8Sea Change
Summary: Post-ep for TRF, but only by a few hours. Molly Hooper POV.
She doesn't jump out of her skin this time. In fact, hearing his voice come out of the shadows is something she thinks she's going to keep expecting for a long time after it stops happening.
"Molly, we need to talk."
He is next to a pillar in the underground car park that many of the Bart's employees use on the late shift. He's chosen a spot that is outside the reach of the widely spaced ceiling lights, as well as close to an exit. It's still a risk, being here where he might be seen.
"I thought you were already gone." She walks toward him and stops an arm's reach away. This close, she can tell that his hair is either slicked back or cut short, and automatically reaches up to find out which. "You cut your hair." It feels no more than an inch long. "Let me see."
She takes his coat sleeve and tugs him out into the light on the exit side of the pillar, still blocked from view of anyone entering the way she came. When she gets a good look at him, she gasps softly. The short hair isn't what shocks her. His skin is as brown as a beachcomber's. It's such a contrast to his normal coloring that she doubts she would have known him if they had passed one another on the street in broad daylight. But it's his eyes that are most surprising. They're dark as a night sky, disturbing in a way she can't pinpoint.
"I...I don't think I would have recognized you. How did you...?" She gestures at his face in general.
He smiles a little ruefully. "My brother's idea. I barely recognize myself in the mirror."
"You look..." She shakes her head. "Different."
"It's all more or less temporary. I just need to not look like myself until I get out of the country."
"Well, it works." Looking into those black eyes is simply eerie. The coloring and the cheekbones together make him look foreign and dangerous.
"I seem to want something every time I cross your path. I'm afraid that's the case now, too."
"You know I'll do whatever I can." The list of things she can do is getting smaller all time. He used up most of her reserves with the lie she must keep telling John Watson.
"I don't want you to agree until you know what I'm asking, Molly. I've let you do that too much."
She wonders for a second if she muttered that last thought aloud. "I will do whatever I can."
He nods, apparently satisfied. "I'll be leaving the country in a few hours, and I don't know how long I'll be gone. When we asked you to keep my secret, we didn't tell you what a long term commitment it was going to be, and I'm sorry for that."
"Do you think I would have refused if you'd told me the truth?"
"That's not the point. I owed you the truth, and I'm apologizing for keeping it from you. And I'm sorry for doubting your instincts about John. In my own defense, I've always relied on John for that. Nobody to cue me this time."
She knows that's true, and it always makes her sad. John used to step in and translate *her* for him, too, but she does that for herself now. She thinks she may be the only one he can relate to without John's intervention. "Sometimes I think you see what you want to see. You know how much John cares about you. I know you do."
"It's just costing him more than I expected, and I regret that. There truly was no alternative, and I need you to believe that."
She looks away from those disconcertingly bottomless eyes for a moment. "I do believe it, but it doesn't make facing him any easier." She looks back at him and stares silently for a moment. "I'm having a hard time getting used to your eyes now. Sorry." *Moriarty. Those are Moriarty's eyes.*
"I know. Contact lenses. I look like Moriarty."
She actually shivers. "That's the second time you've read my mind in the past few minutes. Is this a new talent, or something you've been doing to us all along?"
"If I could read minds, we wouldn't be standing here and I wouldn't be dead. I don't need to read your mind, Molly Hooper. You go where your heart takes you, and I don't mean that as a criticism. The world could use more of you."
"You hate that about me."
"I don't hate anything about you."
The way he's looking at her is suddenly so focused and intense that she has to turn away. "What do you need me to do?"
"I saw John today at the cemetery."
She turns back to him, mouth open in surprise. "Did you talk to him?"
"No, of course not. I knew when he was going to the grave this morning, and i got there ahead of him. I watched from a safe distance."
There is no need to ask what it was like. She heard it in his voice. "I'm sorry."
He looks away for a moment. Then he reaches into his coat and pulls out a mobile phone. "I need you to keep this somewhere safe. It's as untraceable as I could make it, but I need you to promise you'll only use it in an emergency."
She accepts the phone without looking at it. "What kind of emergency?"
"I need to know if anything happens to John. I can't afford the distraction of wondering how he is. I can't do my job unless I'm sure that someone will tell me what I need to know. You're the only person I can trust to tell me the truth."
She is trying to imagine what more could happen to John than what Sherlock has already caused, with her help. The only thing she can come up with, she refuses to say out loud. "If things get that bad, you know all I would have to do is to tell him the truth."
"You would be putting his life in even more danger if you did that, Molly, and I need you to understand why. If the people I'm going after knew I was alive, they would go after him to draw me out. They would come after everyone I care about." He touches her hand.
*He means me*, she realizes, and wonders if he knows what he just said. "H-how will I know when to call you?"
"You'll know for the same reason you knew how John would react to all of this in the first place. You were right then, and you will be right the next time. Trust your instincts." He cups her chin with the fingertips of his right hand until she is looking directly into those dark eyes. "I do."
They hold this way for a long moment. "Why do you trust me?" She believes that he does, but she wonders when it happened. Until very recently, whenever she tried to strike up even the most mundane conversations, he always reacted with weary impatience, generally with an insult, clearly intent on shutting her up. He was disdainful, condescending, and rude. She can't grasp how that translates into the trust he has in her now.
"I trust you because you're the most purely honest person I've ever met."
"How do you know that? How do you know that I'm not the most dishonest person you've ever met, and just really good at it?"
"How is it that you can see me when no one else can?" His voice is very soft.
"I don't know."
"Yes you do."
He gently lifts her chin with two fingers, and the corners of his mouth turn up in that shy smile she's never seen him share with anyone else. He holds her gaze for a moment, and she wishes she could see his own eyes. But even through the dark facade she can see his decision the instant he makes it. As he leans down, his lips close in on hers, and her eyes drift shut. At first, it's just the lightest touch. He brushes his lips over hers from side to side, and pulls back a bit. She parts her lips to pull in a breath, and he's back, the soft pressure increasing as he brings his hands up to the sides of her face, cradling her so tenderly that it tightens her throat. The contact feels innocent and almost chaste. And then she feels him take a breath, and the tip of his tongue touches her upper lip, delicately tracing the underside of it. She parts her lips and meets him with her own, a tentative lick that makes him gasp very softly and then pull her into his mouth with a soft, sweet suction that sends an electric charge to her toes. She slips her hands inside his coat and curls her fingers in the fabric of his scarf because it's the first thing they touch.
He pulls back and takes a long breath, then rests his forehead on hers for a moment. Then he straightens and tucks her head under his chin, pulling her gently inside his coat. His arms close around her, and she wraps hers around his waist, her ear against his shirt, listening to his heartbeat. She knows she will never feel this safe again, and she never wants to move.
She doesn't know how much time passes before the sound of a door opening and closing on the other side of the floor, followed by footsteps, makes Sherlock's posture stiffen. They freeze for a moment, listening. A short time later, a car door opens and closes, and they hear the engine start up. The auto exit is on the opposite side of the building, so they're safe, but the mood is broken.
She steps back and looks up at him. "You have to go now."
He cradles her face with both hands for a moment, his eyes locked on hers. "Be safe," he says softly. A moment later, he turns and disappears into the shadows.
She waits, motionless, until the exit door closes. Then she slips his phone into the pocket of her coat and walks to her car.
Notes: This was originally posted as chapter 6 in an in-progress story "Something Broken". The reception was not what I'd hoped, so I wondered if the problem was with the writing or the context. Any comments you can offer on this as a standalone piece would be much appreciated. ~GW
PS The title is a pun on C-change as in color change? Yeah, I know, but I couldn't resist.
