I want to thank the wonderful Potix for helping me to write this silly little story. Please forgive the typos and the grammar mistakes, but English is not my first language. This story is ispired by Good morning by Norah Jones.
And finally, I don't own Sherlock (sadly).

Good mornin', my thoughts on leaving

Are back on the table

I though you should know

His back was on the brick wall behind him, a cigarette between his lips and his curly hair covered by the hood of his jacket (his Belstaff was lost somewhere in a locked, darker room on the other side of the world). In front of him there was her apartment, barely illuminated by the morning sun, and she was there: he could see her silhouette behind the white curtains, he just hoped that she couldn't see him on the other side of the road. The cigarette was almost finished (he could feel the filter burning between his thumb and index ); he inhaled deeply the last drop of smoke and threw what was left on the ground, kicking it away before crossing the street towards her apartment. He avoided the front door and walked the alley on the side of her apartment building, until he reached the fire escape and climbed it to the window of her kitchen. Six months had passed from his "death", all those gestures had become a familiar routine for him and she had become his only anchor on reality. The only person who could keep him sane. He opened the window and entered quietly into the room.

She was immersed in her usual Monday morning routine: waking up - taking a shower - dressing up - feeding Toby - having breakfast - going to work. She had just finished to prepare a good cuppa, when she heard the window opened; without looking towards it she took a small sip from the cup, before putting it down on the kitchen counter.

"Good morning Sherlock, tea? Coffee? Something else?". She turned to him- to ask him her usual questions- and he stood up in front of her, trying to maintain his usual proud appearance, in vain. She could see that his gestures, so confident before, seemed suddenly broken. He looked exhausted, rolled over himself, and more aged than before.

She came closer to him and furrowed her brow, "What's happened? Do you need something? I can stay, if you want...". He smiled at her (there were new wrinkles around his tired eyes, new scars on his face that she had never seen before). "Thank you Molly, but it doesn't matter... I just need a shower and a place to sleep, nothing more". She tried to ask him something more, but he stopped her. "And please: don't ask me anything... Please, I just need some rest". He walked to her bathroom, then stopped in the middle of the narrow hallway and turned to her. "Thank you Molly, for everything... And most of all for being yourself." He closed the door behind him and after a while she heard the water falling down.

She stared at the door, still wondering if he was really there in her apartment or if the man she had seen was simply the ghost of what he was before. She opened her flat's door and began his usual way to work.

And maybe powerful actions

Or powerful feelings

Will keep me from going

It was already night when she returned to her apartment, and the first thing she noticed was the silence. It was unusual because she was accustomed to hear his insomniac behavior every time he slipped in her apartment, but not this time. This time there was only silence. She slowly reached her bedroom: she wanted to be sure that he was still there, maybe immersed in his thoughts, or maybe just asleep. She wanted to see his face, to make sure that there was nothing wrong, and he was fine and safe.

She carefully opened her bedroom door, a strip of light from the hallway was illuminating her bed, so she could see his body resting in a fetal position. His face seemed darker and there were shadows under his eyes, like he had been haunted by a bad dream. She knelt in front of him and brushed away his curls from his forehead. "What happened to you?". She kissed his forehead and slowly she stood up to take out her old t-shirt, her shorts and a blanket; she was starting to head towards the living room when she heard him. "Molly?".

She turned to him. "Oh.. I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you…".

"Don't be... Please can you stay with me?".

"I don't want to annoying you", she replied, and he sat on her bed. "This is your bedroom, and you'll never annoy me... Please, stay...".

She smiled softly at him. "Ok... I'm going to change my clothes.".

"Thank you Molly, I mean it".

"Sherlock, you know that you are my friend, and I'll always be here to help you".

When she returned to his room, he was already asleep under the covers, so she carefully lay down and turned to rest on her side. A few minutes later she felt his hand searching hers, she laced her fingers with his over her stomach, feeling him nuzzling the back of her neck with his nose, and together they fell asleep.

He couldn't sleep: tomorrow he would be away, miles and miles far from London. From her. And maybe he would never see her again... Maybe this might be his last occasion... But he couldn't tell her. He didn't want to tell her.

He wanted to protect her... He wanted to keep her away from him, and at the same time he wanted to take her everywhere, near his heart... He wanted to kiss her, to feel her lips on his, her skin under his fingertips...

Sentiment, again. That stupid, painful ache in his chest, in his heart: the one which he said he didn't possess.

He hated this! He hated that he couldn't stop his brain from thinking of her, from dreaming her every single night...from hearing her laugh, her voice even in a city miles and miles away from home.

He watched her sleep next him, and the scent of her hair, of her skin assaulted his nostrils. He felt her moving next to him, and suddenly his name fell from her lips. He gripped her waist with his free hand and pulled her even closer to him, until he felt her back on his chest.

"Now", he thought . "Maybe this will be the last time I will see her…". he buried his face on her hair and inhaled deeply. "Maybe she will forgive me... She will forget me...". He caressed her hair and murmured in her ear. "But I will never forget you…". His lips caressed her ear. "Please forgive me, Molly... Forgive me."

He brushed away a long strand of hair from the back of her neck and started to trail feathery kisses on her neck and her shoulder…

Good morning

Why did you do it?

I couldn't sleep

I knew you were gone

She was awoken by his kisses on her neck and her shoulder, by his breath on her skin, by his words murmured on her ear, by his hands caressing her skin... It was wrong... It was absolutely wrong.

She turned to him, and stretched her hand to touch his face in the dark room. "Sherlock...". He flipped her on her back and took her face between his hands, his thumb caressing her lower lip. The yellow lights from the street illuminated the dark room, finally she could see his face. The silent plea in his eyes... He wasn't the same man she had known before: there were dark, deep shadows in his eyes, something that she had never seen before. She lifted herself up on her left elbow and lifted up her right hand to caress his cheek, her lips a breath away from his, but it wasn't her who has started the kiss. He climbed on top of her, his left hand buried in her long hair and his other pulling up her t-shirt, searching for her skin. She sighed at the touch of his lips on hers, and opened her mouth, letting his tongue battle with hers. She wrapped her arms around him, putting him even closer. She slipped her hands on his shoulders, then on his face again, and stopped the kiss, her eyes searching his. "Sherlock stop...We can't do it. This is wro-".

He stopped her by starting another kiss. " Please..."he begged, while caressing her cheekbone. "Please".

She took his face between her hands and looked straight in his eyes. "Promise me…". He tried to kiss her again, but she stopped him and forced him to look at her. "Promise me that you will come back…".

"I can't…".

"Then lie to me, I don't care. Just say to me that I'll see you again…".

He closed his eyes and buried his face on her hair then he moved his lips on her ear and whispered "I promise".

She kissed him again and he kissed her back, trying to convey in that kisses every words, every feeling that he wanted (but he couldn't) say to her. He kissed her closed eyes, her eyebrows, her little nose, her beautiful face.

He was drunk of her skin beneath his fingertips and his mouth: he wanted to memorize her softness, her sscent, every mole, every stretch mark, and freckle, every imperfection... He wanted to bury -to forget himself- in her, until he couldn't remember wherehe began and she ended. He undressed her and kissed every inch of skin he could reach, then he stopped on her breasts and revered each one with kisses, bites and caresses. His other hand sneaked down to her short and slowly brought them down. She arched her back to help him discarding her last piece of clothes, then finally his hand slipped on her centre: his thumb on her clit and his finger slowly teasing her entrance. She gripped her hand on his shoulder and buried the other in his soft curls. "Ah… I...Sherlock, I lov- ". He silenced her with a long kiss and removed his hand from her without breaking the kiss.

"Don't say it, please ". He plead silently. "Don't say it'...". He bit her lower lip, thenwith one hand he grabbed her wrist, pinning her down on the bed. With the weight of his body on hers he opened her legs and slowly pushed himself in her. He started with a slow pace, silencing her monas with his kisses.

She sank her nails into his back and he buried his face on the nape of her neck. He increased his movement, already feeling his orgasm impeding. He slipped his hand down to caress her clit - he could felt her walls tighten around him while she was reached her climax- then he kissed her again, inhaling her deep moans and sighs, his rhythm becoming more uncoordinated, and then finally he thrusted himself a few more times, spilling his hot seed in her and biting her neck to silenced his moans.

The dark room was filled by their deep breath. Boneless, he fell upon her, trying to regain his breath by resting his head between her breast, to hear to the beat of her heart and the mechanics of her breath, to breath the scent of their bodies together. He could feel her hand caressing his damp curls, her body relaxing and slowly slipping into sleep.

"I love you".

He hugged her more close to him.

"But I don't deserve your love…".

She was woken up by the morning light that leaked from the curtains. She rolled on the other side of the bed, but he wasn't here. She didn't expect this from him. She sat up on her bed, wrapped herself with the blankets and reached to the kitchen.

And there, in the middle of the table, she saw a little sparkle of something illuminated by the morning light. There was a little object - a pin - something she thought she would never see again. It was a little pin-shaped bee: the first gift that her father had given her. She had lost it many and many years ago, forgotten somewhere in the middle of that big city the first time she moved there.

It had been him, of course it had been him ( she remembered that he had mentioned this to him when she spoke of her father). There was a little piece of paper behind the brooch, she could recognize his writing on it.

"I will never forget you.

Please, forgive me."

Our loving is all I was after

But you couldn't give it

So I'm moving on

Two years later

Sherlock was sitting on a stool, close to his latest client: a woman who was sitting on the sofa with an older man sitting beside her. Sherlock was clasping her hands and patting them sympathetically while talked softly to her: "And your pen pal's emails just stopped, did they?"

The woman nodded, whimpering. Molly looked at her but then continueed writing down notes at the dining table. Sherlock continued softly his deductions. "And you really thought he was the one, didn't you? The love of your life?".

As the woman took off her glasses and cried harder, Sherlock turned and looked at Molly for a moment. "Didn't you ,Molly?" he thought, then stood and walked across to her, keeping his back to the clients. "Didn't you?".

The same afternoon

Molly stopped on the middle of the stairs: "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?".

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned back to her.

She continued to speak. "What was today about?"

"Saying thank you"

"For what?"

"Everything you did for me".

She smirked briefly at him. "It's okay. It was my pleasure".

She reached the bottom of the stairs and started towards the door but turned back as he spoke again.

"No, I mean it".

She spoke at him nervously, trying to explain herself. "I don't mean "pleasure". I mean, I didn't mind. I wanted to".

Sherlock stepped closer and said softly to her "Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible." He drew in a breath and looked at her. "But you can't do this again, can you?".

She smiled, but her voice was a little choked when she answered "I had a lovely day. I'd love to – I just ... um ... " She looked down and he followed her gaze.

"Oh, congratulations, by the way."

Molly looked at her engagement ring - it seemed to become more heavy than it was before.

"He's not from work." He smiled at her, trying to look happy for her, then she continued her speech. "We met through friends, the old-fashioned way. He's nice. We ... he's got a dog ... we-we go to the pub on weekends and he ... I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family. I've no idea why I'm telling you this."

He still looked at her intensely. " I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths."

She looked up at him. "No?"

He looked back at her. "No."

He stepped closer to her and gave her a beautiful smile- he wanted her to know that he would always support her…. that he would let her go, and be free- then leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

She closed her eyes and kept them closed as he turned and walked out of the front door. After a moment she turned and looked at his disappearing back.

"Maybe it's just my type."

Outside it was snowing. Sherlock walked down the path and pulled his coat tighter around himself. He turned to the right and walked off down the road. Molly followed down the path, pulled out her gloves and put them on. She stopped at the pavement and watched Sherlock walk away, then turned and walked off in the opposite direction.

"Promise me that you will come back…"

The result of the test was in her hands, she threw it in the bin next to her. She turned and walked over to face Sherlock, then slapped him hard.

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with?"

"And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you're sorry."

"Say it… Say that you regret leaving me a note, and then just disappear, after that night…"

Sherlock was holding his face. "Sorry your engagement's over – though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring".

"I'm glad that you're finally free again… Even if it might be too late, even if I know that loving me is too dangerous for you."

She angrily whispered to him " Stop it. Just stop it".

"Don't you dare… Don't you dare give me hope, when you know that you can't love me as much as I love you. Just disappear from my life, would you?"

It took her a visit to him in the hospital, recovering from a nearly fatal bullet wound, to regret that thought. No, she was not ready to say him farewell, not yet. Maybe someday she would tell her grandchildren how much she had loved a brilliant man, a great man, before meeting someone else, someone completely different, a man capable to make her feel loved, and that she would love in return. One day...But not today.

She left his bedside, quietly closing the door behind her. She didn't see him opening his eyes, and letting out a relieved sigh. She was not giving up on him… Maybe one day, but not today. Not yet. There was still hope, after all.

"...promise me that I'll see you again…"

"I promise."