Chapter 4
Molly sat on the couch next to Sherlock.
Sherlock didn't look at her. He had his eyes locked on the TV, his knees pulled up to his chest.
Molly didn't say anything. Molly watched the trashy show Mrs. Hudson had put on for them, wiggling her socked toes and knocking her feet together. She began to braid her hair after an hour, making small braids at her temples, then unbraiding and rebraiding them. Then, she braided her hair into two large braids down her scalp. She unbraided those too. She'd begun to fishtail braid her hair when Sherlock slowly turned to her. She stopped immediately.
"Is this what it felt like?" He asks slowly. "When I couldn't take a hint? When I was awful to you? When you... Were interested in me?"
Molly shrugged, respositioned herself, and began to undo her hair. "I don't think so. A rejection isn't nearly the same as..." She waved her hand around, gesturing to the flat above them. Sherlock understood.
Sherlock turns back to the television. "He's fucking her sister, you know."
Molly gasps, sitting up, eyes blown wide. "What?" She yelled.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, no, not John. Mike." He points to the television. "It's an easy enough deduction."
Molly relaxes again. "I would think deductions would be harder to make on TV, since it's not real. There aren't any tells from the actors."
Sherlock shrugs. "Sometimes. But there are patterns that writers, directors, and actors like to stick to. They're easy enough to pick out, and after you've identified those, you can extrapolate nearly every major plot point. Although, Mike's actor does have a rather large tell that he displays when he believes he's playing a character with dishonorable morals, it's-" he cut himself off.
Molly nods to him. "Go on."
Sherlock swallows and looks at his hands.
"Come on, Sherlock, I'm serious. I like that actor, I've gotta know this."
"Do you think I'm a freak?" He asked quietly.
Molly blinked. "No. Is this about Sally? Because she doesn't mean it. Well, I guess she does. But like, not really hard. She thinks you're weird, but her definition of 'freak' is pretty loose-"
"No, it's not that-"
"I mean, plus she played football in school, so she can't even help it, really. Subtle bullying is just... part of her being. She thinks I'm weird, too. If it makes you feel better."
Sherlock waits to make sure she's done. Molly dips her head and smooths out the blanket that's on her lap.
"I don't care what Donovan said, but... John said it to me."
Molly's face fell. "What?"
He shrugged. "It- it's not that big of a deal, I guess. I mean, I thought he was going to say something-" He chuckles wetly, "Something a lot worse, but honestly- honestly I think I would have preferred anything else. Any other word." He says quietly.
"Oh, Sherlock-"
"I never let words get to me. Never. But- but he sounded like he meant it. And- and I mean everyone knows it. I know he knows it, too, but- he never said anything. He always told me he didn't think I was a freak."
Molly sighs, staring at the coffee table. "I'm sure he doesn't really mean it. You know that people say things they don't mean when they're angry."
"I know. I'm sure I said awful things, too, but- but he-" Sherlock pushed himself to his feet. "He knew what that- what that meant to me. What that'd do to me, and he said it anyways. If he didn't mean it, then... then that's even worse, because he wanted to hurt me so bad that he used my... my insecurities-" he kicks the couch, "Against me."
Molly didn't stand. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."
Sherlock waves his hand at her, his face twisted into a snarl. "You're all sorry! It doesn't help me any. It doesn't bring him back, it doesn't stop him from hating me, nor me from loving him." He freezes and just stands there.
It was the first time he'd said it out loud to anyone since the night with John, and even before that it was very privileged information. At least, Sherlock thought it was, before everyone started saying things like I know Sherlock, and I always thought you had a chance.
"How long have you known?" Sherlock asked, the fight draining out of him. "How long have you known I loved him?"
"Honestly? I always had an inkling. I denied it, because, well, obviously. But once I got over the whole... school-girl crush phase... I could tell."
"Before Reichenbach, then?" Sherlock asked, his voice cracking.
Molly laughed. "Way before that, Sherlock."
Sherlock sighed, rubbing his chin with his hand. "What now?"
"Now? Now, I suppose you learn to live without him."
"I'm... Not sure I know how."
March, 2011;
Sherlock woke up to a hospital room.
Fuck, he hates hospitals.
He is first assaulted by the smell of cleaning products, medicines, and the overall lack of grime.
He then becomes aware of the thin, scratchy material that covers his body, and can already see the too-bright lights shining through his eyelids.
"Turn the lights off." He says gruffly, his voice rough from dehydration.
The lights flick off. Sherlock opens his eyes to find John standing over him, face flat and arms crossed.
He finds himself smiling before he can help himself, not fully in control of himself yet. "Hey John."
"You overdosed."
"Way to beat around the bush." Sherlock says, trying to sit up.
John places a hand on his chest and forcefully pushes him back down. Sherlock looks up at him, annoyed, his hand coming up to wrap around John's wrist. "I'm not going to pretend like you didn't just nearly die." John snaps.
Sherlock makes a non-committal "eh" noise.
"Eh? Eh, Sherlock? Is that all you have to say for yourself? I come home to find you lying on the floor, moments from death, and all you have to say to me is eh?"
Sherlock sighs. "I assume you're expected an apology, but I won't insult either of us by faking one."
"Maybe I want you to."
"Hm?"
"Fucking apologize. Even if you don't mean it, Sherlock, at least fucking acknowledge what you did was wrong."
"It wasn't, though."
"It wasn't? Really, it wasn't?"
"No. I did drugs, did a bit too much and passed out... Really, John, you can't be putting morality on things that don't require them."
"So, it would have been completely fine, morally, if I had come home, and you had been dead?"
Sherlock thinks of John standing over his dead body. Would he cry? Would he scream? Would he hold him? Would he shout or swear? Would he be relieved?
"I suppose not. That sounds very unpleasant."
"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock!"
Sherlock winces. "It wasn't... Really an overdose. If it makes you feel any better. I just passed out while I happened to be high."
John shakes his head at him, eyes wide in disbelief.
"The IVs are for the dehydration and malnutrition, probably, but-"
"Sherlock! What on earth is wrong with you?"
Sherlock shook his head. "I don't understand what you're asking."
"How do you just- not eat for three days?"
"I forgot." He said plainly.
"How?"
Sherlock threw his hands into the air. "I wasn't hungry!"
"For three days?"
Sherlock waves his hands around wildly.
"Sherlock, what if I had come home any later?"
"Mrs. Hudson would have found me."
"And you want to put that on her? Sherlock, she's your landlady, not your mother! She's supposed to lease you a shitty flat and bleed your pockets dry, not make you tea every morning and check on you to make sure you're well!"
Sherlock frowns. "Then why does she? I'm not forcing her to. I'm certainly not asking her to take care of me."
"Because- because she cares about you, Sherlock."
"Well, that sounds like her fault, more than mine. I'm not sure why I'm the one getting the lecture about proper tenant-landlady etiquette."
"I'm just- I'm just trying to make you aware of how much she does for you. When she doesn't need to."
Sherlock shrugs. "We all do things we don't have to. It's not fair to blame the recipient of the good deeds for things they didn't ask for. I didn't ask for Mrs. Hudson to be my mother hen, I didn't ask you to sit by my side in the hospital and care so damn much about me passing out. It's your own fault, really."
John scoffs. "My own fault?"
"Yes. You've let yourself get attached. Not my fault."
"It is!"
"How?"
"Because- because you don't have to be like this Sherlock! You don't have to be so-"
"Burdensome?" Sherlock finishes for him.
At the same time, John is saying, "Charming!"
Sherlock stares at him. "What?" He croaks.
John is running his hands through his hair now. He looks crazed, eyes wide with large purple bags underneath. The medical convention must have been exhausting. Sherlock wonders how long he's been asleep, how long John had been sitting by his bedside.
"I mean, you've got no reason to be so... captivating. I mean, why do we care about you so much?"
Sherlock turned his face away, feeling a blush creep up his neck. "I'm sorry."
John sighed and pulled Sherlock into a tight-gripped hug. "Just... Just take better care of yourself. Please."
Sherlock didn't say anything back. He wasn't one to make promises he couldn't keep.
"Well you ought to try." Molly says simply. "You can't sit here and wait for him fall back in love with you."
"Back? Molly, there is no back. He's never- he's never felt like that."
Molly rolled her eyes, taking her whole head with them. "Of course he did. Just because he won't admit it and you're too- too stupid to see doesn't make it untrue."
"I- but this is John, Molly. John, wh-who reeks of-" he waves his hand around flippantly, "Neurotypical heteronormativity and downright chauvinism."
She shrugs. "Gay guys can be sexist too."
Sherlock frowns. "That's not the point. The point is-" he trailed off. He wasn't quite sure what the point was.
That's a lie. He knew very well what the point was.
The point was if John really was gay- or in love with Sherlock, whichever he'd find more accurate- that meant that Sherlock was right.
And if Sherlock was right that meant that he'd had a chance.
He'd had a chance at happiness and he had lost it. He threw it away just as carelessly as he'd thrown his own body off of that roof.
It meant John was hurting even more than Sherlock had initially calculated for.
It changed so much, and yet nothing at all, because through all of that, John still chose Mary.
And if Sherlock was right that made it worse- because it was no longer John choosing Mary over Sherlock because she was different, because she was something that Sherlock couldn't it be- but because Mary was just better.
It meant that when faced with a choice between John and Mary for the same position John chose Mary.
He still chose Mary.
So no, really. John's feelings on Sherlock didn't matter anymore. Maybe they never did. Maybe he always would have chosen her.
Maybe he would have always chosen anyone besides Sherlock.