Another couple of weeks pass and Molly begins to wonder if he will ever really heal fully and return to normal. As much as she secretly loves the man, having him in her home for nearly two months without the functionality of full movement is really taking a toll on her. Of course, she would never express this, as whatever toll it has on her is nothing compared to what Sherlock himself is going through at the moment and she knows that. Her constant worry for him has been weighing on her, both in her personal life and at work. The small gift of his surprise arrivals in the morgue no longer something to look forward to since he is stuck with crutches and not chasing criminals about, and going out on dates has been all but null since she had invited him into her home yet again. Plus, when she is at work, the fear of him turning his own two hands into weapons against himself again lurks in the darker depths of her mind. His leg may be damaged, but his brain is at full speed, and regrettably, he has access to a cell phone.

God only knows if he is in contact with his old dealer, Wiggins. With nothing to do but sit and behave, it may just drive him to the edge, and if she can stop that from happening, she would do anything it takes. The last place Molly wants him to end up again is a graveyard, especially by his own hand. However, she knows him, and she knows that this injury is ruining his life and everything he used to hold dear. His work was his livelihood, his purpose, something that he could be proud of, how he defines himself. Now that he can't do any of the legwork involved, which, let's be honest, is the part that gives him the adrenaline rush that he craves, he is known to mention how his brain "rots" within his skull and the constant racing of his mind can turn to physical pain and uncomfortableness.

When Mike came down to ask her what's been going on lately, noticing a bit of a lag in her work, he already seems to know that it's Sherlock on her mind, only not in the way that she knows he is. Mike asks if he has been bothering her. "Driving her insane", were the exact words. In a way, the answer is yes, but Molly knows Sherlock enough to know that is never exactly his intent, and putting herself in Sherlock's shoes, she isn't sure how she would handle such a major blow either. Promising Mike to try to get back to her regular routine, she assures him that everything is fine and bids him farewell as he goes to lunch.

Taking a deep breath, he leans on an empty slab for a moment before sweeping into her office and slipping her phone out of the pocket of her lab coat. She pulls up Sherlock's contact and stares at it for a moment before deciding that she needs to text him, if only for her own sanity.

{Hey, how is everything going today? It's not very busy at the morgue. Well, I guess it hasn't been since you stopped providing us with dead bodies on a daily basis lol...the alarming rate of serial killers should be stunted by now you'd think... x x x Molly}

Cringing at herself, she quickly follows it up. {Oh God, that didn't sound right...I didn't mean to make you sound like a killer or feel worse, that was stupid. I'm sorry. Anyway, I just wanted to know if your day has been okay so far, I guess. x x x Molly}

Her phone pings after a few seconds and she looks down at it curiously.

{Fine -SH}

Molly sighs softly and chews her lip, torn as to whether she should press the issue with him or let it go. She decides on the former, knowing it's best to get him to talk.

{Just fine? Has Lestrade consulted with you about any interesting cases? Have you eaten at all? I haven't been very hungry, but I know I should, so I'm going to get some lunc Molly}

{Boring ones. Nothing I can do for the good ones anyway. I'm sick of this shit... -SH}

{I know...I wish there were something more I could do for you. All you can do is keep trying your best. It may be worse than we initially thought, but you are making progress. Slow progress is still progress. Just remember that, alright? I'm sure you want to get back to your own flat too. x x x Molly}

{Possibly. -SH}

{To both parts of your thought. -SH}

{Oh right, my guest bed is a lot cozier than your bed at Baker Street, and you're actually eating edible food. Of course you enjoy me babying you. LO Molly}

{Someone to talk to as well, even though sometimes I just rant and not actually speak *to* you, and rather *at* you. -SH}

{Well I enjoy the company too, when you're in a good mood 😉 x x x Molly}

{Pfft. When am I ever not in a good mood? You just don't get it. My contentedness counts as a good mood, Molly -SH}

{Oh, I don't get you? Please. That's a joke. I get you more than I think most people ever will. Yes, I finally said it. So get over it. You can allow at least one person to see your inner softness. x x x Molly}

{You're not wrong... -SH}

{I know I'm not. Anyway, just don't forget to eat. I'd say we have done a pretty good job of reminding each other to do so. I'd have for our good streak to go out the window. x x x Molly}

{Alright. For you. -SH}

{Thank you. I'll see you later. x x x Molly}

{See you -SH}

.

.

.

Molly walks in the door from work and hangs her coat on the rack, the places her purse on the bench near her front door. She stops in her tracks at the unusual silence coming from the main room. Taking a few soft steps, she calls out Sherlock's name, becoming worried.

"Sherlock? Are you here?"

"Yeah, just...in the kitchen."

Furrowing her brow, she rounds the corner and sees him in the kitchen, attempting to plate take-out that he must have ordered for them. It's Italian from Angelo's. Molly's stomach growls and she chuckles.

"Wow thanks for this, I guess I didn't realize how hungry I was until now, I had a long and busy day."

"Yeah, no...problem...", Sherlock groans as he tries to grab another plate, balancing on his good leg and the one crutch that he brought with him, it slipping through his fingers falling and shattering on the floor, causing Molly to jump, and Sherlock to fall back into his wheelchair, his crutch falling to the side with a metallic thud.

Molly gasps and rushes over to him. "Sherlock? Are you okay?"

Sherlock plants his face into both his hands, seething with frustration. "I'M FINE! I wish everyone would stop fucking asking me that! Aside from the fact that I can barely do a fucking thing for myself despite still having one good bloody leg, sure I'm bloody FINE!", he snaps harshly.

She bites her lip and nods, squeezing his shoulder before retrieving the broom and dustpan, carefully cleaning up the shards of ceramic.

He groans and sighs, running a hand through his curls. "Molly...I-"

"Shh…you don't need to explain yourself; I know." Molly looks over at him empathetically. "It's okay, I've got it, and it's fine."

"It's not though. NONE of this is fine. I shouldn't be like this, I'm not meant to be like this, and you shouldn't be having to play babysitter to me and having no time to yourself after a busy day because I can't do shit."

"No, it's not fine. But as you say, it is what it is. So we both have to take it day by day, alright? Constantly beating yourself up for how it happened isn't going to help you get better. Neither is guilt over my helping you out. We've been over this. I'm happy to. But I'm also human, which means I'm allowed good and bad days too. We will deal with each other for the time being. I know that my bad days weren't exactly what you were used to seeing me as, but since we are sharing my house, you'd better get used to the fact that we are both just human. No matter how much we may wish we weren't sometimes...", she lets out a breath and tosses the shards in the trash, taking out her ponytail and running a hand through her hair.

Though he doubts he'd ever admit it, he's noticed how beautiful Molly is, especially when she lets her hair down at the end of the day, as it frames her face nicely. Not that he doesn't like her ponytail, it's just more businesslike on her, as a pathologist and all.

"Sherlock?", Molly questions, waving a hand a bit in front of him. He blinks rapidly and re-focuses, realizing he had been staring at her.

"Hmm...what? Oh, yes, I know that Molly. I never doubted your humanity."

"Just your own, then?"

"You know my methods."

"Well, maybe those methods need changing because hiding your emotions haven't done you too much good in the past."

He looks down a bit. "I have been trying, while I'm stuck like this."

"I didn't say that you haven't been. Sherlock...", Molly squats down and looks into his eyes, putting a hand on his arm. "I already know the real you. I've seen lovely little moments of clarity from you through the years. Small moments of true emotion and gratitude and just...friendliness. I absolutely adore those moments that we have. I do see the effort you're putting in, but you're also letting your frustration about your leg keep you down. You need to stop overthinking it. Now, I know how hard that can be because you're...well…you. But still."

Sherlock looks at her again, but this time he really /looks/ at her. Not through her, not over her. At her. His eyes soft and understanding, his sadness and brokenness over the last couple of months visible on his face, and a hint of tears in his beautiful eyes. He tries to get some words out a couple times, failing, until she pipes up for him.

"You don't have to say anything...I know that everyone sees our friendship at the surface level. But we know different...I know different. I know you, Sherlock. Rather, I know the William inside of the Sherlock Holmes, the part of you that feels like any other ordinary human being. The part of you that you repress because of the life you lead. The dangerousness of it all. You repress your emotions to protect the people you care about. Not just to focus better. Almost everything you've ever done has been to protect other people. You're an incredible man, Sherlock. And not just in the ways that the media acclaims you as."

Sherlock takes a shaking breath and places a hand over hers, which still lies on his opposite arm. His hand nearly swallows hers whole and she smiles softly, her heart fluttering at the gentle, purposeful action from him. "I've never been fair or right, in my actions towards you. But if I'm being completely honest...", he trails off for a moment to steady his voice. "If I am being completely honest, you've been the one person in my life that I know without a shadow of a doubt I can fall back on. Which says a whole lot about you. You are stronger than even I will ever be, Molly Hooper. You are my rock. No matter how I act, what I do or say, even if I'm completely at fault for whatever horrific tragedy has hit, you're still here, opening your home and your heart, and your medical and friendly assistance to me. John may be my proclaimed best friend, but Molly, you are my /best/ friend. You've been here since day one. When this famous detective is lost, with no way out of his messes, you're the one he turns to, and thankfully that's something that I have kept treasured; something the media will never know, and why criminals will never think twice about you. I want it that way for your safety. Seriously...you're the one who's always here for me, and I can't ever repay you for the years of grief I've given you, and I can't express my gratitude for all the times I have needed you, and you accept that, no matter what's going on in your own life. So yes, when I told you that you do count and I've always trusted you, I absolutely meant it. You've always counted to me. My own deflection of emotion that I had ever pushed on you...I may have been taking it out on you, but I swear to you that the only one I'm angry at in those instances is myself, for whatever reason. Because I could never handle feeling things so powerfully within myself and I hated it because it is such a weakness in my line of work. Because of the danger, because of the threats. I /have/ to be emotionless at times, and I never know who's listening. But I-…I had never truly seen how my words had affected you, Molly, until you told me that you didn't count. It stunned me. You absolutely count. You count first and foremost for being my first and my most wonderful friend, Molly Hooper. I owe you my life, four times over by now...so don't ever doubt the depth of my care or my thankfulness to you, okay?"

Molly's tears spill over and make their way slowly down her cheeks, nodding slowly and sniffling. "Okay. Thank you for telling me...I know it's not the easiest thing for you to do, express your inner emotions. But I appreciate it, Sherlock. Really, I do."

He nods and takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Good...I know I'm not in the best of moods as of late. It's...difficult, this."

"Don't worry about it, if I were in your shoes, I'm sure I'd be frustrated too."

Sherlock nods and pats her hand, their gazes landing on one another's again for a moment. Molly blushes slightly, and Sherlock reaches forward, tucking a stray brunette lock behind her ear. Her cheeks turn crimson and she stands up, both of them clearing their throats awkwardly; Molly grabbing the broom and dustpan and putting them back in their rightful place.

"Right then. So, dinner?"

Sherlock smirks a bit at their inside joke and quirks his head. Molly snorts a bit in turn. "What, no crimes to go along with it this time?"

"I meant the take-out that's been getting cold on my counter, silly."

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm just being an arse. Let's.", he chuckles softly, a random feeling of happiness pooling inside his chest. His smile fades slightly at the confusing feeling of uneasiness in his heart, and the fluttering in his gut. Sherlock tells himself it's just hunger, but he knows that he's only lying to himself.

Molly finishes putting their food on plates and grabs them both some pop to go with it, placing the food on her coffee table. "Need a roll?", she chuckles as she pushes him back into the living room to the sofa.

"Thanks", he murmurs, apparently newly distracted by his big mind. Molly shrugs and takes her seat on her pale pink sofa, beginning to eat hungrily. Sherlock hobbles out of the wheelchair and plops down onto the sofa as well, twirling his pasta in his fork for a moment before beginning to eat hungrily as well.

After a moment of comfortable silence, she looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. "Lots on your mind tonight, I see."

"Mhh?", he looks over. "Oh...sorry, yes, I suppose so."

"Care to elaborate, or no?"

"Not exactly, not this time."

"I respect that."

"Really? John and Greg and especially Mrs. Hudson always makes me try to talk out whatever I'm thinking."

"Well as someone who has lived alone since I was twenty-five and my brother went off to the Army, I know that there are lots of things that are private and that you don't need to feel pressured to talk about until you choose to. So yes, it's your thoughts and if you choose to keep them private, I respect that. As long as it's nothing bad or harmful."

"It's not exactly bad, and definitely not too harmful. I assure you."

"Good."

Molly smiles and grabs the remote. "So! Which murder doc will it be tonight then, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock chuckles and grabs for the remote, but Molly holds it slightly out of reach, snickering. "Oooh, how I love this payback after you've done that to me so many times in the lab!"

He groans and pouts. "Alright, alright I get it, I won't do it anymore! Now, can I pleaseee choose the show before my brain rots?"

She laughs and hands it to him, their fingers brushing. "I didn't know our conversation rotted your brain", she teases him.

"You very well know that my issues are far more complex than placing blame on yourself, Molly. You're one of the people I enjoy conversing with, as we both pretty much understand each other's line of work. Plus we are also the only ones who know each's other's complicated and painful pasts. Oher than Eurus, which is apparently a big thing now..."

"I was joking with you, Sherlock. But about Eurus, is she still on your mind? I mean, I know you haven't been able to see her lately..."

"Mycroft has told her about my unfortunate injury, so I'm sure she won't self-destruct for the time being. Or at least I hope not. But yes, I suppose she has been on my mind lately, though, not in the way you're probably imagining. It's some of the private info I'd rather not speak about quite yet."

"Well, I'm glad she's...at bay for now at least."

Sherlock looks at her sympathetically, nodding slowly. "I-"

"It's fine, Sherlock."

"No, I need...I have to say...Eurus was the one person who has ever truly known how utterly important you are to me, and you have been my best-kept secret for so long, that the thought of losing you because I didn't protect you enough...by being more emotionless...it killed me either way. I don't want to lose you, and I had no reason to believe that she would let you live, because of what I had witnessed in those other rooms...she killed people in front of us. I really thought she was going to kill you, and I know I told you this right afterward, but it's the truth. I wanted...needed...to save your life. I need you, Molly. I need you in my life. I hated seeing that I crushed you...", he looks down at his hands, fidgeting.

"It was necessary. You thought I was going to die, and I'm grateful that you didn't let that happen. Even if she wasn't going to, you believed she was..."

"Just because I said it to save your life doesn't mean that I didn't mean it to some extent. I realized just how much you impact my life and how horrible it would be if you weren't here. Not just to help me out, but...your presence as a friend and a-...", he struggles to look for a word and Molly scoots over, giving him a hug. Sherlock stiffens, then hugs her with one arm.

"I know there isn't really a word for whatever our crazy bond is. But that's okay, because...we are what we are. That's pretty good to me if it is for you." Molly looks into his eyes and smiles shyly, moving back to her seat. Through her smile, Sherlock can still pick up the glint of sadness within her warm brown orbs.

"It is for me, too. I hope that going forward you know I will try to be better to you."

"You've been making that effort for quite a while now. Don't think I haven't noticed. The please and thank yous in the lab and now here, the small considerations, the courtesy texts, not breaking into my flat...well, it wasn't as much. Plus, not scaring my dates away. Not that I've had any particular suitors in the past couple months", she blushes.

"I'm glad you noticed. And really, Molly", he scoffs. "None of the men that are interested in you could ever actually deserve you. I see the way they look at you after they find out you work in a morgue. Not ever a slight consideration as to your esteemed position, not to mention your hefty salary for your brilliant skillset."

Molly wrings her hands sadly and shrugs. "Yeah, well...I have to try, don't I? One day it'll work. There has to be someone, right? I don't exactly want to become the old cat lady", she sighs. "Plus, it's not just about my job. It's about me as a person. I wish they'd see past my career...that's what bugs me. Yes, I've made my career my life, but that's because I've had nobody else to build one with apart from work. But I don't think you really enjoy me talking about my romance troubles", she chuckles lightly, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes.

Sherlock looks her over and quirks his head slightly, signaling that he really isn't but he will listen if she wants him to. He swallows hard, realizing that as she was speaking of potential partners, his stomach turned to knots and his anxiety levels rose a bit, a heaviness clouding his heart. Moriarty's voice echoes in his mind in response to his, all those years ago. "I have been reliably informed that I don't have {a heart}"…"But we both know that's not quite true."

Shaking off the disturbing memory, he's thankful that Eurus regretted to inform Jim about the importance of Molly in his life. Whether it was for keeping for herself to use for her twisted coffin game, or because she really didn't want to cause him to lose yet another friend, the way he had Victor. Suddenly his brow furrows and something comes to mind. If Eurus went after John, nearly killing him because he was Sherlock's friend, then why did she let Molly live? And if Molly wasn't considered his friend to Eurus, then what exactly was the point of the game? Why would she need him to say it to her? Perhaps it was right in front of him all along. [I LOVE YOU], the vivid image of the light shining off of the plaque flashes in front of his eyes and his eyes widen. He meant it. Obviously, he meant it, but...could he /really/ mean it? In the way that Molly always secretly wanted? Could it be that it was something that /he/ secretly wanted all along, as well? To love her fully? "Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you, every time. Now please, pull yourself together. The next one isn't going to be so EASY." Easy. Eurus thought it was easy for him to tell her, to make her tell him. Because of what Mycroft said. "Eurus was described as an era-defining genius, beyond Newton. She was incandescent, even then. She was different from the beginning, as if she were aware of truths beyond the normal scope." Surely Eurus' abilities had only grown greater with age. Could this be what Eurus so easily saw and what she was throwing it in his face? That he couldn't see something so obvious because the emotional context was clouding his mind in favor of his heart? Oh God...it must be. "Look at you. The man who sees through everything, is exactly the man that doesn't notice when there's nothing to see through." Shit. He never realized he loved Molly the way a man should love a woman, because he wasn't just an ordinary man. Because he always needs to see through something, to be clever, to find another possible explanation. Jim's voice finds a way to break through the deep depths of his mind again, reminding him. "That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever." This time there isn't another explanation, there isn't a reason to be clever because it was simply right in front of his nose, just as the absence of glass on Eurus' cell, and that's what Eurus saw clear as day. "…"Obvious, surely."

Snapping back into reality he hears Molly calling his name.

"Sherlock? Hey, where did you go?"

He looks up at her, a bit of a frenzied look in his eye at his revelation and he stares at her, unable to speak, his pulse thumping faster, confirming his theory.

Molly bites her lip and goes over to him. For a split second, Sherlock realizes that she had cleaned up the dishes, but he isn't very fussed about that at the moment. "Sherlock, you look afraid, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing...it's nothing, I-...", he stutters, the one-way glass that had been between them all this time like a divide, finally disappearing, letting him in on how a revelation of mutual feelings can feel exhilarating.

"You...you what?"

Sherlock takes a deep breath, swallows his pride, and leans in.