Alright folks. It's time for things to happen! I just want to mention that when I reference fan fiction in this chapter (you'll see) I am not referring to ANY real ones that I know of! So please don't anybody think I'm making fun of anything. Though I do poke fun of one of my own... maybe you can guess which one if you've read my other stuff hehe! Hope this makes you readers happy, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts! ;)

Sherlock ran at top speed. He flew down the alley and leapt up onto the fire escape of the next building. He climbed that till he could make his way to the roof. Then he raced across the roof top and literally leapt from there to the next building over.

Sherlock crossed almost two blocks like that. He went as fast as he could possibly go. Perhaps faster. He pushed himself. When he'd finally gotten where he wanted to go, he flew down that building's fire escape. When he leapt down though, his coat sleeve caught and a massive hole was ripped in the seam. Sherlock swore at the second damage to his precious garment that evening, and then ran on. He finally came round a corner and was immediately greeted by the lights of police vehicles. Sherlock drew hard breaths and looked around, taking in the scene before him.

He saw Lestrade standing there, leaning on his car and sipping some coffee. And there were some officers arresting...the suspect? Sherlock let out an aggravated huff and marched over to Lestrade.

"How did you just arrest him?" Sherlock demanded, pointing at the man being put in the vehicle.

"Oh, hey, Sherlock. When did you get here? I thought you were after this guy."

"I was after him! I've been chasing him around the city for the past half hour!"

"I thought so. He came round that corner over there and I saw him. I figured I'd grab him for you." Lestrade took another leisurely sip of his coffee.

"How did he go that way?" Sherlock hissed under his breath. "Why did I not see that?!"

"Don't worry, Sherlock, I can't take all the credit. I'm sure you tired him out." Lestrade gave Sherlock a slap on the shoulder.

But before Lestrade could walk away, Sherlock grabbed him almost violently by the arm and growled in his face, "Do you have any cigarettes?"

"You know I don't, Sherlock!" Lestrade laughed a little at the intensity of his friend. "I quit."

Sherlock sighed and clenched his jaw before continuing. "Patches then! Patches! I need something right now!"

"Yeah, I think you do need something," he replied sarcastically at first. "Ok, let me look. I might still have some in my car."

Lestrade went in the car and dug around for a moment and came out with a box, handing it to Sherlock. Sherlock literally tore the box open, finding that there was only one patch left inside. He shoved it at Lestrade.

"Hold this!" Sherlock began working at taking his coat off. He had some difficulty with the buttons, as one was caught around some extra thread. Becoming frustrated, he finally reached over to where his sleeve was already half attached and tore it completely free in one move, throwing it to the ground. Sherlock pulled his dress shirt sleeve up like lightening, ripped the patch from Lestrade, and slapped it onto his arm.

Sherlock leaned down, picked up his detached coat sleeve, and nodded at the detective inspector. "Thank you, Lestrade. I'll just be going now."

Sherlock and his coat sleeve walked off, with Lestrade chuckling a little and shaking his head at the sight.

A half hour later, Sherlock trudged up the stairs at Baker Street and was greeted by the sound of rather loud music playing. He entered his flat and went into the kitchen where he heard a strange whirring noise. Molly stood there in pajama bottoms and tank top, using a mixer in a bowl. Between that noise, and the noise coming from the U2 album playing, Molly didn't even look up at first when Sherlock walked in.

He stood there for a few moments, just watching her. Finally, she shut the mixer off and looked up, jumping a little when noticing him.

"Oh! Hi, um...what happened to you?" Molly noticed the fact that he was holding his coat sleeve as opposed to wearing it.

Sherlock shrugged. "Was in my way." He tucked the sleeve into the pocket of his jacket before taking the whole thing off and throwing it over John's chair. Then he came over closer to her in the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

"Making brownies," she said with a smile, holding up the bowl with the rich chocolate mixture inside.

"What for?" he frowned.

"Because, Sherlock, I need them," she said firmly as she used a spatula to help pour the mixture into the pan.

"You need them? I find that somewhat unlikely."

Molly gave him a look and her hand darted out to grasp his forearm which was still exposed from his dress shirt sleeve having been messily pulled up.

"You needed this, didn't you?" she said with a look at the patch on his arm, then a raised eyebrow at him.

Sherlock pouted and pulled his arm away. "That's different."

"No it's not. I had a rubbish day, and I need these!"

"Well I still say it's not the same."

"You haven't tried them yet. Here, taste the batter."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, then at the partially batter covered spatula that she held out in his direction.

Molly read his mind and rolled her eyes. "Pasteurized eggs, of course. Not that a man who keeps body parts in his fridge should be so picky...taste!" She shoved the spatula closer to his face.

Sherlock continued to eye her suspiciously for a second. Molly had been awfully...assertive in the past couple days, and he wasn't sure that he liked it. Or, more accurately, it made things a bit more difficult for him. She had come out from having a shower the day before, wearing only her towel. She'd strolled past him in the sitting room and smiled, saying casually, "forgot my clothes again!" She'd also touched him in passing more time in the past couple of days than she had probably done in the past year total. Every look, every touch, every word that was spoken a bit closer than usual...was driving Sherlock out of his mind.

He finally leaned forward hesitantly and took a bit of the spatula in his mouth, tasting some of the batter.

"Good, hmm?" she questioned as she took the spatula back and had some herself.

Sherlock licked his lips quickly and cleared his throat. "Yes, I suppose," he admitted quietly.

Molly smiled in satisfaction and turned back to place the dirty dishes and utensils in the sink. Then she put the pan into the oven to bake.

"I got in an argument with an intern today," she volunteered.

"About?"

"Cause of death. But the worst part was...they were right. I missed something. I ended up looking like an idiot! It was the most humiliating moment! I wanted to crawl right into my own body bag!" She tossed a spoon into the sink with a loud clatter.

"Hence the brownies then?"

"Exactly."

"Planning another night of mindless television drama to ease the pain?" he teased.

"Actually, no. I don't really have anything particular planned. I just had to make these. That's as far as I planned out the night. What about you? Cases?"

"Nope. Had the one, and that's...done now," he said bitterly.

"Well then, what would you like to do?" she asked, leaning on the kitchen table and peering over at him. "Let's do something. Here, I mean. In addition to consuming an unhealthy amount of brownies, once they're done."

Sherlock swallowed as he eyed her carefully again. Since when did Molly Hooper invite him so confidently to spend time with her? "Like...what?" he asked slowly.

Molly shrugged. "Anything. Anything you want. As long as it doesn't involve putting on regular clothes and leaving the flat, I'm in."

Sherlock got up, keeping his eyes fixed on her as she stared back at him. He cleared his throat again. "I'll um...think about it. I'm just going to have a shower...excuse me." Sherlock gave her a nervous half smile and exited the room.

Molly watched him walk off and her lips slowly curled into a pleased smile.

A half hour later, Sherlock came out of his room wearing his pajama bottoms, a grey tee shirt, and his dressing gown. And as he approached the kitchen, he was nearly knocked over by the lovely smell.

Molly was sitting on the couch with a couple boxes in front of her on the coffee table. "Hi! I found games."

Sherlock chuckled a little as he approached. "I don't think you want to play Cluedo with me, Molly," he said haughtily.

She smirked back. "I don't think you want to play Operation with me, Sherlock."

He stared back at her for a moment, holding the challenging gaze. Then he drew a slow breath. "Well I suppose we'll just see about that, won't we?"

An hour later, the brownies sat cooling in the kitchen as there were some frustrated sounds, as well as buzzing noises, coming from the couch.

"Ooh! Look at that! I think it's virtually impossible for you to beat me at this point, Sherlock. You should probably just give up," Molly said with a giggle.

"Oh forget it!" Sherlock said, tossing the little grabbing tool aside. It was true, he couldn't possible beat her at Operation.

"Cheer up!" Molly said happily, as she rose from the couch. "The brownies are cooled enough."

As she went to the kitchen and Sherlock heard her working on the pan of brownies, he began packing up the games. That had been an interesting distraction. He hadn't played either in quite a while. He was right of course, she got rather frustrated playing Cluedo with him. But she had been right also, she was impossible to beat at Operation. Her perfectly trained hands never faltered. He blamed his slightly unsteady hands on the nerves of the day. Usually he was much better.

Molly came back over with a plate for each of them. She'd put some vanilla ice cream on top of each of the warm brownies and it melted slightly over the sides. Sherlock took the plate and had the sudden urge to text a picture to Mycroft, simply saying "jealous?"

A couple of minutes later, Molly said, "So? As helpful as a nicotine patch, don't you think?"

Sherlock pursed his lips as he chewed. "Tastes better. Not sure it would help my mind quite as much though. This may end up dulling my senses."

"Mm, that's sort of the point. Feels lovely to be a bit dulled after a day like this. Speaking of which, you want a glass of wine? I still have the rest of that bottle from last week."

"Brownies and wine...is this some sort of new combination I've never heard of?

"I don't really care right now if it's an acceptable combination. I'm getting a glass. Tell me if you want some."

Molly got herself a glass of red wine, and soon they were sitting there on the couch in silence, having finished eating. Molly took another gulp of the deep red liquid and sighed.

"So, what should we do now?"

Sherlock frowned at her. "Are there supposed to be more activities?"

"Well, it is only eight right now. Not really time for bed...any good cases lately?" Molly asked as she tucked her legs under her and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

But he shrugged. "Nothing interesting. All rather dull. I'm trying to track Moriarty, but that's proving difficult. I can tell where he's been, but I still have no way to know where he'll strike next. Moriarty doesn't tend to be seen unless he wants to be. I have a feeling he'll make himself known to me at some point again. He seems to want my attention."

"Like the saying about the tree in the woods."

"What saying?"

"Oh, you know, 'if a tree falls in the woods and nobody's there to hear it, does it really make a sound?' Except, it's like, If Moriarty commits a crime in England and Sherlock Holmes isn't paying attention, does it really matter?"

Sherlock chuckled. "You're probably right...though I don't know how to feel about that. Does this mean I should just stop paying attention to him, like he's a yapping dog, and eventually he'll just go away?"

Molly laughed too. "I'm sure everyone wishes it were that easy. That reminds me, I saw this story that- oh, never mind." She waved her hand and took another drink of her wine.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What?"

"It was a, you know, fan story about us. It just made me laugh, that's all."

Sherlock frowned at her. "Don't tell me you're reading stories about us!"

Molly blushed a little. "Well, not a lot! I mean, I just looked a couple of times, and it was actually incredibly entertaining. Some colleagues sent me story links a few times, and I checked them out. Some are actually really good. I mean, it's not really us...at all! But I just mean the writing is fairly good. And then others are just entertaining because they're so ridiculous!"

"Oh I know. I saw some, and the level of creativity was...disturbingly high," Sherlock said with widening eyes.

Molly giggled. "Well, the one I had just remembered involved you asking me to go undercover, almost like a double agent. I had to convince Moriarty that I was in love with him. But I was really reporting back to you the whole time!"

Sherlock made a face of disgust. "Are they insane? I would never ask you to pose as Moriarty's girlfriend! Am I supposed to have some sort of feelings for you in this idiot's tale?!"

Molly covered her mouth in laughter. "Yes! You have feelings for me in all these stories! That's basically the point!"

"And exactly what type of information are you supposed to be extracting from him?"

"I believe you'd gotten wind of the fact that he was planning on kidnapping the Queen, and you needed to find out more," she explained, then took the last swig of her glass of wine. Molly fiddled on her phone to find the exact story. She handed it to him and he snatched it, examining the screen in irritation.

"Oh, dear Lord! This is the saddest excuse for a plot I've ever seen in my life! No wonder Moriarty felt the need to write insulting reviews!"

Molly found this incredibly entertaining and decided to refill her glass while he scanned the rest of the fiction. She came and sat back down next to him on the couch, but she brought the bottle and another wine glass as well, setting them down on the table. Sherlock glanced at them, but didn't say anything.

"That's nothing, Sherlock. I can't even tell you some of the silliness that I've seen on here! It's certainly good for a laugh. In fact...get your mobile."

"What for?" he questioned as he handed hers back.

"Just get yours and go to the site. This is what we can do."

"Are you out of your mind? You've only had one glass of wine and you want to read fan fiction? This is your idea of an activity? I think I'll play my violin, thank you!" Sherlock jumped up from the couch and walked toward the window.

"Oh come on! You can make fun of them! And you'd better help me out and have a glass of wine before I drink too much on my own." Molly poured some into the other wine glass before he could object.

Sherlock looked on in some fear. There sat Molly, looking disturbingly attractive in her comfy pajamas, holding out a glass of wine and inviting him to sit back down on the couch and read fictional romantic stories about them. He couldn't see this ending terribly well.

But he ached. He was physically and mentally aching. From the day, and the week, and who knows how long before then. It was becoming too great a load to bear, this being near her. He would have covered his body in nicotine patches if he had any more, and locked himself in his room if he could, but that wasn't an option. The only thing he wanted to do was to sit back down with that woman and be with her. It was the only thing that sounded even remotely appealing at that moment.

So he did.

"That is ridiculous! Never in a million years would I combine those chemicals!"

"This case cannot be more than a two! Why would an entire plot line be based around it?!"

"Why did I just call John to help me figure that out? Do these people really think I'm that stupid? I thought they already knew who I am!"

That's about how things went for a while. Sherlock and Molly both flipped through their mobiles, looking at tons of fictions and picking out things that were inaccurate, or just plain funny. Sherlock was sticking to things that took place on crime scenes and in the lab or the morgue. Molly ventured further though. She picked out especially unusual plots, or alternate universe settings, or silly things that they'd said. And slowly, very slowly, Sherlock lightened up. The wine bottle was also now empty...and Molly hadn't been the only one drinking.

"What's the point? Why would someone feel the need to imagine that we attended University together? I thought they were interested in us now!"

"I'm sure they like to think that we had some kind of history, before we started working together."

Sherlock made a little huffing noise. "And clearly that author doesn't know me as well as they'd like to think. I shouldn't be taking even that long to discern that you had been drugged!"

Sherlock continued scrolling on his phone. He let out a chuckle that sounded to Molly like the wine was taking a small effect. "Not a sanitary surface for that sort of activity. I don't seem to care much though...and neither do you," he said with a frown, and showed Molly his mobile.

Molly sputtered out a laugh. "My God, where do people come up with these things?!...and look at this one. Apparently, I buy you pants."

Sherlock leaned over and looked at Molly's phone, pursing his lips. "Not even the kind of pants I wear. I wear-"

"Boxer briefs, I know. That expensive brand," Molly said immediately,

Sherlock frowned at her.

"What?" she asked with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, seeing his look. "I've seen them on the bathroom floor. I just saw the grey ones the other day. You should really learn to be tidier. I think Mrs. Hudson doesn't appreciate having to pick up after you. She's not your housekeeper you know!"

"Pffft! I don't need a housekeeper! I can leave my pants wherever I want," he insisted with a wave of his hand, making Molly giggle.

Another hour passed, and the two of them had spent much of it laughing at some of the most outrageous things they could find on fan sites. There were all sorts of little scenarios that made absolutely no sense to them, and all kinds of theories about them as well.

"Filling the entire lab with flowers? I would never in a million years do such a thing!" Sherlock scoffed.

"You don't have to convince me, I can't see it either!" Molly laughed.

"It would be a bit counterproductive."

Molly stopped laughing. "What are you talking about?"

"I wouldn't do something that's likely to make you ill, if the goal was to impress you."

"Make me- how would you- What do you mean?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Obvious. You had to meet us at that funeral home for a case once, it was a number of months ago. You clearly felt ill the moment you walked into the building. I deduced that the time you spent in a funeral home in your youth had connected the smell of large amounts of flowers with death. And specifically with the pain of your mother's death, and then later your father's death. You're more comfortable with the smell of the chemicals in the morgue than the smell of a large bouquet of flowers. One flower perhaps, you can enjoy. But more than that only conjures the feelings of pain and loss. So, filling your work place with floral arrangements would hardly be a wise romantic gesture."

Molly stared back at him, and finally drew a breath when he stopped talking.

"Right. Yeah, you're...you're right," Molly said quietly and cleared her throat.

The tone had changed a little bit by then. There had been a whole lot of laughing for a while. She'd rarely seen Sherlock so relaxed and almost...silly. But the wine had been gone for quite some time, and they were both starting to slow down and get tired. Molly was still making some sort of effort to keep the fun going though. She had no intention of ending this rare night too soon.

Sherlock had gotten up and began walking around the room. He stood over at the window and peered down as Molly continued looking through her phone. She looked at a particular fiction and chuckled to herself.

"This is funny, listen to this, Sherlock. 'Molly grabbed the tall detective suddenly, stopping him short of walking away down the hall. She caught him by surprise and shoved him over against the wall in the quiet hospital hallway. She practically attacked him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and pressing her mouth to his. She kept him there for a moment before separating only long enough to pull him into the lab along with her and-'"

Molly stopped as Sherlock had begun chuckling.

"What?"

Sherlock turned from the window and looked at her as he calmed the laughter a bit. "You said this was going to be funny. It was, so I'm laughing."

Molly frowned a little. "No I- I hadn't got to the funny bit yet. I shut off the lights in the lab and you accidentally knock over a bunch of samples, so we have to clean up for two hours...what was so funny that I just read?"

Sherlock gave another short laugh. "You, of course. Not exactly an accurate representation. Doesn't sound like the Molly Hooper that we know!"

Molly's face fell a little as she listened to him. Here lay a definite problem. He still saw her as a shy, blushing, hesitant girl. He didn't seem to see her as a woman, who had the ability to get what she wanted...to take what she wanted.

Sherlock knew, on some level, what he was doing. The effects of the wine were slowly wearing off, and he saw the fact that Molly wasn't pleased at his finding humor in this fictional description of her. But he believed that if he didn't play into this skewed fictional world that they were delving into, he would be playing it safe. He didn't realize, of course, that his plan was about to very much backfire.

"So you...don't think I'm capable of doing something like that?" she asked quietly.

"Bit of an irrelevant question, Molly."

"But I- I want to know though. You think I can't seduce a man like that?"

"I'm not sure can't is the proper word...it's certainly not you though. There's no question about that," he replied casually.

Molly stared back at him in silence for a moment, and then she nodded her head very slowly. She also made a silent vow to herself. This is going to stop. Right here, tonight. I'm going to make sure he sees me differently. Molly took a breath and began speaking.

"You know it's funny, what happens when someone tells you that you can't do something. I don't have to explain that to you though, right?" Molly got up from the couch and walked around the little table, so that she stood a few feet away from his place near the window. "I mean, you know how it makes you feel...to be told you're lacking in some area. Doesn't it make you want to...prove a point?"

At that phrase, Sherlock tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her, beginning to deduce what was going on, and realizing he'd made a critical error.

Molly took a couple more steps toward him. "I suppose you're right, in a way. I probably wouldn't do exactly what that story said. Not exactly me. I'd probably take a slightly different approach. Something more...controlled and methodical. I think, that if I was trying to get somewhere...with you, I'd probably just do all the little things that I've never been able to do for all these years. I think that's where I'd start." Her voice had dropped by now and she took a couple more steps forward, so that she stood directly in front of him.

Sherlock was frozen in place, staring back at her. He didn't know what he should do. He didn't know what he wanted to do.

Before he knew what was coming, Molly placed her small hand on his chest, right over his heart.

"Sometimes I think I just want the reminder that this is in here and it's beating. Not really a reminder for me...a reminder for you." Her words were only whispers now. Her eyes drifted down to where her hand was on the fabric of his tee shirt, before coming back up to look into his eyes again. Her determination was fueled now by the force of the heartbeat beneath her palm, and Sherlock knew it.

"And then just...to be able to touch your face. I've seen it so much that I feel like I've got it memorized. But I don't know what it feels like. And no, slapping it doesn't count." Molly curled her lips ever so slightly in a smile.

She slowly slid the hand that had been on his chest up till it traveled over his neck and came to rest on his cheek. She cradled the side of his face while her thumb smoothed over his skin. Sherlock maintained a neutral expression, and the only real indication of the fireworks that were going off in his brain and body were the dilation of his pupils and the way his nostrils flared with every intake of breath, desperately trying to get enough oxygen.

"I'd keep looking at you the whole time, of course. There's nowhere I'd rather look. I think your eyes may have been the first thing I noticed about you...and then there's your hair."

Molly took both hands and slowly pushed her fingers into the hair on either side of his head. That was when Sherlock's attempt at a cool exterior cracked a little. His eyes fell shut for a moment, and his lips parted. This didn't escape Molly's notice, and she smiled a little in satisfaction.

"Just as soft as I always imagined," she murmured.

Molly kept her left hand buried in the curls around the back of his head, and then took her right hand out and touched his face again. "And then I'd probably do...this." She took her index finger and began running it gently over the outline of his lips.

Sherlock's eyes shut again, against his will. There was a part of his brain that considered pushing her away, but he absolutely couldn't make it happen. His arms refused to respond to that message, and stayed frozen at his sides.

"And then...this." Her voice was barely audible now. She moved her face forward until they were almost touching. Molly's eyes were the ones that fluttered closed then, as she brushed her nose against his. Then she tilted her face just a bit more, and when she did, their parted lips made contact.

When this happened, Sherlock inhaled sharply, and finally regained his ability to speak. "Molly," he said, and his lips moved against hers when he said it. But when this only seemed to encourage her and she began to press forward further, he came to his full senses.

"Molly," he said a bit more forcefully and his hands flew up to grasp her forearms, just enough to separate their lips. "Stop."

When she'd pulled back just enough to look at him, he immediately saw the hurt building in her eyes.

"Why? Why should I?" she whispered. "Why do I have to follow these rules that don't apply to you?"

"What rules?"

Molly let out a short bitter laugh. "You do whatever you want. You treat me however you feel like treating me. There are times you barely acknowledge me, or barely act as if we're friends. But then...there are other times when you kiss my cheek as if it's the most important thing you had to do all day. And there are times you look into my eyes like I'm the only other person in the world. And then apparently there's the occasional passionate kiss, simply because you want to prove something to other people. But I can't do that sort of thing, can I? No. Because I'm me, and you're you. And that's not how we work. I have to hold this in, all of it. And I do. Every day that I'm with you, I hold back, because I know that's what you want. I don't get to show you this; how I feel. This is what I really feel and what I really want to do. Even when I hate you, this is what I wish I could do...because even when I hate you...I still love you."

Her words crashed like a heavy weight into the room, and she knew they'd could never be undone now. Molly stood there resolutely, not sure yet if she was sorry she'd said it.

Sherlock looked down for a moment, before looking back at her and attempting to reply. "Molly I- I'm sorry. But I...I just- I can't let you." He shook his head slowly as he spoke.

"Give me a reason. Give me one good reason, Sherlock. Please, I want to know." She let out a heavy breath.

Sherlock began to take in the weight of the moment as well. This was it. Nothing would ever be the same now, one way or the other. He realized that there was no turning back time from this night anyway, so he may as well help her see.

He gave her a rueful smile and took a breath before speaking his next words slowly. "I'm almost surprised that you still don't know. For all my effort to conceal it, I'm sure I've already told you the truth in a hundred small ways. And you're usually rather good at deducing me...can't you see it?"

Molly frowned slightly at first, at the implication she should already know what this truth was. But then she looked into his eyes...really looked. And a light bulb didn't just turn on above her head, it was as if the sun had come out after an eclipse. And then she did see it.

Molly saw it so clearly that she herself was surprised she had missed it till now. And she had flashes of so many little moments in the past few weeks that, in hindsight, could only mean one thing. But till now, that one thing was the only thing that wasn't possible. So she'd dismissed it, totally unconsciously. She had never even considered the possibility that Sherlock Holmes...was in love with her.

Molly slowly shook her head, and her breathing became unsteady. "No...you- you don't really...you couldn't," she said, even though she already knew the truth.

A black cloud of sadness passed over Sherlock's eyes then, and she almost heard the words before he said them. Though hearing them was so much worse.

"I wish I didn't," he said in a painfully low timbre.

Molly's mouth fell open a little and the emotion that had been bubbling beneath the surface overflowed. One tear escaped and slid down her cheek as she began to fully understand that he didn't want this. And she was pretty sure she knew why. How long had she wished she could discover that Sherlock was in love with her...but how horrible to know that he would undo it if he could.

"Molly, please understand..." he began carefully, of course wanting to ease her pain a bit. "Just listen..."

And then something inside of Molly snapped. All at once she was angry, and bitter, and sad, in addition to being consumed with love for this ridiculous man. And Sherlock clearly saw that there was a fire burning now behind her eyes.

"No," she said in a shaky whisper. "I won't listen anymore...I've heard enough."

About a half second later, her arms were back around his neck and she'd forced her mouth onto his, and was kissing him.

She felt him jump a little at the sudden contact. Sherlock's arms darted up around Molly and his hands gripped her shoulders. It seemed at first like he was preparing to pull her away. But once he'd made that move, the idea clearly melted away and was forgotten, and his arms locked snuggly around her back.

Molly let one hand slide back into his hair and held herself in place with her other arm around his shoulders. She kissed him. She kissed him till it felt like he was holding onto her for support. But soon, she realized that she wasn't the one taking the lead. Sherlock had made a short noise of frustration and lifted her up a bit so that he wasn't leaning over so much. Then, he was most definitely kissing her.

Although, every time their lips separated a tiny bit, Molly heard and felt him murmur the word "Stop."

She wasn't sure if he was speaking to her or to himself. Either way it didn't seem to matter. Molly didn't care what he said at that point, she wasn't going to listen. And Sherlock didn't seem to be listening either. So the kiss went on.

But Molly realized, as her mouth moved along in harmony with Sherlock's, that she was still crying. She knew this wasn't a fairy tale. Not the good kind at least. She was stealing this bit of happiness. It hadn't been given to her. She was still in pain, if she dug down beneath how good it felt to kiss this man. And as much as she loved him, she wasn't going to do this...not like this.

She determined to be the one to end this kiss, because she felt like it should be that way. She started it, and she was going to end it. There was something stabbing her to the heart if she imagined it being Sherlock to finally push her away and call it quits. And, if nothing else, she hoped she'd leave him wanting more.

Molly gathered all the emotional strength she could muster, and after pressing her mouth especially firmly to his one more time, she pushed herself away from him.

They both stood there, almost gasping for breath a couple of feet away from each other. Molly reached up and wiped at her eyes. Sherlock saw this and took a step forward.

"Molly," he whispered, but didn't completely cross the distance between them.

"You want to give this up? This is what you don't want?" she asked through some more tears. "Because it seems to me like you do want this!"

His expression turned a little harder again. "What I want is for you to be as safe as possible! And there is nothing I wouldn't do to make that happen! Moriarty once nearly killed all the people I hold dear! Do you think I would take chances with you?!"

Molly let out a frustrated groan. "Why can't you just be selfish, Sherlock?! You're supposed to be a sociopath, for God's sake! Who cares about my safety?! If you want to be with me, then be with me!"

Sherlock shook his head, and Molly could swear she saw his eyes cloud a bit. "I can't do that."

"So you'll go back to things as usual then? You can do that? Autopsies, and body parts, and cases, and stupid tabloid articles, and social media speculation...all of that...and none of this?" she questioned while gesturing between the two of them.

He hesitated for a moment, but then straightened his stance, and she saw him swallow and lick his lips before answering stoically. "I told you I'd do anything."

Molly sighed and her shoulders fell slack. "But maybe I can't do that, Sherlock."

"Then I'll stay away," he answered immediately, and Molly's eyes widened.

"You don't mean that."

"I do. I'll do it if I have to...or if that's what you need, to make things easier."

"You do not want to know what would make things easier for me, Sherlock!" and she couldn't help a small laugh that mixed in with the continued tears.

He was silent. They looked at each other again for a moment, and then Molly took a deep breath and let it out in a slow exhale. She crossed her arms protectively across her middle and spoke again.

"So this is it then? You won't...even try?"

His icy eyes stared back at her and then shifted away, giving her a wordless answer. Molly nodded in bitter acceptance, and felt her eyes start to flood again. She needed to end this.

"Right...well, I'll just be off to bed then." She sniffed. "I've never felt so tired in all my life. I'm going to get my things together tomorrow. I don't care what the risk is, I'm going home. I think you're already taking plenty of...precautions. I don't want you to do anything more, please."

Molly turned and took walked away, but she stopped at the door and looked back, giving him a tight smile.

"Suppose I did end up proving a point, didn't I? It just wasn't the one I was hoping to prove."

Sherlock opened his mouth, then closed it tightly again. He watched as she turned and walked away up the stairs, and then he heard her bedroom door close.

There was a moment right then that he considered rushing up the stairs after her, and taking back everything he'd just said. He considered spending the foreseeable future proving lots of other things to her, and making her forget how sad she had been. He wanted to.

But he didn't. And it all really came down to the fact that he still firmly believed that, alone was what he had. It was the secret weapon. Except it wasn't what protected him...no. He looked out the window into the darkened street and whispered to himself,

"Alone is what protects her."

Don't anybody panic! We still have two or three chapters to go! I know it's not all rainbows and butterflies at the end, but I hope you had fun with this. I certainly enjoyed writing it! Feels for reals! Ok, well I'll see you around here and on Tumblr, till next chapter! ;)