Reconciliation — Chapter 13: Unforgivable

When Sherlock left London, John and his identity behind, so did Molly. But destiny can be cruel at times, throwing things from your past at you when you'd rather make a fresh start. Eventual Sherlolly, Post Reichenbach. Please read and review!

How can I be lost? If I've got nowhere to go? Searched the seas of gold How come it's got so cold? It was only the next afternoon that she dared to step within a twelve feet radius of his room. The application letter, requesting Dr. Drew to let some other doctor take care of the patient in Room no 24 had been sent to his cabin early in the morning. It had taken a whole sleepless night and countless tears on her part to come to the decision, but it was for the best. She had made a horrible mistake and the consequences were hers to bear. But really, how was someone supposed to stop themselves from falling in love? Till Dr. Drew responded to the letter, she would have to treat her ward. She had considered calling in sick but somehow couldn't do it. It was just a couple of days anyway. After that, she wouldn't have to look at his haunted expression and feel her heart ache because he was Sherlock and this was not where he was supposed to be, not who he was supposed to be. Her steps faltered as she reached the door of his room and hesitantly raised a hand and knocked gently. No reply. What, so he knew she was on the other side of the door even without looking? She knocked again and finally tried the door when there was no response. It was unlocked. She stepped inside cautiously, prepared for a series of death glares, or at least a slew of painful words. Instead, her eyes were greeted with the sight of Sherlock, curled up on his side, facing away from her and fast asleep. Just as quietly as she had entered, she settled into her usual armchair and opened her textbook, allowing the words to engulf her. She was midway through the paragraph explaining the effects of therapeutic drugs on the fine intention tremors when she felt a pair of eyes on her. Hesitantly, she glanced upwards from her book to see his blue eyes glaring at her. He wasn't wearing his large glasses and looked so much like the Sherlock she knew, except for the purple shadows adorning his lower eyelids. 'What happened to your lenses?' she blurted out. He rolled his eyes and his face bore the exact expression that was usually reserved for Anderson and sometimes herself and John. 'I was asleep, as you know. The lenses are supposed to be taken off, least they end up rolling to the back of the eyes when a person is in REM sleep. Also, they were inconvenient so I have decided to discard them... What are you doing here?' he snapped suddenly. 'I am your doctor, Sherlock. At least for the time being. I am supposed to be here as per the hospital's rules. But you need not worry. You'll be assigned a different doctor as soon as the HOD gets my letter, requesting the same. You don't need to be bothered with me any more' she broke off, suddenly unable to look at him , and instead stared at her own hands. A look of genuine concern crossed his face before he morphed it into a sneer when their eyes met. 'First of all, you are not my doctor. John is. He'll always be my doctor, and not you. So don't delude yourself into thinking otherwise. You are just my pathologist and the person I owe my life to. I might have considered you a friend even. Knowing how few of those I have, you should consider it a privilege. But now, I wonder who you are. I'm not even sure whose side you are on..' he said in a flat voice and she gasped. His words were as caustic as usual but the idea that he would think that she was working against him, hurt even more. 'Sherlock, what else do I need to do to make you understand that I have been and will always be on your side? I did everything I could to help you with your cases. I risked my own career to make sure you could perform your endless experiments. I came here only because you asked me to. I have left behind everything, Sherlock, my job, my family, my friends, only for you. Please believe me' she implored, taking his large hands in hers. He looked at her in disbelief before pulling his own hands away from her grasp. 'You spent five months with Moriarty, right here Molly. Those five short months were enough to make you fall head over heels for him? Have you forgotten what he has done? Not just to me but to you as well? Why d'you think I should even listen to what you have to say, when you're clearly in love with my arch enemy? Why the hell should I believe you?' he all but roared at her. She flinched involuntarily as the tears began to prick her eyes once again. 'He remembered nothing. He wasn't the man because of whom I'm here. The body was the same but the mind was nothing like that of Jim, consulting criminal, the psycopath..' she said but he cut her off abruptly. 'His name is MORIARTY! He isn't Jim from IT any more!' he yelled at her and she found herself yelling back. 'He isn't the consulting criminal either!' 'How would you know? You're practically blind! You couldn't even recognise that he was gay even when the evidence was staring at you in the face. You would never know if he was lying or not! Thank your stars that Mycroft's agents arrived when they did or else he would have killed you and I would find my hands stained with your blood!' he exclaimed angrily. His words were like lashes of his riding crop but she kept a facade, knowing that she would crumple into a heap if she let even a single tear escape. 'He wouldn't do that' she whispered. 'Why not?' he said disdainfully. She said nothing, but gathered her things walking towards the door, pausing only to shove Jim's parting note at Sherlock. 'Sentiment. I don't expect you to understand, Sherlock. You may believe that I'm working against you but that's not true. It will never be that way and one day, I'll prove it to you. Prove that I have always worked only and only for you. I believe in you, Sherlock Holmes and nothing can change that, so don't delude yourself into believing otherwise' she said, before stepping away from his room and into the never ending corridors of the psychiatric ward. How can I be lost? In remembrance I relive And how can I blame you When it's me I can't forgive.

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