Leaving

Sherlock stared out the open door into the rain thundering down. It was dark, he noted. Too dark. But, then again, everything seemed dark these days.

Molly stood behind him, pulling his suitcase behind her, her eyes fixed on his back.

He wished she didn't have to watch him. It irritated him.

Neither of them spoke, they just stared out into the blackness of the night. In a few moments he would be gone. He didn't know for how long. He didn't even know where he was going. He just knew that he had to go.

A sniff brought Sherlock back into reality and he straightened up sharply.

Sentiment.

"Let me come with you," Molly whispered, her voice barely audible, "I can help."

"Be reasonable, Molly," He snapped before turning to look at her, his voice considerably softer, "You can't. There isn't any way."

"Mycroft could help," She said softly, taking a step towards him. Her fingers clutched the material of his coat as she looked up at him, her eyes shining, "Please."

Snapping his eyes shut, Sherlock let a breath out through his nose. He had become fond of the small pathologist in the few months he'd stayed at her flat. He'd grown accustomed to her strange ways and domestic life.

For some odd reason he wanted to protect her from harms way. It was almost like how he felt with John, only different.

Opening his eyes, Sherlock stared down into her sparkling eyes.

"You're sad," He stated, catching one of her tears with his fingertips, "You're crying."

She didn't say anything, only nodded as she looked down.

"You're being ridiculous," He sighed softly, "I'll be back."

"Nothing's certain," She mumbled, her voice childlike.

"It is with me."

"That's what my dad said."

Sherlock sighed, wondering how to comfort her. He wasn't good at this. He didn't do /sentiment/. He just didn't. Well, maybe he could make an exception for her... For Molly. He'd made many exceptions for her in the past, even though she didn't know it.

He wasn't often civil to people in general, yet he was to her.

He didn't ask for help, yet he asked for hers. He didn't care for women, not to the extent that he wanted to protect them, however he felt protective over her.

"Please," She whispered again, staring up at him, her hand still clutched loosely around his coat. It was a pathetic and sad gesture, "Please let me come. I - I won't be a bother."

"I know you won't."

"Sherlock..." She was really crying now, sobs rising in her chest, "Please."

Sherlock hissed in a sharp breath. Never once had she seemed so... So vulnerable, so breakable. He was going to break her.

Without hesitating, Sherlock pulled her into his arms, holding her close. Sherlock Holmes didn't do hugs; so she was the exception.

Her hands rested limply on his chest as he held her, her tears staining the black cotton of her shirt.

He didn't want to cause her pain, Sherlock realised with an unpleasant stabbing sensation in his gut and a sense of disgust at himself for letting it get so out of hand. He should've deleted her when he'd had the chance.

He wrapped his arms even more tightly around her as he spoke, his lips at her ear:

"You can't come, you know that. We'll see each other again soon, Molly; I'm forever in your debt."

"You have nothing to pay back," She mumbled into his shirt.

He sighed softly. How very wrong she was.

It seemed like a lifetime before one of them moved and Sherlock was the one to do it first, pushing her back with an abrupt shove and a nod of his head.

"Thank you, Molly Hooper."

"Be safe," She whispered as he reached around her and pulled his case forward.

He hadn't allowed the sadness envelope him until he'd disappeared into the night.

Well, that was sad to write :( Just a short one shot, I hope you liked it :) I'd adore a review ;)