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darnedchild) wrote2019-03-15 11:21 am
darnedchild) wrote2019-03-15 11:21 am
Because You Asked
Summary: “Fancy some chips?” That was not what he’d been planning to say. Not even close.
Rating: G
A/N - SAW2019 Day 4 : Molly – “Did you get him off a murder charge?”
This fic was written and posted out of order (I finished it on Day 6 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019)
Not beta’d because I’m on a deadline. I’ll get it looked at later, promise. Probably.
Because You Asked
The case was intriguing, far more than he’d expected it would be when he decided to take Molly to see Shilcott. He had assumed he would return Shilcott’s hat, listen to his problem and solve it in a matter of minutes, then thank Molly for her assistance and send her on her way after a productive day of crime solving.
“Fancy some chips?”
That was not what he’d been planning to say. Not even close.
“What?” Molly sounded confused and he didn’t blame her in the least.
He continued down the stairs, already working out how he could brush his question off as unimportant. He’d casually mentioned the chips, he hadn’t meant anything by it.
He definitely had not asked her to dinner, because that meant . . . things. And while Molly might not understand just how significant those things were in his mind, she would know that there was more to it than a friendly offer if he had asked. Molly had always had an uncanny ability read him better than anyone else he’d ever met.
Even if he had wanted to ask, which he did not, he couldn’t. Shouldn’t even be thinking about it. He had seen her ring the second she’d removed her gloves back at Baker Street. He knew exactly what it meant.
“I know a fantastic fish shop just off Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions.”
No, no, no.
“Did you get him off a murder charge?” He could hear the smile in her voice. He knew she was thinking of Angelo.
“No. I helped him put up some shelves.” The sound of her giggle, however brief, made him feel lighter inside. He smiled.
“Sherlock?”
His smile dropped at the change in her tone. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned toward her. “Hmm?”
“What was today about?”
This was it. This was the moment he had to stop pretending that everything was fine. That seeing that ring on her finger hadn’t made him want to lock himself away in his room and delete the image from his memory. He swallowed hard and forced out the words he’d meant to say from the beginning. “Saying thank you.”
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
The cold sting of the winter air did nothing to remove the tactile memory of her warmth and the softness of her cheek under his lips.
He shouldn’t have stepped so close, and he definitely shouldn’t have kissed her. That was a mistake he could never make again.
Sherlock pulled his coat tighter and walked down the path to the pavement.
“Sherlock! Wait.”
He froze at the sound of Molly’s voice, his traitorous pulse jumping in response. He took a calming breath and turned toward her. “Yes?”
She finished pulling on her gloves as she hurried to his side. “About the chips. If the offer still stands?”
The hopeful look on her face made his decision for him. “Of course. It’s not too far of a walk, if that’s all right?”
“Sounds lovely.”
It was cold and windy and wouldn’t be considered ‘lovely’ by anyone’s definition, and they both knew it. But still, they continued on their way in silence. He wanted to tell her this was wrong, that she should turn around and go home, but words remained unspoken.
Finally, just over halfway to their destination, he worked up the nerve to speak. Sherlock stopped walking and gently tugged her arm to hold her in place. She tilted her face up to look at him, her nose red and her eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight, and his mind blanked. He grasped the ends of her scarf and carefully rearranged it to offer more warmth. “Why did you change your mind?” His voice was too soft, too intimate, for a moment between friends.
Molly shrugged. “I was hungry.”
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
Jack’s Place was incredibly busy for a hole-in-the-wall chippie. The tables were already full of diners hoping for a quick after work meal, even more were waiting in line to place their orders.
They joined the queue and he kept an eye on the other customers, hoping against hope that a few of the tables would free up so that he wouldn’t be tempted to make the suggestion burning at the back of his mind. If anything, the dining area seemed to grow even more crowded as people wedged into open spaces, nibbling on their chips while they waited for a place to sit.
There was only one person left in the queue before them when he gave in. “It looks to be standing room only in here. We could take our food back to Baker Street. If you want.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip for a long moment, then nodded. “It’s that or eat outside on a bench, I suppose.”
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
Normally he’d be well into his fish and chips by the time he made the walk back to Baker Street, but he found he was too nervous to eat. Which was utterly ridiculous, what did he have to be nervous about?
Molly didn’t seem to have much of an appetite either. They’d spread their meals across the table in front of the sofa and he’d fetched bottles of water from the fridge, but most of the food remained untouched.
She fidgeted with the lid of her water bottle for several long moments and he watched her.
“You were right. It really is good.” Molly gestured at her portion.
“You’ve hardly eaten enough to form an opinion one way or another.” He titled his head and sighed. “What are we doing, Molly?”
“Eating. We’re just . . . eating.”
He studied her face, noting the way she wouldn’t look directly at him. “Is that really all this is?”
She carefully set her water on the table and raised her head to meet his eyes. “Did you want it to be anything more?”
Did he? Of course he did. But this, this was insanity. He leaned closer and finally said what had been on the tip of his tongue since he’d first mentioned the bloody fish and chips. “This is a bad idea.”
“Horrible,” she quickly agreed.
“You’re engaged.”
Her eyes dropped to his lips for just long enough to make them part in anticipation. “I am.”
He swallowed hard and fought not to reach for her. “I wish . . .”
“I know.”
Sherlock moved even closer and she lifted her hand to press her fingers to his lips.
Molly shook her head, fear and sadness clearly written across her expressive face. “If you-If this is something you want, for real, not just because you’re feeling lonely, you have to tell me. Plainly. No room for misunderstandings. And I can’t-I owe it to Tom not to . . . I need to talk to him before . . .”
He knew she was right. His Molly would need to do the right thing.
His Molly. When had she become his?
Sherlock retreated just far enough to give her space and her hand fell to her lap. “Of course.”
“What do you want, Sherlock?”
“Molly, I- “
They both heard urgent knocking on the front door at the same time, then voices as Mrs Hudson let someone in.
“Sorry. I-I think someone’s got John. John Watson.”
Sherlock jumped off the sofa and hurried to the top of the stairs. “Mary? What’s wrong?”
The newcomer finished climbing the stairs and passed him her phone. “Someone sent me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam; but it’s not. It’s a skip-code.”
He made a mental note to revisit that later, but his concern for John overrode his curiosity as he looked at the message. “First word, then every third. Save . . . John . . . Watson.”
The rest of the unimportant words vanished from his vision and he knew exactly were they needed to go. “Now!”
He ducked into the sitting room to grab his coat and saw Molly still sitting on the sofa. “Molly, I need-“
She nodded in understanding. “Go!” She made a shooing motion toward the door. “Find John.”
He took a step toward the stairs and then turned one more time. “Wait for me?”
Molly nodded again as Mary tugged on his arm to pull him down the stairs.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
It was very late when he returned to Baker Street, stinking of bonfire smoke. While he had hoped she’d still be there, he was honestly surprised to find Molly curled up on his couch.
She had her mobile cradled in her hand and when she looked up he could see that her eyes were red and puffy.
“Molly?”
She blinked as if she hadn’t noticed him come in. “Did you find him?”
“Yeah. He’s safe.” Sherlock stripped off his coat and hung it up. It would need to be taken to the cleaners the next day, along with his suit. “A little smoke inhalation, but he’s home now.”
He nodded toward the phone. “What happened?” he asked, even though he already suspected he knew the answer. His eyes instinctively sought out her left hand. The ring was gone.
She shrugged and tossed the phone on to the table. “I talked to Tom. We’re going to meet up for lunch tomorrow, just to sort things out.”
Sherlock eased himself onto the cushion beside her and slowly reached for her hand. “And this?”
“That’s one of the things we’re sorting out. He knows I’m giving it back. I can’t-I can’t marry him now. It wouldn’t be fair, would it? Not when I . . .” She flipped her hand over and pressed her palm against his.
Sherlock laced his fingers between hers and gently squeezed. “Why did you stay?”
“Because you asked.” As if it were as simple as that.
Perhaps it was.
Rating: G
A/N - SAW2019 Day 4 : Molly – “Did you get him off a murder charge?”
This fic was written and posted out of order (I finished it on Day 6 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019)
Not beta’d because I’m on a deadline. I’ll get it looked at later, promise. Probably.
Because You Asked
The case was intriguing, far more than he’d expected it would be when he decided to take Molly to see Shilcott. He had assumed he would return Shilcott’s hat, listen to his problem and solve it in a matter of minutes, then thank Molly for her assistance and send her on her way after a productive day of crime solving.
“Fancy some chips?”
That was not what he’d been planning to say. Not even close.
“What?” Molly sounded confused and he didn’t blame her in the least.
He continued down the stairs, already working out how he could brush his question off as unimportant. He’d casually mentioned the chips, he hadn’t meant anything by it.
He definitely had not asked her to dinner, because that meant . . . things. And while Molly might not understand just how significant those things were in his mind, she would know that there was more to it than a friendly offer if he had asked. Molly had always had an uncanny ability read him better than anyone else he’d ever met.
Even if he had wanted to ask, which he did not, he couldn’t. Shouldn’t even be thinking about it. He had seen her ring the second she’d removed her gloves back at Baker Street. He knew exactly what it meant.
“I know a fantastic fish shop just off Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions.”
No, no, no.
“Did you get him off a murder charge?” He could hear the smile in her voice. He knew she was thinking of Angelo.
“No. I helped him put up some shelves.” The sound of her giggle, however brief, made him feel lighter inside. He smiled.
“Sherlock?”
His smile dropped at the change in her tone. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned toward her. “Hmm?”
“What was today about?”
This was it. This was the moment he had to stop pretending that everything was fine. That seeing that ring on her finger hadn’t made him want to lock himself away in his room and delete the image from his memory. He swallowed hard and forced out the words he’d meant to say from the beginning. “Saying thank you.”
The cold sting of the winter air did nothing to remove the tactile memory of her warmth and the softness of her cheek under his lips.
He shouldn’t have stepped so close, and he definitely shouldn’t have kissed her. That was a mistake he could never make again.
Sherlock pulled his coat tighter and walked down the path to the pavement.
“Sherlock! Wait.”
He froze at the sound of Molly’s voice, his traitorous pulse jumping in response. He took a calming breath and turned toward her. “Yes?”
She finished pulling on her gloves as she hurried to his side. “About the chips. If the offer still stands?”
The hopeful look on her face made his decision for him. “Of course. It’s not too far of a walk, if that’s all right?”
“Sounds lovely.”
It was cold and windy and wouldn’t be considered ‘lovely’ by anyone’s definition, and they both knew it. But still, they continued on their way in silence. He wanted to tell her this was wrong, that she should turn around and go home, but words remained unspoken.
Finally, just over halfway to their destination, he worked up the nerve to speak. Sherlock stopped walking and gently tugged her arm to hold her in place. She tilted her face up to look at him, her nose red and her eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight, and his mind blanked. He grasped the ends of her scarf and carefully rearranged it to offer more warmth. “Why did you change your mind?” His voice was too soft, too intimate, for a moment between friends.
Molly shrugged. “I was hungry.”
Jack’s Place was incredibly busy for a hole-in-the-wall chippie. The tables were already full of diners hoping for a quick after work meal, even more were waiting in line to place their orders.
They joined the queue and he kept an eye on the other customers, hoping against hope that a few of the tables would free up so that he wouldn’t be tempted to make the suggestion burning at the back of his mind. If anything, the dining area seemed to grow even more crowded as people wedged into open spaces, nibbling on their chips while they waited for a place to sit.
There was only one person left in the queue before them when he gave in. “It looks to be standing room only in here. We could take our food back to Baker Street. If you want.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip for a long moment, then nodded. “It’s that or eat outside on a bench, I suppose.”
Normally he’d be well into his fish and chips by the time he made the walk back to Baker Street, but he found he was too nervous to eat. Which was utterly ridiculous, what did he have to be nervous about?
Molly didn’t seem to have much of an appetite either. They’d spread their meals across the table in front of the sofa and he’d fetched bottles of water from the fridge, but most of the food remained untouched.
She fidgeted with the lid of her water bottle for several long moments and he watched her.
“You were right. It really is good.” Molly gestured at her portion.
“You’ve hardly eaten enough to form an opinion one way or another.” He titled his head and sighed. “What are we doing, Molly?”
“Eating. We’re just . . . eating.”
He studied her face, noting the way she wouldn’t look directly at him. “Is that really all this is?”
She carefully set her water on the table and raised her head to meet his eyes. “Did you want it to be anything more?”
Did he? Of course he did. But this, this was insanity. He leaned closer and finally said what had been on the tip of his tongue since he’d first mentioned the bloody fish and chips. “This is a bad idea.”
“Horrible,” she quickly agreed.
“You’re engaged.”
Her eyes dropped to his lips for just long enough to make them part in anticipation. “I am.”
He swallowed hard and fought not to reach for her. “I wish . . .”
“I know.”
Sherlock moved even closer and she lifted her hand to press her fingers to his lips.
Molly shook her head, fear and sadness clearly written across her expressive face. “If you-If this is something you want, for real, not just because you’re feeling lonely, you have to tell me. Plainly. No room for misunderstandings. And I can’t-I owe it to Tom not to . . . I need to talk to him before . . .”
He knew she was right. His Molly would need to do the right thing.
His Molly. When had she become his?
Sherlock retreated just far enough to give her space and her hand fell to her lap. “Of course.”
“What do you want, Sherlock?”
“Molly, I- “
They both heard urgent knocking on the front door at the same time, then voices as Mrs Hudson let someone in.
“Sorry. I-I think someone’s got John. John Watson.”
Sherlock jumped off the sofa and hurried to the top of the stairs. “Mary? What’s wrong?”
The newcomer finished climbing the stairs and passed him her phone. “Someone sent me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam; but it’s not. It’s a skip-code.”
He made a mental note to revisit that later, but his concern for John overrode his curiosity as he looked at the message. “First word, then every third. Save . . . John . . . Watson.”
The rest of the unimportant words vanished from his vision and he knew exactly were they needed to go. “Now!”
He ducked into the sitting room to grab his coat and saw Molly still sitting on the sofa. “Molly, I need-“
She nodded in understanding. “Go!” She made a shooing motion toward the door. “Find John.”
He took a step toward the stairs and then turned one more time. “Wait for me?”
Molly nodded again as Mary tugged on his arm to pull him down the stairs.
It was very late when he returned to Baker Street, stinking of bonfire smoke. While he had hoped she’d still be there, he was honestly surprised to find Molly curled up on his couch.
She had her mobile cradled in her hand and when she looked up he could see that her eyes were red and puffy.
“Molly?”
She blinked as if she hadn’t noticed him come in. “Did you find him?”
“Yeah. He’s safe.” Sherlock stripped off his coat and hung it up. It would need to be taken to the cleaners the next day, along with his suit. “A little smoke inhalation, but he’s home now.”
He nodded toward the phone. “What happened?” he asked, even though he already suspected he knew the answer. His eyes instinctively sought out her left hand. The ring was gone.
She shrugged and tossed the phone on to the table. “I talked to Tom. We’re going to meet up for lunch tomorrow, just to sort things out.”
Sherlock eased himself onto the cushion beside her and slowly reached for her hand. “And this?”
“That’s one of the things we’re sorting out. He knows I’m giving it back. I can’t-I can’t marry him now. It wouldn’t be fair, would it? Not when I . . .” She flipped her hand over and pressed her palm against his.
Sherlock laced his fingers between hers and gently squeezed. “Why did you stay?”
“Because you asked.” As if it were as simple as that.
Perhaps it was.