Author's Note: Okay, so the struggle was sooooo real for this one. This was written for Day #4 Something you don't ship of the 31 Days of Fanfiction challenge! And oh my word, was sit a toughie. I am so not a Sherlolly shipper, Johnlock being super close to my heart, but somehow I managed to churn this feelsy little piece out. I hope you Sherlock and Molyl shippers enjoy this one-shot. It will probably be the only one I ever write of this pairing. Much love to my beta, starrnobella because this was a hot mess of unfinished thoughts and sentences and crazy typos! Major props to her for not throwing her computer at me and helping me fix this mess into something legible for you doll faces. Happy readings. xxDustNight

Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, quotes, and information belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

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I Love You
Rated: T
Pairing: Sherlock/Molly
Summary: Molly struggles to deal with the aftermath of that fateful phone call. It appears that she wasn't the only one affected by those three little words.
Prompt: 31 Days of Fanfiction: Day #4 Something you don't ship.

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I Love You

Four weeks had passed since she'd last talked to him.

It had been four long weeks since he'd called her practically begging her to say those three little words that she'd kept bottled up for all these years. It had felt good, in a way, turning the tables on him and making him say it first. He deserved that. He deserved to suffer through the ordeal; after all, she'd suffered more than her fair share watching him not see her.

Loving Sherlock Holmes was its own personal hell. Her own personal death wish.

It was slow. It was painful. It was final. There was no coming back from this, she knew. She'd tried moving on, far more times than she was willing to admit to herself. At this point it was better to be alone than trying to find someone to cover up the pain she felt after that phone call.

It's true, Sherlock… It's always been true...

If it's true, just say it anyway…

He really was a bastard. How could he not understand that telling someone that you love them was more than just saying it? Loving someone was more than words. It was everything. It encompassed you in all aspects of life. God…

She loved him. Still. Even now, after it all, she still loved Sherlock and that wasn't going to change. She loved him with everything she had. She loved the way he stared at her, hanging onto every word when she was helping him with a case. She loved the little smile he always saved, just for her when they were alone in the morgue. And despite his hard exterior, the way he could be so cold, especially to her, she just loved him. Just him. It was just that simple.

If only he loved her too. If only that day on the phone he'd been telling the truth. For a moment, the briefest of moments, she'd allowed herself to feel, to believe that Sherlock loved her as much as she loved him. And that was what was making life so damn difficult to live. It was hard to go to the morgue every day and not have him there. He was avoiding her, and she wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. At this point, she wasn't sure she ever wanted to see him again anyway. Not after that day.

If he ever came to her, looking for help on a case again, she would probably be able to finally move on. Sighing heavily, she stared down into her cup of forgotten tea, wishing that it didn't have to be this way. Why couldn't she have fallen for a man who was interested in more than his bloody work? She was probably destined to be forever alone, hanging onto the miniscule hope that one day Sherlock might actually come knocking on her door, begging forgiveness and admitting his true feelings for her.

She laughed. Like that would ever happen.

There was a knocking at the door, startling her from the dark thoughts that were taking her under. She gave it a glance, cautious that someone would call her this time of night. Setting aside her now cold cup of tea, Molly stood from the chair by the window and made her way to the door. She had no idea who would be calling this late at night, but whoever it was, she figured it had to be better than continuing to play the what if game.

Swinging open the door, she was a little more than surprised to find Sherlock standing there. He looked uncomfortable, as if he was aware of how unwelcome his presence would be. Her hand dropped from the doorknob, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest she was certain he would be able to hear it. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

"Molly, I-"

"No, Sherlock. You shouldn't be here," she muttered, throat constricting as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. She shook her head, desperately willing this to all be some twisted sort of dream.

"No! Wait!" He called out, hand catching the door just before it could close.

She paused, looking at her feet rather than at him because that was too difficult. Looking at him now would shatter her already fragile heart. "Please, just go… Haven't you-" A sob broke through her words.

"Molly, I… I love you."

She blinked, his words leaving her numb. Had she heard him correctly? Was he really here or was this a figment of her imagination? Pulling the door open further, she took a deep breath and lifted her head. Her eyes met his and all the breath rushed out of her, knees going weak. He was there in an instant, his strong arms grabbing hold of her much smaller frame and righting her.

"What-What did you just say?" Tears really were flowing down her cheeks, leaving them raw. Her heart ached, but this was real. Sherlock was holding her and if she wasn't mistaken he's just said…

"I love you."

Yes. That. He'd just said that he loved her. As feeling came back to her legs, she was able to stand on her own, but he didn't let go. He continued to hold her, his embrace warming her more than any of the million cups of tea she'd consumed since last they'd talked. Tentatively, she reached up with one hand, her fingers brushing the curls from his forehead as she stared into his beautiful, sea-colored eyes.

He allowed her to do so, his face relaxing as she continued to trail her fingertips down his prominent cheekbones. Eventually, she reached his lips, her trembling fingers brushing over them warily. Her eyes flickered back to his and she saw the tiny nod of affirmation indicating that she was allowed to continue. Taking a shuddering breath, she slid up onto her tiptoes, eyes fluttering closed as her lips met his.

His lips were warm and willing, moving against her and parting when she traced her tongue along the bottom one. As her tongue slid into his waiting mouth, he pulled her snugly against his frame, hands wrapping securely around her back. She kissed him with fervour, knowing in the back of her mind this could still be a joke. And yet, that didn't seem right. Sherlock would never allow her to kiss him like this if he didn't mean what he said so she quickly banished those thoughts from her mind.

Her hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer. Faintly, she realized he'd closed the door, sealing them alone inside her simple flat. He turned them then, pushing her back against the door, but he continued to let her be the one in control of the situation. Hands moving from his dark locks, she cupped both sides of his face before finally retreating. His sigh of disappointment was enough to rekindle the hope that she'd forced down into the deepest pit of her heart. This time when she met his gaze, she could see uncertainty there.

"Do you really mean it, Sherlock? Do you? Because I have loved you for a very long time, and if you're lying to me again… I don't think I can come back from this. You and I...this twisted tango. I can't do it anymore. I won't survive, and I don't think you will either."

"I'm not lying," he told her in his deep voice, hand coming up to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed across the surface, making her heart flutter and soar. "I love you, Molly Hooper, and I think I have for a long time. Please, forgive me."

She let the silence settle for a moment, unsure of what to do now. He was telling the truth. She'd never seen him look so torn, so forlorn and anxious. This was worse than when he was working a case that seemed unsolvable. This was Sherlock Holmes with feelings, and it was more revealing than she ever imagined. Swallowing back her own fears, she nodded, placing a hand overtop his and holding it there.

"I forgive you, Sherlock," she whispered. I love you."

And then he was kissing her again, and all was right in the world. Everything melted away until there was only Sherlock. Sherlock and the love that he had for her, and the love she had for him.