The Moment’s Passed
Imagine Molly having a sinking feeling of dread throughout John and Mary’s wedding. And, after the Mayfly Man has been arrested, she sees John and Mary enter the reception, arm in arm. Mary whispers something into John’s ear and he gives a half chuckle as they make their way onto the dance floor. And then, out come Sherlock and Janine. And, it just looks so painfully forced that Molly can’t stand it anymore; she has to say something.
She marches over to the pair, takes a deep breath. Despite her stomach twisting itself into knots, she says, “Sherlock,” with all the authority she can muster.
Janine raises her eyebrows. There’s something familiar about her that makes Molly’s skin crawl, but she can’t quite place it.
Sherlock’s mouth thins. “I need to get my violin,” he replies, ice cold. He turns to Janine and nods. “Excuse me.”
And, he about turns and leaves the room, alone. Molly scoffs and follows him. He doesn’t look at her.
“Sherlock,” she calls. “Sherlock!”
He stops in the corridor, where his violin case is propped up against the wall. He bends down, opens the case, and gingerly takes out the violin and bow.
“What was that?” Molly asks to his back.
“A wedding.” He still does not turn around. “I’m sure you’ll have heard of them before, they’re quite a cultural-”
“No. You know exactly what I’m talking about, Sherlock Holmes.”
Sherlock merely holds the violin up to his ear, feigning to tune it. “If you were referring to my speech, it was the truth. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Don’t patronize me. I know what this is.”
Sherlock sets the violin down, and slams the case lid shut. He stands, and finally faces Molly. “Oh, and do tell me what stunning conclusion you came to,” he spits out through gritted teeth. “Or perhaps I should leave that to your fiance, he does seem to have the knack for it.”
There. Molly has had enough. “Don’t be so cruel. I know what you must be feeling, but don’t take it out on me.” And, she could pass the rest off as Dutch courage, but perhaps she would have said it anyway: “I was in love with you, you know. So, I know… I know, Sherlock.”
Sherlock rubs his face with his hand. He stares at Molly, and really sees her. “I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is rough. “I’m so sorry, Molly. You didn’t deserve that.”
Molly forces herself to smile. “I forgive you.”
Sherlock actually smiles back. He picks up the violin and bow.
Encouraged, Molly persists: “We’re friends, Sherlock?”
“Of course.”
“So, please… please, let me help-”
But, Sherlock shakes his head, cutting her off without words. “No. The moment’s passed, Molly. It’s too- I was too late.”
And, he hurries away. Molly follows once more. “Sherlock,” she pleads. “Sherlock, please, you don’t have to-”
But, by the time they have returned to the reception, the lighting has been dimmed. It’s time for John and Mary’s first dance.
And, Molly hears Sherlock play that damned waltz. One last love letter, one last goodbye. And, her heart breaks for him.
Considering that Sherlock uses his violin to woo John, this is his goodbye to hope that John could love him. One last serenade…
He didn’t even take his violin home from the reception. John has gone to another, so the violin is left behind. There is no more music in Sherlock’s life.
OH MY GOD, I’ve never noticed that before!
So, who notices the violin is still there? Molly? Greg? Mrs Hudson? John?
What if Mrs Hudson takes it home, and chaps on Sherlock’s door in the wee hours of the morning, still tipsy, calling, “Sherlock, love? You left something at the-”
Sherlock opens the door abruptly. He is still in his starched, uncomfortable suit. “Did you ever see her again?”
“Who?”
Sherlock swallows, then sighs. “Margaret, your… your friend.”
Mrs Hudson blinks, caught off guard. “Oh! W-well, I still saw her at, um, other weddings, birthdays, christenings-big things, you know. But then, we just sort of drifted apa-”
And, Sherlock winces, and shuts the door, leaving Mrs Hudson and the violin alone.
EXCUSE
That morning his secret stash, perfectly hidden before in every single drugs bust sits innocently on the coffee table. He knows no one will stop him because they all are either too drunk or have moved on and away from him. Or both. The golden rays caress the old but cared for wooden case, ebony shining with the siren call of oblivion. Pale hands lift the lid slowly while a myriad of memories pre-John and post-John assault him. you’ve always been, and always will be here… right old friend?
💔
He does try to fight it, though. Honestly. He endures the thought that John will never live at 221B again. He endures playing bloody cluedo with Mrs Hudson. Mycroft calls a few times, and he relishes stabbing his phone’s ‘ignore’ button.
It’s only when Lady Smallwood arrives with her sad tale that Sherlock spots his opportunity. He promises her that he will do everything in his power to stop Magnussen.
When she has gone, he spends the rest of the night thinking of what he was like before John. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. And they believed him. People always were so stupid. He slips back into the persona like it’s an old friend. Life is always so much easier when you convince others that you have never cared, and never will.
He speaks to his Homeless Network, and they recommend some man named Wiggins. Sherlock knows what needs to be done.
It has to be realistic. After all, it’s for a case.
Sniffle…
Fine. You made my morning. Sad.
But about the violin – we do not see it once in HLV, do we? So the wedding is the last time he …
To your rooms.
So well observed and so fucked up, you guys. You can come out of your rooms later on for ice cream.
