"Sherlock,"

He looked up with a start. "Mary!"

"Congratulations." She dropped her heavy purse where she stood, folding her arms across her middle, or rather, where the baby-bump was. Sherlock felt his insides twist. A dressing-down from Mary Watson was punishment enough, add to it a pregnant Mary Watson, and he'd rather face a firing squad. "You have redefined stupid."

"I-"

"I wasn't finished," she held up her hand. "Let's review: you took a basic school-yard taunt and decided to respond in kind by meeting up with Irene Adler, a woman who is so noticeably hot for you she's named a whip in her catalogue after you, met with her in broad daylight, and were seen going her flat, from which you did not exit for five hours."

He shifted, visibly uncomfortable. "It was an act of sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" Mary spit out. "Tell me about that word, Sherlock, what you perceive as 'sacrifice'. I spent the most precious months of being pregnant for the first time, alone, because I knew John needed the space and time to figure me out. Molly, when she saw you were becoming overwhelmed with the idea of a relationship with her but knew you didn't like the idea of her moving away, put her career on hold, for the umpteenth time for your sorry behind to figure out what you really want." She looked at him for a long while. "John and I are moving to Baker Street, for obvious reasons."

"Mary…" Sherlock looked relieved, until she held up her hand, silencing him.

"I'm not here for you," her voice was biting, her eyes were like ice. "Molly Hooper is like a sister to me, we've never had siblings, she and I," Mary shrugged, thoughtful a moment, the anger still not leaving her eyes. "I know her like I know myself. I don't have to tell you that you will never find anyone as trusting as Molly Hooper, no one as kind or as lovely. I've stood by for years now, knowing that she loves you more than anything in this life. I've stood by and watched you go from using her to treating her well, treating her like a friend ought to be. You know she loves you, Sherlock, you've known it's more than a crush, more than a fancy or a passing infatuation. She loves you."

Sherlock stared at his bare feet, Mary's words ringing in his ears, feeling his face burn with shame. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He had honestly thought by giving himself up to Irene Adler that it would stop the threats. It's what She wanted, wasn't it. Irene had been a danger before. Blackmail was a trick he'd always assumed was too base for her. Turns out not. So Sherlock went along with The Woman's scheme. If it would mean that Molly would be safe, Sherlock would do anything. He'd believed that by giving himself up, The Woman would let Molly be, and she'd be able to move on.

To be fair, nothing had happened. They'd gotten quite close, but in the end, Irene decided she didn't want Sherlock out of pity. But of course the damage was done now. No one would believe him if he'd said nothing happened, and he couldn't blame them. Worse of all was the look on Molly's face. It was true, he and Molly were not together officially, but there had been an unspoken understanding between them. They'd gone so far beyond cordiality now. True, lasting, wonderful friendship, with promise of what they truly felt for each other had been glimmering in his future. All it took was one rotten case, one tempting offer, and Sherlock had royally shot himself in the foot. He'd never forget the look on Molly's face when she'd been handed the newspaper, Sherlock's image sprawled across it under some tawdry (untrue) headline, arm-in-arm with Irene, heading to her flat. The pain, betrayal, shame, more at herself than him.

"Now you listen to me,"

He looked up with a start, realizing Mary had tugged John's chair nearer to his, leaning forward so she could speak directly to him, so he would be certain not to miss a word. "I will choose my sister's happiness over mine, every time, which is why I have not shot you."

"I appreciate that," he answered. To his utter relief, the smile Mary offered was at least half-amused.

"Molly is the best thing in your life, so you will never, ever lose sight of the fact that you have been given a chance to have, potentially, the best wife you could ever possibly hope to deserve."

Sherlock began to sob, truly sob then. How could he possibly deserve Molly now, how could such a woman ever believe him when he said he was so achingly sorry. He wished he could take it all back. He wanted Molly to know how desperately in love with her he was, that he wanted to marry her, only her. It took one stupid, wretched decision for him to realize it. Now all he wanted was to assure Molly of her happiness. He wanted to give her the best life. He was determined that every sacrifice would be for Molly now.

"Will you help me, Mary?" he choked out, wiping his eyes.

"Of course I will," she said quietly, after a moment. "John and I both will, but you should know that I will do whatever is best for Molly."

He nodded quickly. "Yes. As will I."