A/N: Everyone has their own version of the locker room scene, this is mine. Loosely based on the song 'Dreamsome' by Shelby Lynne. Hope you like :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The Best Laid Plans

He'd thought about returning to Molly Hooper more times than he cared to admit.

In the darkest moments of his one-man crusade, he'd often distracted himself by fantasying about his homecoming.

Sometimes he'd do the usual, mundane things like bringing her flowers or chocolates and make her smile. At other times he was more elaborate and would sweep her off her feet in style.

Occasionally, he'd just show up at her door and tell her that it was finally over, that he had missed her and that he would never leave her again.

In his more wildest fantasies, the ones his rational side liked to pretend he never had, he didn't say anything and just kissed her senseless.

But no matter what scenario his mind conjured up, she was always happy to see him and he was pleasantly overwhelmed by her exuberance as she pulled him into a tight embrace.

None of his fantasies, however, had ever been set in the locker room at St. Bart's, two days after his return and they had never featured a dejected and hurt Molly.

Unfortunately, however, that was exactly how his return transpired.

It was his hardest lesson in reality not living up to expectation.

"So, you're back," she said quietly, not turning around as she concentrated on hanging up her lab coat.

"Yes," he replied, just as quietly.

"John already messaged me," she continued as though he hadn't spoken while she pulled her coat on, "you didn't have to come."

"Yes I did," he countered, "I should have come sooner."

"You don't owe me anything," she told him, picking up her bag and shutting her locker.

"I owe you everything," he corrected her, frowning as she turned around but kept her eyes averted. "You kept me alive, Molly," he added in a low tone.

She shook her head, "It was your plan, Sherlock," she said softy, as she finally looked up at him, "I just helped you execute it."

"No," he corrected her again, taking a step towards her, "You. Kept. Me. Alive."

Her brow furrowed, "I don't understand."

This time it was Sherlock's turn to avert his eyes, "Life…got very dark at times," he explained, "there were times when I…" he broke off and ran a hand through his hair, collecting his thoughts. "No matter how bad things got, you were there," he said finally, looking into her eyes. "You were always there," he continued with a touch of wistfulness in his tone, "without you…I wouldn't have succeeded, much less survived."

He took another step towards her, invading her personal space, "I don't know what I would have done without you and I don't want to ever find out," he paused, "I need you Molly Hooper, more than I ever realised."

A lone tear rolled down Molly's cheek, "Me?"

"You."

She gave a short laugh, breaking the silence that had descended and easing some of the tension between them as she absently wiped the tear away. "I don't know what to say," she confessed.

"I think I'd rather you didn't say anything," he replied, his half-smile taking the sting out of his words. He offered her his arm, "May I take you home?" he asked politely.

She smiled, "You may," she said, taking his proffered arm.

Impulsively, she reached up and kissed his cheek, "I'm glad you're home," she murmured, tightening her grip on his arm.

It was Sherlock's turn to be lost for words, but Molly didn't mind; he said everything just by the way he covered the hand that rested in the crook of his elbow with his own.