Chapter 2:The Hopelessness of Hope

"She knows what it's like to love someone who cannot love you back. Someone who needs you, holds you, yes, but someone who will never know that love is the knife in your heart."

― John Dufresne, Love Warps the Mind a Little

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

— C.S Lewis, The Four Loves

The sluggish rays of the morning sunshine slowly intruded the shaded comfort of her bedroom, making her open her eyes reluctantly. A look at her alarm clock confirmed that she had awoken twenty minutes ahead of schedule and for a few seconds she deliberated using those extra twenty minutes to lounge in the warmth of her bed. Finally, she resisted the temptation and forced herself to get up and prepare for the day. Showered, dressed and more alert than she had been an hour ago, she exited her bedroom, padding slowly across the hardwood floors so as to make as little noise as possible. She had seen the way he had looked last night. Even the word exhausted was not enough to describe the sheer fatigue she could see emanating from his very pores. Her suspicions were confirmed when she found him exactly where she had left him the previous night. Fast asleep, with her ridiculously girly blanket covering him and keeping him warm.

She inched past him quietly, thankful for the spaciousness of her apartment and the fact that the kitchen was situated at the other end of her living room, far away that she wouldn't disturb him as she bustled about making breakfast. First she made sure there was a steaming pot of coffee in the making and then she busied herself making something to eat. For herself she went with her usual cereal with chocolate and strawberry flakes, accompanied of course by a few slices of her favorite sweet apples. Washing down her breakfast with a glass of orange juice, she debated about what to do next. She could make some traditional bacon and eggs or she could warm up some pastries, perhaps some croissants with butter and cheese. She knew how he liked his coffee, how could she not? She had learned this particular piece of information the first time she had been foolish enough to hope for something more from him. Black two sugars. I'll be upstairs . Those words still haunted her sometimes but now she knew enough to understand that they had not been spoken with the intention of hurting her. He simply had not understood what exactly it was that she was asking from him and Molly couldn't help but smile at the distant memory of that day.

The coffee was ready and she ensured it would stay hot in its container, before placing the box of sugar cubes, a spoon and a coffee mug right next to it. She decided she would cover all bases and occupied herself with cooking the bacon and eggs, before heating up three fairly large croissants with cheese and butter. There was fresh orange juice in her fridge, along with a three-quarter full carton of milk. All in all she hoped that there wouldn't be anything that he might want for. Placing the food in the oven, she wrote a quick note informing him where everything was and she exited the kitchen. She knew of course that her note was redundant, he would simply enter the kitchen, look around for a few seconds and know everything that there was to know.

She walked past the couch with steely determination, squashing the urge to reach out and brush his soft, chocolate brown locks away from his closed eyes. She was getting better at it and who knew, maybe one day she would be able to erase the burning longing that always gripped her in his presence entirely. That day could not come fast enough, though deep down she knew that it never would and so for now she buttoned up her jacket, picked up her handbag and prepared herself for yet another busy day at Saint Bart's.

Molly was quite proud of herself. She had spent most of her day entirely focused on her work, successfully suffocating any thoughts of him until her shift was at its end. She said her goodbyes to Mrs. Brown, the elderly receptionist who always had a kind word and a friendly smile for Molly and she hailed a taxi from the main road. She realized her mistake once she was seated on the slightly uncomfortable surface of the cab's seats. In the tube with all the chaos and cacophony she never had the time or the chance to retreat into her head and think. It was always about moving quickly, avoiding the crowds as much as possible and getting safely on and off. But right now, in the quiet backseat of the cab she had all the time in the world to ponder and obsess over what she had so successfully avoided thinking about all day.

The fact of the matter was that whether she avoided thinking about it or whether she sat there pondering it over and over in her mind, the situation was still the same. Sherlock Holmes was in her apartment right now, maybe still asleep on her couch or maybe sitting in one of her comfy armchairs and reading one of her much treasured books. It felt surreal to think of him in her apartment. Not because she thought he was dead like the rest of the world believed, after all Molly had been the one to help him fake his death. No, the reason she had such a hard time believing that any of it was real was the singular fact that she had thought of and dare she admit, even fantasized about this turn of events occurring again and again in all the long years that she had known him. How many late nights had she spent thinking about it? How many times had she fantasized about him turning up at her doorstep, maybe in need of her help? Sometimes she had thought about it so much that she had ended up dreaming of him knocking on her door and telling her he needed her. More often than not, she was embarrassed to recall, her dreams would take on a different undertone altogether as she invited him in and comforted him and gave him everything he wanted. Because sometimes what he wanted from her wasn't her help to solve a crime or to analyse a sample in the lab. In her dreams when he came to her apartment and told her he needed her, it was in a different kind of need than the one she was accustomed to in real life. It was embarrassing really, how in dreams she always gave in with no protests, her dream-self letting him do to her whatever he wanted. Molly liked to think or at least hope that her real life self would be more reserved and less willing to do anything and everything he told her. She had to believe it, not only for the sake of her pride and her womanly dignity, but also because she feared that she would go insane thinking about the things he did to her in her dreams in the context of her real life.

The ride to her flat had been too short for her liking but she supposed she couldn't put off the inevitable forever. Exiting the cab, she took out her keys and unlocked the imposing black and gold door to her apartment building. Entering the lobby she was ready to head for the elevator when she realized she still had not idea how he had managed to get into her building in the first place. Molly walked up to the reception desk, situated in the far end of the lobby, determined to shed some light into her many questions.

"Miss Hooper. Good to see you. Everything all right I hope?"

"Very well Ed. And yourself?"

Molly noted the grey hairs scattered throughout Ed's once black hair and she smiled fondly. He had been working security in this building for as long as Molly could remember. He had been here when she had moved in almost seven years ago and even though she knew he was considering retiring she honestly couldn't imagine anyone else in his place.

"Not too bad. Same old, same old. What can I do for you Miss Hooper?"

That had always been a trait of his that she had appreciated. He had never been one for idle chit chat and Molly was grateful for it.

"I was wondering if you saw someone out of place last night ?" She watched him carefully considering her question.

"No, can't think of anything of the sort."

"Nothing unusual? No one trying to get into the building?" Molly had been trying to keep her tone light and conversational but she could see worry starting to build up in the old porter's eyes and she hurried to explain herself. "I was just wondering, you hear so many things in the news. We can't be too careful." She attempted a casual smile and hoped she was convincing. She knew that she couldn't exactly explain to Ed that Sherlock Holmes, the supposedly dead consulting Detective, had broken into their building last night and she wanted to know how.

"Of course Miss Hooper. But don't you worry, this is one of the safest buildings in the area. No one comes in or out without me knowing." Ed gave her a reassuring smile and Molly wondered how quickly his confidence would dissipate the moment she told him that he was so very very wrong. Instead she said her good nights and entered the lift, pressing the button to the seventh floor with particular zealously.

The metallic ping announced she had arrived at her floor and Molly took a moment to compose herself, before exiting the lift and heading to her door. Swiftly unlocking the doorway, she pushed it open and entered her flat. The first thing she noted was how quiet it seemed and forgetting to remove her shoes and jacket she rapidly entered the living room finding it empty. Her lilac blanket lay discarded on the corner of the couch and Molly tried with all her inner resolve not to see herself in its position. Something which had served its purpose and was now discarded to the side once more.

She couldn't help but despise herself ever so slightly. What was she expecting, that she would come home and find him right where she left him, waiting for her? She was being absurd. He probably needed a safe place to stay for the night. That was it. She had told herself this morning as she was making him breakfast not to get used to this. It was a one time thing and he would probably be gone long before she got back from work. And yet a pathetically hopeful part of her really thought that he would at least wait and tell her goodbye before he left.

"Your cat despises me. You'll have to get rid of it." Molly jumped at the sound of his deep baritone voice, her left hand clutching at her heart wildly.

She was so busy mentally admonishing herself that she hadn't heard the slide of a door opening. Molly turned around and was greeted with the sight of a half-naked Sherlock casually strolling out of her spare bedroom as if he owned the place. It took her a while to collect her scattered thoughts before finally addressing him, all the while resolutely refusing to stare at the tiny water droplets making their way down the fair skin of his chest.

"I thought you'd left."

She saw him tilt his head slightly to the side and favor her with one of his piercing looks.

"Clearly."

Molly waited for him to elaborate, all the while trying not to flinch under his penetrating gaze. She didn't know what she would do if he brought up seeing her dejected look when she thought he had left without telling her. She knew her pride simply wouldn't be able to handle it. She watched him clasp his hands behind his back and step a few paces closer to her.

Molly had to remind herself to stay exactly where she was. She wouldn't run and she wouldn't let the fact that the only thing preventing him from being completely naked was one of her purple towels wrapped around his waist, deter her. She would concentrate and she would manage to have a coherent conversation with him if it was the last thing she did.

"I'm not getting rid of Toby." Toby had become almost like family to her and she was not going to get rid of him for whatever reason. Besides, she wasn't sure why it even mattered to him anyway. He would only have to tolerate Toby for a few more hours, long enough to get dressed and be on his way to wherever it was he was going to next.

Sherlock continued to advance on her until he was standing right in front her, invading her personal space, but she refused to let him intimidate her. Or rather, she refused to show him just how much his proximity unnerved her.

"Fine. But you'll keep him out of my room." With that he walked off, leaving her confused and slightly disorientated. By the time she had processed what he had said, he was already in his room. Molly felt herself collapse against the couch, wondering whether or not she was hallucinating this very moment. She was currently experiencing the worst case of cognitive dissonance that she ever had. On the one hand and for the sake of her emotional sanity, she hoped that she hadn't heard him right or that she had misunderstood his meaning. And on the other hand she couldn't remember wanting anything as much as in that moment she wanted it all to be real.

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