Not What He Had Hoped For
Apr. 8th, 2017 01:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darnedchildSummary: Sherlock visits Molly right after the events at Sherinnford. Will she welcome him with open arms or will she slam the door in his face?
Rating: G
A/N - Completely Unbeta'd and written in an hour and a half.
Not What He Had Hoped For
It wasn’t the reunion he had hoped for.
He had fallen asleep in the helicopter. The rhythmic sound of the blades combined with the physical exhaustion and the last pull of whatever drugs Eurus had knocked him out with—no longer overridden by the cocktail of sheer adrenaline, anger, and terror that had fuelled him since he’d come to at Musgrave—must have lulled him into unconsciousness.
For a brief moment, no more than two or three minutes, his mind had constructed a fantasy where he’d knocked on Molly’s door and she’d welcomed him with open arms. She had pressed warm, sweet kisses to his face and lips.
She had repeated those words that had devastated him, destroyed him, and then rebuilt him in the span of seconds.
He had let grief and anger overwhelm him at Sherinnford. Eurus had given him a taste of what he had denied himself, the confirmation of Molly’s feelings and acceptance of his own forbidden love for her, and then Eurus ripped it all away.
But Molly knew, she understood without him needing to say a single word. She recognized the truth in his voice when he’d said “I love you” and she forgave him.
They made love, whispering words of affection and commitment, until the sun rose.
Then John shook him awake to let him know they were about to land, and the dream was gone.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
It wasn’t the reunion he had expected.
He imagined her first reaction would be to slam the door in his face. Perhaps she would delay just long enough to tell him to never contact her again.
No, that wasn’t his Molly.
She would ask him to give her space, time. Her voice would break, but she’d straighten her spine and push through because Molly was strong.
Eventually things would go back to normal, the way they’d always been and yet completely different.
She’d allow him in the lab, offer her help with his cases, perhaps even share a smile over Rosie’s antics; but she would never, ever look at him with love in her eyes again. She would harden herself, never let him back into her heart, and someday she would move on. Someday she wouldn’t hurt when she saw him, she wouldn’t think of What Ifs, she wouldn’t mourn what Could Have Beens.
She was strong.
Stronger than him, in the end.
Molly would recover and move on.
But he knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
It wasn’t what he had hoped for.
It wasn’t what he had expected.
When he knocked on her door in the pre-dawn light, hours after he’d planned—hoped—to come to her, he found himself whispering the same phrase over and over.
His lips barely moved as he repeated “Please, open the door. Please, open the door. Please, just open the damn door.”
And then she did.
The words he’d rehearsed on the entire car ride from John’s flat fled from his mind at the sight of her.
She was still wearing that hideously wonderful jumper, the one that always reminded him of the day they had spent together so long ago . . . and now it would remind him of the first time he’d heard her say the words that he had always, always known but never before acknowledged.
It would be a bittersweet memory, but one he would never be tempted to delete.
Her hair was still up in a ponytail, although flyaway strands surrounded her face like a messy, angelic halo. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, testament to the maelstrom of emotions she’d experienced over the last day.
Her hold on the door was tight, as if she were preparing to slam it shut in his face if he made one false step.
He didn’t, couldn’t, blame her.
“Molly,” He hesitantly began, almost as terrified as he’d been when he had run through the dark grounds of his old family home in a desperate bid to save John (and—ultimately—the lost, lonely little girl that his sister had regressed to).
“Molly, I . . . I meant it.”
Time froze. Seconds stretched into an eternity as her expression remained the same, her body remained tense and unresponsive. Then she blinked.
And when her beautiful brown eyes opened again, he saw a hint of the warmth that had always been there when she’d looked at him in the past.
His heart began to beat faster, painful in his chest.
“I know.” Her voice was soft and cautious.
She took a step back, held the door open wider in an invitation that he ached to accept. “Tell me what happened. Explain it to me.”
It wasn’t what he had hoped for.
It wasn’t what he had expected.
But it was a start, and that was enough for the moment.
Rating: G
A/N - Completely Unbeta'd and written in an hour and a half.
Not What He Had Hoped For
It wasn’t the reunion he had hoped for.
He had fallen asleep in the helicopter. The rhythmic sound of the blades combined with the physical exhaustion and the last pull of whatever drugs Eurus had knocked him out with—no longer overridden by the cocktail of sheer adrenaline, anger, and terror that had fuelled him since he’d come to at Musgrave—must have lulled him into unconsciousness.
For a brief moment, no more than two or three minutes, his mind had constructed a fantasy where he’d knocked on Molly’s door and she’d welcomed him with open arms. She had pressed warm, sweet kisses to his face and lips.
She had repeated those words that had devastated him, destroyed him, and then rebuilt him in the span of seconds.
He had let grief and anger overwhelm him at Sherinnford. Eurus had given him a taste of what he had denied himself, the confirmation of Molly’s feelings and acceptance of his own forbidden love for her, and then Eurus ripped it all away.
But Molly knew, she understood without him needing to say a single word. She recognized the truth in his voice when he’d said “I love you” and she forgave him.
They made love, whispering words of affection and commitment, until the sun rose.
Then John shook him awake to let him know they were about to land, and the dream was gone.
It wasn’t the reunion he had expected.
He imagined her first reaction would be to slam the door in his face. Perhaps she would delay just long enough to tell him to never contact her again.
No, that wasn’t his Molly.
She would ask him to give her space, time. Her voice would break, but she’d straighten her spine and push through because Molly was strong.
Eventually things would go back to normal, the way they’d always been and yet completely different.
She’d allow him in the lab, offer her help with his cases, perhaps even share a smile over Rosie’s antics; but she would never, ever look at him with love in her eyes again. She would harden herself, never let him back into her heart, and someday she would move on. Someday she wouldn’t hurt when she saw him, she wouldn’t think of What Ifs, she wouldn’t mourn what Could Have Beens.
She was strong.
Stronger than him, in the end.
Molly would recover and move on.
But he knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t.
It wasn’t what he had hoped for.
It wasn’t what he had expected.
When he knocked on her door in the pre-dawn light, hours after he’d planned—hoped—to come to her, he found himself whispering the same phrase over and over.
His lips barely moved as he repeated “Please, open the door. Please, open the door. Please, just open the damn door.”
And then she did.
The words he’d rehearsed on the entire car ride from John’s flat fled from his mind at the sight of her.
She was still wearing that hideously wonderful jumper, the one that always reminded him of the day they had spent together so long ago . . . and now it would remind him of the first time he’d heard her say the words that he had always, always known but never before acknowledged.
It would be a bittersweet memory, but one he would never be tempted to delete.
Her hair was still up in a ponytail, although flyaway strands surrounded her face like a messy, angelic halo. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, testament to the maelstrom of emotions she’d experienced over the last day.
Her hold on the door was tight, as if she were preparing to slam it shut in his face if he made one false step.
He didn’t, couldn’t, blame her.
“Molly,” He hesitantly began, almost as terrified as he’d been when he had run through the dark grounds of his old family home in a desperate bid to save John (and—ultimately—the lost, lonely little girl that his sister had regressed to).
“Molly, I . . . I meant it.”
Time froze. Seconds stretched into an eternity as her expression remained the same, her body remained tense and unresponsive. Then she blinked.
And when her beautiful brown eyes opened again, he saw a hint of the warmth that had always been there when she’d looked at him in the past.
His heart began to beat faster, painful in his chest.
“I know.” Her voice was soft and cautious.
She took a step back, held the door open wider in an invitation that he ached to accept. “Tell me what happened. Explain it to me.”
It wasn’t what he had hoped for.
It wasn’t what he had expected.
But it was a start, and that was enough for the moment.