she honestly think he wouldn't admit he cared? He did care, more than she thought he did, more than he was used to caring. He just kept the fact he cared at all between them because it was special. He didn't want to share because he was afraid people would try and ruin it, make him doubt her or worse, make her doubt him. He was afraid people would try and sabotage his happiness. But he was doing that just fine on his own, apparently. He moved about in a daze, cleaning up the plates and glasses, putting the food away. It seemed so final, what she had said. It had seemed as though she was done with him, that she was done with them, and he didn't want that at all.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since she left when he decided to do something about it. He was never really any good with words, with articulating how he felt in a way that would show how deep his feelings ran, mostly because he felt as though he didn't have a poetic bone in his body. But he knew there was a way to speak to her that communicated things just fine. He went to the drawer and plucked her iPod out of it, and then grabbed the portable speakers she had given to him so that when she was there they could listen to music together. Music seemed to be something that connected them, bound them together. She would share new songs with him, slowly increasing his worldview and his perception of her. Some of it was pure drivel, and some of it struck a chord. And one song in particular would tell her very clearly how he truly felt. She should have been home by now, he thought to himself as he set the things in his hands down to put on his coat and scarf. There was still a bite to the air and he was going to make the most public proclamation he could, which meant he would be outside. He just hoped it worked.

He picked the things up again and then made his way out of his home to get a cab. It took a moment, but soon he was in the cab and on his way to Montague Street. He knew she was on the first floor with a flat that faced the street, so hopefully traffic would be light enough that she would hear it from outside her window. When he got to her building he paid the driver and stepped out, waiting a moment. It seemed to be quiet, even though it was early, but there was no light on in her flat. Perhaps she had retired early for the night. He moved to the left a bit and then forward, going almost directly under her bedroom window. He plugged the speakers into the iPod and then fiddled with the music player to get to the right song before pocketing it and lifting the speakers up and tilting them towards the window as the opening chords began to play.

Thirty seconds in a dog began to bark, just as Lorde's voice began to filter out of the speakers. He scowled in that general direction and then turned his attention back to the window of her bedroom, waiting for the light to turn on. He knew she knew this song; she'd sing along to it softly when it came on, and there were times he'd tune out the actual singer and listen to Molly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he did. She would definitely realize the importance of it. But as the actual song started, there was no change.

We've both got a million bad habits to kick
Not sleeping is one
We're biting our nails, you're biting my lip
I'm biting my tongue

“Turn it down!” he heard someone yell from a window. Really, this was going to get embarrassing if she didn't come to the window soon, but he wasn't about to give up. The dog continued to bark and he heard someone else shout “Ugh, not another Lorde song,” and he realized he only had a little more time until someone actually tried to make him turn it off. But then the chorus kicked in and that was the important part.

When people are talking, people are talking
When people are talking, people are talking
When people are talking, people are talking
When people are talking, people are talking

Raise a glass, cause I'm not done saying it
They all wanna get rough, get away with it
Let 'em talk 'cause we're dancing in this world alone
World alone
We're alone

“If you don't turn that bloody song off so help me...” the first person shouted towards the window, and Sherlock sighed as he saw no change in her bedroom window. Obviously she didn't care. He turned the music off, and there was a huffy “Finally” said in his general direction. He had tried the grand gesture and it hadn't worked, which was typical for him, he supposed. He turned to move to the curb and stopped as he saw Molly standing next to him, a bag of groceries in her arms.

“Sherlock?” she asked. “What were you...?” She trailed off as she looked at him, confusion on her face.

He blinked for a moment and then shifted his hold on the speakers. “I had thought you were home,” he said.

She lifted up the bag. “I went and got some of my comfort foods,” she said. “Crisps, ice cream and strawberries.”

“Strawberries cost an ungodly amount right now,” he said.

“Yes, but they taste very good.” She lowered the bag slightly. “Why were you playing music outside my bedroom window?”

“I wanted to show you that I will publicly share how I feel about you,” he said. “If you want our relationship to be public, then it should be public. I won't keep hiding it.”

She smiled at him. “You do realize the actual version of that song isn't really a romantic song, right? That this remix changes the meaning by leaving out bits of it?”

“No, because you haven't put it on here for me to listen to yet,” he said, the corner of his mouth inching up slightly. “But it was the chorus in this version that said what I wanted to say more than the rest of it.”

“Then I'm glad I got to hear that part,” she said. “I suppose I could invite you up and share the original version with you, for comparisons sake. If you want to, I mean.”

“I would be amenable to that,” he said with a nod.

“All right. Good,” she said, her smile widening. She moved closer to him. “The whole not caring who knows...does this mean I can actually snog you in public now?”

“That was part of what my declaration meant,” he said as he took a step closer to her.

“That's very good to know,” she said, closing the gap. She leaned in as he tilted his head down and kissed him softly. She seemed not to want to separate, and if it hadn't been for both of their arms being full he would have pulled her close and kept kissing her until he was forced to stop. But too soon she pulled away, looking up at him with a wide smile and bright eyes, and suddenly there was clapping, whistling and cheering heard from other tenants in her building. She laughed, her eyes getting even brighter, and blushed slightly. “Well, I can see it won't be a secret much longer around here.”

“That's fine,” he said, giving her a slightly wider smile. “We'll deal with whatever comes our way together.”

“Good,” she said. “Come on. Let's go inside.” And with that she turned to her building and he followed, knowing that he had done the absolute best thing he could and it had paid off handsomely.

What do you like about dating? What don't you like?

She had to admit, she was quite happy to actually be able to tell people she was dating Sherlock. It had been over a month since he'd walked out with her in public while holding her hand in a clear sign to the world that yes, they were dating. It was very nice to be able to go out and actually act like a couple. The first few dates they had been on after he admitted he was in a relationship there had been a small swarm of photographers following them, and that was mildly annoying. And seeing the speculation in the tabloids wasn't particularly pleasant. But she'd go through it a million times just to be able to go out in public with her boyfriend and have the world know it.

The attention seemed to be dying down, though, and she was quite thankful for that. She had the feeling he was quite grateful for it as well. He'd have an expression on his face when there was someone with a camera as though he wanted to possibly do some bodily harm, but usually a squeeze of the hand and a quiet word of encouragement from her that soon they would be inside a building or in a taxi would be enough to make the moment pass. It happened much less frequently now, and she felt that had something to do with the scandalous antics of a certain beloved child star grown into wild adult and the bad boy member of one of the reigning pop groups. Whatever the reason, the attention being off the two of them was lovely.

Sherlock had been acting secretive the last few days, though, and that had made her concerned. He was actively keeping something from her, and that wasn't like him. He was honest with her and quite open, maybe even to a fault. It was as though he had done a complete 180 degree turn in how he treated her when it came to secrets once they started dating, so for him to go back to sly and secretive ways was concerning, and she felt she should address it. But probably not tonight; while she was not the type to be fanatical about anniversaries, she felt they should do something considering today it had been exactly six months since their first date. It was definitely a milestone that should be recognized.

She was currently at work, in the middle of a complicated autopsy, when there was a knock at the swinging doors leading into her work area. She frowned; no one ever knocked. If there was a body they were simply brought in with someone calling out and asking where she wanted it, and if it was a DI needing autopsy reports they came in and simply waited. She sighed and then looked up. “I'm a bit busy at the moment so just come in, all right?”

The doors opened and she saw a man looking awkward stride in. “I've been sent here by Mr. Holmes,” he said.

“Which one?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“The eldest,” he replied. “He needs to speak with you.”

“Well, as you can see, I'm in the middle of an autopsy,” she said, gesturing with the small intestines she currently had in her hand. The man near the door looked a bit green when she did that. “If Mycroft wants to speak to me he'll need to come in here. It's going to take at least another hour and a half for me to finish and it's not the type of thing I can stop in the middle of.”

“I'll...tell him,” the man said.

“If you're going to vomit there's a washroom on the left, down the hall,” she said, going back to her work. “Try your best to make it there.” She heard the door be pushed open rather hard and the pounding of feet on the floor until the door closed behind him. She had relative peace and quiet for nearly forty minutes and then the doors opened again. She glanced up again and saw Mycroft standing there, metal point of his umbrella on the floor and hands crossed as they gripped the handle. “Next time you might want to send someone to fetch me who's used to the sight of dead bodies.”

“I was rather pressed for time when I picked him,” he said. “I didn't think a person could spend nearly twenty minutes retching before they realized they had nothing left to vomit up.”

“Well, he must have overestimated how much his stomach could hold. Either that he had dry heaves and didn't want to embarrass himself in front of you by vomiting up something he hadn't counted on,” she said, going back to her autopsy. “Why were you attempting to kidnap me?”

“We need to talk about Sherlock,” he said. “He has seemed extremely...secretive lately. More than usual. I was wondering if you had any insight into it.”

“Haven't the foggiest,” she said. “He's being secretive with me as well, which is unusual.”

“I see,” he said. “Then it must have something to do with you.”

Her head jerked up at that. “Why do you think it has something to do with me?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Because he tells you everything, even things he shouldn't. I had to increase your level of government clearance to match his since he won't stop telling you about the cases he works for me.”

“Thank you, I suppose?” she asked warily.

“Justifying it to my superiors was quite easy, surprisingly, even when the fact the two of you are in a relationship was not known to the world at large.” He lifted up his umbrella and moved closer until he was next to the body, directly across from her. “It can either be a good thing or a bad thing, his secretive state with you. Either he is planning some sort of grand gesture for you, or he's been alerted to a threat against you. The trick is finding out what situation we are dealing with.”

She lowered her scalpel. “We?”

He nodded. “I think in this instance you and I should work together to piece the disparate clues we have to come to the correct conclusion.”

Molly sighed. “Mycroft, as much as I would love to be of assistance, it's going to take me at least another forty-five minutes to finish this, barring any more distractions.”

“Then we can speculate as you work.”

“Speculating as I work qualifies as a distraction,” she said, an edge to her voice.

Mycroft's eyes widened ever so slightly, and then he nodded. “I see. Then I will wait in your office for you to finish.”

“Fine,” she said, slightly annoyed she wasn't going to get to escape this conversation. While she had to admit that the potential that something might be wrong was worrisome, Sherlock hadn't been acting like she was in any immediate danger, so she assumed that whatever secret it was he was keeping was harmless. Mycroft was overreacting, and she was going to have to deal with it. She sighed again and went back to work. The actual tests she would need to run could wait until the autopsy was over, she supposed, and it would be nice to have something to focus on after what she got the feeling was going to be a frustrating conversation with Mycroft.

Finally she was finished, and she stripped off her gloves and tossed them into her medical waste bin. She made her way to the office and saw Mycroft in the second chair in the room, concentrating on his phone. She went to her own chair and sat down. When he went a full minute without acknowledging her she spoke. “I still have tests I need to run to determine whether the death was of natural causes or foul play.”

“Foul play,” he said without looking up.

She blinked. “How could--”

“The distinctive odor emanating from the abdominal cavity. It was poison. A very specific kind,” He gestured to a pad of paper in front of her computer screen. She turned slightly and picked it up. There was a very complicated chemical name on it, as well as a listing of various components of the chemical. “That is the poison, which makes it a case of national security, which means Sherlock will need to be brought into it. He will be here in an hour.” He stowed his phone. “And the matter to which I came to talk to you about has been settled. He will be back to his normal non-secretive self with you shortly.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “How did you figure it out?” she asked.

“I seem to have disrupted some plans he had in play,” he said. “Today is your six month anniversary, and I'm pulling him away from a special evening he'd planned for the both of you.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a warmth inside her. It was actually quite a pleasant feeling knowing that the secretiveness was because Sherlock had planned something and wanted it to be a surprise. She would have to figure out a way to show him just how happy it made her. “Well, we'll figure out a way to celebrate, hopefully.”

“Provided he works hard on this case first,” Mycroft said. “There is a time issue with this. It must be solved within forty-eight hours.”

“He'll do it,” she said with conviction.

“He'd better.” He stood up and looked at her. “Scotland Yard will no longer be involved in the investigation, so when you finish the testing you need to do and give the results to Sherlock make sure I also receive a copy. My brother and I are the only people you can tell about what you discover, as a highly classified project is involved.”

She nodded. “All right,” she said.

He made his way to the door and then paused. “Continue to treat my brother well, Ms. Hooper. I like the changes I have seen you make in him.”

“I will,” she said, and after he nodded once Mycroft left her office. She sat there for a moment, then went back to the tissue samples she had taken to gather them up and take them to the lab. Her mind was running over all sorts of thoughts so she took her iPod and plugged it into the speakers she kept there and let the songs play randomly. She was hard at work when the door opened and Sherlock stalked in. She took one look at his face and cringed slightly. He was extremely irritated. “I'm sure we can do something special when this is all over,” she suggested with some hesitation in her voice as a new song came on.

“He told you I'd planned something?” Sherlock said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “Wonderful. I had hoped there could still be some surprise left out of all this.”

“I thought it was quite sweet,” she said, moving away from the microscope she'd been looking in. “But it's all right if we don't do it tonight.”

“Tonight was the only night I could get tickets. Non-refundable tickets, I might add. There was a symphony performance with some of the best musicians in the world performing Tchaikovsky.” He looked down. “And then there are the dinner reservations, though those I suppose I could see about getting in two days.”

“You can give the tickets to John and Mary. I doubt I'll be needed past my shift, so I can always watch Ava for them,” she suggested. “And maybe we can do something when they get back. I mean, it's not the same as a date, but still, it could be nice.”

“I suppose,” he said. “Though I get the feeling it will be quite late by the time I'm available to spend time with you.”

“Well, I have the day after tomorrow off, so we can make a very late date of it,” she said with a smile. “Even if it's not on our actual anniversary.”

“But doesn't that defeat the purpose?” he asked.

“Not to me,” she said, moving closer to him. “I think with this relationship I'm much more flexible.”

“It's all still so new to me,” he said. “Coming up with actual dates are hard, though admittedly it was harder before, when we were keeping our relationship secret. But I feel a desire to impress you all the time and that's bothersome.”

“Well, I have really enjoyed what you've come up with so far,” she said with a smile, wanting to offer encouragement. “But I don't mind spending the time with you doing things at either of our homes, either.”

“That's good,” he said, relaxing. “And you're happy with other things?” She must have looked confused because he looked down, as though he had hoped she would have caught his meaning without having to go into more detail. “What I mean is, the physical aspects of the relationship. I find them to be more enjoyable with you then when I was pretending with Janine--”

“Probably because you actually like me,” she interrupted with a smile. “But yes, they're fine. I enjoy kissing you very much, and I'm in no rush for things to move forward. Whenever it happens it happens, if it happens at all.”

He grinned back slightly and pulled her close. “I suppose there are more good parts to being in a legitimate relationship than bad, then,” he said as she put her arms around his neck. He was quiet for a moment and she could see him concentrating as the chorus ended. She took a moment and really listened to it herself when the final verse started.

Say if I could
Look into myself and see reason
But I could never never see
Or make sense of the dealings
Turn around
Am I looking at salvation
Make me realize all that I am
You put the light inside this man

You're so fine
Lose my mind
And the world seems to disappear
All the problems
All the fears
And the world seems to disappear

“I know that song quite well,” he said after a moment as the chorus began to repeat again.

“You should, considering how many times you said you've listened to my iPod since you stole it from me,” she said with a smile. “I had INXS's greatest hits album on there, along with a few other assorted tracks.”

“It's a very appropriate song for how I look at you,” he said after a moment. “No matter the state of my day or my life or the world at large, when I'm with you I tend to forget about it all. I feel better when I'm with you, and I feel that you make me a better person. I'm glad to have you in my life.”

“I'm glad to be in your life, Sherlock,” she said, her smile widening. He looked as though he might say something else, maybe something quite important, but he shook his head slightly and leaned in to kiss her. She kissed him back softly. Maybe one day he would tell her he loved her. Maybe he never would. But she could wait and see, because she'd realized some time ago that she was head over heels for him. One day, maybe soon, she'd tell him because he deserved to know. But for now she would wait and see what lead he took in bringing it up and simply enjoy the time she got to spend with him.

Do you always smile for pictures?

He couldn't sleep. There were no thoughts of cases on his mind tonight, pieces of evidence he needed to stitch together the meanings of to solve a crime, but his thoughts were racing nonetheless, making sleep impossible. It wasn't as though he wasn't exhausted; he'd spent the last forty-eight hours solving Mycroft's very important case, getting no sleep at all the entire time. He should have been ready to drop from exhaustion, having pushed himself to his absolute limit. But as he laid in bed he couldn't stop thinking about the scene in Molly's lab two days prior, the day of their six month anniversary. About what he had said and what he had almost said. He'd almost said he'd loved her, and then stopped himself at the last moment. And he was wondering just why he had done that.

He had spent almost his entire life avoiding attachments of all types: to family, to friends, to the world at large. It had been a very lonely life at times, but as long as he could exercise his mind and learn things and stretch it to new levels of greatness then he was content. And when he was a child and the Carl Powers case had caught his attention, he'd found something in his life to focus on, and ignoring the fact he was lonely was much easier. He dedicated the rest of his childhood and teen years to studying crime and figuring out how to solve anything put in front of him. You didn't need friends or significant others to do that. It got harder when he went to university, though. There the world pressed in all the time. There were distractions of all sorts, and he was able to ignore most of them. He allowed himself to have acquaintances, knowing that eventually he would need people to help him when he decided to put his well honed deductive skills to good use, and he interacted with them at a minimal level, enough to keep himself in their good graces. But every once in a while someone would attempt to elevate their status, and he would be forced to focus more attention on them for a time before he could cry off.

His senior year he got dragged to a party, and that was when he was introduced to heroin. For the first time, he'd found something that felt like a balm to his frenzied mind. He managed well enough the last term he was there and even managed to graduate with honors, but slowly heroin was worming his way into his life. He decided to take a year to see what opportunities were available to him, but he squandered it, choosing heroin over his future. People were concerned but he didn't care. The drug's grip was too strong, until the night it overpowered him. If it hadn't been for his brother having constant surveillance on him he could have died in the flophouse. As it stood, he was hauled to rehab once he woke up. As he struggled with the agonizing withdrawal he realized the only future he had if he went back to drugs was a short one, and all his potential greatness would be wasted. He kept that thought close as he worked through it all, but after some time he felt he had a solid enough grip on his sobriety to be a part of society again.

His brother had given him the introductions to key members of Scotland Yard but said after that he was on his own, and he had best make an impression. It was hard, and most of the Yarders gave him one chance which he would then promptly blow by being an arrogant arsehole. But Lestrade didn't seem to care. He took the arrogance in stride, even if the others on his team did not. He smoothed over ruffled feathers and calmed agitated people down but most importantly he let Sherlock do what he needed. And it was in the course of his fifth case with Lestrade that he had met Molly. He'd been used to Michael McDowd, who was a surly and belligerent old coot who ran the St. Bart's morgue with an iron fist. But when he went in for the results on the victim McDowd was nowhere to be seen. In his place was a much younger female who smiled easily and was warm to him. He knew that he could use that to his advantage, but she was also quite intelligent and didn't fall for his bluff that he was a DI with Scotland Yard. He had to admit, he admired that about her, that she had let him know firmly but politely she needed Lestrade's permission before she gave him results he needed. They had more and more interactions, and he learned he bare minimum about her that he had to. It wasn't until John became involved in his life and John became friendly with her that he learned the more intimate details, and he wondered why he had ignored them. There had been much more to Molly than met the eye.

He had never imagined she would be so important to him when they first met. He'd figured she would be a tool he could use, and then later she became a resource, and then an acquaintance. Now she was more than that to him. She was a friend, of course; even with the change in their relationship status she was still a friend. But now she was also a woman who he would do anything for, who he would give up his life for without hesitation, who he saw himself having a future with. She was important to him, more important than anyone. Even more important than John, if he was being honest, though John was still quite important to him. And he was wondering if all of that put together meant he was actually in love with her.

He turned and glanced at his bedside clock. It was only eight fourteen, and he doubted he would fall asleep until at least after midnight. He sighed and got Molly's iPod out of its charging dock on his nightstand before reaching for the headphones and plugging them in. He had set it to play randomly the last time he used it and felt it best to do the same this time. He started it and put the earbuds in his ears, listening as a song he'd heard countless time started. He didn't want to listen to it so he hit the button for the next song and settled in. It started and he realized he didn't recognize it. He'd asked Molly to add any songs that had caught her fancy a week ago, simply because it gave him an idea of what he would be listening to when he was at her home. He paid closer attention than he'd planned on so he could see if it would be something that set his teeth on edge or not after listening to it multiple times.

Something changed inside me
Broke wide open, all spilled out
Till I had no doubt
That something changed

Never would have believed it
Till I felt it in my own heart
In the deepest part
The healing came

He had begun to sit up slowly at the beginning of the second verse. Once again it seemed as though exactly what he needed to hear was playing. He reached over for his mobile and keyed in his password. He went for his text function as the song continued and keyed in a text to Molly. Still awake? SH He sent it and then waited for a response. He didn't get one right away, and so he frowned. Perhaps she too had attempted to have an early night. He debated calling her just to make sure, but he thought she wouldn't appreciate the intrusion, so he decided against it, settling in to listen to music. He'd hoped she would be awake because he had a sudden urge to talk to her, to see if he could get out what he should have said two days ago.

He'd given up getting a response ten minutes later when he got an incoming call. He pulled out the headphones and answered the call. “I'm so sorry I didn't text back.” she said. “I know you were planning on getting some rest, but I figured if you were awake enough to text that maybe you'd want to talk.”

“Apparently I can't sleep,” he said. “Too many thoughts swarming in my head.”

“Well, maybe I can keep you company? They're doing maintenance in the office so I don't have to be in until eleven tomorrow.”

“A shortened workday, then?” he asked.

“Well, possibly. I mean, I'll have to stay later if I want a full day's pay, but the late start will be nice. I can stay up late with you if it's going to take you a while to go to sleep.”

“I think you may be up quite late,” he said. “But I would enjoy your company. And take a cab; it will be quicker.”

“All right. I'll be over soon.” She hung up and he put the iPod sitting on his chest back on his nightstand. He debated changing out of his pyjamas but there really wasn't much of a point; the goal was for him to eventually go to sleep, so changing into regular clothes and then back into his pyjamas was pointless. He got his dressing gown off the back of his door and slipped it on. It was a bit hard because he was still holding his mobile, but he managed in the end. He went out to the kitchen and looked at the state of it. He could offer a few things to eat if she was hungry and tea if she was thirsty. That should work well enough.

He went to the sofa and flopped down on it, going through the various things on his phone. He went through his gallery and looked at the pictures on it. He'd begun to take pictures of Molly when she was unaware. In some of the pictures she was deep in thought and so had a slight frown on her face. In two of them she was biting her lip. But in most of them she had some sort of smile on her face. It wasn't always a wide one, just a small curling of her lips in most of them, but he enjoyed the sight. He knew she had pictures of the both of them, some of which she'd taken herself and some others had taken with her phone. He'd seen the album when he had commandeered her phone out of boredom when she was cooking one evening and sent a few of the ones where Molly looked particularly nice to himself, and he viewed those now too. It was strange seeing proof that she liked being close to him, and that he didn't mind being close to her sometimes, but comforting as well. It made him feel as though he was at least a little bit normal and not some strange specimen of humanity with no feelings whatsoever.

He heard her let herself in nearly a half hour later, and he looked up. She came into the sitting room, carrying her handbag on her shoulder and a covered dish in her hands. He raised an eyebrow. “My supper,” she said. “I'd just sat down to eat. I didn't think you'd mind if I brought it with me.” She came over and sat next to him, leaning over and kissing his cheek. Her food actually smelled quite good, and his stomach grumbled involuntarily. She chuckled at that. “There's enough for you too, if you'd like some,” she said. “It's roast with potatoes, mushrooms, carrots and peas.”

“Thank you,” he said. She got up and went towards his table. She set the plate down and then went for another plate and eating utensils in his kitchen, singing to herself. He recognized the song as the one he'd paid close attention to just before he'd texted her. He'd actually listened to it a few times before she called him. As he got up to join her he realized she was at the part that had resonated the most, and he found himself singing the first few lines of the third verse. “Something so amazing, in a heart so dark and dim,” he said. She stopped what she was doing and turned to stare at him, her mouth open and her eyes wide. “When the walls fall down and the light comes in,” he finished.

“How did you know that song?” she asked. And then she shut her eyes and shook her head. “I added new music last week. I hadn't meant to add that one.”

“I actually liked it,” he said.

“Apparently,” she said, a small smile crossing her face. “It's an inspirational song, though.”

“I gathered that from the 'Thank you Lord' lyrics,” he said. “But I ignored that bit.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Well, since you ignored the religious aspect, what did it say to you?”

“I thought it was a song about finding something that gave you strength and hope. About being loved greatly, and loving that thing in return.”

“It could definitely be heard that way,” she said with a smile.

He was quiet for a moment, then stepped close to her, He reached over and gently touched her face, and she looked up at him, a slight look of confusion in her eyes. “You love me, don't you, Molly?” he asked.

She was surprised for a moment, but nodded slowly. “Yes, Sherlock, I do. I've been in love with you for a while now. I just didn't know if you wanted to hear it, if you thought I would have to hear it in return. I know you might never say it to me, and that's all right. I unders--”

He cut her off by kissing her, the type of kiss that apparently made her weak in the knees because she reached up to cling to him and stay upright. She pulled away first but stayed close, and he put a hand to the small of her back to keep her there. “I should have told you this sooner but I do love you, Molly. Very much.”

He could see a wide smile blossom on her face and she moved her hands to frame his face. “Really?” she asked. “You really love me?”

“I do,” he said, nodding slightly.

She leaned in and kissed him again, a much softer kiss than the previous one. “I love you too, Sherlock,” she said against his lips when she pulled away. “And I'll tell you whenever you want to hear it.” He grinned at that and held her close, wanting to savor this moment. He would made that same promise to her, that he would do whatever it took to make sure he showed her how he felt and told her the words as often as he could so that she never doubted it because he knew she would do the same for him. But right now he wanted to savor this moment, this absolutely perfect moment, because he had never felt closer to someone than he did to her. This was a next step for them, and he was eager to see where it led next.

How many languages can you speak?

“You always seem to have a smile on your face these days,” Mrs. Hudson said as she poured tea for her and Molly. She and Sherlock had planned to go out for dinner and a trip to the cinema but it wasn't until Molly arrived at Baker Street to meet him that Sherlock told her he was going to be quite late. He suggested she visit with Mrs. Hudson for a bit while she waited for him to return with takeaway so they could salvage at least part of their evening. Mrs. Hudson had been delighted for the company, and they'd been chatting for a little while now.

“Well, he finally did it,” Molly said with a smile.

“So you two have...?” Mrs. Hudson asked, making a slight motion with her hands.

Molly's eyes went wide as she blushed. “Oh, no, not that. I mean, I don't even know when we'll get to that point, if we ever do. But he did admit he loved me.”

“Oh, that's wonderful!” Mrs. Hudson said with a wide smile. “We've known he has for weeks now, if not a little longer than that. It's about time he admitted it to you.”

“Yes, well, it takes time for him to realize these things,” Molly said with a soft laugh. “But I'm glad he did. I mean, I feel the same way towards him. I have for quite a long time.”

“Even before that other young man you were seeing?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she poured milk into her tea.

She shook her head. “Before Sherlock left? No, that was just infatuation. I think it happened more when he came back. It was a reason I ended my engagement to Tom, because it wasn't fair to Tom to marry him when I didn't completely love him.”

“I think you definitely made the better choice with Sherlock,” the older woman said. “And he seems so different in such a good way. So much happier. Did you know I even caught him singing along with a song? Something rather romantic sounding in English and French, I believe. It sounded French to me, at least.”

“I didn't know he spoke French,” Molly replied, surprised.

“Oh, I think he speaks quite a few languages,” Mrs. Hudson said. “He seems to use them more since he came back. Especially what I think is Russian. I don't have a head for languages except Spanish. I had to know Spanish, when I was younger.” She had some of her tea. “Do you know any interesting languages?”

“Mostly Latin,” she said. “I studied French for a time but I've forgotten most of it.”

“Pity,” Mrs. Hudson said. “It's such a beautiful language.”

“Yes, it is,” Molly agreed with a nod, adding some sugar to her tea. “My mother and father were fluent. They met in a French class at university, actually, and my father learned everything he could to impress her. He thought she was fluent in French when they first met, but it turned out she knew someone who had taken the class the semester before and told her exactly what the professor would be doing since he never changed his syllabus.”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “Oh, that's a lovely story. Did they ever get to go to France?”

She nodded, a smile on her face. “They traveled through the country for six months when they got out of university, after they got married. It was an extended honeymoon that my grandmother financed because she had adored France when she lived there as a child. I've never gotten to go, though.” She lifted up her cup and took a sip. “One day, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Hudson said with a smile as Molly's phone signaled she had a text message, then another, then a third. She set her cup down and pulled out her mobile, looking at it and smile dimming as she read it. Mrs. Hudson reached over and touched her arm. “Molly dear? Is everything all right?”

“It appears Sherlock won't be done until quite late,” Molly said with a sigh. “He apologized but said it was best if I didn't wait around for him, and he'll make it up to me later.”

“Well, just because he's not here doesn't mean you can't stay for a while,” Mrs. Hudson said. “As soon as we finish our tea I'll make us something for supper. It's nice to have some company every once in a while for a meal.”

Molly smiled a bit more. “I think that will be a grand way to spend an evening, Mrs. Hudson,” she said.

“Then it's settled,” Mrs. Hudson said as she nodded. She removed her hand from Molly's arm and then picked up her cup. “Now then. I'm curious as to where else you would want to travel if you could travel the world.”

Molly's smile widened even more as she relaxed and began to answer Mrs. Hudson's query. They kept chatting as they finished their tea and prepared their meal together, pausing in the conversation only long enough to eat. It was seven thirty-six when she left after having a bit of after dinner sherry with Mrs. Hudson, and she felt sated and happy even with the change in plans. She got home and changed out of her clothes into her pyjamas and then settled on her sofa to watch the telly. She must have started dozing because the ringing of her mobile startled her wide awake. She picked it up and saw it was Sherlock. “Hello,” she said when she answered.

“My apologies about tonight,” he said. “Lestrade and I were called to another crime scene where a robbery that was suspected to be connected to our homicide took place. We discovered another body at the scene there. It was quite messy.”

“Ah,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I'm quite glad I have tomorrow off, then. Messy autopsies are the worst.”

“I'd rather have you conduct the autopsy than your relief. He is never quite as thorough,” Sherlock said.

“I will take that as a compliment,” she said with a smile. “What time is it now?”

“Nearly eleven,” he replied. “Ten forty-four, to be precise.”

“I must have dozed off,” she said.

“Then I should let you go back to sleep,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Oh, it's all right,” she said. “I want to talk to you. It was nice chatting with Mrs. Hudson, but I want to have some of your time today too.”

“Then I'll stay on the phone with you until you feel tired again,” he said. “What did you and Mrs. Hudson talk about?”

“All sorts of things. She told me about her past. She's lead quite an interesting life. And we talked about places we'd like to go if we could travel the world. She told me about Florida and it sounds interesting.” Then she remembered what had prompted the conversation. “She told me she heard you singing a song in French. Well, she thought it was French. And there was English, too.”

“I've had one of your songs stuck in my head recently,” he said. “I was trying to perform it on the violin but it didn't sound quite right so I gave up. But the lyrics are catchy and it helps me practice my French.”

“So you do speak French,” she said with a smile. “The only French I really know these days are the French songs I had on my iPod, the ones I had by Jessica Fichot.”

“Which one was your favorite?” he asked.

“'Dreams/Les Yeux ouverts,'” she said. “That's the one you had stuck in your head, right?”

“Yes, that was the one,” he said. “Why do you like it?”

“I like how it's partly in English and French. It makes it easier to sing.”

“You can sing it?” he asked.

“Not very well, but yes,” she replied.

“I'd like to hear it,” he replied. “If you want to sing it, I mean.”

“I could try,” she said. “But it might not sound right because I'm not singing along with her.”

“Still, I'm curious,” he said.

She took a moment to think of the song before she began to sing. “J'rêve les yeux ouverts ça m'fait du bien,”she sang, her voice slightly shaky. “Ça n'va pas plus loin. J'veux pas voir derrière puisque j'en viens. Vive...” She paused for a moment as she tried to remember the lyrics. “Vivement demain!” she finished triumphantly.

“Very impressive,” he said in a warm tone. “Can you translate it?”

“Not anymore,” she admitted. “French is a beautiful language but I have no everyday use for it here in London so I've forgotten most of what I've learned.”

“You were singing about dreams, and dreaming with your eyes open,” he said. “It all sounds better in French, to be honest. What sounds better, 'Mon bonheur te ressemble' or 'My happiness looks like you'?”

“I think the French would sound better if you sing it,” she said, tucking her feet under her.

“You just want to hear me sing for yourself,” he said with a slight chuckle.

“Oh, I've already heard you sing,” she said smugly. “Last week, remember? It wasn't much, but you sang a little bit.”

“I forgot that part. I was more focused on the fact that you told me you loved me that evening.”

She chuckled softly. “Hearing you felt the same way was the highlight of my evening. But you do actually have a very nice voice, Sherlock. I would love to hear you sing more often, to be honest.”

“I don't think my voice is quite suited for this particular song, but I'll try anyway.” He paused for a moment. “Mon bonheur te ressemble,” he began. He had been right; his voice wasn't quite suited for this particular song, being in a lower register, but it was mesmerizing hearing him speak French. “Tous les deux vous allez bien ensemble. J'te l'dirai jamais, jamais assez.”

Before she could help herself she sang the last line along with him. “Dream a little dream of me,” they chorused, and she chuckled slightly when they were done. “Oh, I may have to have you speak French to me more often, Sherlock.”

“Is it really that impressive?” he asked.

“Definitely. Much better than Latin.”

“I know Latin, too,” he said.

“Exactly how many languages do you know?” she asked curiously.

“Aside from French and Latin, I'm fluent in eight: Greek, Russian, Latin American Spanish, Castilian Spanish, German, Italian, Mandarin and Cantonese. On top of that I started learning Korean and Japanese recently. Or rather, learning Korean and increasing my fluency in Japanese.”

“You're learning two languages at once?” she asked, surprised. “That's got to be incredibly difficult.”

“I knew basic Japanese already, so that isn't as hard. Korean is difficult, though. But I'll get the hang of it eventually.”

“Soon enough there won't be any languages left for you to learn,” she said.

“There are twenty-three official languages in India, quite a few in the former Soviet Union and many more in Africa,” he said. “I want to know more languages than Mycroft, and so long as he doesn't begin to learn anything more from those places and I do then I'll be better than him.”

“So this is all to show your brother up?” she asked with a soft chuckle.

“Partly. But you never know when knowing a foreign language will come in handy. If I'd known Chinese one of the earlier cases I worked with John may have had a much less dire outcome.” He paused. “What other languages would you like to learn?”

“I'd like to learn Greek and Italian,” she said after a moment's thought. “And maybe Celtic, for my own enjoyment.”

“I could always help if you decide to take up the studies in the first two languages,” he said. “It helps to be able to converse with someone in the language.”

“I may take you up on that,” she said, yawning on the last few words.

“I should let you get some rest,” he said. “I'm sorry we didn't get to spend time together tonight.”

“I'm almost half tempted to suggest you come over and crawl into bed with me,” she said.

There was a pause. “I could, if you really want me to.”

“Oh! I couldn't ask that. I mean, aren't you settled at home?”

“I'm home, but I'm not settled. And I think now would be as good a time as any to see if I can share a bed with someone else. I mean, eventually we'll move closer to a point in our relationship where we'll want to do more than simply sleep next to each other, but if we can't share a bed...”

“Well, then I suppose you can come over, if you really want to,” she said. “I can stay awake long enough for that. And if not, you have your key.”

“Then I'll make my way over as soon as I gather a few things,” he said. “Perhaps forty minutes?”

“All right. I'll stay awake as long as I can,” she said. “I'll see you soon.”

“See you soon, Molly.” He hung up first and she lowered her mobile, grinning slightly. She had sorely missed sharing a bed with someone else, and she wanted very much to share her bed with Sherlock. Hopefully tonight went well and it was the end of her sleeping on her own every night.