Bottled up inside — Chapter 12: Tonight's the night

Dumped by her boyfriend, fired from Bart's, Molly is in a mess thanks to our detective.Will he be able to amend the state of affairs before Molly does something drastic? Read on to know. Slightly AU, post Reichenbach. Bits of Sherolly fluff. Please read and review!

'Ah, we finally meet, . I confess that I wasn't expecting his last, best lieutenant to be you. Nevertheless, I must compliment you on the cleverness with which you kept your identity hidden' said Mycroft Holmes in his usual no nonsense voice. Julia looked as if she was about to burst into flames any minute, she was so angry. Her hands were shaking and her breath came out in shaky bursts. After a couple of minutes though, she managed to cool down, enough to face the senior Holmes with a calm facade. Molly was genuinely impressed by her. Julia really was an expert at keeping her emotions under control. The only person she had seen do that as well as her was Sherlock himself. 'A pleasure . Since your reason for being here is pretty clear, may I ask what is to become of me?' she asked coolly, the arrogance in her voice accentuated by the way she drawled lazily. 'Of course, you're very much allowed to do that. I dare say life doesn't look very bright for you from now on, Mrs. Moriarty. Considering that you're the only one to bear the brunt of his punishment for all the crimes that you both committed together, I'd say the kindest jury would reward you life imprisonment' said Mycroft, keeping his eyes fixed on the woman in front of him. 'Really, life imprisonment? But for that I'll have to come to court! How can you possibly be so sure that that will happen?' she asked in mock curiosity. 'Well, we as good as have you in our clutches, . Your little shed is surrounded by policemen and unless you can sprout a pair of wings, I don't see you escaping from here. I'm afraid that you'll be spending the night at the Yard tonight' said Mycroft tonelessly. 'Try and do me in first, Iceman. I don't think you'll be able to do that in this lifetime. Maybe the next' she said, her voice shaking. Something in her voice caught Sherlock's attention and his head snapped up, only to be greeted by the sight of Julia holding a gun and pointing it to the roof of her mouth, the exact way in which Jim had killed himself. He felt a wave of trepidation wash over him and he saw Mycroft reel back, clearly shocked. Bang! The gun fired and he stared aghast at the woman lying on the floor, a pool of blood rapidly growing from her head. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx There was nothing else to be done. Her body was collected by the Yard and Mycroft left in his black Merc, leaving behind another car for them. They pulled up at her apartment soon enough and her hesitant face was enough to tell him that she didn't want to be alone that night. Being around dead bodies was routine but he was sure that this was the first time she had seen someone die right in front of her eyes. They climbed up to her apartment and she fumbled with the keys before unlocking the door and letting them in. The flat was almost exactly the same as it had been two weeks ago. An involuntary shudder shot through him as he remembered the circumstances during which he had been here previously. She mistook it, thinking that it was the cold that made him shudder. 'I'll get you a cup of tea. God knows I need one myself too' she muttered before bustling away to the kitchen. He took the advantage of her absence to study her home carefully. The decor reflected her personality, cream coloured walls with mahogany furniture which was classy and elegant, a floor carpet, a wall devoted only to family photographs, a television in one corner,a sleek bookshelf with glass doors, full of medical texts except for the top row which had a few novels by Jane Austen and a few Agatha Christie books. He knew that her desk was in her room, having used it an endless number of times when he had stayed with her after faking his death. One book was perched precariously on the edge and would fall at the slightest disturbance. It had no title printed on its spine. Curious, he thought before extending up an arm and grabbing it. It was a handsome black leather covered book with the letters MH embossed in gold on the cover. As he flipped it open, he realised that it wasn't a book. It was her diary. He flipped through the entries. Most of them were short and precise. He saw his name mentioned on almost every page and impatiently turned to the last entry which was a day before she had been fired from Bart's. It wasn't an entry per se, it was a poem. So he read on. Bottled up inside are words I never said, the feelings that I hide, the lines you never read. You can see it in my eyes, Read it on my face: Trapped inside are lies of the past I can't replace. With memories that linger Won't seem to go away. Why can't I be happier? Today's a brand-new day. Yesterdays are over, Even though the hurting's not. Nothing lasts forever, I must cherish what I've got. Don't take my love for granted, For soon it will be gone- All you ever wanted Of the love you thought you'd won. The hurt I'm feeling now Won't disappear overnight, but someway, somehow, Everything will turn out all right. No more wishing for the past. It wasn't meant to be. It wasn't meant to last, I have to set him free. His breath caught as he read the last two lines. Was she really about to give up on him? Or were those lines referring to Stuart? As far as he knew, she hadn't known the oncologist that well to write a poem about him. He replaced the book, realising that if things hadn't turned out like they did, he would never have realised what he felt for Molly. She would've moved on sooner or later. And apparently, that day hadn't been far away. So in a cruelly ironic way, he had only Julia to thank for the way things were with them currently. He sighed and sank into an armchair. The way she had shot herself was unexpected and so sudden. But he felt slightly relieved, knowing that she could never get to Molly again. Speaking of which, Molly turned up with two mugs and handed one to him. She perched herself on the armrest of his armchair and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He drank up, sighing one more contently. No one could make tea and coffee as well as Molly. It was perfect, boiled the right amount, with the right amount of sugar and the perfect temperature. He soon drained his mug and watched her do the same. She resumed her position on the armrest and her hand found its way into his raven curls. He leaned into the touch but a nagging voice at the back of his head kept telling him to ask her about the poem. 'Um, I read the poem you wrote..' he began, not wanting to waste any time explaining his actions and wanting to get to the point. 'You what?!' she exclaimed before getting up from the armrest. 'I read the last entry in your diary. I'm sorry but I need to know this.. Were you really thinking of giving up on me that night?' he asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a single breath. 'Sherlock, I don't know what to say! You read my diary? Why would you do that?' she said, her voice becoming shriller with every word. 'Only the last entry. That too only because it was poetry' he said, trying to calm her down. 'Sherlock, please understand... You weren't supposed to.. That was private.. Oh dear God' she said before sinking into the opposite armchair and burying her face in her hands. He walked towards her and gently pried away her hands form her face and looked into her eyes. 'You can be angry with me later, just tell me the answer to my question. Please Molly, I need to know' he said, his eyes pleading. 'Sherlock, I think the universe would stop existing when that happens. I wrote that in a fit of anger. You had humiliated Stuart in the morgue on that day remember?' she said, still slightly annoyed with him but inwardly melting looking at his expression, worry flicked with traces of uncertainty, an expression she had never seen on his face before. 'I am so sorry for that. And I'm also sorry for reading your diary..' he began but Molly cut him off. 'Well, I'm not. Because if that wouldn't have happened, this wouldn't have happened either right?' she said before pecking him slightly on the lips. ' You could've been killed. That day, tonight...' he said, his voice growing very soft. ' I still find it hard to believe that we made it out of that mess alive' she said before looking at him. Their eyes met, and in a second they realised how close they'd both come to being killed. They weren't going to live forever. In a split of a second, Sherlock leaned in and crushed her lips underneath his own. His hands moved to the back of her head and tangled in her hair, hers moved to his back, pulling him closer till the gap between them closed. Her legs wound around his waist and she felt his hands leave her hair and move to her back from where he hoisted her up so that they were standing now. Her hands moved up to cradle his face and got lost in his dark curls, tugging and pulling at them till he gasped. Their lips were moving in synchrony and she felt the tip of his tongue graze her lower lip and her mouth opened as a reflex. His arms were tight around her torso, eyes closed in a fiery bliss that had never before existed for him. He bit down on her lower lip and that made her moan, a delicious sound that made him dizzy with arousal. Her petite frame was crushed against him and her hands were wandering in his hair, his own hands gripping her waist hard. And all of a sudden she wrapped her legs around his waist tighter and climbed up which led to him losing his balance and they landed on the couch with a soft thump. Still, he didn't stop, never wanting anything else as much as he wanted her right now. His hands, having explored her back, now moved to her bare legs and hers moved to his collar, swiftly undoing the buttons of his shirt. His lips left hers and he buried his head into the crook of her neck, trailing kisses down her neck as he had done before. Her hands meanwhile had untugged his shirt and had now slipped underneath dancing over his chest before making their way to his back where she scratched his hot skin, making him growl. She pulled his face to hers and crushed her lips against his once again before planting kisses over his jaw, neck and along his bare chest. His hands had entangled themselves in her hair again and his nose skimmed over her collar bone before biting the skin over her neck pulse where he could feel the flow of blood under his lips. And then he suddenly stopped, looking into her eyes, uncertainty worming its way back to his features. At that instant he felt so violently emotional that it would've left him breathless had he not already been robbed of any idea of breathing – focused on her, though fighting to concentrate, his breathing so loud and laboured that it seemed painful. He was about to share something so intimate with her that he couldn't help but wonder if she really wanted this as much as he did. 'You…' he struggled to get the words out, which probably wasn't helped by still having her pressed to his bare chest, his heart almost slamming out of his body and into hers. 'Are you… you… sure…' For about ten seconds, she said nothing. Just when he was beginning to worry that she had changed her mind, she spoke. Her only reply was a whispered, barely audible 'I love you, Sherlock'. For just a few seconds longer, he still stood frozen, his chest heaving with exertion – and then he crashed his mouth back into hers, both of them surrendering the battle of resisting each other. He reached around, down, scooped her up in his arms, cradling her to his bare chest,and he carried her through to the bedroom.

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