Deerstalker - a Sherlolly story

Brainteasers

It had been three days. Three days without going to school, sleeping or eating and he still hadn’t figured it out.

Sherlock let out an exasperated breath. He had given up on staring at his bedroom wall since yesterday evening. Right now he was lying on his bed, his eyes trained on the empty ceiling.

He didn’t even bother entering his mind palace. He had repeated the facts so many times that the words almost lost their meaning, he certainly didn’t need help remembering. And there was also still a girl, a very confused and lonely one at the moment, wandering the halls somewhere in there. Sherlock trained his eyes on a moist spot in the white cracking paint, forcing himself to focus.

The line that he had stood in that faithful day in the supermarket appeared in front of his eyes. One of them had also overheard David and his friends and had decided they needed to be stopped. Just like the O’Malleys and Phil had to be stopped. The man he had been searching for all that time, had been right in front of his eyes and he hadn’t even noticed.

In his mind Sherlock walked past the formation of impatient shoppers. In the front, packing up his groceries, stood a scruffy-looking elderly man. Sketchy, but had a hernia in his back. So, not him. Behind him stood a group of three teenage girls, loading up several bottles of booze  while the male cashier eyed them suspiciously. They were also chatting frantically in between excited fits of giggles. Couldn’t have overheard.  Sherlock continued to analyze several other costumers, but ended up more annoyed than he started.  None of them were even remotely suspicious.

When he once again came up with nothing, his mind started to wonder to Molly. Stupid mind. After he had told her to leave on Friday night, he and Billy had almost gotten into a brutal fight. Luckily, David had finally succeeded in standing up and told Billy to back off. Maybe he wasn’t such a big asshole after all. Or maybe he just wanted Billy to use his energy to bring him to a doctor, instead of beating up Sherlock. Either way, with this turn of events Molly was the one to leave the mill with the most injuries.

Sherlock still felt bad about it. Or at least, he felt this strange pressure in his chest all the time and had decided it was the feeling of guilt. (It could also have been his lungs giving up on him.) It was in moment like this, lying on his bed, experiencing these sensations for the first time, that he felt terrifyingly clueless. He wanted to make sure she was okay, that she had known it had all been an act. That she wouldn’t stop letting him, letting him try to be a decent person (even though he failed miserably) and letting him kiss those pink lips ones more. God, those lips. Yet, he had no clue how to go about these things. Other people had years of practice apologizing and being all gooey-eyed, but he was just starting to grasp what the concept of apologizing meant or why it was even necessary. So, he just sighed and stared at that moist spot some more. Gross.

Molly turned up the volume of her iPod even more, hoping it would drown out her screaming discomfort. Even though it was quite cold, she was having lunch outside. Alone. Ever since the dance Sally hadn’t spoken to her. Unfortunately, as a social being Sally wasn’t just a person, she was the collective mind of an entire group. So if Sally didn’t speak to you, no one spoke to you. Not even Meena.

Molly packed up her sandwich again, having lost all appetite. The upbeat piano and rhythmic bop-bop-bop coming from her pink headphones didn’t have the desired effect. She had hoped that music that made your feet tap along with the beat, would have made her mind stop running to the places that made her stomach twist even more. Having no one to talk to most of the day, gave her brains a lot of time to especially explore these painful places. In the last two hours alone, she had come up with 33 theories about what exactly was going on between her and Sherlock. Was this his way of proving his undying affection? Did he think his love was unrequited? Was there a family feud that made it impossible for him to love her?  Stupid brain.

Annoyingly, her heart wasn’t cooperating either.  It kept telling her to have hope. To believe that Sherlock had meant well and he would come back to explain he did everything to protect her. Also, at random moments, like in her mathematics class (in which Sally also didn’t sit beside her anymore), it would suddenly start to beat really fast.  As if it somehow relived her kiss with Sherlock once more. Or the feeling of his hands on her hips. Or her hand in his. Aaargh.

Maybe she should just be cool and aloof, spending her lunch breaks listening to obscure punk rock and come to school every morning dressed from head-to-toe in black.  That’s what Molly thought while she ran her hand across the chipping paint of the bench. A girl like that wouldn’t care about whether Meena or Sally ignored her or not. And Sherlock would just be another boy on her long list of casual romances. She would ooze confidence and scoff at matters of the heart with cynical carelessness. She would feel like Sherlock. But then Molly remembered that Sherlock wasn’t actually that way – he just tried really hard to act like it. Also, she didn’t own any black clothes.

“Molly!” Upon hearing her name Molly almost jumped. While bending over to unlock her bike after a long day of more Sally-ignoring and heart-thumping, she had been listening to her overly happy music. Hearing her name suddenly ring through the bips and bops came as an unexpected surprise.

Slowly she turned to see where the voice had come from. Standing there, in the long shadows that the school walls created, was Sherlock. Molly could feel the butterflies in her stomach burst into flight. He stood tall en quiet like a statue, even more so than usual. He still made her knees weak, though.

“Sherlock, hi,” Molly greeted politely as she approached him. “Where have you been?”

“Molly, listen,” He began, his eyebrows pulling together in a serious expression. She gave a small nod, although listening was quite hard when he had decided to stand so close to her. “About Friday night, you understood that was all an act, right?”

“Off course,” She replied calmly, but secretly she felt a massive weight lift of her chest.

“So, I didn’t mean it when I said you were pathetic, or crazy, or I took pity for you,” He replied, his tense expression easing a little. “Although, you probably would cry about hurt puppi-“

“Sherlock!” With voice that didn’t even sound like her own, Molly suddenly interrupted him. He also seemed surprised by this, his mouth remaining open mid-speech.

“Umm… Anyways, what I’m trying to say is: I – I’m… I’m sorry. For everything.” His voice shook a little, while he apologized in a manner that seemed almost rehearsed.

 A wide smile spread across Molly’s lips as she replied; “I forgive you, on one condition: Stop pretending. I’m not stupid, Sherlock. I know you’re in fact a really great guy. And you do care. So stop acting, at least around me.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth Molly’s cheeks turned bright red. Where did all these big words come from? Was there some other confident Molly living inside of her, that suddenly had decided to come out? And why, now?

Squirming in discomfort, Molly looked away. To the ground. Because with her back turned towards the wall and Sherlock in front of her, it was pretty hard avoiding looking at him. It soon became clear that he was surprised by these words as well, because an awkward silence fell between them. 

Being certain that it couldn’t get more embarrassing for either of them, she dared to ask the question that had been on her mind since she had seen him:

“Umm… so… does this mean we are-“

This time she didn’t see it coming. Before she could finish her question, Sherlock had her pressed up against the wall. One hand on her waist and the other cupping her chin. Before she could fully process what was happening, his lips met hers. This time he wasn’t afraid to use his tongue. In an unconscious response, Molly’s hands went up to his head, softly pulling on those thick black curls. Eventually Sherlock pulled away, his breath coming out hard and ragged. His eyes were wide, as his hand travelled from her waist towards her hips. Molly was almost ready to step away, when suddenly he pressed her into the wall even harder. His lips found her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses. She felt kind of bad and slightly embarrassed about doing this on school grounds. This was definitely too much PDA. Yet, when his lips touched the soft spot right behind her ear, the only thing she could think of was; This is a definite ‘yes’.