A/N: This fic was based off of Mumford & Son's Believe. It takes place after TFP but before the final montage. It's just how Sherlock and Molly made up. I don't know how this is going to go rating-wise so just keep an eye on it.
I don't even know if I believe,
Everything you're trying to say to me.
So open up my eyes,
Tell me I'm alive.
This is never gonna go our way,
If I'm gonna have to guess what's on your mind.
Molly slid down the door and rested her face in her hands. Mycroft had just left after explaining what happened at Sherrinford. So the phone call was all just one big show. He never meant what he said. She should have known. She was so stupid. She wanted to believe but part of her knew. Oh she was so incredibly stupid! Molly didn't know what to feel. She knew she souldn't be mad at him, he was saving her life, or so he thought. But she was. She was mad at him and herself and Euros and Mycroft.
"Aaarrrrgggg!" Molly stood up and punched the door. "Ow." She cradled he knuckles and walked over to the fridge. Thankfully Molly learned very early in their relationship that ice cream takes a little bit of the sting out of Sherlock's words. She opened the freezer door and examined her collection. After a few minutes, she decided on chocolate chip cookie dough and flopped onto the couch to resume the sappy rom-com Mycroft had interrupted.
After a few more pints of ice cream and another cheesy movie, Molly started to doze off.
~o.0.o~
Molly awoke to a sharp knock on the door. She looked down to find a pool of melted rocky road on her chest. "Crud." Another knock. The clock on the DVD player said she had taken a two hour nap. "Just a second!" She pulled off her sticky sweatshirt and observed her blue tanktop. A little damp but it would do. She turned off the T.V. and pulled her hair into a bun as she walked over to the door.
The little stool was pushed over to the side of the door from Mycroft's visit. She kicked it back under the peephole and used it to look through. A fidgety mop of curls danced outside her door. She put her forehead on the door with a thump causing Sherlock to jump. "Sherlock, I'm really not in the mood. I can't help you at the morgue today, I don't want to talk, and I look like the rear-end of a cow so please come back later." She waited for a response.
Nothing but silence came through the door and Molly looked once more through the peephole, expecting him to have left. He was still there. His forehead pressed against the door where hers was. "Please." Molly almost didn't hear the breathy whisper.
"Sherlock?"
"Please Molly. I-I just…" He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, "I can't sleep at 221B. I'm sure Mycroft informed you about that. I was wondering if I might be able to-er-maybe sleep over here? Just until Mycroft gets the flat fixed."
Molly sighed and stepped off the stool. She was too tired to argue about a hotel room. "Alright." She opened the door and stepped aside. "Just, no talking, please." To her surprise, he stood in the doorway instead of sweeping in and making himself at home like usual. "Well?" He just stared at her and blinked, his mouth slightly agape. "Are you just gonna sleep there tonight?"
Sherlock opened and closed his mouth before he could squeak out, "You're-you're not-wearing a bra." Molly looked down at her outfit: fuzzy socks, sweatpants and her sticky tank top with nothing underneath. Now she remembered, she didn't put a bra on because she had her favorite baggy sweatshirt on over.
Her cheeks got red, "Just come in and I'll be right back." Sherlock finally stepped into the flat and she rushed into her room to change. She went to take off her shirt and suddenly felt very oily and sticky. Molly slumped over. A bath sounded wonderful at the moment but she knew she wouldn't be able to get comfortable with Sherlock in the flat. A shower would have to do. Gathering her pajamas she set off to take a very long, hot shower.
~o.0.o~
Molly walked out of her room, her hair twisted up in a towel and wearing the only pjs that weren't bright or cutesy. She didn't know why she was trying to impress him. Oh she was hopeless. After years of fighting to get over this childish crush, he found a way to pull her back in. Sherlock sat on her couch, not moving. "What are you buffering about now?" Sherlock jumped at the sound of her voice but didn't answer. "If this is because I wasn't wearing a bra-"
"No." He still wouldn't look at her.
"Do you wanna talk?"
"I thought you said you didn't."
Molly shrugged, "Shower opened a small window."
"Right. Well I guess I should start with-"
"Do you love me?" Molly blurted out and immediately smacked both hands over her mouth, blushing furiously.
Sherlock gaped at her. "Molly I would have thought our conversation made that very clear."
Gaining confidence at Sherlock's startled expression, Molly stared at him, "Yes or no, Sherlock." She searched his face, waiting for an answer. After several seconds that seemed to stretch to an eternity, Sherlock took in a breath.
"No."