A/N: freya-e-crema asked, "Hey, would you be able to write a different version of when Sherlock tells Molly that he is not ok. you can choose how it goes down :D" and you all know how much I adore Molly, so I was happy to oblige.
"Molly," Sherlock remarks subduedly, and it takes her by surprise enough to turn 'round and stare at him, blinking only once or twice.
"What is it?" she asks, and the concern is so evident in her tone that she wonders if she is doomed to forever be perfectly transparent, or if there is a cure somewhere to keep her heart from being stitched so messily and bloodily onto her sleeve.
"You were right," Sherlock tells her softly, and is that sincerity real? It must be. "I'm not okay."
Molly didn't think he would ever actually voice it aloud. But here it is, the moment she never thought would come: Sherlock Holmes is opening himself up to her, like an oyster revealing a pearl, and it steals the breath from her lungs.
"W-what is it, Sherlock? What's wrong? A-anything you need, I'm here. Just tell me," she stutters, gripping her bag with a hold that even iron and steel would be envious of. "Tell me why you're not okay."
Sherlock sighs and turns away. "Molly, I know you have loved people. Even me, I'm sure, and this will hurt you to hear, but I can love, Molly, even when I thought I couldn't and never would. But I love. I care for people. I'm not as sociopathic as I originally thought, was originally labeled."
"Sherlock," she whispers, and she takes a step nearer to him. She looks down, unsure, and back up again. He mainly sees his profile, all sleek angles and pale skin contrasting with dark hair, but when he offers her a glance, her heart nearly shatters. "I know… I know it's never been for me, any of it. And— and I can ponder a guess some of the people you care about, and the one person you might… m-might love, really love. So just…" She breathes cautiously, as if the air might slice through her lungs too quickly and chop them cleanly in two, leaving her without breath at all. "Just tell me what you need me to do."
"Molly," he says again, and her name on his tongue is like an apology, "I have to hurt him. I have to hurt everyone in order to save them."
"I don't understand, but I'll help you any way I can," she relays mutedly. She is scared. Scared and worried and nibbling her lip to keep from crying just by looking at Sherlock's face right now, the way he looks, so stone cold and broken, only in this moment.
"You are too generous, Molly," Sherlock states. "Especially with me."
"I don't care," Molly replies swiftly, no doubt in her voice this time. "I-I love you, Sherlock, you're right. And I'd do anything for you because I trust your judgment. You'll do what's right, in the end. I know you will."
Sherlock gives the briefest and saddest of smiles Molly has ever seen. He turns and brings her into his arms. Against her hair, his breath soft outside her ear, he murmurs, "Then this is what I need you to do…"