"I have to talk to Molly," Sherlock declared as they entered London. "I have to explain about Eurus. About everthing."
"Mycroft won't like that." John said as he wrapped the blanket tighter about his shoulders. "I'm sure everything will be classified."
"Molly kept my secret for two years. She's proven she can be trusted." The detective tapped his fingers against his knee. "She deserves to know... after how I hurt her."
"Sherlock, you saved her life. You don't need to punish yourself for that." John gave a great shudder. "God, I need to get out of these clothes."
"Mm, yes. It won't be much longer before we reach your flat." Sherlock's phone glowed in the darkness as he looked at the time. "She'll be at home. I should go to her there." He flipped the phone over and over again in his hand. "Of course, she might not agree to see me."
A sneeze echoed in the car. "Wonderful. I'm getting a cold." John rubbed the end of his nose. "If you'll give me time to shower and get dressed, I'll go with you." He shrugged. "She might open the door to me."
The detective shook his head. "You'll want to get Rosie from Mrs. Hudson. I can do it on my own. Besides, Molly will be embarrassed when she finds out you heard her. Let's spare her that."
"If you're sure." The doctor dropped his head back to the leather car seat. He'd let Sherlock crash at his flat if Sherlock wanted to. "I was thinking, you could stay at mine."
"Thank you for the offer, John. I'll take you up on that." In fact, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to be with them permanently, preferably at Baker Street once it was restored, but he wasn't going to push.
Sherlock stood outside the door to Molly's flat. He was nervous, but determined. After bracing himself, the detective raised his hand and pressed the buzzer.
Molly opened the door and gave a gasp. "What are you doing here?" She closed the door halfway, hiding behind it. "Haven't you done enough?" she asked as she dropped her eyes to the floor. "You should go."
"Molly," the detective said gently, "you have to let me explain. Please." When Molly started to close the door all the way, he rushed forward. "I thought she was going to kill you. She said there was a bomb. I had to make you say it to save your life."
"That doesn't make any sense," Molly said. "I don't understand."
"Then let me explain, please." The look Sherlock gave her was full of sincere intensity.
For a moment, Molly stood there, undecided. Finally, she gave a curt nod and let him in.
They sat in her living room. There was a long minute before Sherlock began to explain what had happened. He told her about his sister, Sherrinford and most of the horrible things that she had forced him to do. After explaining about the phone call, he waited for her reaction.
"Oh." Molly put her hands to her mouth. "Oh. Oh. I thought such terrible things about you. I thought... It was something you would have done before."
The detective wrinkled his nose in puzzlement. "Before?"
Molly wiped away a stray tear that had appeared. "Before John." She gave a little shrug. "I mean... Those words. I knew you would never say them to me and mean it. I thought you were being cruel. They're only for him."
Sherlock blinked. "I don't know what you mean."
"Of course you do." Molly stood and crossed over to him. Hesitantly she hugged his head to her. "You're just afraid. You're afraid you're like me and in love with someone who can never return it. You're wrong. He loves you. He just doesn't know it yet."
"He just lost his wife." Sherlock wrapped his arms around Molly, seeking the comfort of a friend. "It was my fault. How could he ever lo..." His voice cracked on a sob, the stress of the last few days, no, months, finally too much.
"He doesn't believe that and neither should you," Molly said, trying to comfort him.
"What if she had killed him? She killed Victor. She almost killed John." Sherlock drew back and looked up at Molly who was confused. "I didn't tell you the rest," he said in a daze. "She wanted me to either kill Mycroft or John. I had to choose one of them."
"Oh, Sherlock." Molly didn't know what to say. Her friend's thoughts were all over the place. Her own hurt from earlier had faded away to nothing. Who was Victor and what had happened? "Who did you... What did you do?"
"What could I do? I tried to kill myself instead. It didn't matter. She still tried to drown him."
"But she didn't," Molly reminded him. Sherlock hadn't said so, not in so many words, but he would hardly be here if John were dead.
"No, she didn't." The detective smiled at Molly. "Are we okay? Are you still... my friend?" He thought they had become friends through the years, but he wasn't sure.
Molly returned the smile. "Yes. We're still friends." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Now, why don't you go home and rest? You look like you've been through hell."
"I have," Sherlock said honestly. He stood and gave Molly a brief hug. As he started to leave, he looked back at her. "If I could love a woman, it would be you, Molly Hooper."
Molly brought her arms up and hugged herself. "Thank you. Now go."
Sherlock nodded and left. He headed back to John' flat, back to Rosie and John, at least for tonight. He would relish it in case it was the only night they had together, but he hoped for many more.