Chapter Text
His love for her took him by surprise.
Whenever he thought about it, trying to pin down the exact moment Molly took residency on his heart, he'd come up blank. There was no exact moment, it seemed. He met her and at some point, he simply became aware that he loved her. A startling realization.
Maybe because it wasn’t hard to love her, with her sunny disposition, and her kind words, her consistent faith in him. It was a thoughtless process. As automatic as breathing, one did it without thinking, until you noticed it, and then you could no longer ignore it. A perfected habit that required no logical analysis. Putting one foot before the other, chewing, breathing, loving her, things you did day after day, to live.
Once upon a time he was a selfish fool that took it all for granted.
It never occurred to Sherlock that breathing could be hard, until he fought a man from Moriarty's network in a river, and he almost drowned. That was the first- And it wouldn’t be the last- time he took notice of his body's relief when air entered his system. Similarly, he took walking for granted until a bad landing in a rushed fall almost costed him his life. He limped slow and painfully and the snow was as much an obstacle for him as much as an aid, as it also deterred the men after him. Weeks later he took immense delight just walking on his own two feet, under the sun.
All of that, he knew, went off to show him how lucky he really was. Surviving, week after week, with all his limbs intact, with air coming into his lungs, was nothing short of a miracle. And on top of all those musings, he thought of her. His Molly.
Yes, he was lucky that he could breathe, he was lucky that he could walk, he was lucky that his body and brain were healthy. Above all, though, he was lucky that he had people to love.
Else he would have ended up like any of those guys. The ones he was after. Lost in an endless cycle of murder and betrayal, spiraling down into the darkness at breakneck speed with no end in sight. With no friends, with no love, drenched in blood that rose to meet him and drown… only the memory of her voice, in an imagined reproach stopped him, sometimes, from effectively falling deeper.
The call for self-destruction, in the face of such hopeless fates he witnessed, would only be stopped by her room in his mind palace. Of her sounds, and her skin, that last night, the only one he allowed himself to give in, to indulge on her body, her company, her love and belief on him. It’s faded warmth was enough that he could walk away from destruction with most of himself intact.
So of course, he was excited to be back. To tell her of his realizations, to refresh his memories of her. He slipped unnoticed into the hospital, walking in complete silence in the middle of the night. She was there, though, he knew. When he asked Mycroft about it he said that her schedule hadn’t changed
“but Sherlock, there is something that has changed"
“it can wait until later" he'd responded, too impatient to remain still when he had so much to do, he just took his belstaff and walked away
“brother of mine, listen to me, there is something that’s happened to--"
“—LATER!” he didn’t hear what Mycroft was going to say. Whatever. He would find out anyway, on his own.
Sherlock ruffled his hair and slid into the lab, choosing to casually lean against the doorframe until she noticed his presence. The slightest of smiles graced his lips. Then finally, she looked up from her notes, and saw him. She startled
“Oh! Hey, I didn't see you there!” she said, smiling in a friendly manner. But something was off.
He frowned without noticing. He'd expected… more. More of a reaction, maybe not crying, or jumping, but… something… he tried not to let it bother him, and offered her a mostly sincere smile
“I came back. Just like I said I would”
At that, she seemed puzzled. She tilted her head and smiled awkwardly
“uhmm, Sorry… uh, do I know you?”