A/N: Just a little something that has been floating around in my files for a while that I (finally) got around to doing something with. A big thank you to beautywithin22 once again who kindly looked over it and reassured me about :) The title comes from the song of the same name. This chapter is set somewhere between TEH and TSOT.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

For Your Eyes Only

...
For your eyes only, can see me through the night
For your eyes only, I never need to hide
You can see so much in me
so much in me that's new
I never felt, until I looked at you

For your eyes only, only for you
You see what no one else can see
Now I'm breaking free
For your eyes only, only for you
The passions that collide in me
The wild abandoned side of me
Only for you, for your eyes only

For your eyes only, the nights are never cold
You really know me, that's all I need to know
Maybe I'm an open book
Because I know you're mine
But you won't need to read between the lines
-'For Your Eyes Only,' Sheena Easton
...

Molly paused on the stairs as she caught sight of Sherlock sitting on the landing outside the door to her flat.

"I lost my key," he explained, standing up as she came to join him.

Molly raised an eyebrow, "You never had a key."

Sherlock had the grace to look a little ashamed of himself as he watched her unlock the door, "I wasn't sure if this was still ok."

Molly paused in the doorway to look back at him, "I told you that I would always be here, Sherlock," she told him seriously, "and I meant it. Nothing's going to change that," she added, leading the way into the flat.

Sherlock didn't look convinced, but he followed her inside.

Before he left, Molly's flat had been one of his favourite bolt-holes, if not the favourite. No one, not even Mycroft, ever considered looking for him there which added to its other advantages.

The most important being Molly; who never bothered him or betrayed his location and whose quiet, unobtrusive presence was almost soothing. He'd liked knowing that she was around and had appreciated (not that he'd ever admitted as much) the small ways that she'd cared for him when he'd stayed with her.

Little things that he doubted very much would stay the same now that he was back and Tom was on the scene. But he was just stubborn (and selfish) enough to be unwilling to give up his favourite bolt-hole regardless of any changes.

He realised how wrong his assumptions had been when he eventually made his way to the spare room and found things essentially as he'd left them two years previously. The suitcase he'd left there once was still under the bed, one of his books was still in the top drawer of the bedside table and the bed was still made up according to his specifications.

Sherlock swallowed as he took a moment to take it all in.

"I wasn't sure when you'd be back," Molly explained quietly from the doorway, "good night," she added after a moment as she continued down the hallway to her bedroom.

He heard the door close quietly behind her and shook himself, "Good night," he said to no one in particular before he shut the door and settled down for the evening.

When he surfaced the next morning, Molly had already gone to work but she'd left some food out for him and a mug next to the kettle.

In the stillness of Molly's kitchen, Sherlock took a moment to admit that he'd missed this, missed her.

The sound of a car passing outside stopped him from straying further into sentimentality and he moved to make himself a cup of coffee.