"Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?" "Did you miss me?"
Molly Hooper woke with a start and stared at the off-white ceiling. She was in a cold sweat — Moriarty was back. The horrible, vile man who forced Sherlock to fake his death. He had shot himself through the head. How was he alive?
She slipped out of bed and dressed quickly. She checked her hair on the way out and caught a cab.
"Where to, ma'am?" The cabbie asked.
"221B Baker Street, please."
"Right away, ma'am."
It was a short cab ride to Sherlock's home and she was let in by a very sleepy Mrs. Hudson.
"Pardon the hour, Mrs. Hudson, but I need to talk to Sherlock." She said quickly, the words rushing out of her mouth.
"Of course, dear." She said, motioning for her to go upstairs. "He's only just returned from his meeting with Mycroft, the poor dear. He may be in bed already."
The thought of Sherlock Holmes asleep was very appealing to Molly but she shook the thought out of her head, thanked Mrs. Hudson, and marched up the stairs to Sherlock's flat.
She didn't bother with knocking and walked right in. He was standing in the sitting room, lightly plucking the strings of his violin as he bent over a sheet of music on the stand. She cleared her throat and he turned around. The look of surprise was evident on his face. He set down the instrument and walked halfway toward her then stopped for some reason.
"Molly, what brings you to Baker Street at this time of night?" He asked, crossing his arms behind his back.
She thought it over in her head but every reason that she came up with seemed too stupid to say to the great Sherlock Holmes. She replied, "I was scared."
Sherlock's face went blank. He had no response. He stood there awkwardly and yelled, "Mrs. Hudson, put the kettle on!"
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Hudson walked up in her nightgown bearing a tray with two cups of tea and a teapot. She set them down and whispered to Molly as Sherlock slumped down in his chair, "Kindly restrain him from calling me again." Molly nodded as the landlady left.
Sherlock leaned forward and picked up a cup of tea, he held it out for Molly, who took it, refraining from touching his hand. He picked up his own cup and drank half of it in one gulp. He said, "Now, Molly, what frightens you?"
"Jim Moriarty."
Sherlock just nodded. "Yes, he frightens all. The entire nation, to be precise. But, you don't see all of England turning up on my doorstep with tales of their nightmares. So, kindly let me know your troubles so I can feign listening and you can feel relieved that someone has shared in your horrors and leave so I can have a peaceful night of sleep." He gave her the most fake smile ever, one he reserved for clients he wished to leave. It was all teeth, no lips, and it certainly did not reach his eyes.
Molly wanted to slap him, a good, proper slap that would leave a mark. Her hand was itching to do it but she stopped herself. "How dare you make fun of me. I came here, hoping to find a friend, a friend who is directly related to the thing that frightens me the most, who would help me in forgetting this nightmare of a person so I could sleep too, but all this friend seems to care about it going to bed! I wish I could fall asleep! But every time I shut my eyes, I see Jim Moriarty's face grinning at me and muttering, 'Did you miss me?' Do you have any idea how that feels? I dated him, for Christ's sake! Do you ever stop to thing about other people's feelings, Sherlock? You are the most selfish person on earth, I don't even know why I bothered to come."
She rose to leave and was halfway down the stairs before he managed to catch her hand and pull her back. He didn't say a word as he led her back into the sitting room. He turned to face her and she could see the faintest tear in the corner of his eye. Sherlock Holmes crying? What a strange occurrence. She took a hesitant step toward him and reached up toward his face. Her hand landed lightly on his cheek and she wiped the tear from his eye with her thumb. She was about to pulled her hand back but he caught it with his own and returned it to his cheek. His hand rested on top of hers as he shut his eyes.
He whispered so quiet that she had to lean in to hear him. "I do understand how you feel, Molly. Please, I don't want you to leave. I'm certainly glad that you came." He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Stay, Molly Hooper, for me."
How could she say "no" to that?