another post-TLD and pre-TFP one-shot. Sherlock and Molly have a heart-to-heart.

Based on the following prompts:

#38: things you said while holding my hand

#8: things you said while you were crying

#9: things you said while I was crying

"Alright, I'm here and I brought movies and snacks," Molly announced excitedly, slipping off her gloves as she entered 221B. Sherlock sat in his chair still unshaven and lost in thought. She noticed this and though she would normally let him be, this wasn't a time for him to be lost in his head. "Sherlock." Concern laced her tone as she brushed her fingers against his shoulder.

"What? Hmm, Molly. Here to babysit me again?" Sherlock asked with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm not babysitting," Molly insisted. She softened her tone then. "I'm here because I care about you."

"Will caring make me feel better?" Sherlock retorted.

"Yes, actually, it will," Molly told him. "If I didn't care, I wouldn't be here to help make you feel better."

"Caring is not an advantage," he muttered.

"Now, you and I both know that's not true; it's just something you say to protect yourself from getting your heart broken," Molly deduced.

"What good does it do if I already feel like it's broken," Sherlock's voice cracked.

"Tell me what's wrong," Molly said, placing her hand on the arm of his chair.

"Do you hate me?" he asked, Molly feeling like there was a blow to her heart. Does he really think that?

"No, of course not, why would you think that?" she questioned. To her surprise, Sherlock laid his hand on top of hers, tracing patterns with his thumb.

"I thought, maybe, you blamed me for Mary's death too," Sherlock explained. "John already told me I didn't kill her but I feel so guilty. The thought that you might hate me for it hurts. My chest hurts, Molly."

"I never blamed you, Sherlock. It killed me to turn you away when you offered to help with Rosie," Molly admitted. "Mary chose to save you."

"What about nearly killing myself with drugs? You don't hate me for that?" Sherlock asked, insistent that Molly had to hate him for something.

"No, never; I was worried and terrified of losing you but I didn't hate you. I don't hate you at all," Molly told him softly.

"How do you not hate me?" Sherlock snapped. She knew he wasn't angry with her but with himself and that he felt he deserved her hatred. "Doesn't it hurt you like hell to keep putting your faith in me? To not ever give up on the unworthy man before you?" Molly had never cried in his presence but she could not hold it back this time. Her heart ached for him. She kneeled down next to his chair, her hand still in his grasp.

"Of course it hurts, Sherlock," Molly cried.

"Then why are you still trying?" he inquired, his tone softer. A tear slipped from his eyes.

"Because some things are worth fighting for," Molly smiled through her tears. "You are worth fighting for, Sherlock Holmes." She lifted her free hand to wipe away the tears that rolled down his cheeks. In a moment of bravery, Molly leaned forward to kiss his cheek, taking him by surprise, though he did not pull back but closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

"You allow yourself to care and yet you have a strength that is never diminished," Sherlock told her. "If anything, it strengthens you to care and get hurt because somehow, you come out stronger. I don't understand it but I admire you for it, Molly Hooper."

"Wow, Sherlock, that really means a lot to me," Molly told him. "Thank you." She stood up and laced her fingers through his. "Now, come on and pick a movie." She gestured for him to stand up and follow her to the sofa so they could sit together.

"Did you happen to bring any murder documentaries?" Sherlock asked with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"Yes, I did," Molly confirmed with a playful roll of her eyes. "And I baked ginger nuts." She pulled the tupperware filled with Sherlock's favorite biscuits out of her bag.

"You know me so well," he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you."

"Anything for my favorite consulting detective," Molly replied, inserting the disc into the DVD player. She plopped down on the sofa next to him and reached for a biscuit only to brush her hand against his.

"Here," Sherlock smirked, handing her a biscuit. She smiled with a silent thank you on her lips. They soon got lost in the documentary, debating with each other and playing deductions as the mystery unraveled further, unknowingly holding hands the entire time.