WARNING: super angsty

songs I suggest listening to while (whilst) reading aka my playlist:

-Someone Wake Me Up by The Veronicas

-Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran

-Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran

"Maybe this just isn't right for us," Molly mumbled.

"But I want it to be," Sherlock's voice broke.

"I know; so do I, but I don't want things to get so bad that it ruins our friendship," Molly spoke softly, holding his hand in hers.

"I wish you wouldn't say such things," Sherlock said, his eyes downcast. Another moment passed before he spoke up again. "So this is it then?"

"Yea," Molly sniffed, "I guess it is." They embraced, holding each other for what felt like hours.

"I miss you already," Sherlock murmured against her hair.

"We'll still be friends, Sherlock, but I know what you mean. I'll always love you, you know that?" Molly asked, tears slipping from her eyes.

"And I you, Molly Hooper," he replied, kissing the top of her head. She looked up at him. "Sorry, force of habit."

"It's fine," Molly told him. "I gotta get to work. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Are you?" he questioned with concern. Molly shook her head. "Then you know my answer."

Molly left 221B but not without shooting a text to John.

Might be a danger night; please keep an eye on him, I'm headed to work. MH

What happened? JW

It's over. MH

Gosh, Molly, I'm sorry. JW

Me too. MH

Sherlock stood at the window in the sitting room, gliding his bow across the Stradivarius. Each note played with agonizing pain. His chest was constricted and it quite literally felt as if his heart was truly shattered like a piece of glass. This was exactly why he always lived his life with his emotions closed off. He did not want to feel this pain. Though Molly would always be his friend, he wanted more than that now that he had a taste of it for the past four months. It was a miracle that they had healed together after the Sherrinford incident but this? This was pure torment.

"Sherlock?" John called out, Rosie in his arms. No response, just the melody of the consulting detective's heartbreak ringing through the flat. He sighed and sat down in his usual chair awaiting any kind of response. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Sherlock said, his voice brittle. "Damn chemical defect."

"What happened exactly?" John asked.

"We had been having a few"—he paused to find the right word—"domestics lately."

"Okay, so that's normal. Arguing is healthy in a relationship, Sherlock, really it is," John insisted.

"I'm sure it's not healthy to have them three times a day," Sherlock retorted.

"Oh, well, no that is a bit not good," John replied. "Did either of you ever talk any of them out?"

"We did today, coming to the mutual conclusion that we're not the right fit for one another," Sherlock admitted, holding back his tears. "We're still friends though."

"God, Sherlock, I'm sorry," John told him.

"Me too," he responded solemnly.

Molly kept herself distracted with autopsies at work until she kept hearing Sherlock's voice in her head making deductions about the cause of death. The pain in her chest eventually caused her to collapse on the ground sobbing so loudly, Mike Stamford walked in to check on her.

"Hey, Molly, what's wrong?" he asked her. "Tough autopsy?"

"No, I—I'm fine, just give me a moment," Molly assured him, wiping the tears away.

"You don't look fine," Mike remarked with sympathy. "Look, just finish this one up and you can go home. I'm not one for prying so whatever happened, I'm truly sorry. It's not good to be in a state like this while doing any kind of work." He hugged her before leaving her to the cadaver before her.

Going home early wasn't really helpful, as there were still traces of him everywhere whether it was physically or just in her memory. He still had spare clothes in her dresser and an extra Belstaff hanging on her coat rack. A candid photo of them taken by Lestrade was displayed on the refrigerator. They had had a booth in front of the window at Speedy's. Lestrade was on his way to meet Sherlock about a case when he spotted them. He had snapped the photo as they were picking up chips from their shared platter. They were leaning forward towards each other and laughing with one another. It was Molly's favourite photo of them.

She wasn't hungry so she resigned herself to her bed, too exhausted to change into pajamas. Out of habit, she turned on her side to throw an arm around Sherlock but realized he wasn't there. With a sigh of defeat, she pulled his pillow to her chest. The scent of him still lingered in the fabric and she breathed it in, as it calmed her. Molly cried herself to sleep that night. Little did she know, Sherlock was doing the same.

The next day, Mycroft had showed up at 221B. Needless to say, Sherlock was not happy to have to entertain him on top of everything that had been happening.

"What did I tell you, brother mine?" Mycroft asked haughtily.

"Don't," Sherlock growled.

"Touchy," the eldest Holmes remarked. "I told you that caring is a disadvantage. All lives end, all hearts are broken. Was it really worth this mess?"

"Yes!" Sherlock shouted. "Molly Hooper is more than worth it! She is worth fighting for, regardless of how much she broke my heart."

"Just as I thought; well done, Sherlock," Mycroft smiled. He actually smiled. Sherlock scrunched his face in confusion.

"What did you just say?" the consulting detective asked.

"You heard me right, brother mine. Stop moping and do something about this situation," Mycroft insisted.

"Why are you helping me?" Sherlock inquired.

"Despite what you may think, I am not heartless, though I like to think of myself as such. I had never seen you happier than when you were with her. Plus, I'm quite fond of Miss Hooper. She's an excellent match for you," Mycroft explained.

"You just like the fact she bakes you fairy cakes," Sherlock teased.

"An added plus," Mycroft remarked.

When the eldest Holmes left the flat, Sherlock texted John.

Don't come over tonight. SH

Now, Sherlock, whatever you're going to do, don't do it. JW

I'm not relapsing, John. I'm on a case; the most important one of my life. SH

What case? JW

The case of Molly Hooper. SH

Two weeks had come and gone since they broke up. Molly hadn't seen him since. She worried constantly of course. Walking into the lab early Friday morning, she discovered a small bouquet of bright yellow daisies on her desk. She lifted open the small card attached to it.

Hope this makes you smile. –William

Molly's breath caught in her throat. Sherlock rarely used his first name. It took her back to the first time she had called him by that name. They had been making love.

Sherlock looked at her in surprise.

"Sorry, it just… slipped," Molly explained. "I know you don't like it." Sherlock had cut her off with a warm kiss.

"I like how it sounds when you say it," he whispered against her lips before kissing her deeply.

She snapped back to reality. From that night on, she was the only one aside from his parents who was allowed to call him by that name. The flowers and the memory did indeed make her smile. Work wasn't so hard that day.

When she arrived home that evening, there was a note lying on the kitchen counter next to the anatomical heart locket he had given her for her birthday a little over a month ago. She picked up the note written in his hand.

Dearest Molly,

A cab will arrive in an hour to bring you home to Baker Street. Please wear the necklace. I will see you soon.

Yours truly,

William S.S. Holmes

Molly smiled to herself. She hopped in the shower and dressed herself in her favorite pair of jeans and a dusty rose coloured, long sleeve, scoop neck blouse. She left her hair down, cascading over her shoulders. Hooking the locket around her neck, the sound of a cab pulling up outside her flat caught her attention. The pathologist laughed to herself wondering what the hell she was doing, but she didn't care. This was the happiest she had felt in a while and she wasn't about to miss out on a second chance.

Sherlock paced nervously in front of the windows. He felt he might be in over his head. What if she doesn't come, he thought. He noticed the cab pull up and he practically flew to the door awaiting the moment to let her in. He was dressed in his usual attire with the aubergine button up that she loved him in. If it wasn't for her minuscule knock on the door, he would've gotten lost in his mind palace.

Opening the door to reveal none other than Molly Hooper with a slight blush coloring her cheeks, it took all of his strength to not swoop down to capture her lips. He wanted to badly but maintained his composure…for the most part.

"You came," he breathed out in surprise, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I did," Molly smiled. "Thank you for the flowers. They're lovely."

"It was nothing," Sherlock insisted. She walked in hesitantly and he slipped off her coat. "You look beautiful." He reached out to take her hand but she backed away a couple of steps.

"Sherlock, what's all this about?" Molly asked nervously.

"Healing," Sherlock replied simply.

"I don't understand," she stated.

"You once told me that love is healing and I cannot dispute your statement. Molly, we had a bout of heated rows but we never really talked about why they happened or how to fix them," Sherlock explained. "I want to fix us." His voice cracked as he said those five words.

"Oh, Sherlock," Molly said softly, stepping towards him. She caressed his cheek, wiping away the tear that fell from his eyelashes. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," he whispered. In a moment of bravery, letting go of all their fears, they gently brushed their lips together. They savored the feeling they had missed so much.

"I'm sorry I broke your heart, Sherlock," Molly cried.

"It was an honor to have my heart broken by you, Molly Hooper," Sherlock gave a small smile. "Please don't cry. I did get takeout for us." Molly couldn't help but let out a laugh. God, he missed that sound. Taking her hand, he led her to the kitchen table where, instead of his usual experiments, there was a tablecloth covering it with fish and chips laid out on actual dishes. A candle was lit and set in the middle of the table.

"Sherlock, this is so sweet of you," Molly told him, her voice soft.

"I thought you'd like it," he leaned down to whisper in her ear. She closed her eyes at the comforting sound of his baritone voice, his breath against her neck.

After they finished their dinner, they were sitting on the sofa in companionable silence; Molly was curled up against his side. He was running his fingers through her long hair.

"Do you still love me?" Sherlock asked.

"I never stopped," Molly smiled, looking up at him. She pushed herself up a bit so that she could press her lips to the side of his neck. This caused him to squeeze her a bit tighter.

"Can I keep you?" he murmured.

"As long as I get to keep you, love," Molly told him. She stood up then, offering her hand to him. "Come on, we can talk things out tomorrow. I think some reconciliation is needed." He took her hand and she walked backwards towards his bedroom until he decided to scoop her up in his arms. She locked her arms around his neck as he playfully spun her around, eliciting a lighthearted giggle from her lips.

"I love you," he told her, firmly kissing her.

"Mm," she hummed as their lips touched. When they broke away, Molly looked up into his eyes as he leaned his forehead against hers. "I love you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes." With a smile, he carried her the rest of the way to the bedroom.

Later that night, after a make-up session or two, Sherlock held Molly in his arms, his lips pressed against her hair.

"Sherlock?" she called out in the dark.

"Hmm?" he answered.

"You're the love of my life," Molly said breathlessly, nuzzling her dainty nose against his neck.

"And you're mine," he whispered, holding her a bit tighter. They fell asleep tangled together, lost in the bliss of each other's presence that had been missed so much.

Author's Note: I know, super angsty, I'm sorry but this story was an itch I needed to scratch. I've had this idea for over a month and I feel so much better now that it's out of my system.