HIS CONSTANT

Chapter 1

A/N: I don't know how many times I rewatched TFP, only to cry over the 'I love you' scene, while I was writing the first draft of this fic. I also read so many metas, and I tried to incorporate my favourites (a.k.a the ones that fit the relevant headcanons) into this story. I also hope this is different enough from the other fanfics about the 'I love you' scene. Hope y'all like it!

I haven't written a multi-chapter fic in a while. Honestly, this was originally written as a one-shot. But my brain screamed 'Nope!' at the thought of me editing 10K words in one go (although this isn't even my longest one-shot). So I can't promise how frequently I'll update this, especially since I'm adding another chapter. But I will update this and I will finish this, no matter how long it takes. This will only have a maximum of four chapters anyway.

This is also related to Chewing the Fat, Woman to Woman and Babysitting (SAW 2017, Day 6). Y'all don't have to read them first, but those works will be referenced in future chapters.

Chapter Notes: I got the idea for this opening chapter from a certain Tumblr post about the 'I love you' scene. I don't have the link, but the OP was offering suggestions on how Sherlock could've gotten Molly to say the three little words without all the angst and––the most important reason for the OP, I think––without the romantic implications of the scene. The latter, especially, pissed me off, so I started writing a chat fic. But I realized partway through that the chat fic was getting too long and that it would be the perfect opening scene for my post-TFP fic.

I know John isn't the most popular or most loved character in the sensible part of the Sherlock fandom right now. But I wanted an outside perspective to the 'I love you' scene. His face right before Molly whispered it back is another reason.

Molly will pop up in later chapters. So stay tuned!

I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.

Shivering, John clutched the grey blanket more tightly to himself and looked round. The forensic experts were still processing the well, taking photographs and gathering whatever minuscule evidence that nature and a few decades had not erased. Police officers milled about the grounds and occasionally stared at his famous friend. While on the phone, Lestrade briefly spoke to Sgt Liu as he carefully handed the evidence bags containing Victor Trevor's remains to her. At least Victor's family will be able to bury something 30 years later, he thought, shaking his head and sighing.

His gaze landed on Sherlock, who was still standing next to him and staring into space. He wondered what his friend was thinking and feeling now that the entire ordeal was over and Eurus was on her way back to Sherrinford. God, he must be such a mess right now. He could only imagine the long-term, as well as the short-term, effects of Eurus's twisted experiment on him. While Sherlock had had a few days to process the fact that he had a younger sister, he might take longer to digest what she had done to his childhood best friend. All that new––or, more accurately, newly dug up––information must be wreaking havoc in his Mind Palace and his emotions. His heart ached for his friend and the rest of his family. Lord knows how Mycroft and their parents would deal with this. His brows furrowed in concern as he realised that Sherlock might have days, weeks, or even months of danger nights. We'd need to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't relapse again or smash another coffin with his bare hands.

That thought reminded him of the events in the coffin room. Glancing at the silent man beside him, he thought back to how Sherlock, who was calm for most of the experiment, seemed to panic during the phone call with Molly. He knew how well Sherlock could suppress his emotions, but the man he used to call a machine could barely hide his desperation when he pleaded with her to say those three little words. He told Irene Adler once that he'd never begged for mercy in his life. Yet he begged Molly Hooper to say, 'I love you,' six times! Six fucking times! Also, the way Sherlock said those words for the second time––which was completely unnecessary, in his opinion––was unlike anything he had ever heard him say, not even when his thing with Irene Adler started or when he dated Janine to gain access to Magnussen's office. He narrowed his eyes as he remembered how frantic Sherlock sounded when the seconds ticked by and Molly had not said it back. God, I thought we were going to watch her blow up. Recalling how enraged, frustrated, and ferocious Sherlock looked as he smashed the coffin with his bare hands, John wondered what he would have done if there really were explosives in her flat and she failed to say the words back before time ran out. Would he be as forgiving of Eurus as he is now if Molly had died?

His chest ached, and he cursed the universe for allowing Sherlock to save Molly while not giving him a chance to save the woman he loved. And betrayed, he reminded himself. He could not help but wish for a do-over and a chance to rectify his mistakes.

He immediately felt ashamed of his envious thoughts and chastised himself for his selfishness. I know it's unfair, but it is what it is. All he could do now was forgive himself and remind himself to do better next time. He took another glance at Sherlock and decided that he would help him navigate his relationship with Molly. Perhaps I could help explain to Molly exactly what went down in the coffin room. But only if she asked me to, he amended when the image of Sherlock punching him in the face crossed his mind.

John cleared his throat, breaking the silence that reigned over both of them. "You know you could've easily gotten Molly to say those words without letting your sister force you into saying them, don't you?"

Sherlock stiffened for a moment before slowly turning to him, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Sorry?"

"The 'I love you' thing," he clarified.

Despite his incredibly difficult day, he sighed irritably and rolled his eyes. "And how could I have done it differently?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps you could have just told her that you can't really understand human emotions and asked her what regular people say to their family members or romantic partners or friends."

"She'd have immediately seen through the bullshit," he rejoined.

He rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Or you could have said that you were composing or recording something for Rosie for her first birthday and wanted her to say something brief to your goddaughter. She would've said those words without both of you being forced to say, 'I love you,' and without Molly having her heart broken into a million pieces when the call abruptly ended. I know, I know," he added when his friend opened his mouth to defend himself, "you didn't end the call; Eurus did. But Molly doesn't know that. Anyhow, quite frankly, anything else would've been less painful for both of you, especially for her."

"You're right, John. But, while that would've been easier for the two of us," Sherlock replied with a deep sigh, "that's not quite what Eurus wanted. When she was posing as your therapist, she heard you say that Molly would be last person I'd think of, which was belied by the fact that I asked her to come to your therapist's address two weeks prior to your appointment. I'd have to ask Eurus to confirm, but it's also possible that Moriarty told her about Molly during those five minutes of unsupervised conversation between them five years ago. And if she'd been watching Molly's flat, she'd know that I paid her a visit some nights ago."

John's eyes widened at what he heard. He stared at Sherlock as if willing him to elaborate.

"The incident at the therapist's house showed Eurus how much I trust Molly with my life," he continued. "And, unlike Moriarty and every other enemy I've faced and beaten, she saw how much Molly Hooper means to me. Which, I believe, helped her to correctly anticipate what Molly would do if I asked her to say those three little words."

His mind was racing. He rewound his best friend's words as best as he could. He cast his mind back to the first time he witnessed Sherlock and Molly together and tried to recall all their subsequent interactions up to the events in the coffin room. But he was too exhausted from the day's events, and tonight he wished that he had his late wife's observational skills and extraordinary memory.

As if on cue, Mary materialised in front of him. She gave him a kiss on the cheek before sauntering towards the police van parked a short distance from where they were standing. She turned her head towards him once she reached it and grinned at him.

'What have I missed?' he asked his Mary, who was now sitting cross-legged on the roof of the police van. 'How the hell did I not notice that he's fallen in love with Molly Hooper? And how the fuck did Eurus know about his feelings for Molly and I didn't, when I've spent more time with him in the last several years than his sister? And what exactly did he mean when he said that he paid her a visit some nights ago?'

His imaginary Mary shrugged. 'That's what you get for being too focused on the dominatrix.' She waggled her eyebrows and laughed. 'Don't worry about what you've missed. All that matters is that he loves her and she loves him.' She gave him a mischievous wink before vanishing.

He quietly groaned in annoyance. He glanced at his friend, who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry. Go on."

"As you know, John, the dead don't usually choose what's inscribed on their coffin; it's their closest survivor that would write terms of endearment or something equally affectionate. When Mary died, you chose 'Mary Elizabeth Watson'––which is the standard nameplate for everyone else but is meaningful to those of us that knew about her past or heard her final words––for her coffin and saved the truly sentimental stuff for her gravestone. So, having deduced how Molly's death would affect me, Eurus had the words 'I love you' inscribed on the coffin that she would've chosen for herself."

He hummed as he considered the last part. "Well, do you?"

Sherlock shuffled his feet. "Do I what?"

"Do you love her? I mean, for real? Because that second 'I love you' sounded really convincing. But I also know that you're a good actor. So, if you were only acting and you didn't actually mean it, I will have to punch you in the fucking face."

"Always so violent," he muttered. With a small smile on his face, he turned to face him. "Do you really think that Molly Hooper would say it back like she did if it didn't ring true to her?" He faced forward again. "Cast your mind back to that day that Mrs Hudson crashed your therapy session with me handcuffed in the boot of her car. Recall your own words to me right before Molly rang the doorbell, as well as what you told me when we were planning to frighten the truth out of my brother, and you'll get your answer."

Stunned, John did as he suggested. 'I need the one person who––unlike me––learned to see through your bullshit long ago.' He swallowed as he recalled what he told Mycroft. 'Well, someone convinced him that you wouldn't tell the truth unless you were actually wetting yourself.'

"Oh," he eventually uttered. "Right."

"Yep," he replied, popping the 'p' like he usually did. He took a deep breath. "Anyway, Eurus had anticipated that, by the third task, I'd be too emotionally compromised from meeting my long-forgotten sister and from being indirectly or directly, depending on one's perspective, responsible for those senseless deaths. Threatening Molly's life would compromise me even more and, in turn, would prevent me from thinking properly and from choosing the least painful way to get her to say those words before the remaining time ran out. So, while anything else would've been less harrowing for both of us, simply asking her to say those words was the only way I could think of to save her life as quickly as possible."

He nodded in understanding. "So what are you going to do now?"

He sighed and pursed his lips together. "I am going to text Molly the moment I get my phone back. Or perhaps I should phone her instead. I imagine the phone call earlier didn't improve her bad day one bit, and I can't just drop by without a heads-up. Either way, I hope she'd be willing to talk to me or see me. I need to explain everything to her in person. I can't lose her now after I…" He trailed off before taking a deep breath.

"What if she doesn't want to see you or talk to you?"

He shut his eyes as if the very thought pained him. "I'll completely understand, but I'll beg her to listen to me anyway. I'll back off, though, if she still refuses. At least it'll give me enough time to deal with the aftermath of Eurus's experiment, such as informing our parents that their only daughter is alive, getting 221B repaired, and rearranging my Mind Palace and sorting out some… things. So if Molly says she needs time and space, then I'll give it to her." He swallowed before speaking in a quiet voice. "It's the least I can do after today."

He reached up to squeeze his friend's shoulder. "Good luck, mate. You're probably gonna need it."

Sherlock gave him a wan smile. "Thanks… mate." He grimaced a bit, making John laugh as he lowered his hand.

Lestrade joined them. "Ready to go, boys?"

Sherlock held out his trembling hand. "Yes. First, may I have my phone back?"

"Of course." He removed an iPhone from his coat pocket and laid it on Sherlock's open palm. "Molly texted you, by the way. Don't worry; I didn't read her message. I just saw her name in your notifications." He turned and began walking towards his car.

"Thanks," mumbled Sherlock, his jaw clenching and his eyes downcast. His fingers closed around his phone before he shoved his hands into his coat pocket. He exchanged a glance with John as they followed their friend.

"Where to?" Lestrade asked while the three of them were buckling up.

"Uh, home for me," answered John from the front passenger seat. "I need to hold Rosie after all this shit." He shut his eyes and lay back in his seat, wishing that Lestrade had brought a change of clothes.

"And you, Sherlock? Shall I drop you off at Baker Street?"

"No. I need to talk to Molly."

"I don't think she'd appreciate you dropping by her flat at this time of night." Lestrade chuckled softly and paused, likely to allow him to crack a snarky answer. "Sherlock?"

After a few more moments of silence from the back seat, John opened his eyes and turned towards Sherlock, who was reading something on his phone. It's Molly's text, isn't it? "What's wrong?"

He looked up and flashed them a tiny smile. "Nothing's wrong. Just a slight change in our itinerary: please drop me off at Baker Street instead." He sniffled and put his mobile back in his coat pocket.

"Are you sure? You shouldn't be alone right now. Mrs Hudson is still with her sister, and your flat is still a mess. And if you can't sleep at Molly's, then you need to stay with either Lestrade, me and Rosie, or Mycroft."

He shook his head. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I can handle the ruins of my sitting room. I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight."

"Sherlock." John waited for his best friend to meet his firm gaze and to give him his full attention before continuing. "I think Mary would want you to sleep in our spare room tonight."

He narrowed his eyes at his friends before heaving a heavy sigh and rolling his eyes. "Fine. But may we swing by Baker Street anyway? I need fresh clothes." He was already staring out the window.

Lestrade nodded. "All right then. Either of you hungry?" he asked as he started the car. "I can get us some fast food or something."

He glanced behind him, but his friend had closed his eyes and seemed to be sleeping. Or he's probably just in his Mind Palace. "I don't know about Sherlock, but I'm not really hungry. My neighbour did cook some lasagne for me and Rosie. I can just heat that up later while we have a drink," he suggested. "Lord knows I need one."

"Excellent. Feel free to take a nap. We have a couple of hours until we reach London anyway."

"Thanks." John resumed his position but kept his eyes open. He did not take his gaze off the ruins of the Holmeses' ancestral home as they drove away, thankful that he did not meet his end there.

Any guesses on what Molly's text says?

So what do you think? Hate it? Like it? Love it?