It Is What It Is

They get in the car before it starts raining but this is Scotland and you are never too far from a cold shower so they just missed it by a hair. In fact, before she starts the car, the rain has turned torrential and they just missed a totally clichéd end of a date soaked to the bone and with desire spelled out in their eyes, but those are idyllic conditions, not ideal, not really. In the movies, they never show the cold as the wet sips through the bones. She has bad circulation, it runs in the family, and anything can make her fingertips turn white and then blue. She feels the cold, so those scenes offered in movies with passionate kissing and limbs that coil around main characters in some film or another, those conditions for her are not ideal, not even remotely. She is also a wee bit apprehensive of public displays of affection, more than people may think. She feels self-conscious. It is not even about the act itself but it is the fear that someone may be watching. Molly cannot help but conjure up these thoughts in her brain while buckling up in the small space of her mini and putting on the car key in the ignition.
It is not the first time that he is in her car but it does not happen very often. He has always complained about the tiny car for the tiny woman. So she looks at him sideways and smiles.
- What? – he asks.
- You are being true to your word.
- How so?
- You are not complaining.
He smiles and looks out of the window or at the window. His eyes seem to be following the pattern of the raindrops on the car window.
- I better give him some warning.
- Your brother.
- Yes.
Molly takes her phone before starting to drive and texts Simon. ´We are heading home. Driving now. Leaving Edinburgh. See you in a bit. Mols´.
- Mols?
- Hey, only Simon is allowed to call me that.
- You signed like that. You seem to like it.
- I hereby do not give you permission to use that name in public for me.
- Understood. – but he is smiling and considering all the other scenarios when he is going to be able to use it.
The car starts and it connects to Molly´s Bluetooth on her phone and it starts playing music, well her music. He hasn´t made a comment, that's a new one, but Molly can see his facial expression through the corner of her eye.
- You can change it if you want. I don’t mind. It just came up, the connection... ´
- Okay...
He grabs her phone and even though he knows her passcode after hearing her punch it a million times, he does the polite thing to do.
- What is your passcode?
She raises an eyebrow.
- Do you want me to pretend that I don´t know that you know it?
He laughs. It's a genuine laugh that breaks quite a lot of the tension that there could have been between them. He opens her Spotify and goes to Chopin. The weather is asking for it. Ideal conditions for Chopin equals bad weather.
- Interesting choice.
- You don't think so.
- I do, I wasn't sure you were going to go for something playful.
- You think Chopin is playful?
- More than Bach.
- Fair enough.
They are silent as they navigate the traffic of the commute from Edinburgh to the different smaller cities that orbit around it.
- Why did you move to London? – he suddenly asks after a few minutes of silence.
- College.
- Yeah, but why did you stay in London? This city suits you ...
- You think that Edinburgh suits me better than London?
- You don't think so?
- No, I don't. I stayed in London because I loved it. Edinburgh sometimes is too... is tailored, a theme park city...
- London can be that way too.
- It can be, but I avoid that London or I dip in and out of it when it is essentially necessary, perhaps... Why did you move to London?
- It's where most of my work comes from.
- Not technically...
- Okay, fine. But it is easy to move around from London.
She nods as they join the motorway out of the city towards the hills and fields that lead to her old family farm. Sherlock observes the landscape. It is odd how easy it is to be in the countryside, how quickly, in these parts of the island.
- B'sides I like being a number. – Molly offers still on the same topic even though Sherlock's brain probably had moved without her realizing.
- You like being anonymous.
- I guess... yeah.
He had noticed. He liked that about her. In a world in which lots of people increasingly want and crave fame and popularity, Molly stood in the shadows without social media accounts and a job that didn't imply facing living people, much. She had never attempted to apply for a coroner role, she had retreated quietly to the safety and quietness of her lab, lulled by the humming of the freezers. Her life was quiet too. She lived in an unassuming flat, with an unassuming car, she had had unassuming boyfriends... even when they weren't, they had pretended to be. He is thinking about the fact that Moriarty used her too to get close to him, but he had been bedazzled by Sherlock at the time and hadn't realized the importance and the value of a...
- Green screen.
- Sorry, what?
- I've been called green screen before.
- As in the stuff they use in the movies?
- Yes.
- Why?
- Because I can fade so people project themselves and see whatever they want.
- That's not ... nice.
- Some people would say it is a defence mechanism and maybe it is but... to me it doesn't seem it is.
- What is it then? You must like to be seen, to be recognized.
- Yeah, of course. Everybody needs external validation.
- But you don't want it?
- I don't know, okay? Let's leave the psychoanalysis for the experts...
He's amused that he's touched a nerve and luckily, they are already pulling up to the house after driving up the gravel hill past Currie. She grabs the phone. No answer, but the lights are on. She turns the ignition off.
- Here we are. – the rain hasn't stopped but it's not as heavy as it was when they where leaving Edinburgh and the windscreen wipers were working overtime. – I can run in and fetch you an umbrella if you don't want to get wet.
- Nah, I think I can run the distance.
She nods and opens the car. He grabs his small bag and they run in. The fire is on and Liam is cooking something nice. No one is around but it smells like good food in the oven. She takes her coat off and leaves it in the hanger. Sherlock copies the gesture.
- Guys! We are home... I'm not sure they are in. – She says walking around clearly in her own environment even though this is not her house. There are photos of the couple on the mantelpiece where the fire is burning and a few on the walls. There are also photos of Molly and Simon as children in the farm with their parents.
It occurs to him that it is quite strange to be faced with the life of someone that you know well but that you realize that you don't know at all, or not that much. It is strange to see these evidence of a life unimagined but so real, which almost generates a sense of estrangement, as if those photos had happened to someone else. Liam walks in shaking his boots.
- Oh you are back! – he says with arms filled with vegetables. – I went over to the greenhouse. It's fierce out there. – he walks to the big wooden table and drops the muddy earthy vegetables he has just picked up and cleans his hand on the cloth. – You must be Sherlock Holmes – he walks decisively to him with his hand extended. He's a slender fellow athletic, with a professional haircut and perfectly grey hair that has been treated. – Nice to meet you.
- Nice to meet you too, Liam – Sherlock doesn't need to deduce much because he's seen the photos around the house and Simon and Molly are two peas in a pod.
Molly grabs the vegetables and takes them to a deep old-style sink to wash them.
- I went over to get some bits for a salad and some sweet potatoes to roast.
- God, we just had a huge ice cream but you are making me hungry already – Molly says. Liam mock gasps.
- Oh, you broke one of your mother's sacred laws. – Liam says.
- That Simon still lives by. – Molly smiles and shares a knowing look with Liam – My mother was a food dictator – she explains to Sherlock.
- I see...
- Where is Sy, by the way? – Molly asks.
- He went down to the off licence to get decent wine. – Liam says- Actually where are my manners? May I interest you in a drink, Mr Holmes?
- Sherlock, please.
- Sure, Sherlock. We have red, white, bubbly or the old water of life... – Liam offers, but he's interrupted by the shorter, stockier figure coming in the door with two bags filled with bottles.
- Smells great in here – Simon says bringing the bags to the table.
- All thanks to your husband – says Molly. Sherlock is definitely standing aside. The domestic milieu isn't one that he is particularly comfortable with.
- Sherlock, we met. – Simon says but his eyes are met by Liam's gaze that is threatening if he doesn't play nice. So Simon walks over and shakes Sherlock's hand. Again it doesn't take a genius of deduction to notice that Simon is happy to tolerate him for his sister's sake but is openly and clearly making it obvious that he doesn't like him. Sherlock reads beyond the gesture. He can see that maybe Simon would have preferred Molly to continue as planned and marry Tom. Tom would have been completely at ease in a situation like this, but he is not. There's a bit of an awkward silence and Sherlock snaps back.
- Yes... yes. I believe it was Molly's birthday. In London.
Simon nods. Molly is chopping vegetables but realizes there's a need for a diversion.
- We said drinks right? – Molly asks and Liam nods
- Good call, sis. – Simon says.
- Sherlock? What will it be? – She asks.
- Whatever you are having.
Molly smiles.
- Red it is. – She approaches him with a nice glass of wine as he's looking into the fire. – Sit down if you want.
He nods in acknowledgement of the offer but doesn't move.
- Molly said you are working on a case – Liam says to bring him into the conversation as Molly moves to the board where Simon now is cutting the vegetables that she was cutting before. Simon gives her a look as she takes a sip and helps so dinner cooks quicker.
- Yeah, Molly helped me close it.
- So you'll go back to London tomorrow? – Simon says gaining an eye roll both from Molly and Liam.
- Yes.
- I may go back tomorrow too – Molly offers as a lifejacket. Sherlock was not expecting that. – If you want a lift...
He smiles.
- In that tin of beans, who would? – says Simon - I've been trying to convince her to buy something new, not that old rattling scrap...
- It is not an amazing car for long journeys – Sherlock says.
- You are going to side with him? – Molly says in an uncharacteristic gesture, with both fists on her hip bones looking like a double-sided teapot.
- He's got a point. You could do with an upgrade.
- You are just saying that because your long legs get all squeezed in the passenger seat ...
- Do you drive Sherlock? – Simon asks.
- I have a licence yes.
- But you don't own a car. – Simon presses.
- I don´t normally have the need for one.
- I guess you can afford being driven around...
Molly throws him a less than friendly look.
- Will I put on some music? – Liam offers to diffuse the momentary tension.
- I believe Molly was going to play the harp... – Sherlock says.
Molly had been hoping he had forgotten but she also knew that there was a slim chance of that.
- Right.
- That's a fantastic idea! – Simon says. – I haven't heard you play in years.
- Since dad's funeral, in fact.
- It's probably not in tune – she tries to dodge.
Liam winces and shakes her head.
- My cousin is learning and we got it tuned for her a few weeks ago. She comes and practice in the weekends. You didn't meet her because she was out of town with her school this week for a match.
Sherlock takes a sip. His eyes fixed on Molly.
- I guess I have no choice then.
- You don't, sister. – Simon says putting the last vegetables in the oven.
Molly downs the rest of the red wine and walks to the corner where the old harp is stored behind a big shelf. She wheels it out and takes the cover of. It does something to her, to see it, to smell it, the old wood. For her it still smells of her grandmother, who she felt loved by unconditionally. She closes her eyes as if she could still feel that love. She wheels it out to the middle of the living room, on top of the rug and goes grab a chair from the sitting room. She tilts the heavy instrument towards her and straddles it. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She ties her pony tail up on a known and tries hard to remember. She flouts the first line but starts again after chuckling. She finally finds her footing. Her timing is a bit off because she's out of practice, but...
(YouTube: Debussy – Clair de Lune (harpe) – Heloise de Jenlis)
Sherlock has turned. Liam has turned and Simon is smiling going over to Liam and putting his hand around his waist. She keeps her eyes focused on the strings because otherwise she is going to make even more mistakes. The four minutes that her rendition lasts have woven the magic that music does and suddenly there are no tensions, no fears, no animosities between the three beautiful men she has in front of her. When the last chord lingers in the air, she smiles and meets Sherlock’s eyes briefly and finds something new in them, something that he may not even be aware that he's projecting.
It is a brief meeting of wonder. It is brief because it's scary. Damn scary for all parts involved.
Liam’s clapping breaks the magic and Molly straightens up the instrument and gets up to Sherlock's disappointment.
- I need another drink. – she smiles feeling the nerves that just performing that has woven around her arms and her spine. Simon presses on her shoulders massaging a bit, as the big brother that he tries to be.
- You still clam up...
- And you are still great at reminding me of my bad habits.
- Someone has to do it. – Liam jokes
- For what I have heard, Sherlock is pretty good at it too – Simon cannot help a second jab.
Molly shakes him off her shoulders.
- Help me set the table – Liam calls Simon and Molly is sure that he's going to tell him off.
She walks over to Sherlock who hasn't moved from the same spot beside the fire.
- You cold? – she says at the same time he says.
- You are very good.
- What?
- The harp. That was very good.
- I'm out of practice.
- Yes, but still it was very good. Accept the bloody compliment.
She smiles.
- You are right. Thank you. – she drinks longer.
- You are drinking fast. Simon gets on your nerves.
- Sometimes more than others.
- I can take it, you know? I may even deserve it – Sherlock jokes with a smile. She likes that he's acting this way, calm and serene about it and just focused on... She suddenly realizes that he has been focused on her and that he has been taking care of her in his own way this evening. He's been learning about her. It is a strange feeling. It makes her feel as if her feet had suddenly developed wheels. No, it makes her feel as if she has been roller-skating earlier and now the feeling of the roller-skates hasn't left her feet, but still moving around seems just easier, lighter, without the heavy load of everyday boredom.
Sherlock continues with his drink now turned to the fire again.
- I'm not cold. I don't get the luxury of standing beside an open fire that often.
- You have a fire place in your apartment.
- Martha doesn't particularly like it when I put a fire on...
- She doesn't like you shooting you gun in there either and look how much attention you pay to that...
He laughs.
- I guess shooting a gun is immensely easier than making a fire and cleaning after it's extinguished.
- God, you are a posh boy. John is so right. Would I be wrong if I said that all the fires that 221B has witnessed were John's?
- You wouldn't be not right.
She chuckles and drinks. His eyes linger for a moment on her profile, her long neck, exposed under the green dress with pockets that she's wearing, now that her ponytail is tied up on a bun. The orange light of the fire dancing on her sternocleidomastoid and her cheeks, a bit red because of the effect of the wine.
- Are you going to play again?
- You want me to – It is not a question.
- Yes.
- If you play my dad's fiddle later.
- You've got yourself a deal, Dr Hooper.
She takes another sip and goes to the harp again. This time Sherlock sits down on the armchair to get a better view and this time Molly doesn't close her eyes. There isn't any need and she prefers to hold his eyes, as intense as they may seem. The fact that they also show some adoration that she has never seen in the way he has looked at her before make her feel confident, encouraged. Simon turns smiling. It was one of the traditional tunes that their dad would play and if it is true that the music is the way we communicate with our dead, Mr Hooper Senior right now is grabbing a fiddle and his invisible feet are tapping.
(YouTube: Glenlivet (live) – Traditional Scottish Music – Harp Duygu Aydogan)