The lamp outside the window threw long shadows into the room and onto its occupants, concealing their innermost thoughts that now found their way to the surface from the deep recesses of their heart and mind.
The passion had been overwhelming, as had been the feeling of utter relief at the end of it.
Sherlock turned his head slowly to look at the woman lying asleep next to him, her head nestled in a bed of warm brown hair. The lines of exhaustion and the sheer weariness of dealing with his latest nemesis were seen clearly on her face.
They had stumbled back to 221B, the lead another dead end. She had had some tea, and then made to leave. He had meant the hug to be a simple appreciation for her company, but one thing led to another.
One could attribute it to the pressure and tension of the past few days, with him and his brother trying their best to track down the real face behind his reprieve. Though this was not the method of relief he would have chosen, if he was being frank to himself.
And yet! He had made no efforts to stop himself, moving on pure instinct.
And then, there had been that pause, when things had become very gentle and tender just before their passion was consummated. When he had gazed into her eyes and she had opened her whole heart for him, when she had let him see her.
That had been overwhelming.
And its effect and realisation had hit him as he regained his consciousness from that moment of almost-oblivion. When he had finally collapsed, gasping, with his face in the crook of her neck.
It dawned on him then, the reality and totality of what she felt; her love, in all its entirety. In every possible sense there was, with everything she had…she loved him. And with no expectation, although she tried her best to hide her hope, that dangerous little human folly.
He had never been at the receiving end of such a selfless emotion and for once, he didn't know how to process it. How to store it, how to categorize it as her feelings covered the entire spectrum that he could understand, and then some more.
He had felt breathless, burdened for a spilt second and then suddenly, the weight was off him. This was faith…an unrestrained belief in the whole of him. He felt disoriented by the lightness of that feeling, having always assumed he would feel weighted down.
His mother used to say that when words failed, the mind found ways to convey what it felt…the eyes acted as conduits. And so they did, leading the path to an errant tear. And that tear opened the way for the rest of his feelings to flow unimpeded.
He cried quietly, as she held him close while he let his gratitude, his relief run free. There were no cooing sounds or hushed nothings, just the solidity of her presence as she tried to give him comfort. Comfort and support that he knew would always be present, even as he drifted away into blessed quietness.
Now as he woke after a short slumber, feeling lighter and sharper than in ages, he glanced at the woman next to him. He felt wonder, her presence in his life almost like a magical happenstance. Of all the surprises that lay hidden ahead of him, none would be as soft, disarming and absolutely overwhelming as Molly Hooper.
For she completed him in ways he was yet to even remotely understand. He breathed easy, basking in the joy of total acceptance. He had a shoulder to lean on and after a long time, he didn't have to fear being lonely.