She opened her door. That of itself surprised him, given their last conversation. Sherlock hadn't expected her to answer, and he felt a mixture of relief and fear as he stood face-to-face with her for the first time since their phone call from Sherrinford.
They stood opposite each other for a moment. Grief, fear, exhaustion, he couldn't choose a particular dominant emotion. Molly didn't give him time to, for she stepped forward, drawing him close to her.
"It's okay," she murmured, rubbing his back, then reached up, squeezing the back of his neck. She stepped back for only a moment so he could see her face. "You're okay, you're all okay now."
Trembling, he put his arms around her, returning the embrace, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. They stood for a moment more, holding onto each other until Molly finally let go of him, nodding towards the inside.
"Come on," she tugged him inside, shutting the door behind him.
Once inside and out of the cold and noise of the street, she turned away from him, about to ask if he wanted tea.
"What I said," Sherlock finally found his voice. "Molly wait- wait," he grasped her arm before she could take another step. She'd only been heading into the kitchen, but he was so desperate for her to understand, he didn't want to wait for any more social niceties. Tea could jolly well wait. "What I said, over the phone-"
"It's all right-" she shrugged, as if to brush his words aside.
"No, it isn't, that isn't at all how I wanted it to be, this isn't-"
"Your hands!" Molly gasped, seeing his bloodied hands. He looked, remembering suddenly that he'd broken the coffin up with his bare hands.
"It's nothing, never mind that,"
"You'll get an infection, and then where will we be?" she guided him through to her bathroom. "Sit there," she pointed to the closed toilet seat. "Take your coat off, and roll up your sleeves, I'll get the kit."
A few moments later she was dabbing antiseptic on his knuckles and palms, silence stretching between them.
"I wanted to care for you," he murmured. She glanced up, and right away he realized how his words must have sounded. "No, I mean," he shut his eyes, carefully choosing his words. "I want to take care of you, I came to take care of you, because…I thought you would need caring for, after the call. I hadn't meant for you to patch me up, again." He didn't wait for her to answer, "I know what I'd asked you over the phone, it was rude, it was awful."
"It was," she agreed quietly. "That's why I asked you to say it first."
"I know," he winced, feeling the sting of the alcohol pad press against his palms. Gently, she blew against his skin, soothing the burning feeling. "I want you to know, for whatever it's worth…" he took a steadying breath, gathering whatever strength he could muster. "I meant it, what I said,"
She was silent for a moment, still dabbing his hands, cleaning away the dried blood.
"I know you did," she said at last, still not looking at him. "The second time, you meant it…said it…like you realized it…and I knew then that I'd known you did all along." She looked up at him finally. "It's not how I wanted us to start out," she shrugged. "But it is what it is," the corner of her mouth turned up, a shy smile beginning. "I've always believed in making the best of things…and…and I think if we both-" Sherlock was sniffling, he was staring at her with red-rimmed eyes as if she were the sun and moon and everything in between. "If we both just…"
"Just…" he prompted.
She finally met his gaze. They reached for each other at the same time, wrapping arms around the other, closing any distance between them.
"I love you," he murmured against her mouth. "I love you, I love you, I love you-" Once he started he couldn't stop. He felt as if he were babbling. "I'm really more eloquent than this," he said, eliciting a gasp of laughter from Molly. Teary eyed, she cupped his face in her hands, thumbing away the tracks of tears on his cheeks. "I promise I can think of all sorts of beautiful ways to say it, and I will,"
"I'm afraid I am going to hold it against you, at least for a little while, for ignoring your feelings for so long, we'd have been much happier this whole time."
"If there's any way to make it up to you," again he bent and kissed her.
"There is," she laughed as he ducked his head, kissing her jaw and neck. She stepped back somewhat, so that he would pay attention. "Say it to me, every chance you get, don't ever let me doubt, don't ever forget that this was all nearly lost."
"Every day," he murmured, drawing her against him once more. "I promise, every day."
"And say it like you mean it," she added, cheek against his chest. She gave a shuddering sob, relieved that he was safe and home again, emotionally drained, but overall happy, she gave way to tears.
"Always," he murmured. He picked her up then, carrying her to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. He crawled up beside her, laying on his side so he could face her. He let her cry, knowing it was what she needed. Brushing the hair from her eyes, he smiled softly at her. "I don't think I'll ever be able to say it without meaning it."
"I have to finish cleaning your hands," she said suddenly.
"Later," he insisted. "I'm taking care of you right now." His arm was draped over her shoulder, hand spread against her back, soothing circles and lines up and down her spine.
"You're doing a good job," she said with a teary smile. Wearily, she shut her eyes.
Gazing down at her as she lay there, enjoying the peace and restful quiet after the tumultuous storm, Sherlock found himself breaking the silence: "I love you, Molly Hooper,"
She smiled, still keeping her eyes shut. "I love you, Sherlock," she cracked an eye open. "You're exhausted," she commented.
"I'll stay awake a little longer," he answered. "Just until you're asleep."
"Why? London is safe again," she murmured, voice heavy with sleep.
"Wouldn't mean as much, if you weren't here," he answered immediately. He scooted closer, lips against her forehead. "Go to sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."
"That'll be a first," she murmured, smiling teasingly.
"It certainly won't be the last," he replied, smile just as tempting as hers.
"I'll hold you to your word."
"You always do,"
"S'because I'm always right," she responded, just as tiredly as before. "Now stop trying to get the last word in and go to sleep."
He grinned, and wisely kept his mouth shut, deciding that this was an argument he'd rather lose, and happily so. With Molly curled up in his arms, legs tangled in his, they fell asleep, safe, and happy with the relief at having finally said those three little words.