Sherlock quit his pacing and returned to Molly's door. He raised his hand to knock, but stopped short.
Why am I going to such absurd lengths to pursue a...He could barely even allow the thought, A relationship...with Molly Hooper.
You know why, and you're going to tell her yourself, he argued.
What's the point in doing that?
Sherlock loitered by her door while arguing with himself. He had almost convinced himself to give up on his infernal sentiments and return home, when the door opened to Molly grasping a bag of trash. Her eyes widened for a second, and she tried to shut the door. Her efforts were too late to keep Sherlock from pushing his arm between her and the frame, and shoving it open.
"Sherlock!" she yelled, "What on earth do you think you're doing?"
I do not know what I think I am doing.
He pushed his way into the room, "I came to rectify our situation," he tried to explain.
Molly glared at him. For some inexplicable reason, he felt the need to acknowledge it.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Molly started breathing quickly and dropped the bag she had been holding, "Sherlock..."
Sherlock cocked his head, and gave her an inquiring look.
"Are you actually...D-do you mean? Sherlock, for how smart you're always telling people you are, you know absolutely nothing!"
Sherlock recoiled at her statement, reaching for the door, he calmly replied, "If you are going to yell at me, at least try to keep the neighbors from having something to gossip about."
Molly sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, "Sherlock..."
"Molly," he started, holding a hand up to silence her, "I am perfectly aware of what a repulsive example of a human being I am-" Why on earth am I admitting this to her?-"If you just give yourself a moment to calm down, I will sit quietly and let you recite your list of grievances."
Molly's eyebrows shot up, "You mean...You'll actually listen to me for once?"
Sherlock put his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, "That is what I am proposing."
A minute later, Sherlock was seated on Molly Hooper's couch while she stood in the middle of the room, pacing between her words. He sat quietly, listening to her speech intently.
"Sherlock," she started, "I-I'm not one of your bloody experiments-you can't just treat me like I mean everything to you one day, and then up and leave the next. You hurt me...You hurt me worse than anyone else in my life ever has. And I let you, I always let you," she stopped to wipe her eyes, "I just sit there and I let you hurt me every time. Always," She paused, "You can't just walk in here and tell me you want help with...an experiment. I'm more than that, Sherlock, and I'm tired of you treating me like that's all I am. I don't know if that's all I am to you, but if it is..." Tears trailed down her face, "I would prefer to be nothing at all."
Sherlock stared down at his hands, "Is that all?"
"For right now," She replied, "Give me a moment and I'm sure I can think of something else."
He looked up at her, "May I be allowed to speak now?"
She nodded.
"Molly Hooper," he said, standing to his feet, "I...I came to..." He stopped.
She tilted her head.
Tell her what started it.
"Molly, do you remember that day I came to you in the lab, and you started calling me 'Mr. Holmes?'" He crinkled his nose.
"Yes," she replied, "Yes, I remember."
He took a deep breath, "You told me I had come for one of three things. All of them involved using you somehow. Well," he exhaled a shaky breath, "You were wrong. That's not why I had come at all."
"What do you mean?"
"Earlier that day, you hugged John. I felt," he cringed, unable to finish the thought, "Well...Maybe that's it, I felt. I did not know what it was, so I came to see if I could analyse the situation further. I felt the same thing when I saw you writing Tom's name on your papers. I must admit," he strode towards Molly, "I am starting to get quite tired of feeling."
Molly backed away from him. He resumed his speech without trying to sound hurt.
"Mary was trying to help me find a way to balance the use of my mind with the wants of my body. How did you term it? I believe it was, 'a perverse experiment in human libido,' or something similar. That's what I believed it was. Or possibly is was what I convinced myself it was. But, Molly, do you remember when I first kissed you?"
She nodded.
"Well, I had convinced myself the same then. But I knew it was more when I had to," He swallowed, "When I had to leave."
Sherlock stopped. He was disgusted with the emotion he was showing. Molly was not even receptive of it. She had steadily been inching herself further and further away from him during the course of his speech.
"Molly," he resumed, overcome with a new, unfamiliar wave of feeling, "What I'm trying to say is...It was never an experiment with you. I wanted you. I needed you. I want you now. I swear to you it is not a perverse experiment. I myself only realized it a few minutes ago."
He stopped when he felt something pricking at the corners of his eyes. A teardrop.
Blast.
Molly said nothing to him, she just stared, no emotion evident in the expression on her face.
"Molly, please," he choked out, "Please forgive me for the hurt I have caused you. I lo-" He cut himself off.
This needs to stop.
He swallowed, and attempted his best to put on a stoic expression.
Molly still had not moved once. If she did not care, neither would he.
"As you seem to have resigned yourself to meaning nothing to me, I will take my leave of you now."
This was a terrible idea.
He had placed his hand on the doorknob when he heard a small sniffle followed by the words, "Prove it."
He turned around. Molly's back was still to him.
"What?" He asked.
She turned to face him, "I know you heard me," she answered, "And I said prove it, Sherlock Holmes. Prove to me that I am more to you than an experiment."
He swallowed, doing his best to hide what he felt, "What do you need?"