AN: This was posted on A03 a while ago, but I thought I'd put it here too. Hope you enjoy! :)
When Euros is finally taken away and Greg has asked all his questions, Sherlock and John are once more in a car together in silence. Blissful silence. After all that happened, he needs time to think, to process, to examine. What he needs is peace but as soon as John speaks, he knows he won't get it.
"So are we really not going to talk about this?" asks John.
He continues to stare out the window into the darkness. "Talk about what?"
"Molly," John says.
He realizes that he should have guessed John wouldn't forget about what he said - what they both said. "Molly's safe, John," he says, sending only a brief glance in his direction. "She was never in any true danger. You know that. Is it necessary for me to remind you that you were there?"
"No. It's not."
He returns to staring out the window. "Good. Then please give me the courtesy of silence."
"No," John says. "We still need to talk about it."
"About what, John?" he says. His patience is wearing dangerously thin, and he knows it is an inevitable result of all the stress they experienced.
"The 'I love you.'"
He sighs impatiently. "I had to say it, because it was the only way Molly would say the release words. Again, you know this. You were there."
"And it was necessary to say it twice?"
He swallows but he doesn't answer. Of course it wasn't necessary for him to say it twice. He said it once because he had to, or Molly wouldn't say it to him. But before he even finished the sentence, he realized he meant it, that it was true. So he said it again. It was almost like he couldn't help saying it. His heart realized it the first time, but his mind didn't register the truth until he repeated it. Is that something John can understand? Maybe.
His silence gives John all the response that he needs. "You said it twice because you actually meant it. You love her, and you'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You love Molly Hooper." John lets out a halting laugh. "And here I thought you loved Irene Adler. But it was never her, was it? It was Molly. It was always Molly. That's why you asked her to help you fake your death, wasn't it? You couldn't bear to have her grieve over you."
"I'll leave you to your deductions," he says flatly.
He can't see John's face in the darkness, but he can feel the incredulous look on his face. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing," he mutters.
"Nothing?" John practically yells the word. "Listen, you cock, Molly loves you and apparently you love her too, and you're going to do nothing? Molly is in London right now, and you could be with her and be happy, and you're willing to throw that away? Do you realize how lucky you are?"
He examines all responses that he might be able to give, and none of them will be acceptable to John. "So what should I do, John?" he says sarcastically.
"I'll tell you what you're going to do," says John firmly. "After this cab takes me home, it's going to take you to wherever Molly's flat is. You will explain all about Euros, and then you're going to tell her that you truly meant it that you love her. You'll say that you're sorry that she had to hear it from you that way so you'll say it again. And since Molly is one of the kindest women in the world, she'll forgive you. Whatever happens next is between the two of you, I don't even care what it is." John looks at him seriously. "You are at a crossroads, Sherlock. You can't reverse time or take that 'I love you' back. Even Euros in all her insanity knew that. You have a choice to make, and so help me, Sherlock, you will do right by Molly. "
"John-..."
John ignores him. Instead he leans forward and tells the driver not to leave them both to his flat, but to take Sherlock to Molly's flat instead. He looks at Sherlock expectantly and he mumbles out her address.
Neither he nor John say anything else the rest of the drive. When they reach John's flat, John gives him a pointed look before he says goodbye.
And now he is alone - alone with his thoughts and worries that he may have finally pushed Molly just one step too far.
The ride to Molly's flat passes by far too fast. He still doesn't even know what he's going to do or say when he reaches her door. He doesn't need to knock; she's given him a key a long time ago. Besides, she's probably asleep anyway. It is the middle of the night, after all. But before he can even find the key, Molly opens the door herself wearing kitten pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and her dressing gown. He's never seen a more welcome sight in his life. Her eyes widen when she sees him and almost immediately they fill up with tears. "Sherlock? What-..."
According to John, he's supposed to explain about Euros first. But he doesn't. Instead he reaches out and pulls her into his arms, burying his face in her shoulder. She wraps her own arms around him. "What is it, Sherlock?" she says with far more sympathy than he deserves. "What's the matter?"
"I have a sister," he mumbles.
She stills in his arms and pulls away to look at him. "You have a what?"
"I have a sister," he repeats. "She's mentally ill."
Molly slowly blinks at him, processing the new information. "Sherlock, why don't you come in and tell me about it?"
Her encouragement is all the invitation he needs. They both sit on Molly's couch and the story pours out of him: Euros, Redbeard, Victor Trevor, Sherrinford, the torture games Euros put them through, Mycroft, Moriarty. All of it. But he isn't able to address the "I love you." Not yet. He only glosses over it when he mentions the coffin.
Molly sits patiently through the whole story. After he finishes, she stays silent for a long time. "Molly?" he says. "Did you-..."
"When's the last time you ate, Sherlock?" she asks him. "I think you need a good cup of tea and biscuits. Maybe a sandwich?"
He blinks at her stupidly and frowns. He doesn't understand her reaction - or rather, the lack of one. "Molly, did you hear what I just told you?"
"Of course I did," she says calmly. "I heard all about what Euros did to you, John, and Mycroft. But these sorts of things are always better to talk about with tea. At least, that's what my dad always said." She smiles despite the horror she's just heard, and he thinks that while John is the one who has fought in a war, Molly Hooper has fought her own set of battles. She's a different kind of brave soldier, but a true solider nonetheless. "So what kind do you want?"
"What kind of what?"
"What kind of sandwich and tea do you want?"
"I don't know," he says blankly. "Whatever you make is fine."
"Okay, I'll be right back then," she says before she walks to her kitchen. He sits on the couch alone, wondering how she can possibly be so kind to him right now. He certainly doesn't deserve it. As he waits, unbidden memories of Molly come to the forefront of his mind:
I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee.
Black, two sugars. I'll be upstairs.
I'd say break it off and spare yourself the pain.
You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always.
I am sorry. Forgive me.
But you can see me.
I don't count.
If there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all...you can have me.
You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you.
What do you need?
You.
Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person who mattered the most.
I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper.
I can't say it. Not to you. Because it's true. It's always been true.
You say it first...say it like you mean it.
I love you.
I love you...
As he thinks through his past with Molly, he realizes everything that has happened, everything that he's done, everything she's done...they've all led the two of them to this point, the point of no return. John was right. They've both reached a crossroads, and neither of them can go backward. They can't rewind the clock or take back what they said. All they can do is continue to walk forward and he has the choice of how: together or separately.
And he knows which way he wants it. With new resolution, he rises from the couch and walks into the kitchen. Molly stands at the counter, humming softly to herself as she prepares two sandwiches. Without fully thinking about it, he comes behind her and slips his arms around her waist. Immediately her hands stop and her breath hitches.
"I love you," he whispers.
A strangled sound comes from Molly - a mixture of a choke and a sob. "Euros isn't here, Sherlock. You don't have to say it."
"Molly, please," he says softly. "Look at me."
Slowly she turns around to face him and lifts her eyes to met his. They are brimming over with tears once again and his heart clenches at the sight. Tread carefully, he can hear Mind Palace John say in his head. One bad move and you'll hurt her even more than you have already. "I am sorry you had to hear it first like that," he continues with a grimace. "Terrible circumstances, I admit. Hardly ideal for a declaration, I concede." A single tear slips from her eyes and he gentles his voice. "But you also have to know that it's true and I did mean it. I do mean it. I love you."
Her gaze falters, but his eyes ask her - beg her - not to look away. Molly is the one who can see him, the one who always sees him. If she looks at him long enough, he has to hope that she'll see his sincerity. Molly searches his face for a long time and he lets her, hoping desperately that she'll find what she needs.
Finally her head drops and she nods slowly. "And I love you," she says, her voice hardly above a whisper.
Something tight in him that he didn't even know was there loosens, and he pulls her close to him, resting his cheek on her hair. His mind categorizes everything about this moment - the vanilla scent of her hair, the warmness of her arms around him, the faint hint of wetness from her tears on his shirt.
He doesn't know what the future holds for him or Molly, but he doesn't have any doubts in his mind that whatever comes they'll face it like they always have:
Together.