Sherlock Holmes stood in front of the door, uncharacteristically hesitant. He wasn't sure if it was foolishness brought on by exhaustion, or true courage that had brought him here so soon.

Finally, he rang the bell, and after a few moments of private awkwardness, the door was opened.

"What do you want", Molly Hooper asked flatly. Sherlock didn't even blink. He deserved that, and whatever of her wrath that was still coming to him. He braced himself for it and decided to take it the same as he had taken the beating from John in that morgue, Culverton Smith's so-called favourite room. Sometimes, it seemed, self-loathing was the only real emotion Sherlock Holmes could experience.

At least, it seemed, until Eurus.

"I need to ask a favour, Molly. I mean," he said, suddenly aware of the awkwardness, "if you're willing to listen and put me up… well I mean… put up with me… Molly…" he trailed off, his deep timbre voice suddenly sounding tired, and unsure.

Something about that tugged at Molly's heart, and she hated herself for it.

"Well. Don't just stand there. Come on now."

She stood aside, refusing eye contact, and let him in. He entered the flat with little hesitation, fearing she may change her mind and slam the door in his face.

"Molly… I know this is forward. But I need to ask if you will… I mean if I could possibly… well 221B… as you know our flat is quite literally flat. For the time being, I need somewhere to stay. John gave up the flat he had with Mary when he moved back in with me, and he and Rosie have arrangements but… well I'm rather homeless."

Molly wanted to be firm, she wanted to be as much of an asshole as he had been two days ago. She frankly wanted to tell him to piss off. But she found herself looking against her own will up at him. His eyes that she could never quite decide on, his long dark curls that made her catch her breath, and those cheekbones. Oh, those cheekbones. She knew that the moment he opened his mouth to speak, that voice would do her in.

"Alright then," she said, softening more than she wanted to. "I suppose you can stay here until 221B has been restored."

Sherlock's features relaxed somewhat. "It's only temporary," he emphasized.

Molly seemed to ignore it. "I'm making tea," she said casually, striding towards the kitchen. "Would you like a cup?"

"Yes, I would, thank you," he replied quickly. He relieved himself of his coat and scarf, draping them over the back of the sofa, and stood, unsure what to say or do next. He knew what needed to be said, but it was all so overwhelming, he had no idea where to even begin. Finally, gazing over at Molly preparing their tea, but engulfed in his own mind and not really seeing her or what she was doing, he decided. The best would be to start in the middle, where Molly entered stage right into the sick and twisted tale his sister had authored. She really did deserve an explanation sooner rather than later.

"Molly… I have a lot of explaining to do… and I must be honest. I was hoping that if you were to allow me to stay here for a time that it would give me the opportunity to explain myself fully."

Molly tried to appear aloof, but found her attention piqued. She did love the man, exasperating as he was and as much of a dick as he had been with that phone call. Those feelings that had begun and built for so many years couldn't be erased so easily, and she had been gutted and absolutely spent by it. But still, she loved him. "Would you like it with lemon?" she asked, looking across the room at him, trying to keep up the façade of being angry. Sherlock nodded silently.

Sherlock sat himself down on the sofa and waited quietly, not wanting to exasperate her by "helping" in the kitchen. When Molly appeared in front of him with the cups and handed one to him, the lemon wedge perched on the rim, he glanced at it for a few moments before setting it down. Finally, he gathered his thoughts and looked at her. No time like the present, and nothing like diving straight into the matter.

"It would seem that I have a sister, and her name is Eurus. And the hell she has brought upon all of us, including you my darling, is going to be a very, very long story."

Molly's heart skipped a beat at the words 'my darling', but wondered if he meant anything by it. It certainly wasn't anything he'd ever said to her before. But something told her that she was in for a long, long night, and Sherlock, her darling Sherlock, was going to be in it with her.