Part Five: Falling

God, she is going to be late meeting Joanne – yet again. Molly Hooper is pulling on her jacket, simultaneously rifling through her bag for her phone and trying to check her watch when she hears the doors at the end of the corridor swing open. Hurried footsteps, coming towards her.

"Molly! Molly Hooper…!"

Uh-oh.

"Oh, hello. I'm just going out." Sherlock Holmes is cheerfully brisk and business-like; hands in pockets.

"No you're not." Ooh. She does have a soft spot for Dominant Sherlock…however –

"I've got a lunch date."

"Cancel it. You're having lunch with me." Ooh. But –

"What?" She wasn't fooled for a second; particularly since John Watson stood, apologetically next to his friend; and Sherlock had pulled several packets of Quavers from his pockets. Her original lunch plans had included a very tasty and overpriced risotto at Sabatini`s.

"I need your help. It's one of your boyfriends. We're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty."

John seems almost as surprised as Molly: "It's Moriarty?"

"'Course it's Moriarty."

Although they appeared to be marching back towards the laboratory she had just exited, Molly wasn't about to let Sherlock Holmes frog-march all over her last relationship as well.

"Jim wasn't actually my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it." And I`ve kept it simmering for months so you could contact him through my blog – you git.

"Yes, and he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly." He puts his hand on her shoulder as if to steer her physically as well as verbally.

And as the lab doors swing shut and Molly mentally waves goodbye to the risotto whilst simultaneously composing a grovelling text to Joanne; she is only slightly placated to feel a tiny squeeze from the hand on her shoulder. And she manages a little smile.

Xoxoxoxoxox

Molly has been analysing the slide of linseed scrapings for a full twenty minutes. She wishes she could rush these things a bit sometimes. If only there was an App for it.

"Alkaline." She eventually pronounces.

"Thank you, John." He doesn't look up from his own microscope. John Watson is over on the other side of the lab; out of earshot.

"Molly."

" Yes." Absently.

Molly Hooper gets it. Suddenly it`s as clear as day. Molly Hooper listens. And she notices what others do not – just like Sherlock. In matters of the heart, she is a world-class consulting detective. She is loyal and she is accepting. And she understands what people need.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead." Sherlock is still looking at his slide, but his fingers have stopped drumming repetitively on the counter top.

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area." Sherlock Holmes knows this time that he is being rude. He senses she is working up to something and he doesn't want to be – exposed.

"When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see." She swallows. Please don`t dismiss me now. I need you to hear. I can see you.

"I saw him once. He looked sad."

"Molly – "

"You look sad. When you think he can't see you." They both glance across at John Watson, who is looking through some case notes on the opposite side of the lab.

"Are you okay? Don't just say you are, because I know what that means—looking sad when you think no one can see you."

There, she got to say it. What she had been thinking – for weeks . The squeeze on the shoulder told her more than anything that he was ready to hear her.

Sherlock looks into her small, heart-shaped face. She has the `Golden Ratio` - the distance between eyes and mouth are around 35% of her whole face length; the distance between her eyes are around 45% of her face width. A genetically perfect ratio, preferred by potential mates. Her eyes look at him; through him. They are warm; comforting – like a hot, scented bath after being caught in a storm. Her cheeks are slightly pink and her lips slightly parted. And he can suddenly see that she wants nothing but the best for him. Sherlock has always found empathy a slippery and difficult element to include in his life. It is incredibly hard – you must look beyond yourself; beyond your own needs. But, he can see that Molly Hooper has it – in spades. The stress of the last few weeks have been grinding him down and he has fought to stay calm; aloof and clear-headed. To ignore the inner workings of your heart makes you stronger – surely? Then, why doesn't he feel so strong right now?

"You can see me." Because he knows she can. He`s known for quite a while.

"I don't count." And Sherlock is astonished when her words feel like a knife to the heart. Caring is not an advantage.

"What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything I can do—anything you need, anything at all—you can have me." God, Molly, why can`t you be eloquent? Still? "No, I just mean… I mean, if there's anything you need, it's fine."

Sherlock feels he has to regain his position of clear-headed aloofness. He does not have time for the grit upon the lens.

"What could I need from you?"

"Nothing. I don't know. You could probably say thank you, actually."

"Thank you." He looks back at the microscope, but he isn't seeing it. His heart is hammering in his chest.

"I'm just going to go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?" He isn't looking anymore. Internal sigh. "It's okay. I know you don't."

"Well actually, maybe I— " Molly Hooper, I want you to save me. I am so tired. I know where this case is taking me and it isn't anywhere I want to go. I am afraid. Make it stop, Molly Hooper. I need your warm-hearted empathy; I need you to wrap your arms around me and tell me it`s going to be alright. I need your strength…

"I know you don't." And she leaves for the vending machine, letting the heavy doors swing closed behind her.

Xoxoxoxoxoxox

Three days later:

Rushing, rushing – again. Mr Pycroft`s blood work hadn't come back until 6 and then the humidifier had chosen a really bad time to take a hissy fit…`for goodness sake, Molly!` She could hear Sherlock`s voice in her head, telling her off for rambling. That man is living in her head, rent-free, 24/7. Even more so, since she hadn't liked the look of him last time she saw him. There was a man who was – struggling. Could John Watson see it? Sherlock may as well have been carrying a placard saying `I am in crisis`…she felt he was heading for – a fall, of some kind. Trouble was –

"You're wrong, you know." Aah! Heart leaping out of chest. For the love of god – someone needs to put a bell on that man!

"You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you."

He won`t look at her, but she drops her coat, bag, everything – on the floor and goes over to where he stands.

"But you were right. I'm not okay."

Thank God. She feels hot, then cold. Her heart is racing; her mouth dry. Fear.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Molly, I think I'm going to die." He feels hot, then cold. His heart is racing; his mouth dry. Fear.

"What do you need?" Compassion and strength have just kicked fear`s arse into next week.

As she touches his arm, Sherlock turns his head to look at her. His eyes are glistening and his face is set.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am; would you still want to help me?"

"What do you need?"

Sherlock feels his tired heart expand and he closes his eyes, letting the warmth of her humanity wash over him.

"You."

xoxoxoxoxoxox