whclocked asked: I'd have to apologise to whoever the anon was whose post I hijacked and I DEFINITELY did not mean it. I need to learn self control... anyway, if I may jump into the ask thingy... How about a Sherlolly with the title "November Rain"?

This is rated T. Thank you as always to everyone for reading, following and reviewing!

And when your fears subside
And shadows still remain, oh yeah
I know that you can love me
When there's no one left to blame
So never mind the darkness
We still can find a way
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain

(November Rain by Guns N' Roses)

It had been a month since Sherrinford. A month since his sister had tortured him emotionally, her twisted idea of punishment for the crime of not playing with her when they were children. A month since he'd begun to recover long-lost memories, the horrors of realizing that Redbeard had never been a dog, but had instead been a child. A best friend. The one thing he'd told John he'd never expected to have…and now he knew that he'd actually had two in his life. An overwhelming concept for a man who'd spent so long eschewing emotion.

Yes, it seemed longer, but it had actually only been a month since he'd been forced to choose between killing his biological brother or the brother he'd found in John Watson. A month since he'd been forced to emotionally torture the one person in his life that he'd never wanted to hurt, ever again. The one who mattered most.

The one who had insisted that it was all fine, that she understood once Sherlock and John separately explained things to her. The one who told Sherlock she forgave him, of course she did.

The one who had refused to allow him to say those three words to her again. "It's fine, Sherlock," she'd insisted when he tried to explain that he'd meant them, that he wasn't just doing it because she'd told him to say it that way. "I understand. We're friends, like you said. It's fine."

Only it wasn't fine, it would never be fine until she heard him, really heard him and really understood him.

Thus his presence on her doorstep, even though she'd long gone to bed. He hesitated before using his key, hesitated again before shucking his Belstaff and shoes, leaving them in the foyer before making his silent way to Molly's bedroom.

His bolt-hole. His true home from home.

He opened the door as silently as he could, stiffening at the small creak that it made, then continued into the room when Molly showed no sign of waking. He discarded suit jacket, trousers, and button-up, stripping down to his pants and sliding between the sheets next to her. Curling around her for the first time since his sister had been taken back into custody.

With a sigh she turned in his arms. Not asleep, then. "What is it, Sherlock? I told you we're fine…"

He leaned close and kissed her. Softly. On the lips. "I want you to let me say the words, Molly. With no one holding a gun to our heads. With time and perspective, which I believe are the words you used when you wouldn't let me say them before."

"It's only been a month," she replied softly, but he could hear the hesitation in her voice, and his eyes closed briefly when she reached up to rub her thumb along his zygomatic arch. "That's not really a lot of time, or a lot of perspective."

"It is when your mind works so much faster than that of ordinary people," he countered. "I feel like it's been a year, not a month. Would a year be enough time, give an ordinary person enough perspective?"

She huffed out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I guess so."

He looked at her intently, reading her as best he could in the darkness of a room lit only by moonlight. "If that's how long you need, I'll wait," he said, although everything within him - heart, mind, intellect, emotion - urged him to just say the words and consequences be damned. But it wasn't just about him, it was about her…and he had the sinking suspicion he'd just insulted her. "I don't mean you're ordinary," he said in a rush. Damn, why couldn't he just say the right thing to this woman, ever? "You're not ordinary, Molly Hooper, you never have been and you never will be and I don't think of you that way, I promise, I didn't mean to imply…"

She silenced him with a tender kiss. "I know," she said soothingly. "I know. But I do think I need more time and more perspective. Maybe not a year, but certainly more than a month. Because I do want to say those words again, and I do want to hear them from you…but not quite yet. Can you be patient, Sherlock? Can you wait just a bit longer?"

"For you, Molly, I can wait as long as it takes," he replied, grateful beyond words that she allowed him to gather her close, that she rested her head on his chest above his wildly beating heart, that she curled her arms around him and held him as tightly as he was holding her. "As long as it takes."

Then he closed his eyes and, holding the woman he loved in his arms, Sherlock Holmes felt himself falling into the most restful sleep he'd had in years.