A/N: I am still processing TFP and sherlolly scene, and this is a short two chapter fic to get that out of my system.
"You say it. Go on. You say it first."
"What?"
"Say it. Say it like you mean it."
A part of him was always attracted to Molly. He could ignore it, deny its very existence, but it always chipped away at a corner of his mind, his heart.
To ignore it when he was standing outside Molly Hooper's door? A privilege that doesn't exist. This afternoon changed so many things for him. He has a heart, the fall told him that. Today, confirmed who it beats for.
He knocks, once, twice. Glovved fingers rapping against the door in quick succession.
He hears the shuffle, the clattering of spoons, yet the door doesn't open.
"Molly, let me in," he pleads. "Please."
It does the trick. The door is opening before he can knock again, his hands raised midway.
He blinks.
Molly Hooper. Unassuming face, no signs of distress, dressed in pajamas, preparing for bed.
He tries to gather data on her emotional state from her face, but it's more guarded than ever. He isn't good with that anyway.
He isn't going to deduce her either, even if informations comes and disappears in flashes as he looks at her. The intake of information has always been too much when it comes to Molly. They seeme to seep into his soul without permission, and refuses to leave. The room in his mind palace for Molly Hooper grows and grows, any context as to why it exists in the first place unknown before this afternoon.
"May I come in?" He tries for politeness.
Molly nods, not looking at him. She turns around and goes back to her kitchen, leaving the door open if he choses to come inside. He follows.
"What is it, Sherlock?" She asks, pouring water into the kettle.
"I...I...I didn't think you would actually want to see me," he says, cursing silently in his mind. He isn't supposed to do this. He is supposed to apologise and explain everything to Molly, not needle at her fresh wound.
She moves about the kitchen, fiddling with cup and plates, refusing to stay still. "You mean about this afternoon? It was for a case, right? Well, whatever happened happened, let's just forget it, okay?" A sharp clatter of plates accompanies her statement.
"Is that what you want to do? Forget?" He asks, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Yes."
He wants to say he is sorry, that he meant what he said, that he wouldn't hurt her ever again. He wants to tell her he wouldn't be able to forget, he doesn't want to forget.
It doesn't matter what he wants. What matters is what Molly wants, and at least this way, if he listened to her, she wouldn't throw his out of his life.
So, he says the one thing he doesn't want to say, "Okay."
He doesn't stay for the tea she prepares for him. He isn't sure what he might do if he stays there. Kiss her or fall down at her feet, beg her to forgive him. She wouldn't appreciate either of the actions.
He turns and fidgets in his bed for the rest of the night.
Thinking of Molly Hooper and how she never looked at him the whole time he was there.
Please, do review.