The ringtone broke her thoughts.
Wiping her eyes, she looked at the name and rejected the call. She was in no state to talk to him.
It began ringing again, and feeling a mixture of already present sadness and frustration, she answered.
'Hello, Sherlock. Is this urgent, 'cause I'm not having a good day..'
Listening to his deep voice reminded her of another; one that constantly filled her head.
'Just say these words...'I love you.''
She ended the call in a flash. Somehow he must have found out, she knew their meetings hadn't been subtle enough, and now he was tormenting her. The phone rang and she now felt burning anger as she again answered.
'Leave me alone.'
The anger began fading again to pure sadness, as he spoke of it being an experiment and how he was her friend. How could he do this to her after everything she'd done for him? She wondered how Mycroft would react but remembered the terrified look in his eyes when she leant in after a dinner. What she had assumed was a date. Best not to think of that at this moment.
'I can't say that. I can't ... I can't say that to you,' she sighed forlornly.
'Of course you can, why can't you?'
'You know why.'
That last sentence was full of accusing, and it was made worse when he continued his charade.
'No, I don't now why.'
Molly closed her eyes, her face scrunched up reflecting the pain in her chest. For the last week, she had been distancing herself, realising there was no real way Mycroft Holmes would want her. But then after hearing the awful news of the Baker Street explosion, she had received the note saying that he was perfectly fine but had to take care of something. Saying he had hoped to prove his wellbeing in person so she was not in any distress. Saying how as soon as he got back, they would talk.
'Talk.'
Such a simple word, but they both knew how much it meant, and only now was Molly realising exactly what he truly meant to her.
The fact Sherlock was using it against her, heaven knows how he found out; that was too much to bare and she again felt tears well in her eyes.
'Please, just say it,' he said softly.
'I can't not to you.'
She had to say it to the Ice Man. She had to say it to the British Government Himself, to he alone.
Sherlock persisted in his 'experiment', despite Molly admitting it was true; she loved his brother. Tears, laughter and disbelief all followed one another, until a mask fell. She was sick of Sherlock treating her like this.
'You say it. Go on. You say it first.'
That got him. She could hear the cogs, could almost visualise the utter confusion on his face.
'Say it. Say it like you mean it.'
Molly closed her eyes, wanting for the deep timbre on the other end of the phone, ready to visualise another face. She heard his stuttering and then,
'I love you.'
Molly let out a shaky breath and replayed it in her head. Imagining Mycroft, she put the audio with his angular face, and she smiled a little. She vaguely heard Sherlock continuing with his insistence that she say it.
'I love you,' Molly breathed, before ending the call and breaking down.
It came out in such a heart wrenching whisper, that, unbeknownst to Molly, the tall man in the room with Sherlock and John Watson felt his icy heart twist.
'Oh Molly.'