Notes:

For on Instagram.

Instagram prompt: "I'm so fucking scared / Person A falls asleep on Person B after breaking down

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Molly fidgets with her lab coat sleeve for what Sherlock could have sworn was the millionth time that day. Not only was she fidgety, but she was extra klutzy today too, spilling chemicals, and seeming to have brain fog.

Sherlock takes off his goggles and snaps off his gloves, before spinning his seat towards her. "Alright, enough is enough. I can feel your tension radiating off of you and it's distracting. What is going on with you?"

Molly chews her lip and looks towards him. "M-me? Nothing, I'm fine..."

"Molly we both know that you're a bloody awful liar, and you haven't stuttered in front of me for years. Come on, out with it."

"I can't", she says shakily. "Not here, I-...if I begin, I'm afraid I'll have a breakdown and I'm a professional here."

"You haven't called out in years; not since you needed your appendix out. How about I tell Mike you aren't feeling well and then we can go to your home, and you can explain?"

She sniffles and nods weakly, clumsily beginning to clean up the lab when Sherlock steps out. Grabbing her phone, she checks to see if she has gotten any more messages from "Anon", but luckily there were none since that morning.

Sherlock swiftly comes back in, conveniently when Molly had just finished cleaning the lab. "Mike said you're fine to go, they have plenty of staff today."

Molly nods softly and stays eerily quiet, locking up the lab and walking down the hall towards the locker room. Sherlock follows, trying to assess what is wrong.

"Is it something I said or did?"

She looks over at him confused. "No, no. I'm sorry. No, it's not you Sherlock, you've been great. You're a good boyfriend."

Sherlock pulls a face, and she can't help but crack a smile. He really does hate that word.

He escorts her into the women's locker room to grab her things and she rolls her eyes; it's so typical of him to not care about those things, though he knows nobody is ever in there.

Once she grabs her things, they take her car back to her house. The moment she enters, she tosses her bag onto the bench near her front door and sheds her coat quickly, seemingly frustrated.

Sherlock hangs up his Belstaff neatly next to her coat. "So now do you want to tell me what this is all about? Why you've been acting paranoid all day?"

Molly flops defeatedly onto her sofa and rubs her face, trying her best not to tear up. "I'm sorry I've been all over the place...I just- I received a disturbing set of texts this morning from an unknown number but by the tone of the messages, I think I know who it is."

"Is someone threatening you? Molly, why didn't you tell me? I'll figure out who it is, and I'll give them more than a kick in the arse."

"Sherlock, I told you I know who it is", she says calmly.

"Who?"

She looks down and twists her hands in her lap, as if afraid to say it.

"Molly..."

"My mother", she whispers brokenly.

"What?"

"I'm ninety-nine percent it's her...and I'm so fucking scared."

"I thought you had no idea where she was or if she was alive or how long she was in prison for hurting you and Matthew..."

"I didn't but sh-she must have gotten out finally or something. I got a text this morning from a random number, and it just said 'hello'. So obviously I asked who it was, and the reply was 'someone from your past who would like a second chance that they don't deserve.'

"I was so terrified that she knew what my number was and probably where I live that I've been freaking out all day."

"You need to say no and end it."

She swallows hard and looks down. "I don't even want to talk to her. She destroyed my childhood and constantly beat me to a pulp. She practically forced me to raise my brother on my own when I was like eight or nine because she was always drunk and high, on top of fucking protecting him from her even as an infant. And when I finally felt close to normal again...when my dad came home from the military and he figured it out and got custody of us, we were happy, normal kids for like four or five years until he died. The only parent who ever loved me died in my arms when I was eighteen, after everything she did to me as a kid, and I was left totally alone to raise Matty. I never ever would have let him get taken away from me. I mean I did...once. He had to go to a group home while I went to the psychiatric hospital after my suicide attempt after...after I was sexually assaulted walking home from work one night and got pregnant and then later lost the baby because I was already neglecting myself. It was just a fucking horrific clusterfuck of time for me. But I got through it. I got through it all and on my own for Matty. Me. I did that, to get him back. I wasn't the best of anything, but I did my best for him, and I did a pretty fucking okay job because he's amazing", her lip trembles.

"She ruined so much of me that it took fucking years of therapy to heal, on top of the other shitty trauma I've endured. How the hell does she even think she has the right to ask me anything, especially that!?", she asks, breaks down as Sherlock pulls her close tightly. Molly sobs hard into his chest and he strokes her hair gently, allowing her to.

"She doesn't. Someone that horrible doesn't deserve a second chance, I believe that wholeheartedly. I'm not a forgiving person, especially to abusers. Ever. I don't care if she went to prison or got therapy or was rehabbed or fucking found Jesus. She still doesn't deserve to know you. Because you built yourself from the ground up with no help and with years of trauma that she began, and a ten-year-old on your hands as a teenager. You need to tell her that. If she ever dares come near you, I will not be able to prevent myself from lashing out. In fact, I'll pay Mycroft a visit and tell him to up surveillance around your home and Bart's."

She nods as tears fall down her face. "I-I'm just glad that Matty is still on tour, I'm glad he's not here for this shit."

"Me too. It'll be okay, we won't let her come near either of you, alright? I promise you. She won't."

"She's very clever and conniving when she wants to be..."

"Good thing I am too."

Molly chuckles weakly through her tears and cuddles close. "Can you just hold me?"

"Of course."

"You know I'm a forgiving person, and usually I'm all for second chances, but I-I can't with her. I can't."

"I understand, Moll. That doesn't make you any less amazing."

"Promise?", she sniffles.

"I promise. You have every right to tell her no."

She nods weakly and pulls her phone out of her pocket and opens the text message thread that hadn't been replied to and types for a moment then lies back against Sherlock.

{No. I want nothing to do with you. Not now. Not ever. I've finally come to terms with the shit you did to me. Do not contact me again.}

*Block contact*

Molly breathes shakily and relaxes into to Sherlock. He in turn wraps his warm arms around her, comforting her for the rest of the night when she slowly falls asleep on his sturdy chest, listening to his strong and steady heartbeat.