Molly walked over to the table, tea forgotten, and sat, placing her phone on the table in front of her, willing it to ring again with an explanation.

She couldn't believe she'd allowed Sherlock to manipulate her again with his demand to tell him she loved him. After she'd finally admitted the truth, she'd thought it might help mitigate her humiliation if he said the words first, and now she regretted doing something that could only give her false hope.

Even worse, for a few moments after he had said the words the second time, she had allowed herself that hope. He sounded so sincere.

But then, after she had said the words as well, he had immediately disconnected the call.

Of course he had sounded sincere. She had told him to say it like he meant it. What else did she expect?

Hot tears of anguish slipped down her cheeks, and she felt humiliated in a way she had never felt before.

She tried to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt. She prayed he would call back and explain why he had played such a cruel trick on her, why he had forced her to expose her true feelings to him.

Hours passed, and her phone remained as silent as the corpses on which she did postmortems.

She had to face facts. Sherlock Holmes would never love her in the way she wanted to be loved.

She brushed away more of the seemingly endless tears. All they were accomplishing was to give her a headache. She had to be strong.

Resolutely, Molly stood. It was time to let Sherlock go, once and for all. There was no going back to the way things were, now that he knew for sure how she felt about him. It was time to make plans.

Molly walked over to a drawer and extracted a pad and a pen.

She set them on the table and sat down again, picking up her phone. First things first. She called her supervisor.

Stamford answered on the second ring. It was just as well this was his weekend to work.

Molly tried to keep her voice even. "Hello Mike, it's Molly."

"Oh, hello Molly. Are you missing the hospital so much, you need to call on your day off?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Molly didn't laugh, but said seriously, "I'm calling to request some time off."

"Oh." Suddenly, he was all business. "Yes, of course. Just let me know what days you need, and I'll make sure I find someone to take your place."

Molly licked her lips. She felt awful about the short notice, but in her current frame of mind, she would be unable to concentrate on her job. She felt perilously close to a breakdown. "I'm really sorry Mike, I need to take time off immediately, starting Monday."

She heard the surprise in his voice as he asked, "Oh, you need bereavement leave?"

Her lips twisted slightly. "Actually, it's a mental health break I need, Mike, and this really is an emergency for me." Her voice wavered slightly as she continued, feeling tears clog her throat yet again. "Something awful has happened in my life, and I need to do some soul-searching." She blew out a breath, trying to regain her composure. "In fact, I can't even tell you how much time I need off, so if you feel you need to replace me permanently, I'll understand. It might be a couple weeks, a month. Even at the end of that time, I may decide I need to make some life changes."

Molly bit her lip and waited for his response. Was he going to fire her? Perhaps it would be best. After a short pause, he spoke.

"Molly, I trust your judgement. If you feel you need to take a break, I understand. I will make whatever schedule changes are necessary. Just call me when you are ready to return. Feel better, okay?

Her lips trembled as she fought to control the tears. He was so good to her. "Thank you, Mike, I'll be in touch."

She rang off and stared at the pad. It was time to say goodbye to the man she loved. That was the next step.

She picked up the pen and thought for a few moments, then wrote,

Dear Sherlock,

Do not try to look for me.

She paused and underlined the word "not" twice. Knowing Sherlock, he'd turn up at some point with some ridiculously convoluted explanation that would confuse her all over again. She had to leave London to make sure that didn't happen, although she had no clue on where to go. Perhaps she'd take a taxi to King's Cross Station, find the next departing train and buy a ticket to wherever it was going. Yes, she mused to herself, that sounds like a plan.

She continued to write.

It wouldn't do you any good anyway, because I don't even know yet where I'm going. I just know I have to get away from London, from you.

She paused again, thinking of the best way to formulate her words. Honesty was the best policy, she decided.

For years, I've kept my true feelings for you a secret. You probably suspected them, but while they remained unsaid, I could still have a sliver of hope that maybe one day you'd notice me as more than a friend and confidante.

What happened today was the last straw.

I'm sorry I made you say the words first. It was the only way I could think of, to make saying them back a little less humiliating. I shouldn't have done that. But I'm tired of these games, and I don't want to play them anymore. I can't pretend anymore that we can be just friends. You know the truth.

Molly pondered whether she should mention the fact that she had thought he seemed sincere on the second occasion when he had expressed his love. Why not? she figured. At least he will know what a great actor he is.

She returned her pen to the paper.

I almost felt as if you were sincere when you repeated those words the second time. Did you know that? That was until you hung up on me without another word after I said them back.

Tears began to slide down Molly's cheeks again, and she had to pause to get a tissue, wipe her eyes and blow her nose. This was so hard. She took a deep breath and picked up her pen yet again.

Now I know for sure there will never be anything between us. I need time to lick my wounds, to pick up the pieces of my broken heart, and I need to figure out what I want to do with my life in the future.

Molly paused and stared into space for some time. What do I want to do with my life? How will I get over this? God, why did you allow this to happen to me? Was it because I was trying to go my own way, rather than the way you have planned for me? She couldn't help feeling abandoned, not only by Sherlock, but by God as well.

Well, there was one thing she needed to do, to ensure she received the solitude she needed to reflect upon her life. She picked up her phone and found Sherlock's number in her contacts list. She stared at his name for a moment, then scrolled down and pressed on "Block this caller" with trembling fingers. There, it was done. There was no going back now.

A voice in her head said, "Jesus said to forgive others seventy times seven."

"Why should I forgive him?" she countered to that voice. "He hurt me."

Again, the voice in her head responded. "Remember what Jesus said on the cross - 'Forgive them, for they know not what they do.' Sherlock was not intentionally seeking to hurt you."

Molly looked heavenwards and spoke out loud. "Fine, God, I forgive him. But I'm not going to forget." But she wasn't entirely certain she was speaking the truth. She was definitely going to have to take her Bible with her to wherever she was going and seek some guidance.

Setting her phone back down, she picked up her pen to continue.

I've blocked your number, so don't bother trying to call or text me with some platitudes about how sorry you are for hurting me. We all have our breaking point, and I've reached mine.

The Bible says we should forgive one another. I want you to know I do forgive you. I don't think you really understood how much you were hurting me. But I can't forget what happened, either.

I guess what I'm saying is: this is goodbye, Sherlock.

She bit her lip and, unable to shut the door entirely on ever reconciling with him, added another sentence.

At least for now.

Molly

She deliberately finished with just her name. No more Love Molly. That had already caused her embarrassment in the past.

Carefully, she folded the paper into thirds, then walked back to her drawer and replaced the pad and pen before withdrawing an envelope.

She looked at her watch. Time was passing, and she wanted to drop off the letter at Baker Street for Mrs. Hudson to pass on to Sherlock. She really needed to get a move on and do her packing if she wanted to leave London this evening.

She inserted the sheet of paper in the envelope, tucking the flap inside, rather than sealing it. She hated licking envelopes. Then she hurriedly wrote 'Sherlock' on the front, seeing one of those useless tears make a little splash onto the envelope.

It was time to pack.

Half an hour later, Molly had packed everything she thought she'd need for two weeks away. If she had missed anything, she could always purchase it when she reached her as yet unknown destination. She also made sure to put her Bible into the suitcase. She intended to do some deep soul-searching.

Instead of just going outside and waiting for a taxi, Molly called the taxi service, using the number she kept on her fridge, and asked for immediate pickup.

Within ten minutes, a taxi had arrived. She had emptied the contents of her cup down the sink and was about to wash it, along with the chopping board, when she heard the horn of the taxi.

Oh well, who cared if a couple of dishes were left dirty? There was nobody to see them anyway.

She picked up the envelope for Sherlock, followed by her suitcase, and went outside, locking the flat behind her.

She gave the taxi driver instructions to Baker Street.

At Baker Street, she told the driver to wait for her and pressed the doorbell of 221.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door, looking surprised. "Oh, hello dear. I'm sorry, but Sherlock isn't here right now." A crease formed between her brows. "In fact, I haven't seen him for almost a week, ever since that explosion in his flat. He went off on some case immediately afterwards - probably to discover the culprit."

Molly pursed her lips. "I heard about that on the telly. I was relieved to hear there were no casualties from the blast, thank God. Anyway, I wasn't expecting him to be here; I spoke with him this afternoon. I just wanted to drop something off for him."'

She held out the envelope.

Mrs. Hudson took it, then said, "You don't look very well. Did he say something to you that was a Bit Not Good?"

Molly tried to smile, but her eyes began to fill with tears. Oh, would she never stop feeling this ache? "I guess you could say that. Just give him the letter when you see him, please. I need to leave London for a while." She jerked her head towards the still-waiting taxi.

Mrs. Hudson frowned. "I think you could do with a cup of tea first. Why don't you tell the taxi driver to be on his way and come inside for a bit?"

Molly hesitated. She really should just get going to the train station.

"Please, Molly, I can see you need to talk to someone."

Her kind, motherly tone was what convinced Molly to agree. "Alright."

She returned to the taxi and spoke with the driver. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I've decided to stay here for a bit. What do I owe you?"

The driver named his price, and Molly paid him, retrieving her suitcase before he set off down the street.

Mrs. Hudson was still at the door, waiting, and she led Molly to her flat.

Molly took a seat at her kitchen table while the elderly woman bustled about, making tea.

She didn't talk again until she had set a steaming cup of tea before Molly and was sitting with another cup in front of herself. "Now, why don't you tell me what that silly boy did to upset you?" she enquired gently.

Molly took a deep breath and unburdened herself. She didn't reveal everything, of course, just the way Sherlock had called her out of the blue and had basically extracted a confession of love out of her. "The thing is," she said, looking at her cup, "I've loved him for years. I thought I'd moved on, and then he came back."

She looked up at Mrs. Hudson, who nodded. "I suspected you might still have feelings for him when you couldn't keep your eyes off of him during John and Mary's wedding, and then I heard you broke off your own engagement."

Molly sighed. "Yes. The wedding was where I realised once and for all I couldn't marry Tom when I was still in love with Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson extended a hand to pat Molly's. "I'm so sorry, dear. It was very wrong of him to try to make you say you loved him. I can't understand his motivation at all for that."

Molly pressed her lips together briefly. "Neither can I, but I did manage to turn the tables on him a little. He seemed so desperate for me to say the words and I," she felt herself blushing, "well, I told him to say it first, and to say it like he meant it."

Mrs. Hudson gave an approving nod. "Good for you. That boy could certainly stand to be taught a thing or two about playing with a person's emotions. So, did he do it? Did he say the words to you?"

Molly's lips curved upwards slightly as she remembered hearing the words from his lips for the first time. "He did. In fact, he said them twice. The first time, he was really hesitant, but then he said them again, and oh, Mrs. Hudson, he sounded so sincere that I dared to hope maybe he had finally acknowledged that he really did love me."

"I can understand that."

"Anyway, he sounded really desperate for me to hold up my end of the bargain, so I did say I loved him." She felt her lips quiver. "And then he disconnected the call without another word, and I haven't heard from him since."

Mrs. Hudson gave her a look filled with so much sympathy, Molly was unable to keep her composure any longer and began to cry in earnest. "And now," she said between sobs, "now, I have to leave London and just get away from him. I can't bear the thought of seeing him again; it would be too embarrassing."

Mrs. Hudson stood and walked over to her chair, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Where will you go?"

Molly looked at her through her tears. "That's just it. I have no idea. I want to go somewhere Sherlock won't find me, even if he tries, so I was going to just go to King's Cross Station and buy a ticket for the next train that was leaving."

Mrs. Hudson looked thoughtful. "Molly, I think I have a better idea."

Molly rubbed her eyes. "You know somewhere I can go that Sherlock won't find me?"

Mrs. Hudson returned to her seat and took a sip of her tea. "I own a cottage in Cornwall. He doesn't know about it. I only lease it out in summer, so currently it's empty. I think it would be the perfect place for you to spend some time away."

Molly stared at her, wide-eyed. "Oh, you'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would. I kind of think of Sherlock as my son, and when he does something a Bit Not Good, I feel responsible for his actions." Her lips quirked. "He's done some foolish things in his time, but I do believe he has a heart somewhere, and I don't think he truly intended to hurt you."

"I just don't know anymore. I'm so confused," admitted Molly. "But I would love to take you up on your offer, as long as you don't tell Sherlock where I am."

"I give you my word that I will not tell him where you are," said Mrs. Hudson. "It will probably do the lad good to stew for a while and not know where you are, to contemplate his unfeeling actions."

"Thank you." Molly felt grateful| for the woman's generosity. "So, what train would I need to take to get there?"

The landlady looked thoughtful again. "I'd be willing to let you use my Aston Martin. That way, if you need to go to the shops in the town nearby for any reason, you could just drive. Besides, you will have to buy some food while you are there."

Molly almost choked on the tea she had been sipping. "You'd let me use that lovely car I saw last month? The red one that was outside that house when I came with the ambulance to examine Sherlock?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "That's the one."

Molly knew if she borrowed Mrs. Hudson's car, at some point she would need to return it. If she felt she couldn't face Sherlock, she'd have to think of how to do that. Oh well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, she thought. I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

So she stood and walked to Mrs. Hudson's chair. She rested her cheek against the wrinkled one of the landlady. "You are too kind."

Mrs. Hudson smiled as Molly returned to her seat. "It's no trouble at all. I rarely use it, so the car spends most of its time in the car park. It's within walking distance, and I can show you to it, when you've finished your tea. I'll give you the directions, and you can use your phone to navigate to the cottage." She pursed her lips. "Of course, it's quite a drive. You might want to wait until tomorrow."

Molly shook her head. "If it's okay with you, I'd rather leave as soon as possible. I won't be able to sleep anyway, and I don't mind driving at night, even if it has been some time since I was behind the wheel of a car. I promise I'll take care of your car and your cottage too. I really, really appreciate this."

"Of course." Mrs. Hudson suddenly glanced at her suspiciously. "I assume you have not eaten any dinner, have you?"

Molly bit her lip. "I was actually going to grab something to eat at the train station."

"Mrs. Hudson frowned. "Well, I can't let you drive for hours on end without having something in your stomach."

"It's fine. I'm not really hungry anyway." Even as she said the words, Molly realised she did feel a little peckish.

"Nonsense. I have some scones here. Let me get you a couple. You need to keep up your strength for the journey. Besides, you'll have to buy some supplies once you reach the cottage, and if you arrive in the middle of the night, you won't be able to get any until morning."

Molly felt grateful again for the attention she was being given. It had been a long time since someone had cared about her enough to think of her welfare. "In that case, thank you. I would enjoy a couple scones."

Mrs. Hudson set down scones, jam and cream for Molly. "While you eat, I'll get the keys to the cottage and the car keys as well."

Molly spread jam and cream on the scones. They were so delicious. She definitely needed to get the recipe some day.

When Mrs. Hudson returned with the sets of keys, she said, "I thought we'd walk to the car park, pick up the car and bring it back here. Then I'll get your suitcase for you and you can be off."

Molly ate the last bite of her scone and finished her tea. "That sounds good."

Shortly thereafter, the women walked to where Mrs. Hudson kept her car, and she handed Molly the keys. "You might as well be the one to drive it back to Baker Street so you can get a feel for it."

Molly took her place behind the wheel and started the car. It had been years since she had driven, but she supposed it was like riding a bike. You didn't forget these things.

Fortunately, that turned out to be true, and soon they were back at Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson got out of the car and returned a couple minutes later with Molly's suitcase. In the meantime, unsure of how to use the car's own navigation system, Molly had input the address of the cottage into her phone.

She popped the boot and Mrs. Hudson placed the suitcase inside before going back to the passenger side, tapping on the window, obviously for last instructions.

Molly pressed the button to roll down the window, and Mrs. Hudson leaned into the open window. "Last time I used the boot was when I put Sherlock inside it,," she said with a smile of reminiscence.

"What?" asked Molly, her brows lifting in astonishment.

"That day you turned up with the ambulance. I drove Sherlock to that house in the boot of my car so that I could force John to examine him. To this day, I'll never understand how Sherlock was able to predict where John would be."

Molly's lips quirked slightly. "Me neither."

"Well, I won't keep you any longer. You have a long drive ahead of you. Do send me a text when you get there so I know you are safe."

"I'll do that. And please remember-"

Mrs. Hudson cut her off. "I know, dear. Not a word about your location to Sherlock. Don't worry. My lips are sealed."

"Thanks again."

Several hours later, feeling extremely fatigued, Molly was glad to arrive at her destination.

Fortunately, the moon cast enough light that she was able to make her way to the front door of the cottage without any trouble.

Molly entered it, had a quick look around, and then went to the master bedroom with her suitcase. She opened her suitcase and pulled out the chemise she usually wore to bed. She would unpack the rest of her stuff in the morning.

She dashed off a quick text to Mrs. Hudson to let her know she had arrived safely.

Then Molly climbed into the comfortable bed. The events of the day, the tears and the long drive had exhausted her to the point where she was asleep within minutes.

Author's note: As I was proofreading this chapter, it felt rather bittersweet to be looking at a chapter which involves Mrs. Hudson in such a big way. I'm still feeling very sad about her passing last week.

But I am glad to know the character will live on happily through the world of fanfiction, even if we never see another season of Sherlock.

So, readers, what did you think of this chapter? Do you feel Molly's pain? Did you like how Mrs. Hudson took her under her wing?

My regular readers may recall this mysterious cottage in Cornwall. I have talked about it in my diary story, and I deliberately set up the premise that way to use it in this story, because my "real" Sherlock and Molly are aware of its existence, so Sherlock could conceivably use his real life knowledge of the cottage and incorporate it into his dream. But I like the idea anyway of Mrs. Hudson having another piece of property that shows her affluence.

I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into how Molly is feeling.

Thanks to those who already left reviews on the first chapter and followed and/or favourited it. It is much appreciated. I hope to continue prompting those responses from readers on my latest labour of love.