Molly gently laid the phone on the counter. She had suspected there was something more behind Sherlock's phone call but now Mycroft had confirmed it. She had never hoped that the "I love you" was real but she wasn't about to allow herself to be the only person humiliated. After all she had been through lately – Mary's death, Sherlock's brutish behavior, and Rosie – who although adorable and beautiful was a reminder of something that Molly had given up hoping for – a child of her own. Eventually he would call or show up at the lab. He wouldn't come to her flat, that would be too intimate, too personal. No, Sherlock will let an obnoxiously long amount of time to pass and then show up at the lab as if nothing ever happened. At least on that she could count on. He would allow her time to heal her pride. It was late and although she was glad Mycroft called her she really did just want to return to bed. She shuffled out of the kitchen and back to her bedroom, pouring herself under the layers of warm quilts – mostly handmade, and buried her face in her pillow. She just wanted the world to go away. She couldn't even cry any longer. There were no tears left. She felt hollow and empty and so painfully alone she thought she might break. It didn't take long for the abyss of sleep to take over.
At first she thought she imagined the sound, but then it became louder and more urgent. A knocking on the door and a voice. Was it a voice? Somebody hollering in the hallway maybe. A neighbor? And then again the knock and she realized it was her door. What time was it? She grabbed her clock and saw that it was 4am. Three hours since she had talked with Mycroft. Who could possibly be at her door? She grabbed her soft, cotton robe off the back of the door and wrapped it loosely around her waist. She looked through the peephole only to discover Sherlock standing outside the door. What was he doing here? Surely he didn't think they were going to talk about the phone call? Now? Here? He was chewing on his bottom lip and shifting his weight between his feet with a nervous energy that was bubbling out of every pore. "Molly! Open the bloody door! C'mon now!"
What the hell was he doing? He was going to wake up all the neighbors. She flung the door open, grabbed him by his coat sleeve and quickly pulled him inside her flat before he could utter another word. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?" She hadn't anticipated being so blunt, but she really could not handle being embarrassed twice in one day. Sherlock didn't hesitate once inside he instantly headed for the kitchen and started flinging open cabinets and tossing things on the counter. He walked across the kitchen into the hallway and started pulling pictures off the wall and finally the smoke alarm from the ceiling until his hand was filled with four small tiny black cameras. "HA!" he handed them to her so proud of his accomplishment. She looked at the cameras and then at his face and said, "Seriously?! This couldn't wait until tomorrow?"
"Well, technically it is tomorrow and surely you didn't want cameras in your flat?"
"Well no, but its not like I do anything fascinating in my kitchen."
"Yes. Well. I thought it best we deal with the matter right away."
"Molly crossed her arms and refusing to look away said, "you mean the cameras or the phone call?" All the normal confidence and bravado that fills Sherlock and propels him through his day left him in that one instant. His shoulders dropped, his eyes found the floor and silence washed over them. Molly had no intention of saving him from the uncomfortableness that he was standing in.
"Molly, I am very sorry."
The anger that was resting just below the surface bubbled to the top and Molly was no longer capable of containing it. "Yes. I'm sure you are. You can leave now. And you should probably find a new pathologist."
Sherlock didn't hesitate, he stepped forward quickly and grabbed both of Molly's hands. "No! I don't want another pathologist! I want you!" Molly's eyes flashed up to meet his. "No. that isn't what I met. I mean, yes it is what I meant. Oh bloody hell would you sit down please?" And he led Molly to her soft pale green couch and gently pushed her down. Sherlock didn't join her – instead he paced. She realized this was going to be a one-sided conversation so she sat there and listened. "Molly, I of course have always known that you have had feelings for me. The truth is few people didn't know. However, I've always tried to respect those feelings and not take advantage," Molly couldn't help a quick snort and roll of her eyes to indicate that she didn't exactly agree with this last part. Sherlock paused at her disapproval and took a long, steadying breath. "Molly, I've never been good at personal relationships. You know this. But I have grown fond of you over the years. You're smarter than most average people and you are incredibly dependable." If he thought these things were statements of romance Molly was thinking that he wandered far off base. Sherlock could tell that he was making little progress. He determined a different tactic was needed. He took two long strides, and before Molly could react he was sitting next to her with his hands holding hers. "I do love you Molly. I do." Her heart caught in her throat and her pulse accelerated. "Its just that I am not actually capable of loving you the way you deserve. You deserve a man who will spend a Saturday afternoon gazing lovingly into your eyes. You deserve a man who will remember your birthday and will take you to dinners. Molly, I will go two weeks before I would ever realize that we hadn't spoken. I could go six months and never take you out to dinner. Molly, no woman deserves me which is why I've always been single. Molly's heart settled back into the dark dungeon in which it had been languishing for months. The silence stretched and when Sherlock finally spoke his voice was small – smaller than Molly had ever heard it. "I am so sorry I hurt you my darling. Please Molly. Please don't shut me out. Please don't walk away from me." He squeezed her hands tight but couldn't even look at her face.
She sat there staring at those dark curls atop his head, wanting desperately to nuzzle her face into them and breathe him in. She believed him. She believed that he loved her as much as he was capable. He looked up at her and she could see how tired he was. The adrenaline of the game, the excitement and fear of the evening fading quickly. She stood up from the couch and held out her hand. "C'mon. You need to go to bed." Sherlock looked up at her confused. She gently pulled him along and nudged him into her bedroom. He stood there silent as she took off his coat and waited for him to hand her his scarf. She laid both items gently on the overstuffed chair in the corner of her cozy bedroom. She signaled for him to take off his shoes as she straightened up the bed covers and fluffed the pillows. "Go on, get into bed. We'll talk more about this tomorrow." Sherlock silently obeyed and slid under the homemade quilts and was enveloped by the smell of Molly and the feeling of being accepted and perhaps even loved. Molly grabbed some clean clothes and slipped into her bathroom. No point in going back to sleep now. The sun was starting to crack over the horizon and it was going to be a long day.
Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who sent me notes about the code showing up in my story. Not sure what happened there. I already have a second chapter written so "follow" the story for more chapters to come.