Inspired by the song: Sweet Disposition by Temper Trap.

Valentine Song Prompt from Hihiyas (Thank you so much!)

Coming Over

Mary would get a rise out of this. She'd jump and pump her fist in the air. She'd wear a silly grin and say, "Finally! You have no idea how proud this makes me feel!" The girl would then laugh until tears run down her eyes.

Molly would always wipe it for her.

This time however, she won't.

Can't.

For the town they both shared, the place where they had forged a rare kind of friendship is fast becoming a dot in the rearview mirror.

She's doing something that no one ever thought she'd do.

The sun is blinding her, the air conditioner is not working, the wind is whipping her hair against her face and the car seat is squeaking underneath. She'll surely have backaches tomorrow.

Molly Hooper grinned.

It was a good day to say goodbye.

Sweet Disposition

Never too soon

Oh, reckless abandon

Like no one's watching you

They call her little miss perfect. She was the daughter of the town's doctor. She was the head of the student body and she was running for top honors. Her room is accented with aqua and violet – people had been giving her UCL objects even before she took her BMAT. It was the alma mater of her parents. No one even asked if that's where she wants to go.

Everyone just assumed.

After all, Molly Hooper always does what she's told to do.

That is why today, on the first day of her summer vacation before university life begins, she decided to take the forest path back to her house.

Her mother had always told her never to go there. It was at the border of the big house up the hill.

"The rich folks might think you're trespassing."

It was rough and uneven and full of pebbles and some sharp rocks jutting underneath.

"You might fall down and break your arm."

It was rarely used and is lined with trees full of shadows.

"Someone might grab and take you."

It was silent and isolated.

"No one would hear your call for help."

She loves it.

The solitude she feels as she went deeper into the path acted like a key to the tight chains wrapped in her lungs. The path was clear of other breathing lifeforms. Her only companions were the stiff branches and the swaying leaves.

She was so alone that she could finally feel herself again.

Peaceful.

That was when a black, heavy material fell over her. The sudden darkness sent her arms flying around and her heart racing away. The textured material was suffocating her. She can't breathe. The face of her mother raced through her mind. The dark shed behind their house taunted her again.

"Stop squirming!"

Suddenly, the offending material was removed from her. However, her eyes weren't ready for the sudden flood of light. It took a few seconds before her pupils focused again and when it did, the first thing she saw was the color blue.

"Idiot, get over that childhood trauma already!"

That was the first time she was called an idiot.

It was also the first time Sherlock Holmes was slapped.

A moment

It turns out that he was part of "the rich folks" at the hills. It also turned out that he was the kind of boy her mother had been warning her all her life. He was cold and blunt and insensitive, but somehow she got roped into him. After the initial debacle revolving around his black coat, - who wears a coat in summer? – And the resurfacing of her childhood phobia, she noticed the dead squirrel dangling from one of his gloved hand.

He said it was for a case and he launched into an explanation which she barely understood. Her attention was caught by the hanging tongue of the carcass. It looked peculiar and scratched her in the wrong way. She was recalling something but it was being drowned by the strange boy who wears a coat in the least cold season.

Cold. Temperature. Ice. Freeze.

"Antifreeze!"

Her declaration cut him in the midst of his rattle and he obviously didn't like it, however the peculiarity of her statement won him over.

"What do you mean by that?"

He took two steps towards her, completely disregarding any concept of personal space. Molly had never been that close to a man before. She could actually map out the twists and knots of his ocean iris. Her heart thundered like a passing train.

"I think…that animal is poisoned. With anti-freeze"

She never thought that the word poisoned would unlock a whole new world for her. Everything was a whirl wind of words, gestures and blue eyes. She found herself running behind a tall figure that doesn't even have a name. When she called out asking who he was, he didn't even stop. It was the air that carried his low voice.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes."

She struggled to answer as her breathe moved out of her lungs. "I'm Molly."

"I know."

The declaration should have been scary. A stranger knew her name. That can't be good. But instead of fear, something else nestled in her heart.

That afternoon, she was sucked into the world of the tall stranger. Before the day was over, she had somehow become Sherlock's assistant.

She never got out of it. She thinks she would never want to.

Sherlock Holmes was the adventure she had missed her entire life and now, in one summer, her chance to be something was presented to her.

Who cares about sweltering under the sun when there is a case to solve?

Who cares about a few ripped trousers when she gets to scale a new height?

Who cares about a few bloodied handkerchiefs when there is anatomy to be explored?

Who cares about a few disapproving looks when she gets to finally live?

Sherlock doesn't, and for that summer, Molly decided that she won't care too.

How can a new friend influence her like this? Were they even friends? Is seventeen days of running around enough to call someone a friend? She doesn't even know much about him. In fact, there were only three things that she knows of him.

His name is Sherlock Holmes. He lives in that big house up the hill. He's brilliant.

He is a stranger in the most basic level. However, Molly can't find it in her to care about that, because when he talks it's as if he'd known her his whole life. He knew what her favorite color is, her favorite food, her nervous habits, her childhood trauma that she doesn't easily share to anyone, and he could even call her out when she is lying.

Mary, her childhood friend, couldn't always do that.

Her parents would never do that.

No need to bother, after all, she's lying for them.

"Yes Dad, I want to be an oncologist like you."

"Yes Mum, that dress does suit me."

Sherlock never hesitates to call out her lies. She knows he does that to prove his abilities. He's as egotistic as any brilliant man could get. Sometimes she wants to smack him for it. Sometimes, she wishes other people see what he sees because lying could get tiresome after a long time.

However, she's Molly Hooper and she does what she needs to do.

So she still lies and he still calls her out. Or, as she'd like to think, she lets him call her out.

"You're an excellent liar Molly Hooper. But you have to stop, it's not good."

She looked at him with saucer-sized eyes but he refused to meet her gaze and instead continued to walk nonchalantly. Since when did he become a morality police? The seed of anger started growing within her. What was the old adage again? Birds of the same feather flock together. She was about to remind him of that, but he stopped and turned to her. With a piercing stare, he glued her feet to the pavement.

"Don't say you're fine, when clearly you're not. Remember, you can't hide anything from me. You might think it's comforting or proper, but I find it insulting."

He then turned and walked away like nothing happened. She on the other hand, was left on the sidewalk with a palpitating heart and, if anybody cared to look, with eyes almost devoid of its iris.

A love

Twenty days after she first met him, Molly learned a fourth thing about Sherlock.

"I want to be a consulting detective."

She had never heard of that occupation, but she thinks it's very much like him to want to be something that had never existed before.

"At which University will you attend then?"

She wondered if UCL offers something for that.

"University?" He scoffed. "You mean noose, right? I'm not going, that place is for hopeless people."

She was very insulted. "Hopeless?! I'm going to University after this summer!"

"Yes." His voice was level and calm, his eyes however, reminded her of a predator bird. "That's why you are one of them."

She wants to shout at him. She wants to slap him, or do something to bring him down his knees, but she didn't, because deep inside she felt a faint echo of the statement. She settled at stomping her feet as she walked away. After a few steps, she turned back and shouted. "I am not hopeless!"

Because she's not…no, she was never hopeless.

It was after her fifth step that he called out. "Then why are you choosing oncology?"

They didn't see each other for the next five days.

A dream

Aloud

He came to her house on the 6th day after their fight, but instead of knocking at their door like any proper visitor, he threw rocks at her window. Not to mention that he did that, at 10 o'clock in the evening.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed at him while looking over her shoulders in fear of her parents waking up.

"I have a case." He said curtly.

"Don't shout! You'll wake my parents!" She said in a modulated voice, half of her words coming out breathy. "And Sherlock, it's already very late."

"Nonsense. I'm not shouting." He still talked with normal volume but in the middle of a silent garden with her neighbors and her parents sleeping, to Molly that could be categorized as shouting. "Both your parents take sleeping pills and it's only 10 o'clock in the evening."

Molly had long settled to the idea that karma's way of balancing things was endowing Sherlock with a contorted sense of boundary. Now she is starting to think that it is also karma's way of balancing things for her, although she can't see the reason behind it because there was nothing to balance out.

"Fine, stay there. I'm going down."

As she treads past her parent's room, she thought about how far she had come from the Molly one month ago. That Molly would never have taken the forest path, nor would she ever talk to a stranger and nonetheless get attached to him. Old Molly would never be tiptoeing across their house and out of their back door.

She found him sitting against one of the pillars of their portico. It was a new moon and half of his body was tucked in darkness. She sat beside him, careful to be far enough to let him know that she was still irritated about the Uni issue but near enough to ensure him of her presence.

No words were exchanged between them. His face was hidden by the shadows but hers were illuminated by the stars. As she stared at the skies, she wondered if that is how things will always be between them. She'll always be exposed and he'll always be a mystery.

Perhaps.

She only have a week more to go before she leaves, and she doubts if she'll have enough time to know more about him.

No, not doubt. She knows.

Nearly a month begrudged her of only 4 things, who was she kidding with a week?

"I'm leaving this Friday."

Make that into four days.

The declaration took her by surprise, but she kept her gaze towards the sky.

"My family is insisting that I go back to London for University."

She could feel despise in his words but it slipped under the idea that they were going to be in the same place. She went through this summer thinking that it will be a one-time experience; a crossroad in the lives of two people that will never meet again. The mention of London didn't do her any good. The city has an area of 1570 km2 and in any given time, there are approximately 8 million people walking around. What are the chances of bumping to Sherlock?

Unless he looks for her, something she knows he wouldn't do.

There is something pinching against her ribs.

"That's great, I'll be in London too!" she said too cheerfully while still looking at the twinkling above.

With one declaration, the old Molly was back.

She couldn't see his face but she felt the hand that wrapped around her wrist.

"UCL is 30 minutes from Kensington."

There was no promise uttered. They don't need that. Those kinds of words are said to things that might never happen.

She took a deep breath before looking at him. He had moved away from the shadows of the pillar and was now looking at the sky overhead. His curls rose like silk waves against the darkened backdrop. His pale skin shined like alabaster and his high cheekbones casted a shadow over his face, which made him look older. His eyes seemed to contain a universe of its own.

He was beautiful.

She realized that old Molly would never have met this man.

In a burst of sudden confidence, she leaned towards him…

A kiss

"What do you mean by switching?"

She was never good at confrontations. In fact, she had lived her life doing her best to avoid them. That is why old Molly does what she needs, and told to do.

However, this new Molly will do what she wants to do.

"I want to study pathology Dad."

Her mother looked at her like she had grown a fifth limb. But she then disguised it with a snort and a hollow laugh. "Oh love, you're just confused right now. Surely the study of the dead is exciting…" her voice denotes otherwise "…but you have always told us that you want to be like Dad, an oncologist."

The look that her mother sent to her father didn't go unnoticed by Molly. She's now passing the ball to her father.

The rotund man on the end of the table still seemed to be processing the word switching.

Molly never switched anything. Once it was said, it was done, regardless of whether it was from her or from other people.

Mostly it was from other people.

Now she hopes that the choice would come from her. Being sucked in the life of Sherlock, she had seen how constricted her world was. Sherlock never settled for any wall, he pushes against them no matter how immovable they may seem.

She thinks she was one of those walls that he had pushed. He started a chain of reaction, of changes, that had caused her stagnant life to move again. Now as she sits in their dinner table, moments after declaring that she wants to study pathology, it was clear that she was moving in a frictionless surface.

She was unstoppable, she was free and she was moving fast.

Too fast, that she could quickly see her approach to a massive wall.

Her mother took again the reigns of the discussion. "Love, you have a few more years before you decide on your specialty. No need to shock me and your father now with such declarations." She dubbed a napkin on the side of her mouth and proceeded to continue cutting her potatoes like nothing happened.

Molly knows that the incoming impact will be painful, she accepts that though, because she hopes that it will be strong enough to move said wall.

"But I really do want to study pathology."

Her mother's knife stopped mid-air, her father gently laid down the glass of water he was about to drink.

Moment of impact.

"In fact, I've always wanted to study pathology."

The crash was deafening, literally. It was as if their whole dining room was muted.

As her eyes focused on her plate, she drew last night's memory of Sherlock sitting beside her underneath the blanket of stars.

"Always?"

It was her father's low tone that broke the silence. He sounded more incredulous than angry. Her mother was the opposite.

"ALWAYS?! What do you mean by always?"

'Everything.'

Molly lifted her eyes to look at her mother. The gray irises reminded her of a storm cloud. She wished she was looking at the clear skies in Sherlock's eyes instead.

"I've always wanted to study pathology. I only said I wanted to be an oncologist to please you and dad."

'In the same way that I said I wanted to learn how to play the piano, or be part of the cooking club. In the same way that I always smiled at the clothes you brought me or agreed to my new haircut that you describe to the stylist.'

"Why?"

Her dad was always a man of few words, they become fewer during confrontations.

"I want to make you happy. But this time, I want to be happy."

'I want to be happy and fine, just like how he made me see it.'

"You mean all this time, you were not happy with us." Her mother had begun her roll. If her father suffers from decrease in vocabulary, her mother has selective hearing when it comes to arguments.

"Mom, that's not what I mean."

"Really, because I clearly heard that you said you want to be happy."

"Yes I wa-"

"Which means you weren't happy with us all along."

How was she to respond to that?

Her loss was interpreted as a yes and her mother left the room with tears in her eyes. Her father remained silent but eventually he rose and stood behind her and kissed her head.

"What brought this one darling?"

'It's who, Dad.'

It was a who, but it wasn't just one person. No matter how much she wants to point at Sherlock, she knew that he was just a catalyst. The turmoil had been growing within her even before they met. It only took a whirl of black coat to release the dam.

Her silence was long enough for her father. He again kissed her head and left.

She felt so alone.

She only became aware of it when something cold seeped through her trousers. The dampness in her cheeks was another sign.

A cry

Somehow he must have sensed that something was wrong, because that afternoon he was again throwing rocks at her window. She didn't even look to confirm that it was him. She simply reached for her phone before silently going down the stairs and into the back door.

They walked in silence, there were too many words that had to be spilled and now it has drowned their ability to speak. However, somewhere along she became aware of the warmth around her wrist. She knew there was a meaning to that gesture but she can't bring herself to ask at the moment. She has bigger problems to deal with.

She doesn't know how to fix things and she knows that he doesn't too. Sentiment was the least of his concern. She wants to hate him for it. Why did he have to be banished in this summer of all summers? Why did he have to be up in that tree on the day that she decided to take a walk? Why does he even have a coat in the middle of summer? Why didn't he hold fast to that coat? Why did he have to show her his world?

"If we move now we could catch the 5:45 train to Edinburgh."

Her shock almost caused her a whiplash. Sherlock didn't seem to register her reaction, instead he continued in his low voice.

"I inherited a property there from Nan. Neither Mum nor Mycroft could interfere with that." His grip on her wrist tightened. "We can live there and we can sell a part of it for our resources."

It took her a few more seconds before she registered what he was saying.

He wants to run away.

With her.

It would sound romantic if not for the thundering horses in her heart. It would sound perfect if it did not come from Sherlock Holmes, because he is one of the few men she knows that fully operates under logic. This was the most illogical declaration she heard from him. It just felt wrong.

"Sherlock…" He was looking at her with a hawk's eye. The things she was supposed to say got lost within that stare. "Why?"

He released a sigh before looking at her. "Because we can."

Yes, they can run away. They are adults now and they can do whatever they want to do. Somehow, Sherlock could be a consulting detective and she could be a pathologist. They don't have to go through the path carved for them. Sherlock doesn't have to go through university and she doesn't have to pretend anymore.

So yes, they can run away.

Except, it's running away.

"Molly." His voice broke her concentration. "We can do it."

She can see the determination in his eyes. The idea lit a fire within him. She vaguely wondered if his want for freedom was brought by being caged like her. Nevertheless, he clearly wants to be free. Again. Now he wants them to do something reckless and throw caution to the wind.

It scared her.

Because it's running away.

"I can't Sherlock." She shook her head. "We can't run away."

They can't because they are already on the run.

She, from her parents and him, from the world who can't understand.

"We have to face it."

It rolled out easily from her tongue. No, not just rolled out…it dropped from her tongue. It was too heavy that she just let it go without trying to make any sense. All she knows was that she can't/won't run away.

So despite the dullness that crept within Sherlock's eyes, she held her ground.

She was not running away.

Not anymore.

Our rights

He, however, saw it differently.

Immediately he dropped her hand and stepped away. With cold eyes, he appraised her, taking every detail and making sense of her life before she can.

"You are reverting to your old self." He stated matter-of-factly.

That hurts. If anything, this is her declaration of starting something new. Thanks to him, she's now standing up for herself. Everything from this height seemed different and she doesn't want to let that go, even if that meant standing up against him as well.

"I'm not."

There was one other thing she learned about Sherlock, but she never took particular notice of it because that would be akin to counting one's own breathe as acknowledgement for the ability to do it.

He sees things differently. That used to work well for her, but not this time.

"I'm disappointed Molly." He shook his head before walking away.

Somehow she knew that it was the last time she will ever see him again. She briefly wondered if she made a mistake.

No, she didn't.

This time it's not her.

Our wrongs

By Friday her tear ducts had run dry, or perhaps it was just her who got tired. She kept thinking that it was just a summer, barely even a month; twenty-seven amazing days with him. Surely she's just overreacting.

When night came, she stood by her window and looked at the evening sky. It was already late when she realized that it was not a good idea. The dark sky turned silk before her. The ghostliness of their pale white portico was hurting her eyes. The twinkling of the stars added insult to her injury. Everything was assembling to remind her of a tall stranger. She spent that night looking at the stars as she reminded herself that twenty-seven days wasn't such a big loss. Compare that to the six thousand five hundred and forty-three days she had lived without him.

She wondered if he was currently looking at the same night sky as she was.

Songs of desperation

I played them for you.

Her things were all loaded to her car. Tomorrow she's starting her University life in London. Today she is sitting in their living room, waiting for her parents to start the conversation that they had been avoiding for most of the week. Her father was sitting in his armchair, giving no indication that he's the one who was going to brooch the subject. Her mother was occupying the opposite armchair and to Molly's puzzlement, she looks very calm and very silent. Time dragged on and she wondered if they would even be able to have this conversation.

"Will you be happy?"

It was her mother's voice. It was throaty and barely audible. She had never heard it like that and it seeped through her bones. Molly looked up to her mother's passive face. The woman was always like that, she could wear a perfect mask and Molly thinks that's how she picked up the same ability. However, when she starred at the older woman's eyes, she was unsettled by the concern flowing from it. She wasn't looking at the woman who had been there in every step of the way to the point of dictating it.

She was looking at her mother.

Breathe hitched in her throat as she clamped her fists. This is the moment she finds out if the wall had moved.

"Yes."

Tears pooled in her mother's eyes but they remain unshed. Her father on the other hand, was staring at the floor. Molly had half the mind to bolt out, but then she remembered that the reason why she was alone today, the reason why she wasn't outside spending her last day running around, searching crevices with a man wrapped in black, was because she chose to stay. So she sat silently in the sofa, waiting for the verdict.

"Okay."

She almost missed it. If she was buried any deeper in her thoughts, she might have not heard that single word. Her father was now looking at her with understanding in her eyes. There was a hint of a smile in her mother's face. Her tear ducts had already dried out but her heart was swelling. There were so many things she wants to say, but confrontations were never the thing of her family that is why she chose instead, to reach for the hands of her parents. With their fingers linked together, everything that were meant to be said, were felt instead.

She wished she could share this with him, but then she remembered that the forest path was empty again.

A moment

Her last afternoon was spent visiting all of the places she had learned to love as well as hate. She won't be back until the next holiday and by then, her town would have changed. She wants her memory to have this town preserved in this exact day. Otherwise, a different town might be conjured. The one viewed as she ran past shop windows, the one that contained solved mysteries and the one that is partly obscured by a broad back that always moved in front of her.

Mary handed her a tall order of milkshake as they passed their afternoon in a park bench. This was their goodbye. Mary was going to Scotland for college. Molly thought of how she almost went to Scotland too.

Was he already there?

"I saw him."

For a moment she was horrified that she had said her thoughts out loud, but the skin of her lips are sticking together, effectively clamping her mouth and giving support that she never spoke a single word. She also thought of how silly she was to immediately assume that Mary's him was him. The blonde woman knew all about him even if they haven't interacted much. Mary had expressed her irritation and concern about the man that stole their last summer together. Molly only laughed and hugged her. No one stole anyone's summer, Mary slept at their house for three days every week and besides, they've had thirteen summers for themselves.

What's one summer for a stranger? Apparently a lot.

She really needs to get past this.

"I said I saw him."

Mary's voice was firmer and Molly was forced to meet her best friend's stare. The look on the other woman's face somehow confirmed that they were indeed thinking of the same man. Mary placed down her drink and wrapped her cold fingers against Molly's warm ones.

"I saw him at the train station last Wednesday."

So he did push through.

"I asked him if he said goodbye to you."

He didn't.

"He said yes."

He really doesn't have any right to play morality police. Birds of the same feather flock together.

"He told me to give you this when you are about to leave for London."

She handed her a white piece of paper folded in half. Inside, was a simple message.

St. Bart's. 10 years.

She laughed when she read it. To others, it might seem insufficient, but to her it speaks volumes. She once made a passing mention of wanting to work for the oldest hospital in London. He shrugged and said he'd need contact with someone from a hospital.

Typical of him to have everything planned out, even penning a deadline.

She smiled at the paper.

She smiled at the future it held.

A love

When she came back from the park, she went straight to the kitchen and hugged and kissed her mother. She did the same to her father and when she pulled back, he already knew what is happening. He doesn't know the whole story but he knew enough, so it may have come hours earlier than expected but he held her hand as they opened the front door.

Her mother gave her another hug, this time tighter because she was finally letting go of her girl.

The sun was still blaring high in the sky, when Molly Hooper left her town and began her journey to London. She didn't say goodbye to other people. She won't be attending the send-off party that was organized for her. She went away unannounced in the middle of the day wearing an old jumper and trousers with dusty trainers and a face devoid of make-up. It was almost as if she was running away.

But she wasn't.

Because running away meant wondering off with no particular destination.

Molly Hooper's destination waits for her ten years from now.

So the sun might be blinding and the car seat might be noisy but it was a good day to say goodbye.

So stay there

'Cause I'll be coming over

While our blood's still young

It's so young, it runs

We won't stop 'til it's over

Won't stop to surrender