"I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine."

Xxx

Sherlock dealt with his awful internal struggle for another day, forcing his brain to come to terms with what his heart already had.

He was in love with Molly.

And at John's warning from before, he had to tell her before it was too late.

That was precisely why he found himself standing in front of her door, on a Friday evening, trying to figure out how he could communicate his feelings. It was one of the only things that Sherlock ever struggled to do.

Sentiment. How awful.

He managed to knock before shoving his hands (which were gloveless after he threw them in Mycroft's office) into his Belstaff, and took a deep breath.

A few moments passed before Molly swung open the door and stepped back, clearly surprised by the sight of Sherlock. She cleared her throat and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, before pulling her dressing gown close to her tiny form to cover her old pyjamas.

She feels vulnerable.

Amusing.

So do I.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here? It's getting late," she began, her voice small, "You can't just… Stop by. Not anymore."

Sherlock swallowed and nodded, his eyes focused on Molly's beautiful face. He looked around the entryway and past Molly's petite form in the doorway, deducing that George was not at her flat.

She just didn't want him to come inside.

Molly looked at him expectantly. She hugged herself, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.

It always felt clinical. Cold. Distant.

Like him.

Sherlock took a deep breath, struggling with his word formulation and the weight of his tongue in his month. He had things that needed to be said. It was now or never.

"Molly, these past few months have been some of the worst of my life. From Mary's death, to the drugs, to…" He paused and took another breath, "So many awful things have occurred. But through it all, even as I desperately fought against it, even though I knew it would be unwise, mad even, it happened,"

He paused, his eyes searching her face for any sort of response or understanding of his words. At her blank gaze, he fiddled with his jacket and continued.

"I am, however, willing to look past how dangerous this progression could be for our friendship, how painful this entire circumstance and feeling is, the probability of this ending badly, to just for once try what I was always warned against and indulge myself."

Molly watched Sherlock, noticing that he appeared uncomfortable. Nervous even. As he finished his statement, she shifted on her feet, as usual, unsure of his meaning.

"I don't understand."

"I love you," He managed out, his blue eyes gazing into hers, "and I want the chance to be with you, Molly Hooper."

Her mouth fell open, utterly shocked by his words. She stumbled backwards before grabbing onto the hinge of the door, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with Sherlock.

"You… love me?" She managed out.

"That's what I just said."

Molly blinked and shook her head, conscious of the tears that began to spill from her eyes. Sherlock watched on, unsure of her response.

"Is this some kind of joke? Some last-ditch attempt to get me to stop dating George?"

Sherlock took a step back, alarmed by her words. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I know you!" She shot back, her hands coming up to wipe her eyes, "and I pined after you for years, Sherlock. YEARS!"

Sherlock watched her, speechless, as she continued. "I loved you for years and you mocked my affection! Attacking my appearance, and my awkwardness, while at the same time batting your eyelashes and complimenting my hair for favors!"

She began to pace, her voice shrill and angry, "You used my unrequited love to solve cases and run experiments! So, forgive me if I've now caused you some sort of pain! Might I suggest an antacid?"

He swallowed and ran a shaking hand through his curls. "Are you mocking me?"

Molly just laughed, although her face indicated that she was anything but amused.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and forced himself to stand up straight, his shoulders moving to rigid attention. "So, you're rejecting me?"

Molly wiped her eyes and hugged herself before looking back into Sherlock's confused gaze. "Considering how 'unwise and mad' it is to fall in love with me, it should be pretty easy to forget about me."

"May I ask why you're laughing at me? Why you're treating my genuine feelings like a bloody joke?"

"Because that's how you treated mine!" She practically screamed, a new batch of tears falling down her face, "You really are like Mr. Darcy. You can't even confess that you have feelings for me without insulting me."

Sherlock took a step closer, his eyes narrowing on Molly's face. "I never took your affections to be a joke. Yes, I may have used them to my advantage, but I didn't throw them in your face!"

"Yes, you did! You still do!" She cried out, "You did it just the other day when you… When you kissed me!"

"That's not why I kissed you! I have—"

Molly shook her head and hugged her body, her hands pulling at the soft fabric of her dressing gown. "It doesn't even matter," she cried out, "You should not have kissed me when I'm with George!"

Sherlock stepped back and began to pace. "What's so bloody great about George? He's overcompensating for his lack of masculinity by spending money. He knows nothing about you. He's a smarmy git and you know it! He—"

Molly shoved him and continued to cry. "STOP!"

Sherlock swallowed and stopped talking, his eyes locked on Molly's sad, chocolate eyes.

"You resort to bullying when you don't get the things you want, Sherlock. Love included."

She sniffled and took a step backwards, into her flat, and wiped a few loose tears from her face. She looked back at Sherlock, who looked… lost.

"I'm glad you finally figured out what you want in life," she practically whispered, "But I can't be it. Your pride, and your inability to open up, and your blatant disregard for the feelings of those around you…"

The hallway grew quiet, making the fluorescent lighting of the building even more intense. Her brown orbs met his blue gaze.

With a shuddering breath, she whispered, "You're the last man in the world I could be happy with."

Sherlock swallowed and looked to his feet before back to Molly. He let his eyes travel from her chocolate orbs, to her rosy cheeks, to her soft lips.

Do you remember what it felt like to kiss her lips?

I hope you do.

Because that was the first and last time.

He took a step back and ran his hands through his curls once more.

"Forgive me, Molly, for taking up so much of your time."

With that, he disappeared, his coat billowing behind him as he hurried into the cold London night.

Molly shut her door and leaned against in, breaking into another fit of sobs. As Toby scampered over and climbed into her arms, she hugged the fur beast to her chest, continuing to cry.

"Why can't he ever make things simple? I hate him! I hate him so fucking much!"

If only that were true.

Because you remember what it felt like to kiss his lips.

I hope you never forget.

Because that was the first and last time.