"My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

Xxx

Molly took the next four days off work, spending every waking moment in the hospital with her brother and mum, desperately trying to convince her mother to consider chemotherapy. But the results of the conversation were always the same, leaving them both in tears. The most recent one had been especially brutal.

"Molly," Her mother insisted, her eyes weary, "Is it really so wrong for me to go off on my own terms? To let God decide when it's my time to go?"

Molly frowned and looked at Thomas, who preoccupied himself with the view from the window. "Mum, please… We just want a chance for you to meet your grandchildren and live out the rest of your life…"

She sighed and shook her head, giving Molly a sorrowful smile. "I've already lived out my life. And I'm quite happy. I have two beautiful children. What more could I ask for?"

Molly began to cry harder. "Please, mum, just reconsider!"

She brushed her daughter's hair out of her face and pressed her lips to her forehead. "I love you, Molly. Perhaps one day you'll understand."

As she gazed out the train window, on her way back to London, she couldn't help the constant feeling of unease eating at her stomach.

What am I going to do?

Xxx

"I'm sorry. What did you just say?"

John and Rosie had finally returned after their long holiday in Brighton, and were currently visiting Baker Street. Sitting in his chair, with Rosie playing at his feet, John was furiously rubbing aloe on his red skin.

"Must I repeat myself?" Sherlock droned on, staring out the window with a concerned look across his features.

"Yes, because it sounded like you said that you took Molly on a holiday to Scotland!"

Sherlock blinked. "Yes. Precisely. That's what I said."

John's mouth dropped open. "Sherlock… That's… so…. unlike you."

"How so?"

"It's so… romantic."

"I'm romantic."

John practically snorted. "No, you're a dick."

Sherlock shrugged and dropped to his chair. He sighed. "I lied. I told her I had a case. Which I did. But, of course, I solved it before we left. She had a lovely time. We almost kissed."

John raised an eyebrow. "Almost? And for someone who went on a romantic holiday, you look pretty bothered."

"Her mother is dying," He added softly, his eyes locked on Rosie, who currently entertained herself with her dolls on the ground, "They applied for permission to leave the country and take her to the States for experimental treatment. She was denied, and it sounds like she's refusing to undergo chemo because of the low chance of remission."

John frowned and shifted in his chair. "That's horrible. Poor Molly."

Sherlock sighed. "I know. It was a troubling end to our trip. I didn't know what to do to help her."

"Just stand by her, Sherlock. That's all you can do. Your support is more than enough."

Sherlock nodded and glanced at his mobile, praying for a swift response from Mycroft.

Oh, brother mine, please work your magic.

Xxx

It had been a rough week. Getting through work had been absolutely brutal, especially when all she could think about was her poor mother, laying helplessly in a hospital bed so far away. Even though she spoke to Thomas and Ellen every night, waiting until the weekend to take the train up to visit was incredibly hard on her heart.

And she had rarely seen anyone since her mom was admitted to the hospital. Her weekdays were spent working and her weekends were spent up in Leeds. George had dropped by intermittently, kind enough to bring food, and Meena had popped up a few times, volunteering to feed Toby whenever she was gone.

John had been kind enough to send her flowers, volunteering to help her if she ever needed it. But, she had yet to hear from Sherlock since their trip to Scotland, and she tried to tell herself that her damaged heart didn't care.

She glanced back at her mobile, as she sat on the tube, her eyes landing on a Thursday dinner reservation for 7pm. She vaguely remembered agreeing to the date almost a month ago, as George insisted that this place was extremely difficult to get a table at. Apparently, it was frequented by the posh, and an incoming text message from her boyfriend reminded her of the dress code for such an exclusive place.

As she looked up the restaurant, and mentally tried to figure out what in her closet would be appropriate to wear, Sherlock's words filled her head, causing her to freeze.

He's going to propose to you.

She nearly dropped her mobile as the doors opened at the next stop.

It's happening.

She grabbed her bag and hurried off the train, her mind on overdrive. Did she want to marry George? Could she be happy with him forever? Was it even right for her to be thinking about her future at a time like this?

As she barreled through the tube stop, her head in the clouds, she wasn't paying attention as she slammed into a tall, well-dressed gentleman, whose curls fell into his eyes. Hands steadied her. Familiar hands.

She gasped as she looked at the man. "Tom?"

Tom smiled softly and nodded. "Hello, Molly. How have you been?"

Xxx

John entered Lestrade's office with Rosie strapped to his chest. Greg sat up and smiled at his mate, but quickly became confused when he noticed the lack of a certain consulting detective.

"John," Lestrade began, "Where's Sherlock? This is big. We have two dead bodies. Anderson fears we have a serial killer in the making."

John sighed and shuffled on his feet, his hands migrating to Rosie's tiny body. He allowed her to play with his fingers as he focused on Greg.

"Yeah, about that. He's not coming."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean he's not coming? Surely this must be exciting enough for him? Two dead bodies, identical names but no connections, left in two different rivers… Come on!"

John sighed. "Truthfully Greg, I don't know where he is. But he's been weird the past week, and he just disappeared with a bag and climbed into Mycroft's car a few hours ago."

"Jesus. Must be serious if he's not even telling you."

"Well," John considered the situation, "He's been going through a lot."

"With Molly?" Greg practically smirked.

John laughed. "Yeah, with Molly. But… Things are getting messy."

"Messy?"

"Her boyfriend is going to propose. And her mum is dying."

Greg frowned. "Jeez, that's bloody awful. Poor Molly. And she inspired me too," He shook his head, clearly upset.

"Inspired you?" John asked.

"She asked me about marrying Charlotte and I was initially hesitant but… I proposed!"

John blinked. "You're getting married again?"

Lestrade grinned and nodded excitedly. "Isn't that wonderful?"

John nodded, too surprised to even speak. "Yes. I guess so."

As they said their goodbyes, and Greg complained one final time about having to allow Anderson to lead the investigation, John couldn't get over Sherlock's absence.

And with Mycroft of all people?

But as he exited the station, and gave Rosie a soft smile, he realized Sherlock's intentions.

"Oh, you devoted, selfless, dick." He muttered, laughing as he made his way to his car.

Xxx

If someone had told Molly that she'd be having coffee with Tom at a café in her local tube station, she probably would have laughed.

Yet here she was, sipping a cup a bit too bitter for her liking, staring at the familiar man across from her.

"It's nice to see you again. It's been so long," He began, smiling as he added some sugar to his cup.

Molly just nodded, although her eyes landed on a glimmering gold wedding band on his fingers. She gasped.

"Tom, you got married?" She asked, continuing to stare at the ring.

He coughed and sipped his drink, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I did. About a month ago." He blushed and looked away, "To Lydia, actually."

Molly nodded, recognizing the name. Lydia had been Tom's childhood love, and her mention always put a strain on their relationship. Yet, she couldn't help but be happy for him. Tom may have not been the man for her, but he was certainly a good guy.

"That's great, Tom. Congrats. I know you cared deeply about her."

He smiled and nodded, beginning to play with the wedding band. "Thank you. Seeing her that day…" He shook his head, still grinning like a moron, "Everything finally felt right, you know?"

She smiled sadly and nodded. "Yes. I understand."

They grew quiet, both occupying themselves with their drinks. Finally, Tom looked back over at Molly.

"So, you and Sherlock finally get together?"

Molly blinked and coughed on the coffee she had been sipping. "Come again?"

Tom gave her a look. "Sherlock Holmes. The detective? The one you had feelings for throughout our entire relationship?"

Molly whimpered and shook her head. "That's not—"

Tom held up his hand and gave her another pointed look. "Oh, Molly, come on. As soon as that bloke showed back up from wherever he was, I lost you. I know you tried. I could tell that you didn't want to fancy him, that you wanted to love me but… It was pretty obvious how you felt."

He laughed and thanked the waitress as she refilled his cup, "Not to mention he fancied you."

Molly paled. "What do you mean he fancied me?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Molly? The looks he gave me every time I was around… You'd think I murdered his bloody dog or something. And then that short doctor and his wife were always meddling," He shook his head and laughed.

Her brain was on overdrive, trying to process the concept of Sherlock fancying her as far back as her engagement with Tom, to just the mention of Mary making her heart hurt. She just sat there, staring into her coffee. Tom noticed and frowned.

"Molly? You two aren't together?"

Molly took a shaky breath and met Tom's kind, familiar eyes. "No. We're not. In fact, I've been seeing someone else. And I… I think he's going to propose to me."

Tom cleared his throat and sipped his own coffee, watching Molly carefully. "I realize you probably don't care much for my opinion. But I still consider you a friend. We were together for a while. Time I appreciate and will never forget. But, while we were together, I couldn't get over this nagging feeling in my heart whenever I thought of Lydia. Our time together. Her voice. Her face. What it felt like to kiss her…."

Molly shifted in her chair, unsure of where her ex-fiancé's babbling would lead to. Finally, he continued speaking.

"I imagine the same was occurring with you and Sherlock. So, I guess my point is, this new bloke… If you wear his ring on your finger, will those thoughts disappear?"

Molly looked down at her hand, remembering what it felt like to carry that diamond around for the duration of her relationship with Tom. She remembered the inability to imagine a grand wedding, or a luxurious honeymoon, or Christmas celebrations with him and her family, or their children, running around free.

But she could remember all the times she spent in the lab with Sherlock, or the times he'd join her for ice cream and crap telly, or their adventures solving cases, and babysitting Rosie, and…

Then his face! Those cheeks, those blue eyes, those delicious lips….

The lips. Oh, the feeling of his lips on hers. Just their ghost of a kiss in Scotland, the gentle brush of her lips on his before her mobile rang, changing her life forever…

Tom watched with curious eyes. Finally, Molly realized his attention and met his gaze, her eyes suddenly wet.

"It was nice catching up with you, Tom. I should go." She forced out, quickly grabbing a few coins to leave on the table. Tom watched with a frown.

As she gathered her bag and jacket, Tom rose, keeping his eyes locked on her.

"Molly?"

"Yes?" She asked, her eyes diverted from his curious gaze.

"Don't get yourself entangled in another engagement because you feel like you have to get married. You did it once and you weren't happy. I think you and I both know who your heart wants. That much hasn't changed in a while."

"Thank you, Tom." Was all she managed, before she hurried out of the café.

Tom sighed and collapsed back into his chair, wondering how on Earth Molly and the sociopathic detective still weren't together. But with a glance at his wedding band, he decided he didn't care.

That's not my problem anymore.

Xxx

Molly was unsure how she ended up in Chelsea, especially since she had only been two blocks from her flat when she left Tom. Yet, there she was, standing in a pristine elevator, soft jazz hitting her ears as she was taken to the sixth floor of the building.

What am I doing here?

She stopped in front of his door and knocked, waiting with calm breaths for her boyfriend to open the door. A few moments passed before George appeared in front of her, grinning in surprise.

"Molly! What a surprise! Are you hungry? I'm making pork loin," he announced, quickly ushering her into his flat.

Molly cleared her throat and stood to the side, her eyes looking all over the flat. She took a breath. "I don't eat pork, George."

He made a face. "You don't? Really? Since when?"

"Since I had a pet pig when I was six."

He frowned a bit and nodded. "Right. Of course. I knew that. I'll whip you up something else then."

He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Molly to take in the flat. Her eyes landed on the balcony door.

Sherlock.

She shut her eyes and shook her head. With another shaky breath, she looked over towards the kitchen. "Would you move into my flat?"

The rustling in the kitchen stopped. A moment later, George popped his head out, looking at Molly curiously. "Your flat? Well, Molly, I just assumed you'd move into mine when you were ready."

"Why yours and not mine?"

George scratched at his neck and bit his lip. "Well, I mean, I just figured that…"

"Why did you figure anything?"

He let out a groan and leaned against the wall. "You know how it is, Molly. My place is bigger, in a better area, closer to—"

"Closer to what? Your job? Your friends? What about my job? My friends?"

George cleared his throat and frowned. "Well, it would be temporary. We could always find a new place, better for both of us."

"Right. But in the meantime, why would I have to make the sacrifices? Your place doesn't allow pets. Where would Toby go?"

He frowned and crossed his arms. "Do we have to have this discussion right now, Molly? I know you have a lot going on and I don't want—"

Molly shook her head and held up her hand, telling him to stop. "This needs to be discussed if you're going to propose."

His face turned red. He swallowed. "How did you—"

"I need you answer a question for me. Where would we go on our honeymoon?"

George cleared his throat and thought about it. "Well, I hadn't thought about it too much since we'd have to worry about the wedding first, but I thought maybe to Bali? My boss has a wonderful guest home we could stay in."

Molly shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "And our children? What would we name our children?"

He smiled gently. "For a son, Charles, after my father. And for a daughter, Katherine, after my grandmother."

Molly nodded and looked away. "I asked about our children. You told me what you'd name your children."

George made a face. "I don't understand."

"Well, you just assumed I'd be in agreement, yeah? But maybe I'd want to name a child after losing my dear friend Mary, or after my father, or after my bloody mother who is going to be dead before I ever have a child!" Tears began to stream down her face.

George stared at her, mouth agape, unsure of what he had said. "Molly, I'm sorry if I—"

"What type of cake would we get, hmm? What flavor would I want our wedding cake?" She choked out, ignoring the hot tears running down her cheeks.

George frowned. "I'm sure you'd want something with fruit—"

"Wrong. Chocolate. I get everything chocolate. How could you not have picked that up by now?" She hiccupped and closed her eyes.

"Molly, I—"

She turned and opened her eyes, gazing into his confused emerald orbs. She took another shuttering breath. "What would be my ideal evening? We finish work. We have a date. What would I want to do?"

George frowned and began to gnaw on his lip. "Well… I… We'd go to a nice restaurant. Have dinner. Maybe take my boat out if the weather was nice…"

Molly sniffled and shook her head. "No, George," she began, her voice sad, "I fucking hate boats. And my ideal night would be eating takeaway, watching crappy telly with my boyfriend, just enjoying his presence."

She began to pace, hugging her arms to her chest. "I hate running, and I hate sailing, and I hate your stupid healthy diet. I hate the restaurants we eat at. I hate your friends, and your sexist boss, and the parties you attend, and the marathons you run. I hate how your order for me, and how you know nothing about me, and most of all, I bloody hate football!"

She collapsed onto his sofa, beginning to cry, the day proving too much for her fragile emotions. Between her mother's state, her thoughts on Sherlock, seeing Tom, and now George… It was too much.

George swallowed and walked towards her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. He frowned. "Molly, I know you're stressed out and devastated about your mum's condition, but—"

Molly shook her head and looked up, meeting his concerned gaze. "I can't marry you, George. I'm not the woman for you. I can't be your date to these grand parties, or accompany you on outings on your yacht, or hold a bloody sign at the finish line of every one of your marathons. That's not me."

She rose to her feet and turned away, wiping away some of her tears in the process. "You're not the man for me, not matter how desperately I tried to convince myself that you were."

George's concerned face finally contorted to anger. "This is about your bloody mate, isn't it? Sherlock?" He growled and shook his head, beginning to pace. "I knew I should have put my foot down around him. I knew he was going to cause problems!"

Molly turned back to look at him. "Enough!" She yelled, causing George to stop and face her.

"This has nothing to do with Sherlock! Even if he wasn't a factor, it wouldn't change a thing. You can't make me happy, George. I'm sure you could make ninety-nine percent of women happy, but I am not one of them."

George shook his head and turned away, clearly angry. "I shouldn't have listened to John. I knew that nutter was going to cause problems."

Molly took a deep breath and began to walk to the door. "I can't deal with this. All men are the bloody fucking same! Why doesn't it ever occur to any of you that you're at fault for my unhappiness! Not another fucking bloke. I can't marry you because you know nothing about me. We are nothing alike. You're incredibly selfish, even if you shower me in gifts."

She moved to the door and wiped away the last of her tears, unwilling to meet George in the eye again. "Thank you," she whispered, "Our time together has been enjoyable. You're a good guy George, but I just… I can't be with you. Especially not right now."

With that, she disappeared out of the flat, her head filled with what-ifs for the second time that day.

Xxx

Sherlock stared out the window, his hands gripping his knees, his thoughts all over the place. Mycroft glanced over at his younger brother and sighed.

"What's done is done. There's no need to obsess over it now."

"False," Sherlock shot back, his eyes still locked on the disappearing landscape, "It's only just begun."

Mycroft sighed and nodded. Sherlock leaned back and shut his eyes, allowing the brothers to continue their car ride in silence.

Sentiment. I finally understand Mycroft's suggestion to avoid it.