Sherlolly One Shots

Out in the Cold

She was mad at him, and God knows she had the right to be. He had broken her. He had watched every emotion shatter through her features like a bolt of lightning, he had watched her breath catch in her throat as the tears entered her eyes like crushed diamonds. He had witnessed the heart of Molly Hooper breaking, and he knew it was all his fault.

No matter Eurus' mental state, he didn't think he could ever forgive her for the cruelty of that phone call. Not that she would be forgiven for her other escapades that day, but this one would certainly remain in Sherlock's brain every time he visited his sister. She would live as a constant reminder to Sherlock, a reminder that he was the one who broke Molly Hooper – he broke the woman who mattered most to him, who still mattered the most. And that broke him. He often caught himself looking down at his battered hands, remembering the pain he suffered beating that coffin, a pain he couldn't feel at the time because his mind was so overtaken by rage and pure sadness. Sometimes, he would smile at the memory of how strong she was. He would remember the crushing moment of her asking him to say it first with a touch of respect – she truly amazed him. Every day.

And every day, he found himself outside of her flat, or wandering the hallways of Barts, or lingering somewhere on her route home. Every day he promised himself he would apologise, he would prepare for her the speech of a lifetime, he would be ready to tell her how he really felt. But he always found himself raising his hand to her door and it freezing in place, he could never knock. He could never bring himself to swoop into her lab the way he used to, he found himself standing in the lift, the doors wide open, and yet he simply could not face the corridor down which her door resides. When he saw her walking home, he would take a deep breath and then realise his feet were glued to the floor and the words died before they could reach his mouth. Every day, he grew more and more disappointed with himself.

But today, the day exactly three months after the catastrophe had occurred, he promised himself he finally would knock. He knew she had been avoiding him as much as he had been a coward also. She would message John about his wellbeing and enquire about him in person when she came to collect Rosie, but she would always drop a text first to see if he was there. She was so wary of his location at all times. She would ask an assistant to check the lab before she entered it, and she would knock on her own office door before creeping in and locking it. She was terrified of the confrontation she knew had to happen. But more than that, she was scared of having to face the reality of the aftermath. He knew she didn't believe the words he said, she would simply think that he said them to save her life and nothing more – she knew what had happened, John had informed her briefly of the main parts of the story, purposely leaving out particular parts for Sherlock alone to disclose. Now Molly Hooper lived in a perpetual state of pure embarrassment for she believed she had told her best friend that she was in love with him, and he had simply said the words with little to no meaning behind them and hung up straight away. And that view is what he needed to change.

All of these things raced through his mind as he approached Molly Hooper's door, breathing in deeply and trying to steady his thoughts. He raised his hand and finally, finally ... he knocked.

She opened the door slowly, not really paying attention to who was standing in front of her but focusing more on moving her tottering tabby cat out of the way. His eyes scanned her, it was the first time he'd seen her properly in months. There were dark circles under her chocolate eyes, she hadn't been sleeping. Her hair was thrown carelessly into a ponytail, strands of it falling and framing her perfect face. She was bundled up in an oversized jumper with it being a cold night in the middle of winter, she had fluffy socks on her feet, and he could tell her leggings were fur-lined. He pondered whether this was just Molly being constantly cold or if she had a problem with her heating. As Toby finally waddled away (she'd clearly been feeding him more over the past few months), she looked up and her face paled. A thousand emotions flickered across her face – relief, worry, hurt, confusion – and finally a blank expression showing nothing to the detective on her doorstep who was desperately trying to gauge how she was feeling. She had mastered that face from him and, if this all went well, he would be sure to congratulate her on that later.