That's how Sherlock found her. On her knees in her living room, crying and holding a letter he never knew she had. It took him a minute to register what it was. His brain was running haywire after the events of these past couple of days. But he knew what it was after a moment. He could remember exactly what he had written that day on the plane, which was surprising considering the near-lethal dose of drugs and the subsequent Victorian fever dream. For the same reason, he was sure some of it was gibberish. He remembered talking about pancakes (?) and drowning and plenty of overdramatic analogies that were still true.
He thought about how it could have come into her possession, how it got off that plane. He could see no stamp on the envelope that was discarded on the floor, so no standard mailing system. A person then. Someone who had been there that day, someone not just focused on his drug-addled body. He felt an excruciating sting in his chest when he realised it could only have been one person. Mary Watson, surprising him still, even from beyond her untimely grave. That was a whole other bag of guilt to the one he should be focusing on right now though.
He removed his coat and jacket before dropping to his knees gracefully in front of Molly. She still hadn't lifted her eyes from the paper, he could practically see the thoughts swimming around in her brain. Even he could recognise that this was a lot to take in. He waited and when she let out a resounding breath, he whispered her name.
"Molly?"
Brown eyes shot up to meet his. They were glassy with tears and riddled with emotion. He felt the corner of his mouth quirk up in a small smile and his brow soften. He couldn't care less about hiding those micro-emotions from her now, after all, she'd read it all in his own hand. Molly lowered the piece of paper to her lap, hands shaking. A thousand emotions flickered across her face; she couldn't decide how to feel. She didn't know how to feel. But of course she didn't. Not only had he dropped that written bombshell in her hands, but also that verbal one on the phone. Tonight had not been easy for Molly Hooper. He knew she would be running through all sorts in her head – the date of the letter, the time that had passed before and since, his behaviour towards her, his words, his actions. It would be playing like a picture show in her head. Because she was brilliant like that.
Her eyes focused again after a moment, and they were so close that he could almost taste her confusion on his tongue. He had some explaining to do.
"Molly, I want to explain what happened earlier, with that phone call. Would that be okay?"
He didn't reach for her, didn't throw some crazy confession at her when she wasn't ready to hear one. He recognised both cognitive and emotional overload, and Molly Hooper needed time to recentre. And from her appearance, she had completed the last 48 hours on a mere 6 hours of sleep. This had to go at her speed. She swallowed and blinked, coming back into the room that little bit more. Then she nodded, giving him the permission he needed. He felt his shoulders sag in relief.
"It's a very long story, Molly. Too much for right now. But I will explain how you got caught up in all of this, okay?" Another nod. "Okay. I have a sister, Molly. I … forgot about her. She did dreadful things as a child and has continued on that path into adulthood. She's quite psychopathic, toys with emotions as scientific experiments. I think she wishes to understand what she cannot perceive, what she cannot feel in herself." He kept going as Molly's expressions changed, following his speech and processing what he was saying. "She set up some of these experiments for John, Mycroft, and me. Don't worry, we are all mostly fine. But she set us tasks, Molly. Well, me. Apparently, she's had quite the fixation on me since we were children. There are multiple things to tell you. And I will because you deserve the full picture. But for now, I want you to focus on the fact that are in no danger. You never were in danger. I just didn't know. You are safe, Molly. Do you believe me?"
"Yes."
"Good. Molly, she told me she was going to blow up your flat."
Molly tensed and looked around, but Sherlock was quick to catch her hands. She turned back to him, and he smiled softly.
"No danger, remember?"
"No danger." Her smile was as much as she could manage as she continued to spin inside her own brain.
"She gave me 3 minutes to speak to you, to get you to say the release code. To say those words. I would never force you to do such a cruel thing of my own volition."
"I know that." His eyebrow raised. "I knew something was wrong, Sherlock. I- well, you would never have said it if you didn't have to. Not like that."
He smiled proudly at her; she had always known him so well. She saw through him as if he were a pane of polished glass. Even if she didn't know it.
"You are truly brilliant, Molly Hooper."
She smiled an endearingly embarrassed grin and her cheeks blush, and he could tell she was fully with him again. He didn't know that it was his hands that pulled her back to Earth. Molly shifted her own, situating them in Sherlock's so that she could hold his hands as tightly as he held hers.
"I appreciate you coming to see me, it sounds like you've been through a lot, and I don't even know the full story."
"Yes, quite emotionally taxing. For both of us, it seems."
He nodded at the letter. She released one of his hands to pick the small wad of paper up again. He kept the other tightly in his.
"I got this a long time ago, I- I just never opened it. I don't know why. I reckon I was a little angry about the drugs and everything and then life got in the way."
"It often does."
They both let out a breathy chuckle before he caught her eye again. The shift in the room was palpable. It was time to be completely honest with the woman he loves.
"Sherlock-"
He cut her off with a squeeze of her hand.
"I meant it, Molly. I mean it. And I'm sure that letter articulates it far better than I can at this hour."
She giggled a bit, fiddling with the paper before looking up at him again.
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
He sighed.
"I didn't know how. And I had caused you so much pain already, it felt unfair to expect you to love me."
Her brow furrowed.
"Sherlock, I thought-"
"I know, and I did. I did know, but not enough to trust myself with your heart. I couldn't ask you for that much, not after everything I've put you through."
A beat of silence passed between them before she answered.
"I would have given it to you anyway."
"I know."
More silence. Molly shifted a bit. She wasn't good at this, the whole being forward and making a move thing. It really wasn't her area, but she was desperate for him.
"You can have it. If you still want it."
"What?"
"My heart, Sherlock. It's yours if you want it."
He was stunned, speechless. He buffered a bit and felt a little bit cognitively overloaded himself. How did this amazing woman never fail to forgive him, to understand him?
"I don't deserve it."
"That's not-"
"But it is true, Molly. I don't deserve everything that you are."
"Sherlock, I wasn't going to say it's not true."
"Oh?" His dejection was heard in his surprise.
"No, I was going to say that it's not your decision to make." She scooted closer, her knees touching his where they still knelt on the floor. He felt that all too familiar electricity. "I get to decide who I give my heart to."
"But-"
"No buts. Just you and me, and pancakes for dinner."
She smiled and he chuckled at himself. As delicious as it sounded, it really was ridiculous.
"I must admit, I was rather high when I wrote that note."
"I know. I've spent enough time helping you detox to know the difference between your sober and not-sober handwriting."
He looked panicked for a moment, and she narrowed her eyes in question.
"I still meant every word, Molly. I still mean it."
"I know." It was almost uncountable; the amount Molly Hooper really knew this man. "You're always more honest when you're high."
He smiled. "Yes, well, at least this honesty was much less scathing."
"Indeed."
A moment passed between them, and Molly thought for a moment that he might finally kiss her, but his intake of breath signalled that he had something else to say.
"I never intended for you to get that note, Molly."
"I figured, I'm not sure how I did."
"Mary Watson."
"Of course, it was."
They smiled fondly but sadly. How they missed their friend. He stood and extended a hand to her which she took gladly, thankful to finally be off the floor.
"So, what do you say," his fingers were rubbing circles on her hand, "crap telly?"
"Sherlock Holmes, if you don't kiss me now, I might just tackle you into the sofa."
He laughed a deep, mesmerising chuckle before he took her cheek in one hand and pulled her to him by the waist with his other.
"Gladly."
When their lips met, it was like a thousand fireworks. That energy that constantly fizzled between them lit up to blinding and Sherlock's world went white. The only thing he could focus on was Molly. Molly's lips on his. Molly's hands in his hair and on his face. Molly's body flush against his own. Molly's tongue, teasing at his lips before he finally let her in. It was bliss, and it made both of them wish she had opened that letter long ago. Currents sparked as they separated for air. He cradled her head in his hands and rested his forehead against hers as he had done so many years ago.
"I love you, Molly Hooper. With all I am."
"I love you too."
Their lips met again and somehow Molly's world stood still while spinning around faster than it ever had before. He loved her. She had heard it. She had read it. And now she could feel it. In every touch, in every caress. In the way he spoke to her and the look in his eyes from the moment he set his own on her. They could have everything she wanted; they could do everything he wanted. They could be everything they wanted to be. He knew then that her heart was the greatest gift he had ever been given, and he would treat it with the care and love it deserved.
When they reluctantly pulled away, clearly aching for more, she smirked mischievously. He raised an eyebrow in response and pulled her into him even more. There was no air between them. Just love.
"What was that you wrote about undressing?"
His smirk matched her own as her words flew into his ears like a prize. He chuckled as the surprised squeal that escaped her filled the room as he picked her up. She was quick to wrap her legs around him. They would never tire of being close to one another.
"Oh, my Molly, we can certainly do that." He captured her lips again as they navigated towards her very inviting bed.
Never again would he be unable to name the feeling he felt for Molly Hooper. It was simply called love.
