Lo Stesso Tempo (Sherlolly)

Chapter Sixteen

Present

Sherlock pushed the doors to the morgue open and looked around, finding Molly packing her things. She looked up and sighed.

"I'm going home, Sherlock. I can't help today."

He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. "I know. I want to talk." He turned slightly and let her walk passed. She gave him a quizzical look but nodded and started walking outside. They were silent on the lift and the cab ride home. It wasn't until Molly locked the flat's door behind them and put the kettle on that Sherlock spoke. He sat down at her table and took a deep breath.

“Jim is a consulting criminal who tried to have people killed simply to meet me. He’s responsible for the so called gas leak that blew across the street from me. Among other things. You’re better off without him; I don’t want you caught up in whatever he has planned next. You’ll only get hurt.”

Molly sank into a chair and stared at him. The kettle went off as the silence dragged out. Sherlock jumped up and turned it off, pouring the sitting a cup in front of her. He took her hand and gently wrapped it around the cup. Sitting back down with his tea, he sipped it and waited. Molly swallowed and bit the inside of her lip.

“What… Explain everything.”

Sighing, Sherlock started from the beginning. He watched the horror and fear wash over her, tinged with anger. Some part of him wanted to get up and pull her to him but another shied away from the thought of trying to comfort her if she started crying. He vaguely remembered something like this that had happened years ago… But she hadn’t believed him that time. He couldn’t stay with her this time either. He couldn’t make up an excuse to watch and make sure she was okay while she took care of him. He missed those days but he couldn’t do it again. Shaking his head minutely, Sherlock shoved the thoughts aside and set his tea down. He stood. Hesitating, he opened his mouth to apologize. It was what people did, right?

“Don’t.” Molly shook her head and waved him to the door. He left in silence.

**

Sherlock rubbed his neck and yawned, headed for the tea on the table.

“You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating.” John muttered over the computer. For whom, Sherlock wondered.

“S’okay, I’m fine.” Picking up the laptop, he walked it over to his desk and sat down. “Show me to the stream.”

“I didn’t really mean for you.”

“Look, this is a six.” He sat and vaguely registered the doorbell ringing. He ignored it. “There’s no point in me leaving the flat for anything less than a seven, we agreed. Now go back. Show me the grass.”

“When did we agree to that?”

“We agreed it yesterday,” he said absently. “Stop. Closer.” He narrowed his eyes.

John turned the camera back to him. “I wasn’t even at home yesterday, I was in Dublin.”