Molly, come to Baker Street. I need to talk to you.

SH

I read the text again. Why would he need to talk to me? Is something wrong? My phone buzzed as another message appeared.

Come as soon as you can.

SH

I looked down at my hands, which were stained with blood and other body fluids. It would take me a few minutes to wash up, and then another few to drive to his flat.

I'll be there in 15 minutes.

I sent the text and hurried to the sink. Scrubbing my hands raw, I removed most of the gunk then called out to my coworker, telling him I was going out. I shrugged off my lab coat hurriedly and dashed out to my car.

Precisely fifteen minutes later, I arrived at 221B Baker Street. My stomach fluttered nervously as I opened the door and stepped in. As I began climbing the stairs, I heard the violin. The notes carried down with an echo, so the despondent tune seemed to swell with misery. I closed my eyes and the beautiful melody wrapped around me like a heavy coat. Drawn by the music, I slowly climbed the many flights to the door of his flat. I lingered there, not wanting to disturb the aching song. But the sound of the violin was so wonderful and the knowledge that the musician needed me was overwhelming, and unable to keep myself away, I opened the door gently.

The music didn't stop. He stood with his back to me, swaying with each crescendo. His fingers deftly stroked the strings, never slipping, never straying from the pattern. Too soon he reached the last note of the melody, which he played with a strong and clear tone.

"Hello, Molly," he said as he set the violin down.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked.

With an affirming mumble, he carefully set the instrument in its case. He caressed the strings with his graceful fingers, as if he did not want to part with it. Then he snapped the case closed and spun to face me.

He did not speak, only grazed his eyes over me, drinking me in. I shifted uncomfortably, self-conscious of my messy hair and dirty clothes. Feeling my cheeks flush, I dropped my eyes to the floor.

I heard boards creak as he shortened the distance between us. My heartbeat quickened, but my common sense warned me not to get worked up. I can't love him. I made that mistake once, and it tore at me like knife. I can't endure that again.

His fingers touched my chin and a pang of frustration and longing shot through my stomach. Tenderly, he lifted my head so my eyes met his. Pull away, I told myself, you can't do this again. But I couldn't. His blue-green eyes, beautiful like blown glass, held me captive. Pull away, do it now. But I can't, I argued. One look, one touch, and I had dropped back into the black hole. The more I fought, the farther I plunged. Let yourself fall, something urged me. Maybe you'll fly.

His fingers left my chin and glided to my side. They wrapped around my small wrist and he took another step closer. There was less than six inches between us now. A thrill ran down my spine, tingling my bones.

"Molly," he whispered. "When I was…" he cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to the ground. "When I was shot," he paused and blinked hard, eyelashes quivering. "When I was dying, the first thing I thought of…" he paused and looked back up at me. His eyes were wet and sparkled like dew. "was you."

Unable to control myself, I gasped. He thought of me when his life was slipping away. Not John, not Lestraude. Me. The black hole pulled me with such force I was helpless to fight it. Embrace it, said a voice in my head. Let yourself soar.

"Molly, I have been the most ungrateful, selfish, and stupid git to you, and I know you can't forgive me for all my faults. But I will say one thing."

He paused. Time slowed. The moment was so fragile, I thought it would shatter if I moved or made a sound. I could only hold my breath and wait.

"I love you Molly Hooper." Those five words floated out on a breath, so no one but me, standing so close, could hear them. I closed my eyes and let myself go. I flew into the black hole, unafraid of what lay ahead. No pain, no sorrow could dim my light. He loved me.

Leaning into his chest, I closed the gap between our bodies. His steady arms held me close to him, and he rested his head on mine. I could hear his heartbeat through his shirt and feel the warmth of his skin. With a smile I realized this was right. I could sense it in the way we blended perfectly into one another, in the way his breath ruffled my hair, in the way my heart was filled with pure bliss.

"I love you too, Sherlock," I whispered.

He pulled away but kept his hands on my arms. He leaned closer, one hand sliding onto my neck and the other holding my waist. Gently, ever so gently, his lips brushed mine. I could feel them shaking, as if he was scared. Smiling, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips into his. We stood there, lost in the kiss, as long as we could before we needed air. When we came up to breathe, our foreheads touched, and he grinned. Not his usual fake grin, but a genuine smile that made him glow with happiness. He laughed softly, put his hands on my waist, and suddenly lifted me up into the air and spun. Everything else in the room blurred and all I could focus on was him. I giggled and thought, I am soaring now. He set me down and we kissed again, harder, and all I could think was, I love him. Yes, he's incorrigible. Yes, he can be an annoying git. But he loves me, and I love him, and I can deal with the faults.

I don't remember how long I stayed at his flat, but we kissed and we danced and we held each other close. I did eventually return to work, but when I was finished I returned to 221B. That evening, he played the violin for me until I fell asleep on his couch. When I awoke, I was lying in his lap and he was stroking my hair with a smile on his face. For the first time in a long time, Sherlock was happy. And so was I.

Thanks for reading! Please REVIEW and let me know what you think :) -jarjarjinx