221B BAKER STREET

Molly was in a daze. One minute she was in the middle of the worst memories imaginable, and the next she was being scooped up into the arms of the man she'd not so secretly loved for years, who quite rightly ignored her feeble protests as he carried her down the stairs and into the kitchen, before turning left to take her to his bedroom.

Once Sherlock had her comfortably settled in his bed he joined her. Pulling her to him, securely wrapping his arms around her tiny frame. With his chin resting lightly against her head, he began. "Tell me."

Molly refused to look him in the eye. "There's nothing to tell," she responded quietly.

Sherlock had learnt from past experience that there would always be small, but telling details that he would fail to pick up on in his deductions, John's sister, Mary Watson, Charles Augustus Magnussen's Mind Palace, not to mention Molly's Christmas present. But he hadn't realised until a few minutes ago just how much Molly had managed to conceal from him.

"Are you absolutely certain of that?" he pressed.

Molly worried her bottom lip with her teeth. She knew that tone.

The game was up.

Either she explained everything, or he would.

"I know you've already made certain deductions," she said. "But before you say anything I need you to promise me something," she begged. "I don't want what I'm about to reveal to go any further."

Sherlock nodded. "Whatever you tell me will remain strictly confidential," he promised her.

Molly took a deep, steadying breath, and then she began.

"Okay, I'm going to say this quickly. While you were away in Dartmoor Moriarty returned. He was very annoyed, apparently he'd been kept imprisoned by Mycroft, was constantly beaten in an attempt to extract information from him about his organization. And then they suddenly released him. And he needed someone to take out his anger and frustration on. So he decided I was the perfect choice. He came to the morgue, kidnapped me, and took me to a secluded hideaway, I don't know where. It was there that he… that he…"

Try as she might Molly couldn't force the words past her lips. But in the end she didn't have to, Sherlock did it for her.

"He raped you."

She nodded.

"I got the impression he intended more, but he was interrupted by one of his minions, who only survived Moriarty's anger because he'd brought him news that they had what they needed to 'get Sherlock'. After that he had me bundled out and dropped off not far from my flat."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he ground out, outraged and appalled at what she had suffered because of Moriarty's obsession with him.

"Really?" she asked.

"Why?" he repeated.

"I was scared to."

Sherlock's pale features were instantly tinged with a wash of grey. "Molly…"

"I didn't know how you'd react," she continued. "It wasn't like we were friends. I was just the woman you could manipulate with a little bit of flattery to get lab results, or body parts."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head firmly.

"I mean you'd kissed me in apology for the terrible things you'd said about me that Christmas, but I still wasn't certain that was enough of a change in our relationship to risk any further scorn that you might dish out to me, if I'd told you what had happened."

Sherlock closed his eyes in an attempt to get himself under control. He could certainly see her point. But that she would think that he could be so crass and uncaring concerning such a despicable act quite took his breath away.

It cut him to the quick.

"You could have gone to Lestrade."

"I could, but in all likelihood he would have informed you. And I couldn't take the risk"

Sherlock frowned.

"The chances that I would have told you anyway were very slim. After… after what he'd done, Mori… Moriarty warned me not to tell anyone, especially you. He said that if I did he'd come back for me, and… and finish what he'd started. Even if he had to do it from beyond the grave."

Sherlock groaned pulling her in even tighter.

With her face pressed against his racing heart Molly confessed. "I admit that when the broadcast went out, irrational as I knew it was, part of me still worried that he'd found a way to get to me after all. Although technically I hadn't told you about it at that time."

Sherlock took her face gently in his hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. "I will never allow Moriarty, or whoever is behind the broadcast to hurt you ever again," he promised her.

Molly would have loved nothing better than to stay, gazing into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes, but there were still a few other outstanding matters that needed to be discussed. So with the greatest reluctance she pulled away.

Sherlock didn't press her, but waited patiently for her to continue.

"I called Mike and told him I had a family emergency that needing dealing with. Since I hadn't used any of my annual or sick leave for the year it wasn't difficult to get time away arranged. The following morning I went to stay with my mother, and while there I saw a therapist. She helped me…"

Sherlock snorted, not convinced.

"She did Sherlock. She helped me deal with what had happened, though I obviously didn't tell her everything. And eventually I began to feel better, and more confident about myself. By this time you were 'dead' as far as everyone was concerned. And then I met Tom."

Sherlock stiffened. He didn't know if he really wanted to hear this. And then something occurred to him.

"You lied," he stated.

"What?" Molly exclaimed. "When?"

"When you told me that you and Tom were having 'quite a lot of sex'. That was a lie."

Molly smiled smugly. "You've only just realised that fact."

Sherlock pouted which made Molly laugh. She laughed so hard tears streamed down her face.

"After what you'd gone through, I don't care how good the therapist was, there is no way you'd… you'd…"

Molly finally recovered herself enough to answer Sherlock's unfinished question.

"Tom was a godsend," she began.

"He was gay wasn't he?"

"No, just not highly sexed. He was a bit of a mummy's boy and was desperate to get married to prove that he could be his own man."

"And it helped that he looked similar to…"

Molly placed her hand over his mouth, covering the all-knowing smirk. "I think that little fact was evident to everyone, including Tom," she readily agreed.

"So why did you say it?" he asked.

"Just for once Sherlock I wanted to get a reaction from you. I'd been in love with you for years."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't deny it Sherlock, you knew as well as everyone else. I wore my heart on my sleeve. And just for once I wanted to get some sort of reaction from you, now that I'd found the one."

"Which you hadn't," he interrupted.

"Which I hadn't," she agreed. "But at the time you didn't know that. My comment about our supposed sex life made you uncomfortable. That was enough for me. I thought then maybe I'd finally managed to move on from you at last…"

Molly's bravado was suddenly replaced with uncertainty. She again wouldn't meet his eye, and her hands fluttered nervously on her lap.

Sherlock couldn't stand to see her in such distress, especially knowing what she'd gone through, what she'd been forced to endure, with the threat of worse to come if she ever spoke a word.

"I am sorry Molly Hooper for so many things," he whispered, reaching out to lift her chin so he could look deeply into her eyes. "I'm sorry for all that you have suffered because of me, whether directly or indirectly. You have always been there for me, you've always counted and I've always trusted you. But the one time you really needed me I wasn't there for you. For that I can never apologise enough."

"Sherlock, I don't blame you. I could never blame you."

Sherlock looked at the petite woman in wonder. How was it possible that she could be so generous?

The answer of course was obvious, because she was Molly Hooper, and she loved him still.

Before his head could overrule his heart, Sherlock acted instinctively, reaching out to enclose her in his arms as he leant down to place a firm but gentle kiss upon her lips.