Hello everyone! This story will have the same tame eending that all my stories have. I'm sorry if Molly comes across as a doormat but I guess I wanted to show how emotionally devastating unrequited love can be. It's not a tragic ending, so don't worry.

Thanks Mizjoely for being an amazing beta. All the mistakes are mine.I hope the story uploads properly - it's the first time I'm doing it from a mobile!

All rights to sir and, bbc sherlock, Moffat and gattis. Please read and review!

Molly had had an exhausting day – her schedule had been chock full of extremely complicated autopsies and on top of that she had to deal with impatient police officers who didn't understand the importance of carefully done post mortems.

"It's all part of the job – you won't understand theirs and they won't understand yours" had been the mantra in her head throughout the day. She could've chewed out every one of the officers who had confronted her but exercised restraint only because she knew she had to face them every other day and it would be mighty uncomfortable to do that if she called them bumbling idiots.

She was on edge when she came back home. She went through her night routine (food, chocolate, cat, telly, books and finally bed) and was gladly, gradually slipping in to a sleep when – "Make space Molly! Let a man sleep, " said Sherlock Holmes, shoving her aside.

On hindsight, her reaction was a surprise, even to her. She was livid, out of her senses and she screamed at him – at one point it seemed like she was going ultrasonic. She was on her knees on the bed, clutching her hair and screaming at him, presenting him a picture of absolute insanity -

"What the FUCKING HELL is wrong with you?! Get OUT, now! You have a perfectly respectable flat, there's a spare bedroom in this house but no! You can't sleep unless you make my day and night a fucking mess!"

Sherlock had never been more shocked. Not even when Molly had slapped him in the morgue. All his customary swagger left him and he bolted, muttering under his breath, "You should've said something before if you didn't like having me over."

Before she could think of anything more about the incident and work herself in to a guilty mess, the day's stress took its toll on her and she quickly slipped back in to sleep.

Morning brought crippling guilt for behaving like that to Sherlock – in spite of the stone cold exterior that Sherlock presented to the world, she knew the pains he went to keep his small circle of friends safe and she had the deepest respect for him. So it was with a repentant expression on her face that she faced Sherlock the next day.

He came swooping in with his usual dramatic flair and sat down before his favorite microscope. Before he could delve in to his work and become deaf to the world around him, Molly steeled her nerves, went and stood beside him and spoke in a rush,

"It was rude of me to do that Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I was exhausted yesterday and didn't know what I was saying. I'm really sorry. I can completely understand if you are furious with me and don't want to talk to me anymore. Tell me if you need anything and…bye. Have a nice day." Having said her bit, she scampered off to the morgue downstairs before Sherlock could respond properly.

The kind soul that she was, it never occurred to Molly that she didn't do anything wrong. It was her flat, her bed and she had every right to throw out a person who was pestering her. But Molly was one of those people who are too hard on themselves. In this case, what she kept telling herself was that she had to be consistent – if Sherlock's presence was a bother, she should've said so in the beginning itself; blowing up at him now when he had become used to a routine seemed harsh and unfair.

After another long day of post mortems and dealing with obstinately dull detectives, she was heading out of Bart's when she noticed Sherlock leaning on a wall near the exit. She would've just avoided him and walked away but he was looking straight at her as if he was waiting for her so she gave him an awkward smile and started walking towards him. When she went near enough, she said in a rather strained voice, "Hello, Sherlock….need something?"

He stood up straight and looked at her intently for a while with his hands in his pockets and suddenly took out a paper and handed it to her. While she was reaching out for it, he said, "my terms for forgiving you."

She just gave him a confused glance and focused on the paper. It had just two lines on it –

Install new locks and a security camera near the front door.

Need keys to the apartment.

Though Sherlock had been a regular visitor to her apartment, she had never actually given him keys to her flat. He had always broken in, she had always allowed it. Giving him keys felt like she was making it official – it was no longer her home, it was his bolt hole. The demand for new locks and a security camera seemed to cement this fact.

It felt wrong to her, surrendering her sanctuary to him. For the first time in her life, she felt that he was making too big a demand. She almost said no, but then an image flashed in her mind – the image of Sherlock walking away from John's wedding party. She felt like a doormat for doing it, she felt like she was the world's biggest loser but she did it – she briefly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, looked up at him and said, "okay."

Life as the host of Sherlock's bolt hole was a bitter sweet experience. Sometimes, he was good company – he would come charging in excitedly, bringing new details of the cases he was working. Most of the time though, he would come in and sit in a meditative pose, either on the sofa in the living room or on the bed in her bedroom (never the spare bedroom) and spend hours together in his mind palace. Also, the visits (talkative and meditative, both) weren't regular. He came and went as he wished, like a semi feral cat.

For a couple of months, it was okay. But Molly gradually began to feel herded in. She felt like a stranger in her own house, never having the freedom to let her hair down – literally and figuratively. The only improvement was that she wasn't woken up by scratching noises at the key hole that made her wonder if it was Sherlock or a burglar trying to break in – the man had a key now.

The need for space of her own overwhelmed her so much that she began to think about getting a good mattress for the bed in her spare bedroom. The only thing that was stopping her was the cost of a new mattress. She had recently invested in a study table and a book shelf and was a bit strained for resources.

Also, denting her already limp bank account so that she could have a space of her own in her own house seemed too meek, even by her own standards. After one frustratingly sleepless night spent on the lumpy mattress in her spare bedroom (Sherlock had taken over hers for a case), she began to think of all the available places where she could go for clearing her mind, where she could spend some time alone and refortify her reserves of patience to face the world every day. In other words, she was thinking if there was any other place she could claim as her sanctuary.

Bart's was a no go – someone could walk in while she was wildly swinging to "too darn hot". Her old bedroom in her parent's flat wouldn't work either – it would be too long a commute from there to Bart's. Most of her friends were married and those who weren't already had room mates. Hmm…Where else, where else…think Molly think, where els- ah…what a lovely idea…Besides it's cheaper than a mattress. With that thought Molly went to sleep with an uncharacteristically evil grin on her face.

She knew she would be shoved aside if he wanted to sleep but she still slept in the centre of the bed in the vain hope that he would take a hint and not disturb her. But for an observant man, he could be stubbornly oblivious to the discomfort of others. So she was not surprised when in the middle of the night, she felt him pushing her to the side; she was actually surprised that he was being gentle about it. She was almost tempted to settle in to her new position and go back to sleep but she was determined to stake her claim on a space of her own. So she waited, waited till his breathing evened out and when she was sure that he was sleeping, she crept out of her flat, carrying a small bag in her hand.

Sherlock woke up fully expecting to find Molly curled up on the sofa, cat in her lap, reading the Saturday funny pages. When he didn't find her he assumed she was in Bart's working an unexpected shift. When he didn't even find her in Bart's, he became slightly worried. He tried her mobile phone but she wasn't answering. He noticed that his breathing became a bit shallow. He controlled his rising panic and did what came to him naturally – he began thinking.

She must've left the flat willingly or I would've heard something. If she is kidnapped or in any sort of danger, hmm…too early to receive a ransom call – any offenders would want her well-wishers to stew themselves in anxiety for a bit longer. The camera at her front door! Yes, that would yield some information.

When Sherlock reached Molly's flat and saw the video recording, he became even more confused – he saw Molly leaving with an overnight bag in her hand. What the hell! What induced her to leave the house at that hour? Was It because of me? Did she finally become tired of my intrusions? But that's just an overnight bag. Wherever she was going, she wasn't planning on staying for more than a night. She didn't make any arrangements for Toby so she was planning on coming back. Where did she go?

He paced about impatiently for a while but later decided that if he was to launch a woman hunt, Baker street would be the right place to do that from, after all, that was where all the cash, laptops and cigarettes were. When he finally reached Baker street, the key hole puzzled him. It was obvious that someone had picked the lock. He rang the door bell and when Mrs. Hudson opened it, rushed upstairs to find his door locked from the inside. His head filling up with gruesome images of a blood soaked Molly on his sofa, he smashed the door open. When he was finally inside, he heard the faint sounds of old timey jazz tunes coming out of his bedroom.

He cautiously opened it and what he found defied all his expectations. There was Molly, curled up on his bed, in deep sleep. There was a portable speaker and a brand new lock picking set on his night stand. He collapsed in to the chair beside the window, staring at the woman who had, yet again, managed to surprise him.

Molly woke up but did not open her eyes. She savoured the fact that she had a long night's sleep in a comfortable bed. The jazz music was still playing and she quietly listened to it for a while and when she felt sufficiently peaceful and happy, she opened her eyes only to instantly wish she hadn't. Sherlock holmes was sitting by the window looking at her with a smirk on his face.

She quickly sat up but couldn't find the energy to do anything else. She just sat there, staring at him, her heart thumping loud. She was worried about his reaction. She didn't think he would visit the flat so quickly. He only ever came to her flat if he was in the middle of a case and she thought he would be too busy running around solving it. She thought he wouldn't come to the flat for a couple more days but here he was looking like a lion that found its breakfast. She steeled herself for an epic tirade the likes of which only Sherlock holmes could deliver so she was obviously surprised when she heard a soft amused voice saying,
"You could've just said no, Molly."

She sat there looking at him, studying his body language. He was lounging in the chair, he looked relaxed. Nothing about him suggested anger. The smirk on his face, now that she had time to study it, didn't look smug or sarcastic but it looked amused. He was leaning back in the chair, hands resting on the arm rests and legs stretched out in front of him.

Maybe it was his voice or his general non threatening posture or maybe it was just the morning drowsiness that was clouding her senses – she didn't have it in her anymore to give long 'explanations' that would hide the truth and keep her heart safe. So she gave him the truth – pure and simple.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to say no to you Sherlock."

They stared at each other for a while and when the tension became too much for her, she got up from the bed muttering something about going to the loo. She took two steps when she was stopped by a hand that had caught hold of her wrist. The contact surprised her and she turned to look at him. He was leaning forward a bit now, legs bent instead of being stretched. He was looking at her with a curious expression on his face. Is that…it can't be. Is that insecurity on his face?! Molly thought, with a hoard of conflicting emotions running through her head.

"You left"

"I don't understand Sherlock. Left what?"

"You said you can't say no, but you still left. Why?"

She slowly came back to the bed and sat on it facing him. He had let go of her hand and was now resting his elbows on his knees, waiting for an explanation. She sat looking at him for a long while, collecting her thoughts and when she was finally ready, she started speaking.

"I need my routine Sherlock, things that I have to do to stay sane. I stopped doing those because I thought they would disturb you. But I missed them Sherlock. So I looked for a place where I could be myself and not be interrupted, at least for a little while. I needed, I just wanted –"

"You wanted a bolt hole", he finished quietly for her.

"In a way, I guess. Besides it's the space that you need and not me, so I just thought -"

"You thought , 'let's break in to his flat when he's in mine and that way both of us will be happy' " he finished in a tired voice.

"Yes, something like that" she replied weakly.

He put his face in his hands for a little while and after ruffling up his hair, he finally looked up at her as if he made up his mind.

"Move in to Baker street. You can have John's bedroom."

"What?! I don't understand…"

"What you're saying is right. You need your own space – you have your own rituals, your own quirks. Moving in with me is the best solution, really. John's room is on a different floor entirely, so even when I'm around, it'll be easy to-"

Molly quickly stood up and interrupted him saying in an alarmed voice, "Sherlock wait! The current arrangement works fine, really! You can have the change of atmosphere you need and I can have the space when I want it, there's really no ne-"

"Change of atmosphere? Really?" he asked, looking at up at her form his place in the chair.

"Huh? What are you trying –"

"Don't be dense Molly, it doesn't suit you."

"Sherlock, I really don't understand what –"

"I break in to your flat for you Molly, not for the space or 'change of atmosphere', but for you."

She just stood there looking at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

She finally wound herself up tight, arms folded in front of her.

"Are you saying that I am your friend?"

"God no!"

"Your roommate then?"

"What is wrong with you woman?!"

"Don't you dare call me your irregular!"

"Why are you being so damned oblivious?!", he said standing up indignantly.

"I…I've been hurt enough number of times."

Sherlock just stood there, furious with her for making it so difficult for him. But he also realized what she was saying was true. All the evasions, cruel deductions and fake compliments would put any self respecting woman on the defense and it didn't help that Sherlock was notorious among his friends for making unconventional 'arrangements' with people.

He calmed himself down, took a deep breath and approached her cautiously. He raised his hand to her face as if asking her permission to touch her and when she nodded slightly he put a lock of her hair behind her ear, and stood close to her, holding her shoulders.

"I have been reduced to breaking in to flats to be with you and you apparently can't say no to me. I think we've destroyed any chance of having a platonic relationship ages ago. Move in with me Molly. Be whatever you want – a friend, a lover, a roommate, an irregular- really, whatever works for you. But please, stick around. I need you around."

She was close to tears and couldn't trust herself to speak. But it seemed really unfair to make him do all the talking. She swallowed her sobs and said with great difficulty,

"I can be all of those I think"

He just broke in to a wide smile and pulled her in to a tight hug, saying in to her ear,

"Great, I like all-rounders."

He had forgotten about Mrs. Hudson who had seen him breaking in to his flat and was waiting in her kitchen for him to come down and explain what was happening. After waiting for a frustratingly long time, she finally gathered her strength and went upstairs to see for herself. When she reached the bedroom and saw them both cuddled up together like a couple of kittens, asleep in each other's arms, she quietly walked away, smiling like an idiot. She needed to collect some money from Mary Watson.

A/n: did you like it?