Hi everyone! Here is the final chapter to this little story. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed - your comments are so encouraging and make my day! Thanks to those who have favourited and followed this story and for giving it a chance.

This chapter is pretty emotional - angst and fluff galore! - but I feel that after The Final Problem everyone is pretty vulnerable and I wanted to show that in this story.

I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! Any mistakes are mine :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the show, I'm just using them for my own entertainment.

Chapter 3: Always

Molly Hooper's front door had never scared him before but as Sherlock Holmes stood before it, the thing that separated him from being in Molly's presence, he found he was terrified to touch it. An irrational fear, of course. What could a door possibly do to him? Molly could slam it in your face once she sees you, his brilliant mind supplied and Sherlock scowled, shifting from one foot to the other as he worked up the nerve to knock on her door.

He had only gotten a few hours sleep, staying up most of the night trying to figure out what he was going to tell Molly. The truth, of course, was obvious, but how to tell that truth and the rest of it had had him stumped for hours. Eventually his body overcame his mind and he fell asleep, plagued by dreams where Molly never answered her door when he tried to talk to her or never picked up her phone when he tried to call. The fear he felt when waking from those dreams filled him now as he looked at Molly's door, hoping that Molly's compassionate nature would allow her to at least hear him out. With that hope in mind he sucked in a determined breath, reached out, and rapped firmly on her door.

Sherlock waited and tried not to fidget, suddenly glad that she didn't have a peep hole in her door so she would have to open it to see who it was. His ears perked up when he heard the sound of footsteps and then the slide of the chain as she removed the deadbolt, his heart thumping almost painfully fast in his chest as he held his breath. The click of the main lock came next and Sherlock watched anxiously as the handle turned, the door opening slightly.

He had thought he had prepared himself to see her, that he was ready to talk to her, but when his eyes landed on her delicate face, her brown eyes wide as she peered up at him through the gap in her door, he found his breath stilling in his chest and his throat constricting around the syllables of her name. They just stared at each other for a long moment, neither saying anything, until, quite suddenly, Molly's eyes welled with tears and her teeth bit into her lip. Before he could say anything Molly closed the door in his face, a yelp escaping him when he bumped his forehead against the door after rushing forward to stop her.

Frozen for a long moment Sherlock just stood there. He couldn't banish the sight of Molly's tear filled eyes and slammed his own shut, swallowing hard and leaning forward to rest his stinging forehead against her door. He lifted his hands to rest against it, straining to hear any movement from within the flat. When he heard nothing he knew that meant that she hadn't moved away from the door. Glancing down he noticed the shadow beneath the door shift slightly and it confirmed that he knew she hadn't moved away, that she was standing just on the other side. A relieved smile formed on his face and he pressed against the door, swallowing nervously before taking a deep breath. He could do this. He needed to do this.

"Molly," he called softly. "I know that you're probably angry with – "

"Go away!" He flinched at the anger in her voice but continued on determinedly. He needed to explain, she needed to know.

"Molly, please listen to me. If you'd just let me explain – "

"Explain? Explain what? That you asked me to say "I love you" when you knew how hard it was for me...for me to say that to you? That not two hours ago your brother sent his goons in here and practically ripped my flat apart, pulling all kinds of surveillance equipment from every single room that I had absolutely no idea were there? Well, you can shove that explanation up your arse, Sherlock Holmes! I'm done! I-I'm done." The anger had faded, her voice cracking as she broke into sobs. Her cries tore through him and his face twisted painfully as he struggled to hold it together. He hated that he always seemed to hurt her. Always, always.

"Molly, please...just...please, let me in," Sherlock pleaded softly, his forehead pressed against the door. Her crying continued and he squeezed his eyes shut, hating that this door was between them, that he couldn't get to her. He wouldn't force his way in. He had forced his way into her life too many times to count, always rocking up at her flat all hours of the night, barging into the morgue or lab, demanding lab results or body parts to experiment on. That night he thought he was going to die...he asked and asked and asked. He took and took and took, never giving a second thought to what Molly wanted, to what Molly needed.

His breathing hitched as he realised what a selfish bastard he had been. The only times she had ever asked him for anything was when he was hurting her or someone else; that Christmas when he had insulted her in front of all their friends; when she had slapped him for taking drugs after John and Mary had married; when he had taken drugs again to try and save John and she had given him weeks to live, the worry and fear for his life clear in her dark eyes; and that damn phone call, where he had practically begged her to say that she loved him and she would only do it if he said it first. All of the horrible things he had ever done to her flooded his mind and he trembled with self-loathing. He really didn't deserve the amazing woman falling apart on the other side of the door. He didn't deserve her loyalty, her trust, her kindness, her caring, her compassion, her love.

A choked gasp escaped him with the knowledge that whatever he did, however he tried to make up for all the horrible things he had ever said or done to her, it would never be enough. His breath left him as his knees buckled beneath him. He slid to the floor, his eyes burning with tears as a broken sob escaped him, the pent up emotions of the last few days, the last few months, overwhelming him. He couldn't do this. This was why he didn't do emotions, didn't do feelings. It wasn't because he was a machine, as he had been so often accused of being. It was because he felt too much. And once that door had been opened it was impossible to contain the tide that wanted to swallow him whole.

"M-Molly, Molly, f-forgive me," Sherlock rasped, the words catching on the lump in his throat. "I-I never meant to hurt you, I've n-never wanted to hurt you. You're my friend, but then you're so much more than that, aren't you? You have always been there for me, you've always listened, you've always helped. You have always counted and I have always trusted you. You are the one that matters most to me, Molly. And...a-and you said...you said you've always loved me, right? Please don't give up on me now, please don't give up." He realised that he was babbling but once he had started he couldn't stop. And if she didn't let him in then this was the only way he could tell her what he felt, even if she didn't want to listen.

The tears were streaming now and he knew he must look an awful sight but he didn't care. He told John that he would tell Molly the truth and this was the truth, every gut - wrenching bit of it. He paused to catch his breath and realised that he couldn't hear Molly crying anymore. His blue-green, red-rimmed eyes widened and he pressed himself against the door.

"M-Molly? You...you wanted me to say it first, right? You wanted me to say it like I meant it. My sister, I didn't remember her and Mycroft kept her a secret but she found me, she h-had said that your flat would explode if I didn't get you to say that you loved me and I...I didn't want anything to happen to you...I couldn't l-lose you, Molly. Did you know?" He asked, pleaded, closing his eyes tightly as he pressed his head hard against the unyielding surface of her door, as if by doing so he could pass through the solid wood and be beside her. "Did you know that when you asked me to say it first that I would realise it? It...it wasn't until I said it that I knew. Molly, I meant it. I meant it, I meant it, I meant it – " his voice broke and then he let out a startled cry when the door suddenly disappeared beneath him. He fell forward onto his hands, catching himself before he face planted into the carpet. Small, fine boned hands settled on his shoulders and Sherlock's head snapped up, his watery blue-green eyes clashing with glistening brown. They stared at each other for a long moment. Sherlock took in the paleness of her skin and the flush of red high on her tear stained cheeks. Her hair was in a messy bun, dark strands framing her delicate face. She was wearing a soft yellow knit jumper with giant embroidered daisies that was too big for her, swallowing her petite form and her legs were covered in grey leggings, a hole allowing her left knee to peek through. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Molly," he breathed and marvelled at the soft, tremulous smile that formed on her face. In the next moment she had fallen to her knees before him and drew him into her arms, her head falling into the curve of his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his back, holding him close. He was frozen for a long moment, believing that he must have passed out on her doorstep in sheer exhaustion until he felt her fingers sliding gently through his dark hair. With a shuddering breath he all but wilted against her, burying his face into her neck as he banded his arms around her, crushing her against him. She didn't protest, didn't pull away, she only made soft shushing noises, her lips pressing to the crown of his head and he realised that he had been mumbling against her skin.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me, forgive me – "

"Hush," Molly murmured and he could feel her tears falling into his hair. "I'm sorry, too. I should have let you explain, I was just so angry, so hurt..." She pulled back slightly, smiling gently, sadly, and brushed the tears away from his cheeks when she could look at him. She made to stand but Sherlock tightened his grip on her, thinking she was leaving, his breath hitching in distress. Mycroft had always said that he had been an emotional child but after his best friend, Victor's, death he had changed. Sherlock knew that he had locked all those emotions away deep into his mind palace so that he could never be hurt again. But over the years certain people had entered his life and the door to that room would crack open every now and again. It happened gradually; a laugh here, a smile there, a companionable silence that granted him a peace he had only ever felt when high. He had made friends, friends that he cared deeply for, would do anything for, and they cared for him in return. And Molly. Beautiful, amazing, brilliant Molly had thrown the door wide open and he didn't know how to deal with it all.

"Molly," he gasped and she was suddenly kneeling before him again, cupping his face tenderly between her hands.

"Shh, it's alright, it's alright," Molly soothed gently, brushing her cool hands over his heated skin and his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, an unsteady sigh escaping him as he tried to match his erratic breathing to her much calmer pace. Her calmness, her silent strength, reminded him of that night, of her unwavering determination to help him, soothe him, with her words "what do you need". "You" he had answered and Sherlock knew it had always been her. The memories of that night helped to calm him along with her touch and after a moment as he calmed she reached for his hand, grasping it tightly and tugging him upright.

"Come on," she urged tenderly, pulling him along behind her as she shut and locked the front door and then tugged him towards the settee in her living room. She pushed him down carefully until he sat, cupping his cheek briefly as she told him she would get them some tea. Sherlock watched her go into the kitchen, awe at her composure filling him, and then he jumped a little when Toby, Molly's cat, hopped up onto the settee beside him, rubbing his fluffy head against Sherlock's leg and purring contentedly. Sherlock lowered his hand to pet his soft fur, a small smile flickering on his mouth when Toby's purrs increased.

Molly soon returned, holding two cups of tea, placing them on the low coffee table and then sitting beside him, being careful to avoid squashing Toby. The clever cat gave Sherlock's thigh one last head butt before leaping off the couch and darting down the darkened hallway.

"Sherlock – "

"Molly, I'm sorry," Sherlock interrupted her quietly, his gaze falling to his lap where his hands clenched together tightly. He felt her gaze on him and breathed deeply, feeling much calmer now that Molly had allowed him into her flat and, drawing strength from her quiet, soothing presence, he continued. "I wanted to tell you on the phone what was happening but my sister..." he trailed off. It was painful to talk about his sister, about Eurus. She had done so many awful things, had killed so many innocent people, but he couldn't hate her for it. It was the bane of a genius's existence, having a mind that was so brilliant that it would attack itself for any hint of stimulation. His sister suffered this everyday of her life. He too suffered it to a lesser degree and, without cases, his outlets were no better than hers to quiet his mind. He was brought out of his thoughts when Molly's hand settled over his own, her fingers slipping between his and cradling his hand gently. He exhaled and started again.

"She said that I couldn't let you know in any way that you were in danger, that I couldn't tell you why I needed you to say those words. But I'm so sorry that I hurt you, that I made you – " A finger pressed against his lips, silencing him. He lifted his eyes to hers, his heart fluttering when she smiled.

"You don't need to tell me now," she murmured, pulling her finger away and lifting her hand to brush away the tangle of curls on his forehead. His eyelids fluttered at the touch. "I don't know what happened yesterday and I'm still angry, I'm still upset, but you can explain it to me tomorrow." Molly sighed softly, tiredly, before smiling up at his worn features, her gaze gentle, her fingers tracing the dark circles under his eyes. "But you're exhausted, Sherlock. I'm exhausted. And I don't know if I could handle hearing it all right now. But I trust you to tell me the truth in the morning, Sherlock. You said that you have always trusted me and I have always trusted you, despite all the times my friends have said I shouldn't." Sherlock's gaze snapped up to hers, fear and hope clashing in his chest at her words and he hurried to reassure her.

"I have always trusted you, Molly. I do trust you and I swear that I will tell you everything – " he stopped when she pressed a finger against his lips again, her brown eyes soft when she met his.

"In the morning," Molly insisted, pulling her hand away. "We should get some sleep. We can talk about it in the morning." An overwhelming feeling of relief flooded him and a tear slid down his cheek unbidden, his eyes closing. Molly caught it with her finger, brushing it away gently. Her hand settled on his cheek and he opened his eyes to meet hers.

"Just tell me one thing," Molly whispered, her dark brown eyes bright and shining as they stared deeply into his. "Out there you said you meant it, what you said on the phone. Did you?" Her voice sounded so fragile and vulnerable and he felt his throat constrict in response.

"Yes," Sherlock said quietly, firmly, staring intently at her beautiful face. It was a truth that had lived inside him for years, he had just been too afraid to share it. "Yes, I meant it. I mean it, Molly." She stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for the truth, and Sherlock knew that she would see it. She had always seen him no matter how hard he tried to hide what he was feeling from everyone. He didn't have to wait long when the most stunning smile he had ever seen her give lit her face, her eyes shining wetly.

"Me too, always," she replied equally quiet and an answering smile spread across Sherlock's own face. He stilled when her hands cradled his face between them and she knelt up on the settee, leaning forward to press her lips ever so softly against his forehead. His eyes slipped shut, her touch an absolution from the horror of the last few days, and his hands came up to grasp hers, pulling them away from his face after a moment before bringing them to his lips, kissing her palms tenderly, his eyes locking on hers when he opened them. Molly smiled again before standing, holding onto one of his hands and pulling him up.

"Let's get some sleep, love. We'll talk more in the morning." Molly insisted gently, squeezing his hand and pulling him toward her room; a room that he had slept in many times, beside this very woman who held his hand so tightly in her own, when they had only been friends. But it was different now. Things had changed between them, changed in a way Sherlock had never thought, never hoped, could happen to someone like him, and he felt his eyes burn with gratitude and, yes, love, for the woman before him. The woman who had loved him the longest, the strongest, and unconditionally, for always: Molly Hooper.

The End

Thanks for reading!