The Universe Is Rarely So Lazy

You've Always Counted And I've Always Trusted You

Notes:

HAPPY 5TH ILY SCENE ANNIVERSARY! I'm working Saturday, so I am posting this now so I don't forget. Enjoy the fic! Ch 2 coming soon!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?"

"I can't say that...not to you."

"Because it's always been true."

"You know why...of course you do."

"You say it first. Go on, say it. Say it like you mean it."

Sherlock gasps, pulling himself out of his mind palace. The memories of Molly's words ringing loudly in his head. He knew she was right at the time, but he had to do anything he could to save her.

'Save her', he mumbles. Though in fact, he wasn't saving her at all, as his deceitful sister had come to tell him. Because of course she had gotten one over on him. Emotional context; and she was correct. He had told himself something along those lines how many times, and yet he still failed.

"I have always assumed love is a dangerous disadvantage."

"Bitterness is a paralytic, love is a much more vicious motivator."

"Will caring about them help save them? Then I won't make that mistake."

His own words come back to haunt him, on those cruel days as a hardened man all those years ago. Before he had friends, before he had people to save and to live for. Before he got to know Molly. 'Love is a much more vicious motivator', he murmurs to himself. Dear God, is that what it was?

That was the assumption, the connection that his sister had silently begged him to make. That was the whole point of Molly's "game". It was never about someone who loved him, it was about the person he loved. Everything about the room, the plaque, the coffin, and even the context of the call, suggested it. Yet for his brother, who is still a hardened man of his own accord, had gotten it wrong. So much for being the "smart one". Eurus had hidden the real puzzle (Sherlock's heart) under the guise of getting Molly to confess her feelings, but Sherlock had already known her feelings, lying through his teeth when he had claimed he didn't.

Of course he had, she wasn't exactly subtle. So that wasn't the point or the purpose. Eurus must have known that Molly would lash out, strike back, the way she always had when he was out of line. Nobody truly knew how long she was out of Sherrinford, how long she had cameras on Molly, on him, on anyone else he cared for, not to mention her disguises. It was about getting him to confess how he felt for her. Yes, he had realized that whatever it was, was certainly real, but was it love? Is this what love felt like? He didn't want his love destroying her, not to mention the risk of his job. They had all been under attack because of him once. Was he really willing to let it happen again?

Groaning, he runs his hands down his face as the silence of the night screams in his ears. He sits back in his chair and closes his eyes again, rewinding the scene in his head before playing it back. He focuses on the screen, Molly making tea, moving over to lean over her sink for a moment, turning when her phone began to ring, her eyes a bit puffy, face ashen, voice sullen when she answered the phone, hands seemingly clammy as she clutches the phone with two hands as the conversation got intense.

His eyes fly open again and he sits at the edge of his chair. "She's sick. She was ill and I did that to her", he groans, upset with himself even more so than he was before. It's been weeks since he had gone and apologized, and they had a decent conversation. She had told him that Lestrade had come and explained when the cameras were ripped from her house. She had forgiven him. loosely, as she was still pissed, but she had.

Glancing at the watch that she had gifted him all those years ago during that horrid Christmas, the one that he had just recently found in the rubble when his flat was blown apart, he sees that it is nearly midnight. For a moment he thinks that he would be rude to show up at her home this late, but he had done it before and let's be honest, he can't break /all/ of his bad habits.

He swiftly gets out of his chair and grabs his Belstaff, rushing down the stairs and out the front door of Baker Street. He rushes out to the main road and hails a cab to her home.

Sat in the back of the cab, he can't help but be drawn back into his mind, back a handful of months ago when Molly had let him spend time at her house. John was working late at the clinic and Sherlock was feeling particularly antsy for something recreational. Not wanting to fall back into it and lose his friends forever, since they were already at their breaking point with him, he had quickly texted her and asked if he could spend the night as to not be tempted by being alone in his flat.

As she always does (unless she's elbow deep in either a corpse of one of Rosie's diapers), she had responded immediately in the affirmative. He remembers getting there, his entire body and mind distraught, but plastering on a neutral face the way he always has. Molly had known immediately how he was feeling despite his outward appearance and had wrapped her arms around him in a hugging hold. He had calmed immediately and resigned his toughness, letting his forehead droop to her shoulder.

She had then led him to the sofa where they spent a few hours watching crap telly mixed in with a few interesting crime documentaries. Throughout the evening they made light conversation, and even for himself, it was pleasant and unforced. It was the epitome of comfortable. Molly had even told him why her engagement to Tom had ended, and that was something she kept to herself all those weeks. Despite the heartache of it, she knew it had been the right decision for herself.

Sherlock had divulged to her about his texts with The Woman, and that even though she wasn't a great person and of course, a lesbian, that there was a sort of spark between them until he found out that she had committed treason. He was angry for a while but the allure of her, the danger, the way she was forbidden fruit, it was still thrilling for him. But alas, it was only texts and would only ever be texts, as he didn't have the desire to take it further.

Molly had chuckled a bit at his antics and joked about how a population of London still thinks him gay for John. They both had laughed, and Sherlock had sunk back into her sofa, rolling his eyes, and telling her to let them, that it wasn't his problem what the rumors are. Though it did piss off John, which he deemed the best part of the rumors.

The lightness of the moment had settled between them, and they had truly smiled, seeing each other in a different light, as a person with more layers than what is always seen on the surface. It was then that Sherlock had the overwhelming urge to kiss the magnificent woman, and he did. Of course, Molly was too stunned to react at first, but slowly eased into it when he hadn't pulled away terrified of his own actions. Unfortunately, they had taken it too far and had engaged in relations. It was good...no, it was marvelous. It was something Sherlock thought about more often than not ever since. When they had woken up together the morning after, they were both uneasy bout the situation until they had both agreed that they didn't regret it. Molly had told him that she had no expectations, despite that he probably believed that she did. They agree that it was a one-time thing that had overtaken them in the moment, but that they would remain friends.