It had been three days since the fall, and by the time Molly had submitted the results of Sherlock's "autopsy," he was waiting at her flat when she returned home. He was lying quietly on her small couch, his knees pressed up close to his chest and his hands folded contemplatively under his chin. She could tell he was lost in his mind palace. He had already showered and changed into a spare set of clothes he'd brought from 221B (including that goddamn sexy purple shirt). She still found it hard to believe that he was here, living in her flat as Mycroft made preparations for him to escape London and dismantle Moriarty's criminal network. Out of all the people he could have asked to help him pull it off, he'd turned to her. Why on earth was she so important in all of this?
She tried to shut the door as quietly as possible so she didn't disturb him, but the gentle click of the lock was still enough to rouse him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes and turned his head to stare at her, his piercing blue irises searching hers for a moment. When they had established a mutual trust in one another for the good of the plan, things suddenly ceased to be as awkward between them. She was just as valuable to him as he was important to her, so there was no reason for their friendship to be a difficult one.
"Did you have something in mind for dinner already? I know a great place for Chinese takeout," he finally said, breaking the short-lived silence.
Molly shrugged her shoulders. "I was just going to heat up some leftovers, but if you'd like something else…"
He shook his head. "No, it's your decision. I'm the one invading, after all," he insisted.
Molly shook her head, a small smile on her face. "You're not invading, Sherlock. You'd be invading if I didn't agree to let you stay," she assured him. "I offered to help, and… well, here you are."
To her surprise, he graced her with a small smile. "I cannot thank you enough, Molly," he said gratefully. "None of this would have been possible without your assistance."
A light pink blush rose to her cheeks as she grinned back at him, slightly flustered. "It's no trouble at all, Sherlock," she reiterated.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" he asked, eager to conquer his newfound boredom. As he'd quickly discovered when he'd arrived, there was nothing for him to do here. No opportunities for experiments, nothing interesting on the telly, and the only books in sight were off-key romances. God forbid he stoop to the level of sex-crazed vampires!
Molly shook her head. "No, I've got everything under control out here," she called. "Go back to your mind palace, if you'd like!"
Sherlock sighed heavily, desperate for a distraction, but he supposed delving back into his mind palace would have to do for now. He closed his eyes, resumed his former position, and took slow, deep breaths until he had successfully isolated himself within the depths of his mind. He wandered aimlessly through its many hallways, each with its own array of rooms, and he began looking for something to do, organize, delete…
He traversed the winding passages until he happened across a room he'd never taken the time to completely explore. He pushed the door open with a newfound curiosity and was surprised by what he found. It was a room filled with memories. Normally, he only saved memories that could prove useful to him in the future, sentimental value be damned! But this… it was filled with subconsciously stored memories, all pertaining to one individual.
He sifted through the layers of forgotten instances until he happened across one that he actually remembered quite vividly: the day that she had saved his life.
In their second year of uni, Molly had been one of the only friends Sherlock had. She offered an extra set of hands for his experiments, and he'd help her study in return. Their friendship had been rather simple in this way until Molly happened to learn of Sherlock's recent drug habit. She tried and failed on countless occasions to talk him out of it, and she practically begged him to get help. He, stubborn as always, refused every time, and soon enough, they began to grow apart. It wasn't until Molly came to visit him in his flat a few months later that they both realized how dangerous his addiction had become. She'd found him sprawled in a heap on the floor, surrounded by used hypodermic needles and spots of vomit. She had called 999, and until the paramedics arrived, she was the one who had kept him alive, breathing air into his lungs and forcing his sluggish heart to keep beating. If she hadn't come to check on him that day, he would have died.
He was pulled out of his recollection when he heard the loud clinking of a plate being set on the glass coffee table. He opened his eyes and found Molly smiling at him. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you!" she apologized. "I hope you like chicken breast."
Before he knew what he was doing, he'd already stood to his feet and approached Molly, his face less than a foot from hers. "Molly, I…" he began to say, but stopped to gather his thoughts. "Do you remember our second year at uni together?"
She managed to retain the smile on her face, but he saw the newfound concern behind his eyes. "Yes, of course," she replied. "Why do you ask?"
"This is the second time you've saved my life now," he told her. "And I'm quite sure it won't be the last."
Molly stared up at him for a moment, trying to decipher the intense look in his eyes. "Sherlock, I—"
"No, Molly. Please let me finish," he interrupted her. "I take your help for granted far too often. I'm so accustomed to you being there whenever I need something that I've never felt the need to offer any form of gratitude for your assistance," he explained. "I realize now that if you hadn't been there for me as you've always been, I wouldn't be alive today. I owe you my life, Molly Hooper."
Molly had suddenly forgotten how to breathe, standing speechless before him with her mouth agape. "I don't know why you're saying this now, Sherlock," she whispered breathlessly. "I'm always happy to help."
"That's what makes you special. Not many people would have had the courage to help me fake my own death in the face of a criminal mastermind," he told her. "I'm saying this now because my expression of gratitude is long overdue. You deserve to know how much I appreciate everything you've done for me because I wouldn't be here without you."
Molly didn't even realize she was crying until Sherlock's eyes softened considerably. He lifted his arm and delicately brushed the stray tears away with his thumb. "You have my sincere thanks, Molly," he said with a small smile.
She knew that Sherlock Holmes wasn't the type of person who enjoyed a lot of human contact, but before she knew it, she'd already thrown her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest, holding him tightly as if he might slip away from her. And to her enormous surprise, he hugged her back after a few moments to adjust to the gesture.
They stood there in companionable silence for another minute or two, the air still and quiet except for the occasional sniffle from Molly. When she finally loosened her grip enough for him to pull away, she couldn't wipe the smile off of her face. "Sorry about that," she chuckled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "No one's really thought that much of me before."
Sherlock shook his head. "I've always thought highly of you, Molly," he assured her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know that until now."
"Don't apologize," she insisted, covering his hand with her own and leaning into his palm. She reveled in his comforting touch for another minute before looking back up at him with a grin. "I can't believe you're being so…"
"Sentimental?" he finished for her with a slight expression of disgust.
She couldn't help but giggle. "Human," she said instead, turning her head to gently kiss his fingertips. "You're not a machine like they all say. I know you care, even if you don't like to admit it."
"It's not a common occurrence," he assured her with a smirk that could almost be seen as flirtatious. "You just happened to work your way into my head easier than most others. Sometimes, I can't seem to get you out of my mind, and I'm not sure why," he explained, looking into her eyes with an undecipherable expression that made Molly both nervous and eager at the same time.
She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as he slowly moved closer. He quickly searched her eyes for any sign of objection, and when he found none, he tentatively closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to hers. As she willingly accepted the kiss, he couldn't help but wonder why he had ignored these feelings until now. The high he was on right now was comparable to the drugs he used to depend on, maybe even a little more satisfying. He felt her practiced fingers tangling themselves into his hair as he ran his hand across the smooth expanse of her back, experimentally letting his fingers explore the small strip of bare skin beneath the hem of her top.
They soon managed to find their way to Molly's bedroom, their lips never leaving each other. They fell sideways onto the large mattress and paused for a moment to catch their breath. Sherlock studied Molly's face with a critical eye, trying to determine whether they were making a mistake or not. As Molly began to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, he closed his fingers around hers and stared into her big brown eyes. "Molly, are you sure?"
She laid her head beside his and nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder. "Yes," she whispered, pressing her lips to his neck. "I've never been so sure about anything in my life."
With her consent clearly expressed, Sherlock allowed her to make quick riddance of his clothing, and he did the same for her. He had never experienced anything like this before, and although he had never made love before now, he doubted that anyone else besides Molly could make him feel this way. It was far from casual sex. There was a profound sense of trust in their relationship, and they cared for each other deeply, even if one of them sometimes didn't know how to say it. They were suddenly able to express themselves in the simplest of ways and the fewest of words. There was no need for elaborate speeches or dramatic shows of affection… just being together, fully and completely.
After the sun had set below the horizon and moonlight had begun to dance across the sheets, they both remained fully awake, enjoying one another's company. Molly laid her head on his shoulder, tracing mindless patterns across his bare chest. "Sherlock…"
"Hmm?"
"Are we..." she whispered. "I mean, do we… what are we now?"
It was the question he had been dreading. He took a deep breath and rolled onto his side to face her. "Molly, you know I have to leave as soon as Mycroft negotiates my transport out of London," he told her. "It might take a while, but still… I'll be gone in a few weeks at most."
She nodded. "I know," she replied sadly, trying to curl herself into him. He extended his arm to allow her to move closer, and she happily obliged, letting him wrap his arms around her small frame. "I just have to know, Sherlock… do you feel anything for me? Something more than friendship?"
He swallowed nervously, his throat suddenly very dry. "I think so," he replied, unsure how to proceed. This was a strange, new feeling for him, and he didn't quite know how to decipher it. He'd missed her when she wasn't around, he thought about her often, his heart beat faster whenever he saw her. He'd never felt these things before, but he had a good idea what it meant.
Molly sighed. "How long will you be away?" she asked.
"To be honest, I haven't the slightest idea," he admitted. "Moriarty's network could stretch to the ends of the earth and back, for all we know."
Molly took his hand in hers and kissed it lovingly. "Can we still phone each other? Or text, at least?"
"I'm sure that can be arranged," he assured her with a smile.
"Do we have to use codenames?" she asked teasingly, her eyes sparkling.
He chuckled. "I don't think that will be necessary," he said, looking down at her. He couldn't remember a time when she had seemed more beautiful to him than right now. He loved how she looked cuddled against his side.
"Molly, I—" He began to say, but his voice faltered. He took a deep breath to steady himself and finally managed to say what he'd been thinking all night. "I think I'm in love with you."
A wide smile spread across Molly's angelic face. "Sherlock Holmes…" she whispered, pressing another tender kiss to his lips. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"
He couldn't help but grin. "Where's the fun in being predictable?"