Mrs. Hudson's fusses over him, John alternates between swearing at him and concern for him, while Mary just keeps on looking at him with a queer look on her face.
Finally, it is time and Mary very quietly stands in front of where he is sitting in his chair and mutters, "It's time. We have to go. Are you sure you don't want to say… goodbye to her?"
He shakes his head mutely, continuing to gaze outside the window at the heavy rain falling outside. He cannot take one more of those pitying looks, which Mary is sure to be sporting at this very moment.
Nor can he go see her off. He is sure he doesn't have the strength to keep his resolve if she stands in front of him.
"Sherlo-" John begins, but Sherlock cuts him off, his already thin patience at it's end.
"For the last time, I don't fucking care. I don't wish to see her off. And so if you guys are quite finished, I suggest you go on about now, for you will miss Molly's flight if you delay for another ten minutes and I would like some peace and quiet, very much so." It's the first time he mentions Molly's name in days, since she came to his door with a transfer letter for a prestigious hospital in Canada.
New life, new job, and new start- she rattles on and he lets her.
She wants to leave and he is letting her go.
So why is everyone so goddamn worried about him? He is doing the right thing, isn't he?
He is respecting her wishes, her boundaries. Being the good person, she always expects him to be. The selfless individual she proclaims him to be.
And letting her go is the most selfless thing he can do.
"It's not a danger night, is it, mate?" John's voice cuts through his agonizing inner musing, the demons which insists on analyzing his actions over and over again. The monster in him that wants to jeopardize all her plans, force her to stay and he scrambles to steadfastly ignore it, urges the voices to go away.
Sherlock smiles at John, a cheerful, forced smile. "I am not that cruel, John. I wouldn't punish Molly in this way for having the good sense to run from a sociopath."
He ignores the stricken expression that crosses everyone's face, with John nodding silently in acknowledgement to his words.
He focuses his attention on the consistent rain outside, dimly aware of people shuffling out of the room, leaving him in his self induced misery.
An hour or so later, Sherlock isn't sure how much time has pass, he hears the doorbell.
He endeavors to pay no attention to the incessant ringing, idly wondering why Mrs. Hudson doesn't open it- only to remember she has gone to see Molly one last time for a long while.
Molly. His Molly.
She is gone now.
She will probably be settled in her new life in no time, no doubt fall for countless stupid men until she finds the right one. Then she will marry and live a happy life with him and forget about him, about Sherlock Holmes- the detective who will always love her and yet, never had the courage to tell her.
The worst part is, similarly to how he knows Molly will find the love of her life in no time, he knows there will never be anyone but Molly for him.
He isn't like normal people, he doesn't love. But when he doesn't, it's there, never to be extinguished.
The ringing is followed by banging now and he sighs, getting up and running down the stairs, prepared to give the person who doesn't have even the minimum decency to leave him in his self pity alone.
He stops short when opening the door reveals one Molly Hooper.
He blinks. One time. Two times. And she is still there.
Not a hallucination, then.
She is immobile, staring at him silently, completely wet- her ponytail in a disarray, clothes clinging to her form.
Automatically, he starts deducing her but finds nothing that can show him why she is here. All he gathers is that she came running from the airport in the rain, he bag and other essential still there and her friends too.
"What are you doing here?" He asks, not daring to take his eyes off her lest she disappears.
Her eyes roves all over his face, before connecting with his blue ones. "I couldn't do it, couldn't go. I can't." There is so much pain and helplessness filled in those few words.
"Why?" He can hear his rapidly thumping heart, even as he tries to shush the voice in his head that dares him to hope.
Deliberately, she takes his hand in his and he takes a step towards her, outside the comfort of 221B and in the ever-pouring rain. "Because even if you never love me back, I can't stop loving you." Her voice is of resignation, of irony at dreams she presumes will never be fulfilled.
In response, he does the only thing he can think of; he pulls her close and kisses her, not giving him or her chance to do anything that might ruin the moment.
He pours all his longing, unexpressed feelings and desire into the kiss. They pull apart, breathless, her eyes wide with bewilderment.
She makes to step back, to put some distance between them but he keeps her firmly in place with the hands on her waist.
"You don't have to do this, Sherlock. I don't expect this of you. It's only me and my pathetic feelings and I know you don't return them. And I am absolutely fine with it. I came back because I couldn't let you go. I don't expect…"
When he sees she is not anything close to shutting up, he silences her with another kiss.
"Oh, Molly Hooper," he whispers, "You have got it all so wrong. The one who can't let you go is me." He gulps, "I love you and if you will allow me, I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you."
She searched his face, for any signs of deceit and when she finds none, she nods and pulls him in for another kiss.
She could always see him.
"I got you wet," she shrieks in horror when she notices both of their state. He laughs at her abrupt change of topic, veering from the serious conversation they just had and lets her drag him inside 221B.
She can get him wet every single day if it means she will stay.
A/N: Just a short little one shot. Because I love rain scenes.
Please, do review.