Ahem... This is going to be intense. Tensions are going to run high and I don't know if our protagonists are mature enough to handle it. So we know Molly is filled with anger and Sherlock is in denial. We also know Molly can be mean. And if anyone does her wrong, she won't hesitate to let them know. And we also know Sherlock can be a complete arse hat. He's not going to concede unless something monumental happens. It's a game of cat and mouse here on.

I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I had so much fun writing it and I hope I stayed true to their character developments. Thank you all for leaving such thoughtful comments and kudos. As a first-time storyteller, it has been very rewarding to see you guys enjoy this. I honestly am a bit overwhelmed by your support and love. I hope I don't disappoint you guys.

Now, without any further ado, let's jump right into this!

xx,

Tumbleweed_professor

MOLLY

Molly pulled her knees close to her chest and rested her cheek on top of them. She felt disconnected from her body, as though her soul had simply chosen to leave her empty shell behind. The abyss of despair devoured her and she absently wondered how could someone feel heavy and light at the same time. Numbness and hopelessness clashed for dominance as she stared blankly at nothing.

It had only been a couple of hours since Tom took leave and she didn't find any motivation to leave her spot on the bed. She was still wearing her clothes from last night and her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot and the idea of doing something normal as taking a shower nauseated her. And not for the thousandth time, she mused why she didn't fight harder to salvage her relationship and why, why Tom had walked away without a fight. Did she subconsciously pass on her doubts to him? And while her heart did weep for the both of them, a small but profound part of her felt acute respite, and Molly couldn't help but detest herself for it.

The first time she had said goodbye to Tom, she knew the reason, she knew why she had to break up with him. But this time around, she all but felt blindsided. Was it only yesterday she was looking at her wedding invitation? Has it only been less than twenty fours since then? Molly pressed her palms to her eyelids to stop the tears from leaking. How did this even happen?

But you do know why this happened, her brain replied snidely.

Her lips trembled. Of course, she knew. She didn't have to be there to know what happened and who was responsible; who had caused this avalanche of misery, who had planted the seed of doubt in Tom's head. Molly's hand shook slightly as she pushed her hair from her face.

Ire took form, like another living thing, alive and full of rage, that egged her on. A dull spark of resentment flared inside her and she blinked to clear her vision. No. No. She was not going to let him get away with this, not this time, she thought. She was not going to throw her life down the drain just because he took it upon himself to meddle. Again.

The spark turned into a blazing forest fire that roared through her system. The heat of it thrummed restlessly beneath her skin as she jumped to her feet. She stumbled out of her bedroom, pausing only to take her phone from the sofa before she strode out of her flat. She let the anger build, and let the dark thundering cloud of hatred surrounded her. In the cab, she stewed in silence and ignored the cabbie's alarmed glances through the rearview mirror. When she saw 221B, she almost jumped out of the taxi before the driver could pull over. She overpaid the cabbie in her haste and closed the car door with a sharp snap.

Brutal energy goaded her as she took the stairs two at a time. She could hear distant laughter coming from Mrs. Hudson's flat, but Molly didn't stop to say hello. She was not here to exchange pleasantries. No. She was her with murder on her mind. The door to his flat was ajar and Molly stalked through it.

"Where the hell are you, Sherlock?" she screamed into the empty living room.

"Molly?"

Molly turned on the spot and saw John standing at the kitchen entrance looking rather disconcerted. But Molly didn't care. She truly didn't care if John was going to witness his best friend getting murdered today.

"Where the fuck is he, John?" she snarled as she advanced on him. Molly vaguely realized it must have been all the soldier training that made John stay exactly where he was. He barely even flinched.

"Molly, are you okay?" he asked, taking her shoulder to steady her, but she shrugged him off.

"Is he in his bedroom?" she growled instead. John gave the closed door a half glance.

"He-"

But Molly didn't wait for his confirmation. She stomped over to the closed bedroom door and banged on it with all her might. After a few agonizing seconds, Sherlock opened the door looking thoroughly irritated.

"What is all the ruckus?" He glanced down at her and his eyes widened in surprise. "Molly-"

But Molly didn't let him finish his sentence. Her hand connected with his face with a loud resounding crack and her hand stung from the intensity of it. Her chest heaved with exertion as she wrestled off angry tears. Sherlock flexed his jaw and gave her a bland look.

"You absolute piece of shit! How dare you-" Words failed her so she resorted to violence again. She lifted her hand once more to slap him but this time he caught her hand and his eyes flashed warningly.

"Cool it," he said in a mild tone which only spurred her further. She brought her other hand over, but Sherlock was way too fast for her. He caught it deftly and secured both her hands between their bodies. Dimly she noted that he wasn't wearing any shirt and his hair was slicked back and gleaming wet. She bucked against him like a wounded rabid animal.

"You fucking arsehole! You had no right." She struggled to break free, but he held on tight; a solid band of steel that cuffed her hands with no effort. Oh, what Sherlock didn't know was Molly wasn't done maiming him. No. She had one last trick up her sleeve, thanks to the many days she spent learning self-defense, and swiftly brought her knee to his groin. Sherlock grunted in pain and his hold on her loosened infinitesimally, but that was all the encouragement Molly needed as she went back to punching every available surface with renewed vigor.

"What the hell did you tell him, Sherlock? Why do you ruin everything for me? What is wrong with-" Her tirade ended abruptly with her yelping in shock as Sherlock fireman carried her into his bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him and dumped her on top of his perfectly made bed. Molly bounced lightly on it before she knelt on top of it. She spat the hair that flew into her mouth and stared daggers at the man who stood at the foot of the bed. Sherlock's mouth was curled in a snarl and his eyes glittered dangerously in the late afternoon light that spilled from the windows. His arms were crossed over his chest and tiny rivulets of water ran down his face and snaked past his neck only to disappear between his folded arms. Molly turned away. Amidst all the anger and sadness, she was mortified when she felt a familiar streak of lust bolt through her. God, she loathed herself and him.

"Are we going to talk like two rational adults or are we going to resort to a brawl. Trust me, you won't win the latter." His voice was eerily calm but Molly had known him long enough to detect the vicious temper behind his words.

She sneered.

"I just had you on your fucking knees not two minutes ago. Just because you are Sherlock fucking Holmes doesn't mean you'll win every damn fight."

"Agreed, but let's keep that on the back burner for now," Sherlock walked over to his dresser and yanked a T-shirt over his head. "How is Tom?" He glanced at her casually as he checked his phone, "I don't see an engagement ring."

Molly gave a mirthless laugh.

"You bastard. You absolute prick." She sprung to her feet and shoved him hard. He lost his balance and landed on the bed, although she had no idea how he managed to do it quite gracefully. Tears ran down her face but she didn't wipe them away. He just continued to watch her quietly, the veil of complete indifference still intact. Molly felt her heart explode with sheer misery. And just like that, she felt the fight leave her. She was suddenly so tired of him. So tired of his bullshit. Her shoulders slumped in resignation. Without saying a word, she walked over to the door and closed her hand over the knob. She twisted it when Sherlock slapped a hand over the door. She didn't turn.

"Let me out."

"What happened?"

His breath tickled the nape of her neck and she tightened her hold on the doorknob.

"Just what you wanted to happen. Just like always," she griped spitefully.

He caught her shoulders and turned her around so she was facing him again. She was standing close enough to count his eyelashes and his unsmiling mouth was only a few inches from hers, but Molly didn't budge. She lifted her face and gave him a cold look.

"I won't let you have your way this time. I won't. I won't go back to being your beck and call. Do you even realize the damage you've done? You have always exploited our friendship, manipulated me, and used me like a fucking tool. No more. I'm done with this."

She was almost out the door when what he said made her pause.

"I thought you were clever, Molly. I'm rarely ever wrong, but I guess even I'm capable of making mistakes. Perhaps, I was wrong about you."

Resentment once again burned back to life.

"I've tolerated you insulting my appearance, my looks. But don't you dare insult my intelligence, Sherlock Holmes!" she lashed out angrily as she clenched her fists.

Unperturbed, Sherlock simply cocked his head and folded his arms across his chest again.

"You've always seen through me. Most can't. John doesn't even know how. But you do it effortlessly. It's not even something you strive to achieve, it's just something you do. But ever since Sherrinford, you've closed up. You don't look at me, you don't talk to me, you don't see me." He perched himself on the edge of his work desk and studied her intently. "No sooner than that debacle, you relapsed into an engagement with a man you broke up with not too long ago. You were trying so desperately to prove that you had your life under control. So if your wedding was called off, it was only because you both already had your doubts and not necessarily because I told him something. If anything, it's on the both of you if your relationship collapsed over my insignificant choice of words."

Molly's gritty resolve cracked at his audacity. How dare he? How dare he stand there and accuse her and Tom of self-destruction? Her body burned feverishly as she blindly stumbled towards him. She bunched up her fists to throw a punch in his direction when he ducked swiftly and in a smooth move that she didn't anticipate, had her back pinned to the wall. He clasped her hands over her head as his eyes roved over her face. Molly felt a lick of terror tickle her throat and an insistent heat warm her belly. Her body was flush against his, making the slightest of movement implausible. She tried to bring her knee up, but he had clearly expected her to do that, so much so, he stood pointedly between her legs. She gave him a death glare.

"Unhand me, you arse!"

"Tell me why you are upset, Molly," he said in a gravelly voice.

"You know why!" she spat at him.

"Nope, I'm not buying it. Tell me why you are really upset."

Molly strained against him. Her eyes clouded again and she blinked back the offending tears. She struggled even harder, and when he didn't acquiesce, she screamed. Words spilled out of her mouth before her brain could catch up.

"It's because you won't love me and you won't let anyone else love me either!"

Almost immediately, Molly felt Sherlock's hands go slack over hers. He took a step back from her as though she had scorched him in the process. Hurriedly, she let her arms fall to her side. Dismayed with her outburst, she closed her eyes in embarrassment and turned away from him. It was one thing if her pride was crushed, but to be pitied by him? No. That would just simply throw her over the edge. She'd rather be hit by a bus than stand here and watch him destroy what's left of her with sad understanding eyes.

A sense of bereftness overwhelmed her. She heaved an unsteady breath before forcing herself to take slow mindful steps rather than flee the place of crime. No sooner had that thought entered her mind, Sherlock halted her movement by closing his hand over her wrist. She jolted.

"Oh, Molly."

Okay... Okay... Please don't come after me for the physical violence I portrayed here! We all know how it feels when someone you absolutely love hurts you. And the rage you feel when you realize they have betrayed you. That's exactly how Molly was feeling here. I hope that is valid enough. I am not advocating violence. I'll never stand for hitting someone. But, this is sort of a gray area, because the people I'm writing about are sort of messed up. They are not normal in any sense. Not Molly. Not Sherlock. They are deeply complicated and their relationship is weird. So... Don't hate me.

Also, thank you for being so generous with your support! I honestly wouldn't continue this if not for your wonderful presence. Please keep them coming.

xx