Hi! Well, it's been a while since I last wrote here in fanfiction net and in English no less! This is also in Tumblr under the same title and you can fond it with the same author name. I really hope you like it. It's a bit sad but it may get better.

Disclaimer: Nope I do not own Sherlock, not even the original Sherlock Holmes Tales and Adventures, if I did Molly would be a canon character and the last season would have ended with a Sherlolly kiss.

Enjoy!

Love

Sounds weird.

L-O-V-E

Four letters. Just four.

Why is it that that word, just that simple four letters, are so fearable?

Why is it that I have feared them the most of my life?

Why does it hurts so much?

Is this what I am supposed to feel?

Is it normal to feel this empty?

Fuck's sake, why?

Is it love what's crashing me now? Or is it the knowledge that I have lost it?

She doesn't look at me anymore, there's no more warmth for me in her eyes, not one single corner of brightness there.

Her eyes weren't like that before, I'm sure.

Have I done that to her?

She doesn't want to work with me, she always sends some other pathologist who will end up storming out because I'm such a git.

I'm a git.

I remember, at the beginning I didn't care about her. I deduced her like I would deduce anyone else, I used her every time I decided it was fit to do it. I didn't even care how much I was hurting mousy little Molly. She was nothing to me.

Once I saw the trail of tears there.

That's when the guilt started.

I would imagine the quiet echo of her sobs in my head.

One time after the other, it would always get louder and louder every time I used her, every time I got her hopes up just to crush them the next second.

I could see it in her eyes, I was hurting her.

But, back then, it was just that moment, it would never bother me the second I got myself out of Barts.

But life is cruel, isn't she? Molly was always so kind to me. And she, damn her, slowly but surely started making me care about her.

Using her feelings to get what I wanted started paining me as well. It hurted to know I was the one who was breaking her.

One night, I hadn't a case to distract my mind, I was lying awake in my bed and I started thinking about her.

She always smiled, but it always was a sad smile. Her hurted eyes haunted me, replaying scene after scene, again and again.

For some reason her feelings for me never died, it didn't matter how much of a git I was to her, she still felt the same for me.

And I relised I liked it.

It felt good. It felt solid. It warmed me.

That's when I noticed that sentiment had found it's way into my mind.

I was scared, I was so very scared.

I had worked all my life to evade sentiment, but there it was. And I was such a coward that I decided not act upon it.

I tried to scare her off, I didn't want to get attached to her anymore than I already had.

It didn't work. And some part of me (the one I tried to shun, the one its voice was getting louder with every beat of my heart) was so unbelievably happy about it. It felt so good.

I wasn't the only one trying to make it work, she was trying to forget me and it felt so good that she couldn't.

She tried to date someone else, and then it started to hurt.

A burning sensation in my chest, I could see every detail, every success, everthing that went wrong, every boyfriend who was not the right for her.

Nothing was right about it, I didn't want to admit it, but I was scared that someday she would make it.

I couldn't stand it. I just couldn't. It felt wrong, so wrong, I couldn't stand that she was kissing another lips and being touched by other hands.

I knew it wasn't fair, I was never going to act upon my feelings, she deserved to forget me and move on with her life.

I knew it, but I couldn't accept it, because deep inside me I felt that she was mine.

She was mine.

One time after the other, everytime she tried to date I deduced her boyfriend and ruined it for her. I was so jealous. I still am.

I shall never forget that night, that damned Christmas night.

She had dated someone at that time and I was so jealous when I saw that damned red present.

I remember the twitch of desire that shaked me then, I remember the rage, she was succeding, she was forgetting me. I remember the coldness that enveloped me when I deduced her.

She was going to see someone else that very night and she looked so beautiful. But she wasn't dressed up for me, she had put that much effort on emphasisimg her prettyness for someone else.

She wasn't mine anymore.

I was blind with jelousness, I felt betrayed, I didn't have the right to, but I still felt it.

I felt hurted, and it was the hurt that talked when in turn I hurted her.

But in the end I hummillated her for nothing.

It was me all along and I was too stupid to notice, my judgment was clouded by jelousness and all I got in turn was the clear sight of her watering eyes fighting the urge to cry.

I couldn't stand it.

I never apologize, never since I'm a child have I apologized for anything, but that time I did it.

Then the case gave me an excuse to ran away, I was so ashamed.

But it wasn't enough, after The Woman's 'death' she was forced to do the autopsy, and then she just had to misunderstood the nature of my relation with Adler.

Because that's just my luck.

And then it came. Moriarty owed me a fall, didn't he?

I fell. Hard.

And still she was there for me, she helped me fake my own death and I went to chase down the rest of Moriarty's web.

It's funny how he never saw her. He put a gun for everyone of my loved ones but her. How could he not see? I haven't yet understood, if he was my equal in intelligence, how could he miss my feelings for her?

A bullet for everyone that mattered, but none for the one who mattered the most.

Some nights, when I was certain I needn't sleep with an open eye but would still have to sleep outside, in the cold; I would lock myself up in my mind palace and convince myself that John was there to endure this with me, to share that burden, that Molly's warm eyes were there for me, like a hot welcoming tea cup, that Mrs Hudson would be there, offering her motherly and soothing presence to me.

I would open my eyes expecting to see them. And I would immediately close them again bitterly disappointed to understand that they were never really there.

How I missed them!

There was some point there in which I just had had too much.

Molly was there, everywhere, I could not get her out of my head and I realised that if I ever came back I would act.

Because I needed her in my life again.

John was there too, I missed thinking out loud with him by my side and I missed his acid sense of humour.

I missed my life.

Sometimes I would look at the sky and just let myself imagine that she was still there, waiting for me, with her big brown warm eyes and a trembling smile just for me.

I daydreamed that if and when I came back she would throw her arms around my neck and everything would be alright again.

I kept going, I kept trying and every criminal I took down from Moriarty's web was a step closer to that fantasy.

Sometimes I just rushed my mind in order to be done for the day faster so that I could go to my temporary accommodation and daydream in peace.

Life must have so much fun with me, doesn't she?

Because when I came back, I recovered John. But when I came to Molly I had already lost her.

She hadn't waited for me, why would she?

A kiss on the cheek was my only farewell to my childish illusions.

It hurted so much.

It was almost comical, her fiancée was physically identical to me, I remember concluding that she hadn't moved on that much.

The worst part?

He was an idiot, and I didn't have the right to ruin it for her. I wanted to find something, whatever, just to stop it, but he was a good man, he loved her, he didn't have anything for me to use it against him.

Why would she choose an idiot? She had a genius at her bloody feet but she chose the idiot.

Then it hit me that she hadn't realised that I loved her, and that she hadn't realised yet that he was an idiot.

I'm ashamed to say but I was so relieved that it didn't last once she understood his lack of brains.

But then again, when I more or less had a chance again, I couldn't take it, because I had a case and it would be too dangerous for her to be involved with me romantically.

Moriarty had missed her importance, but Magnussen shan't commit the same mistake if it became that obvious.

I remember very well the contact of her hand against my cheek. She was furious when at the beggining of that case I came in contact with drugs.

When that case was over I truly believed that I was never going to see her again. I had misused the time, hadn't I?

I could have had her, but I chose not to and I was going to die without knowing the taste of her lips because I had been an idiot and banned myself from enjoying at least a bit of time with her.

I knew something was off when Moriarty "came back to life". I knew it was a fake, but I was so utterly relieved, I still had a chance. I could still win her.

Turns out that chance never came.

When Mary died to save me I almost lost John. He was angry and grieving his wife and couldn't manage a rational thought. I couldn't even see my goddaughter.

Molly was so distant too.

I surrendered, I needed the drugs, I couldn't cope with everything because my world was falling appart and nothing seemed to work to put it back on trails.

I almost died while pulling John out of his depression.

Molly was too angry at me, I couldn't even think of getting near to her without getting slapped to death.

If I hadn't been such a coward then, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have lost her.

Euros and the bloody I Love You coffin.

That's when I lost her.

I told her that I loved her in the worst of situations, of course she didn't believe one word.

But I did, I knew then that I loved her, I didn't just felt strongly towards her, I didn't fancy her. I loved her.

And I heard her heart tearing apart while telling me that she loved me too.

I couldn't take it, I broke her heart, I broke mine and I broke that bloody coffin because I had to take that rage on something.

And here I am.

Lost but found, hurted and trying to heal, mad but sane.

What can I do? Is there a way? Something? Whatever, I need her.

Love.

Four letters.

Two syllables.

My salvation or my damnation?

Hell or heaven?

I don't know.

Love.

Molly.

Love, I miss you.

I miss her so much. I want her eyes to look at me with that fondness she always showed me. I want her to be dreamy around me. I want her back.

Please, please, please. I don't know who I am pleading to, but still…

Don't I deserve a chance?

No, I know I don't. But I still want it.

I still love her, I know (I want to believe) she must still feel something.

Please, please, please.

Please, let her still feel something for me.