No Beta on this one. Mistakes all belong to me. Lots of inner thoughts, they are in italics. Enjoy, I own nothing.

Sherlock heard the soft footfalls of Molly Hooper long before she knocked his door. Walking slowly, unsure... nervous. He let her knock instead of calling for her to come in, then rose and opened the door.

"Molly, what can I do for you this afternoon?" He asked with a hint smile on his face. New dress, recent haircut, light make-up. Ah, Molly, this again?

She took a deep breath before speaking, "I was wondering if I could talk to you, it won't take long." She wasn't smiling, the usual Molly Hooper glow was completely absent. This is different, something's wrong.

He stepped back and allowed her to enter the flat. She walked into the middle of the room but made no attempt to sit.

"Tea?" He asked.

"N-no t-thank you." She squeaked out.

I thought we were done with the stuttering. "Have a seat." He said as he sat down on the sofa, Molly did not.

"I'll stand, like I said it won't take long." She looked down at her hands then back at him, and smiled, though it was clearly forced.

"I want to start by saying that I'm not doing this because I'm bitter or angry. I'm doing this because it's my only option." She cleared her throat, "I also want to apologize in advance if what I say makes you uncomfortable; it's not my intention. But Sherlock," She paused, "I've loved you so much, for so long that I think I forgot how to do anything else. I think I fell in love with you the first time we met. I loved you while you were away for two years, constantly afraid you'd be killed and I'd have to mourn you all by myself." She took deep breath, "I loved you while I loved Tom-and I did love him. But where you're the sun, poor Tom was more like a desk lamp. At least I tried, right?" Another forced smile and another deep breath, "I'm leaving Sherlock. I'm going to try to make a new life for myself outside of your constant solar flairs while there is a small bit of me left not burned and blackened." Tears started falling, "I don't think this will stop me loving you, but maybe in time I can start to heal."

Sherlock stood up, completely dumbstruck by her obviously per-prepared speech. He started to approach her but Molly held out a hand and shook her head.

"This may be the hardest thing I've ever done Sherlock, please don't make it any harder." She was trembling "And I'm so sorry, I know you don't like working with other people, but you'll find a new me. It shouldn't be that difficult."

She tilted her head to the side and smiled, this time sweet and a little pleading. "Please take care of yourself, remember to eat, don't relapse again and don't fake your death again either. John won't forgive that a second time." Her tears were pouring now. "I'm not telling you where I'm going, don't try to find out, it's for the best."

She slowly walked to the door then turned back to him, "It wasn't all bad you know. But I can't make you love me and I can't make me stop. God I'm gonna miss you." She turned to go.

Sherlock got to her in three long strides, "Is there anything that would make you stay?" He didn't know why he asked it, he didn't know what he was going to offer her.

She turned so she was half facing him, "You've always been truthful with me Sherlock, it's the one thing we have. It's how I know you can't possible love me at all, because you've always known how I feel and if you felt the same this wouldn't be happening." She tried to smile once again, "You've manipulated me in the past, but you wouldn't dare say what I want to hear just to get me to stay, even you know how cruel that would be. So no, there is nothing that would make me stay. Be safe." She raised her hand to touch his face but pulled back then hurried down the stairs.

Sherlock went to the window and watched Molly Hooper walk down Baker Street wiping tears from her eyes. Then he picked up his violin.

Five weeks and four days without Molly... no one was even talking about her. They were behaving as if she had died. Sherlock deduced that she had had similar (although presumably less painful) conversations with the other people in their small group, quite possible asking them to give her space. Or maybe they all know where she was and talked to her constantly. It was something he could deduce, he didn't like not knowing.

He was certain that someone knew. She and Mary had become quite close during the Fauxiarity debacle. Molly had stayed at the Watson's house while he and John were off investigating, someone had to look after her, he couldn't have her unprotected. Yes, Mary might know. John treated Molly like a little sister, perhaps John... or Lestrade, Molly had known him the longest and thought of him like a mentor, even if the DI had less gentlemanly ideas about the pathologist. There was a good possibility they were still in contact. There was no doubt that Mike Stamford would know, he would have to have been able to forward employee information and such onto her new employer. I could just ask Mike.

No, he wasn't going against Molly's wishes, she didn't want him to know, she had made herself quite clear.

A deep sadness had settled in over the group of friends, made worse because it felt like there was some kind of moratorium on all things surrounding the topic of Molly. No one talked about her, they didn't sit around remembering all the good times, laughing about Molly's poor fashion or inappropriate humor. No, no one said a word.

Sherlock hadn't set foot in Barts since the day she left. Too many memories. He'd have to at some point, it was inevitable but he was avoiding it for the moment.

He didn't exactly understand what he was feeling. Molly was indeed his friend, so of course he missed her. But he had been away from her for two years during his mission and it didn't feel like this. This felt more like how he felt when he thought about John while he was away or maybe worse, more final and something... else. Yes, defiantly worse then.

In his very dark moments, like this, he realized how responsible he was for the trembling, crying form that had stood in front of him in his sitting room that day. He had broken her heart. Sweet, kind, loyal Molly Hooper was broken because he was incapable of love. She had saved him, and what did she get in return? Pain. This world-his world, wasn't good enough for his... no not mine anymore, just Molly.

Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts by a text message. Lestrade, a case. Thank God.

Fifty-five minutes later he was standing over a body and finishing up his deductions.

"Thanks Sherlock, sorry I guess that was an easy one." Greg said before he turned and shouted instructions to a Sergeant.

Sherlock stood considering something, finally he asked, "Greg, have you heard from Molly?"

The DI looked completely taken-a-back. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was the question or the fact that he had used Greg's actual name.

"Um, well. Yeah, I ah, we – she's fine Sherlock." The gray haired detective stammered.

Sherlock nodded before dashing off to hail a cab. Case solved and frankly not worth his time, he weighed his options. If he were honest with himself all he wanted to do was find a reputable dealer and lose himself in a needle, but he found himself giving the cabby Molly's old address instead. He knew she had moved, but it was obviously the safer option. Her home had always calmed him when he was this state, though he never admitted to her why he stopped by.

He just needed to think.

He paid and got out. He looked up to the third floor window that had been her sitting room and lit a cigarette. He smoked and thought about Molly and her flat and her annoying cat. Then he lit another.

He closed his eyes and went into his mind palace finding Molly's rooms, her flat was easily accessible. He opened the door and walked in. He saw the old sofa against the sitting room wall that had belonged to her father. Then he walked to her book cases, they were overflowing with medical textbooks and journals but also classics; Bronte, Austin, Edith Warton, Flaubert, Truman Capote, EM Forster and of course Shakespeare.

There were framed photos of her father and mother, of John, Mary and little Anna. There was a photo of Molly and her friend Meena at Meena's wedding, Molly looking ridiculous in a baby blue bridesmaid dress with an enormous smile on her beautiful face. There was even one of her, Mike and Greg at a Christmas party. No photos of me... a small voice in his head told him it's because he would have embarrassed her about them and of course he would have.

"I'm a bastard." He mumbled as he turned and saw Toby looking up at him expectantly, "I'm not feeding an imaginary cat in my mind, I barely tolerated you in real life." He said as he made his way into the kitchen. Her favorite mug was sitting on the counter near the coffee maker next to the one she always used for him. He shook his head at the sentimentality of it all.

He hesitated before opening her bedroom door but took a deep breath and walked in. Oh, there you are, wondered where I put you, he thought. Molly sat on her bed in fluffy pink and white flannel pj's. She was wearing her glasses and reading Jane Eyre.

She looked up, "Hey, how you holding up?"

Sherlock crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Not great."

She smiled sweetly, "How'd you expect to feel? You miss her."

"Yes, apparently I do."

"It'll get better." She said putting a hand on his forearm.

"Of course, time heal all wounds and all that rubbish." He couldn't meet her eyes, not even the version of Molly he'd created, it was too painful. "So far it's only getting worse."

"I know Sherlock. If it's any consolation it was probably much worse for her, being around you all these years."

He looked up completely shocked, "How is that a consolation?"

"I don't know, you came up with it." She said with a shrug.

He got up pacing the room and pulling at his hair. "No one talks about her, it's like she's dead. Like she's dead and I killed her." He looked out her bedroom window. "I did in a way."

"Um, Sherlock I know what you've been thinking about, and you have to know what it would do to her."

"Yes, and as you well know I never really stop thinking about that." He turned to look back at Molly's face, "But you're right, it's been on my mind a bit more lately. That's why I came here instead." He folded his arms across his chest, "This self-pity is disgusting. It's pointless and it gets me nowhere. She was right. I always knew how she felt, if I had wanted more I could have had it at any time. Now she's gone and we all have to move on. Why can't I move on like she did?"

"She had closure, she said good bye. You didn't want her to go Sherlock. I don't know why you wanted her to stay, mostly because I'm you so just as confused as you are. You need to talk to someone. Someone that's not... well... you."

Sherlock opened his eyes, stupid, stupid, stupid. Shouldn't have done that in the middle of London. Anything could have happened. He looked around, then looked at his watch. He'd been in his mind palace for nearly an hour. Fuck, I'm losing it.

He turned to hail a cab only to find a sleek, black government car waiting for him. Damn it! He opened the door and got in.

"She doesn't live there anymore Sherlock. Standing in front of her old building for an hour won't bring her back." Mycroft said.

"I'm aware."

"Well then, what did you hope to accomplish?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Trying to hide something from his brother was even more pointless than hiding something from Mary Watson. "I was just... reminiscing Mycroft. That's all. Molly's a friend and now she's gone. I decided to come here today, just to..."

"To avoid something more unpleasant, yes I know." His brother interrupted. "This is Redbeard all over again Sherlock. How many times must I warn you about caring?" Mycroft looked down and shook his head, "That being said, would you like to know where she is?"

Sherlock jerked his head from the window, "What? Oh, of course you've kept tabs on her."

"Of course, though that wasn't entirely necessary. I'm the one that set up her new life. I found her a job and a new home, well Anthea did but I facilitated it. Oh, and she finally accepted the money I offered her for assisting you in your... deception."

"Why would you go to all that trouble and then sell her out?"

"Would you like to know how she'd doing?" Mycroft asked tilting his slightly.

"I just spoke with Lestrade, he said she was fine."

"Fine? Yes, I suppose. It's a good job, a nice flat. But she's not happy. She misses her old life, her friends... you. And look at you, standing outside her old building like some lovesick teenager. What was the point of all of this if all parties involved are miserable?"

"You just said..."

"I know what I said Sherlock! I've been saying it for years, but you never listened. And look what you have... dear friends, a second mother, a fulfilling job. What has my life-long admonishment of love gotten me?"

Sherlock was gobsmacked, Mycroft Holmes admitting he was wrong about something. He shook himself, "I don't even know how I feel Mycroft. What am I suppose to do?"

"Oh good Lord, I have no idea. How should I know?" He paused and retrieved an envelope from a file next to them. "Here, open it, don't open it. I can't tell you what to do. But I can assure you she's not in much better shape than you are."

The car pulled up at Baker Street and Sherlock started to open his door. "Sherlock," Mycroft said, "Molly Hooper is quite possible one of the most remarkable people I've ever met. Whatever you decide, don't break her heart again."

Sherlock didn't leave his flat for three days. He moved from room to room pacing, picking up the envelope and putting it down again. He was completely lost. He answered John's text messages to assure he didn't receive an unwelcome visit. Mrs. Hudson delivered tea and sandwiches but otherwise he didn't interact with people.

It was one thing for him to be unhappy, but Molly? If she was still unhappy, then like Mycroft said, what was the point of it all? Perhaps she simply needed more time, time to meet a nice bloke. The thought caused a sudden twist in the pit of Sherlock's stomach. Well that was unpleasant. Why does that keep happening?

What he was most afraid of was the possibility that the only reason he was experiencing these feelings was her sudden departure. What if she came back and he still couldn't give her what she wanted? He couldn't bare to break her heart once again. To get her hopes up only to not truly be able to reciprocate her feelings... no, he wasn't going to do that to her. If there was even a slight possibility that he didn't, couldn't love Molly he would not open that envelope.

This was about the twentieth time he had made a decision in the last three days. He had just sat down, defeated when he heard someone approaching his door. It opened.

"Dad?"

His father smiled, "Hello son. I hear you're having a tough time. Thought I'd come and see if you wanted to have a little chat."

Sherlock couldn't speak. He just sat there, silent.

"I asked Martha if she would make us some tea, should be up in a few minutes." He walked over and sat down across from his son in John's chair.

Sherlock finally shook himself and regained his speech, "It's good to know the world is safe enough for Mycroft to turn his full attention to me and my absent pathologist."

His dad a smiled, "He worries about you Sherlock, it's his way of saying he loves you."

Sherlock pulled a face, "Dad, if you're trying to make me feel better than stay away from statements like that."

Mr. Holmes laughed. "You two haven't changed a bit in all these years, not really. He's still the over-protective big brother and you're still the insolent baby of the family. Do you boys still play board games?"

"Yes, and Mykey still cheats."

"Yoo-hoo! Here's your tea. Look at the pair of you. Father and son. So nice." Mrs. Hudson said carrying in a tea tray.

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"So good of you Martha, I wasn't sure if Sherlock would have anything besides bio hazards up here."

"I'm off, enjoy your visit. And Sherlock be nice to your father."

The flat was quiet except for the soft clank of china while Mr. Holmes waited to see if Sherlock would initiate the conversation. After five full minutes Mr. Holmes spoke up.

"Okay son, let's have it. I've heard your brother's overly simplified version, tell me what's going on."

Sherlock sat down his tea and ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know dad, I just... Molly came here and said she couldn't get over me, couldn't stop loving me. So she was leaving. Now she's gone and I... miss her."

With a nod of his head Mr. Holmes asked, "Are you sure that's all?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, "You know I'm not comfortable with these sort of things dad. It's – well it's complicated. I don't have many friends, it's so hard for me to trust people. Molly Hooper is someone I trust completely. She's so good, I mean utterly wonderful. I don't know if I can give her what she wants, what she deserves. How can I even speak to her if I'm having doubts? You didn't see her that day. She was in so much pain. It hurts me just to think about it. She never deserved all the awful things I've said to her, all the ways I've used her. And even after all that, she still saw good in me. I can't even imagine." He sat up on the edge of the chair. "She loved me unconditionally and I don't have the faintest idea how to return it. I've never even tried before. What if I fail? What if I hurt her again? I couldn't bear it. You know how my mind works, I can't stop seeing her crying. She was crying because of me dad, me!" Sherlock stood up, "I caused that. I broke her heart and... and..."

Sherlock was breathing hard and on the verge of tears. His dad rose quickly and held his son. "It's okay Sherlock, it's okay."

"I don't want to hurt her. I can't. I-I..."

"I know, son, I know. And that's why you won't." Mr. Holmes pulled back and looked Sherlock in the eyes, "You won't because you just realized that you love her."

"Wha..." The realization washing over him. He sat back down. "I do, don't I?"

"Yes, you do." Mr. Holmes took his seat as well.

Sherlock rested his head in his hands and went over everything he just said again.

Nerves. Sherlock Holmes didn't experience nerves. That was until the very moment he was standing in front of Molly Hooper's new flat in Birmingham. Mycroft didn't mess around when he relocated someone. It was a much nicer flat. He'd also managed to find her a better job, more money, more responsibilities. Doubt was flooding Sherlock's mind along with a wave of nausea in his stomach.

He played the scenario over in his mind... 'Hey Molly. It turns out I do love you. So let's me and you go back to London where you get to wait around for me to get shot at once a week and put up with my awful moods and body parts in the fridge. Oh, then there's all the media attention, and my meddling big brother... and let's not forget about all my enemies that will no doubt try to kidnap or kill you every so often.'

I'm so screwed... what am I doing here? He thought even though he didn't move from his spot, he just stared at her door.

He suddenly thought back to his father's words. After he finally had recovered from his realization his dad had given him a bit of advice.

"Son, love isn't logical. It doesn't really care about rules or life long edicts. It's a force of nature that not even Sherlock Holmes can stop. So you can sit on this new found knowledge and pretend you haven't found the love of your life, or you can open that damn envelope and go convince Molly Hooper that you were a blind fool not to realize this before. It will catch up with you eventually. It's a cliché, but the heart wants what the heart wants. All you can do is hold on and enjoy the ride."

Right, here goes... well everything, he thought as he finally raised his hand knocked on her door. Exactly forty-seven seconds later Molly opened the door, wide eyed and clearly shocked.

"Did you look through the peep hole first?" He asked.

"Really? That's you're opening? Wait, is someone trying to kill me? Is that why you're here?" She said trying to look behind him.

"No, I mean not that I'm aware of. May I come in?"

Molly hesitated, but finally moved to the side and let him enter. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. As he looked around he realized that this was indeed an upgraded flat but still all Molly. Same sofa, same bookshelves, same books and photos. But there were some new additions. A large leather chair, an enormous climbing tree for Toby, and a new TV.

Finally Sherlock really looked at Molly, his breath caught. She looked radiant. Her hair was shorter, by three and a half inches. She was wearing jeans and a tank-top. And she hadn't removed her make-up yet as she'd only been home from work for thirty-five minutes. She was barefoot. Molly must have finally had enough of him sizing her up, because she cleared her throat.

"Right, so... how are you?" He asked awkwardly.

Molly crossed her arms over her chest, "I'm fine Sherlock, why are you here? The only thing I've ever asked of you, was to not find out where I was going, yet here you are."

"Tea?" He asked.

"What?" She squeaked.

"Could we have tea?"

She rolled her eyes but he knew her unabashed politeness would override her frustration with him, and buy him some time.

"Fine!" She stormed off to the kitchen. Sherlock took off his coat, scarf and shoes since she'd obviously spent some of her newly acquired money on a lovely rug. Then he followed her. She was slamming the kettle down as he took a seat at her kitchen table.

Molly put the water on to boil and turned to face Sherlock, arms folded in defiance. "I'm listening."

Once again his father... just be honest with her son, now that you're finally being honest with yourself.

"I miss you." He said.

"I asked you not to try and find me."

"Actually you asked me not to try find out where you were going. And technically I didn't."

Molly narrowed her eyes, "So, did my address come to you in a dream? Or have you developed telepathy in my absence?"

"Mycroft." He said to the floor.

"Damn It!" She yelled just as the kettle screamed. "Why did I ever trust him?"

Silence fell upon the pair as she finished preparing the tea. She handed him his and sat down.

"Sherlock," She finally spoke up, "Why are you here?"

He took a drink and gathered his thoughts, "The day you left you said I was always honest with you and you were right. I've always tried to be honest with you Molly, especially since my fall." He took a deep breath, "Yes, I used to manipulate you, but when I came back I realized that was unnecessary and cruel. So here's me being honest with you Molly Hooper; I'm in love with you."

He let the sentence hang. Just left it out there to gauge her response. Would she believe him? Or would she kick him out on his arrogant, egotistical arse?

Her expression barely changed. He couldn't read a thing from it. Two full minutes passed. "Me? You're in love with me? After all this time all it took was me leaving?"

He swallowed, "I'm sorry. You have every right to reject me, however I'm hoping you will give me a chance."

"The chance you never gave me?" Her expression still hadn't changed.

Damn it. "You're right, of course, I don't- I don't know what I was thinking." He quickly got up.

"Sherlock." Molly said.

He stopped and turned. Please, please. "Yes, Molly?" She wasn't looking at him.

"Toby misses you."

He chuckled.

"I hate my job."

"You do?"

"It's not exciting. So much paperwork." She said, still looking at a point on the wall.

"Really?"

"This flat's too warm. I can't get the temperature right."

That one's weak Molly, "That's not good." He smiled.

"I miss London." Tears were falling now.

"It's not the same without you Molly."

"I want to come home."

"I want you to come home, please."

She met his eyes, "You love me?"

"More than a triple murder."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You're gonna have to really try Sherlock."

He made it to her in three strides, he crouched down in front of her. "I know. I promise." He took her hands. "Please come home... with me."

"This won't be easy, this isn't a fake relationship. You can't screw with me or my heart. It will end me, do you understand?"

He took her face in his hands, "Molly I swear I wouldn't even be here if there were the slightest bit of doubt in my mind."

"It's not your mind I'm worried about Sherlock, it's your heart." She leaned her forehead against his, "Please tell me what's in your heart for once."

He gently kissed Molly's sweet lips and said, "You."

"Good answer." Molly smiled.

As always I'd love to know what you think. Please review. Thanks so much for reading.