When Molly hears the answer at the door, the last thing she wants to do is open it. She knows who it is, and she knows what he is going to say. She also knows why he is going to say it, and not wanting her to go so she can be in the morgue; it's not the right answer.
She sits there lifeless for too long over something she needed to get over a while ago. She's silly; always silly, and she doesn't want to be naïve like this anymore. It's too draining, too tiring.
He persistently bangs on the door and waits for an answer. She is only surprised that he does not just pick her lock and barge in; he knows how, and he used to do it often.
She helps him fake his death, helps him through everything. Molly is there when he needs her for something, every time, always. She understands a man who has trouble with emotions and tries to push them out, taking out whatever he is feeling on other people. She always understands, always gives him the benefit of the doubt. She still believes in him, even when he's back; even if something happens and he is doubted again, she will still believe in him. But at this point, she cannot handle understanding him so much, and him not trying to understand her.
As much as she tells herself she is silly, deep down she knows that the better word for it is broken; it is an excuse to hide what is making her crumble. It is not just the fact that she has been waiting for an unromantic man to be sentimental; it's much more than that.
Like he does with John Watson, he does with her: his life starts to consume her. She almost loses her job, her flat is taken over; she is doing everything for him because he cannot even go outside of the house. She gets the frustration and the irritation, but she is all that he has at that point, and when she tries to make the best of it, he finds the worst in it.
It is all a coy on his part, to hide because he has been so broken that he needs someone, needs Molly, to put him back together; he never intends to break her in the process. But now she cannot see her worth to him; she thinks there is not an ounce of it. And he has no idea what is going through her head but he needs to get into her flat and talk to her. Actually talk to her. He needs to listen because she always wants him to, but never asks; she's too selfless for that. She always puts others problems before hers. Finally, he wants to understand; and not just because he knows that she wants him to, it's because he feels for her – tremendously. It's about time he do this; he owes her so much more but for now this is what he knows to do.
When she finally reaches the door, she only unlocks it. She does not open it for him; she does not offer an invitation for him to come in. She walks away from the door as he's entering and he follows her into the bedroom.
Molly finally opens her drawers to find items to fill her suitcase. She tries to figure out for an hour what she wants in there, but she does not even know what's going in there. It's only to pass time, to keep her gaze away because she is tired of crying, tired of feeling weak. She does not want to feel at all anymore.
"How long will you be gone?" he finally asks.
"A few days, a week maybe, I don't know," she finds the words fumbling out of her mouth. Sherlock cannot always figure out Molly, but he sees her strength through sentiment up until this point, which contradicts everything he has ever thought about the topic. He knows what it looks like when sentiment hurts someone, he understands the weakness that lies behind it when someone like him rips her apart enough. He pushes everything away to avoid a feeling like Molly has right now, but realises that it comes at a cost when someone does not want to give up on you. He has hurt her enough now to see what it does to her.
"Where are you going?"
"My sister's maybe, I don't – I haven't-" she pauses rifling through her drawers, a shirt clutched in her hand when she turns her head. She wants to look at him but she can only out of the corner of her eye as her direction stares at the wall. "Haven't you deduced that already?"
"I can't deduce it if you have no idea yourself."
Molly sighs as she continues to put miscellaneous things in her suitcase. She really does not know where she wants to go, and she does not know for how long. She needs time to think; but it will not make it all go away like she wants it to and she knows that. She does not know what else to do at this point.
"Molly…" he trails off, and he does not know where to start or what to say.
She clutches the foot post of her bed and leans against it. "I'm tired of waiting, Sherlock…" she trails off, wincing that she even said it. It does not need to be said, everyone sees how she feels about him. "But you didn't ask me to wait, so I can't be angry with you for that."
"You have many reasons to be angry with me, Molly. That included."
"I just – you're home, you're safe now. I just need something, to get away, to stop thinking about you for two seconds," her voice breaking on the last word. She never intends to be this honest. He has not come home that long ago. He should be able to enjoy it, he's been away from the world for over a year, even if it was only in Molly's flat, and she does not need to give him a ration of bullshit and ruin it for him.
Molly finds it hard to breathe when Sherlock moves close to her, his hand resting on her arm, silently asking her to turn toward him. She swallows hard before turning, still not able to look up at his face. She stares at his chest for a moment before he speaks.
"Stay," he is finally asking her rather than just telling her, his tone softer than she's ever heard him speak. He knows what it's like for someone to feel as though they need to disappear, and he did not want that for her. Sherlock just spent the last year hiding in the shadows; Molly should not have to, not on her 1own.
Her lids flutter closed as a few tears inevitably slip down her cheek. "Don't ask me to not take a holiday because you need me at the morgue; don't ask because you need me to do something else for you."
Sherlock gently lifts her chin, and Molly only feels soft lips against hers. She is hesitant for only a moment before she kisses him back, trying to hold down a harder sob resting in her throat. He kisses her again and again before she pulls away.
"Please don't do this out of pity. Don't do it because you feel bad-" but she is interrupted when he kisses her again, refuting her statement in that action. His hands find place on her waist, his thumbs slipping under the hem of her shirt and circling gentle caresses over her hip bones.
She deepens the kiss, her tongue finding place in his mouth, over his bottom lip as she tries to stop tears flowing down her cheeks. She wants to clutch to him, to hold him close but she is still hesitant. She cannot let herself give in so easily when she has so many unanswered questions.
"Why?" she finds herself asking between kisses, causing him to pull back slightly. For the first time, she does not care that she is crying, her moisture gleamed eyes are staring right into Sherlock's, waiting patiently for him to give her the answer. He owes her so much more than words; he knows that, he needs to find the right ones, deserving ones.
He leans his forehead against hers, his eyes closing as he tries to sort through his room for Molly, trying to see if he has stored something in there. But he knows he has to look to his heart because this is the one thing he can't rely on his mind for. He has to open himself up and become vulnerable, especially after making her feel so vulnerable for so long.
She is more forgiving now as she nudges her nose against his. "Why?" she whispers, encouraging him like she always has. Even when it is hard for him, even when she is frustrated, she will always give him the encouragement he needs.
"I still need you, but different from killing me. You saved me already and I should not ask you for more. This is not my area," he says, sighing, "not even close. I am out of danger, which means everyone else, including you, is as well. It's not fair that you have loved me for so long and I could not even vocalise that I liked you, let alone the fact that I love you."
She seems frozen still at this moment when he opens his eyes. Her eyes are wide and more tears are slipping down then before. She looks less broken than she was when he walked through her door, but she is crying more than he has ever seen her. It is a release that she is given to hear his words, to be noticed.
Molly pulls her hands up to wipe at her tears as she smiles at him. She wraps his arms around his neck and he encompasses her in a hug, his temple nudging hers as he holds her close. They stay like that for a while before she pulls back.
"I still think it might be good for me to go somewhere," she says, seeing Sherlock's expression changing. She lets the back of her hand graze his cheek in assurance, "but not with the same attitude it was in before you came over. I've spent too much time in this flat lately."
Sherlock leans into her touch, his eyes closing as he feels her soft hand against him. "Stay at Baker Street," he offers.
Molly knows he's still asking her to stay. He wants to feel close to her now that he has finally told her. "I – maybe," she says with some confidence. "Let me sleep on it."
He wants to argue it, but he nods in agreement and unexpectedly gives in. "How long since you've slept?" she wonders, finding his hand and lacing her fingers with his.
"More recently than you," he says as he sweeps his thumb over a dark circle under her eye. "You didn't sleep last night," he deduces.
She tugs on his hand as she pulls him a few feet over to the bed, not bothering to change before she climbs in. When he climbs in, he finds her hand again, her back pressing against his chest as he wraps an arm around her and holds her to him.
Sherlock nuzzles his nose into her hair as they both finally get a chance to relax. Sherlock is about to open his mouth to speak to her, but he realises that she is already asleep. She looks peaceful; so much of her anger seems gone.