Sherlolly One Shots

The Call

Molly stared at her feet, long and hard. She hadn't moved from her spot on the kitchen floor since the phone cut off. She had no idea how long she had been
there. Her eyes ached and her face was red and blotchy but still the crying didn't seem to cease. She sighed and hugged her knees to her chest, closing her eyes and pressing them into her legs to try and dull the pain.

She'd had to say the most difficult words she'd ever had to face. And to the man she wanted to hear it from the most. But, the feeling deep within her stomach wasn't surrounding that matter. Molly knew Sherlock, she knew that something must have happened for that phone call to have occurred. Something terrible. And here she was, hours later, without a single word. She berated herself for worrying about the man who had just torn her heart out, but she did love him, and that wasn't going to change. She loved him and he was out there somewhere in danger and she couldn't do anything about it.

She jumped when her phone buzzed, with a sigh at the name on the screen, she lifted it to her ear. A relieved heave of breath came through the phone at her answer.

"Hi, John."

His voice was tender, soft and gentle, as if he were afraid too harsh a sound would break her already shattered self, but also laced with a slight sense of panic.

"Molly. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." She was, physically.

"I know it was hard, Molls, but I'm sure he'll explain, and if he doesn't, I promise I'll make him, you deserve an explanation."

"Thanks, John." She smiled with tears brimming, "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. Cold, wet, and ready for the day to be over." He sighed, "I'll see you later, Molls, I've got to get Rosie. Take care."

"You too."

Silence once again filled the flat and she decided that maybe, it was time to move. She hauled herself up off the floor, a movement which encouraged Toby to come and investigate. She ruffled her cat's ears, grabbed a glass of water and headed for the bedroom, Toby at her heels. She peeled her tear stained jumper from her torso and grabbed her comfiest pyjamas from her drawer before heading to the bathroom to complete her usual routine. Sherlock Holmes could mess up a lot of things but her going to sleep ritual was not one of them.

Comfortable and clean, and feeling the tiniest bit refreshed, she climbed into her bed, a million thoughts swimming in her head surrounding a certain consulting detective.

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Sherlock closed his eyes in the helicopter, tuning out the noise that was creeping into his ears uninvited, and hoping that Molly Hooper was safely sleeping in her bed, dreaming of kittens and Disney films. He wanted nothing more than for her to be okay, for her to be happy. And yet he knew he was the reason she wouldn't be. He knew that the events of today would shake their friendship, if he could even call it that anymore, and test them perhaps past the point of no return. But he also knew he couldn't lose her. He wouldn't be able to survive without her. His mind swirled with what he could say to her to try to make that clear. She was his breath of fresh air. It's like he was drowning and she saved him, she always saved him. And that's all he knew.

They landed and Mycroft and John both clambered out as fast as they could, both reaching for their phones. Sherlock simply sat for a moment, attempting to collect his thoughts. He heard Mycroft's call to Anthea and his request for three cars to be sent. He inwardly let out a sigh of relief, as much as he loved John and his brother, he just wanted to travel alone. John rushed back over to him and placed his hand on his knee from his place on the grass.