She was not paying attention to the speed limit…and it showed. Molly was whizzing by the countryside, having left London much slower than she would have liked. But, traffic and such prohibited speedy movement.

She felt exhilarated and free…and those feelings begged speed.

…and so she did.

Derbyshire was lovely country, Molly had been there once before while in uni, with her boyfriend at the time…

She thought about that for a moment…

She had met Sherlock just a couple of years out of uni, and hadn't dated anyone in the interim. So much time spent over him…Paul had likely been the last boyfriend untainted by Sherlock. Unclouded.

Molly's brow furrowed and she pressed the gas.

No more.

She would go forward with eyes wide open. She would treat him as indifferently as possible. She would be untethered and unencumbered and…

She sighed and slowed the car slightly. She doubted whether any of this would be possible…she had been in love with him for so very long.

And she felt pathetic in the extreme.

Molly had recognized her feelings when he had left. Fell.

Died.

And she was overcome with a sense of loss…loss of the man whom she loved, the loss of someone who would never return her feelings.

He would never love her, which was why that call hurt so much. Her intention had been to make him see just how difficult it was to say the words he demanded that she say…even though she knew he wouldn't be hurt by them. She was only hurting herself.

Hurting herself.

She was always hurting herself because of this man.

Molly turned into Derbyshire proper ….she had mapped "The Old Lock Up" on her phone, and the assistant started giving directions.

It wasn't long before she saw it…old stone and brick…standing on a corner…it didn't seem like much from the outside.

Molly turned into the what appeared to be a driveway and parked the car. She took out two bags and looked at the place.

It wasn't quite as isolated as she was hoping…rather in the middle of it all…but it certainly appeared to be very charming, and she breathed in deeply. Yes. This was just the thing.

The door was heavy when she opened it, and she walked in…it was noticeably cooler inside, and the place was rather dim. There was a man standing at the front desk, glasses perched at the end of his nose, and he was staring at a computer.

Molly walked over. "Hi," she smiled.

No answer, but he did look up, taking her in from over his glasses.

"So…I'm in the Magistrate's…I spoke to you a couple of days ago?"

"Mm…." and he looked at the computer. "Miss…Hooper?"

"That's me," she cheerily replied. "You're doing renovations, was it?"

"On hiatus."

"Hiatus?"

"The two suites being renovated have a pause in the work."

She nodded. "Oh."

"Everything is in order. Here's the key. We serve breakfast at nine, and you can put in a dinner order by two pm if you aren't having dinner in town."

"Are there lots of choices in town?" she asked, a bit reservedly.

"It's town," he shrugged. "The pub next door can better answer that, I think," and he went back to his computer.

Molly stood there a second, confused about why she was confused, and turned with her bags and key.

The staircase was narrow, and she made her way slowly up to the main room. Molly set one of her bags down and opened the door.

The room was grand, in its own way. Exposed stone and a large bed adorned the place…Molly smiled. It was a bit too much for her, strictly speaking…but, she wasn't about to complain about it. The room was lovely.

"It'll do nicely," and she began to unpack.

Molly had brought her diary and a couple of books for the week…but the thought of writing in her diary was simply unpleasant. She wasn't there yet.

She laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

She hated it when she felt sorry for herself…

…and she was beginning to. Here she was, in one of the most beautiful parts of the country, alone. And depressed.

She couldn't think of one reason not to hate him.

Except that she loved him.

And perhaps that was reason enough.

Molly finally got up and went to the loo, brushed her hair, and decided to go to the pub. It would be nice to have a drink.

She deserved it.

"…and then, he says, 'Well if it's true, say it anyway.' Honestly, isn't that about the worst thing you've heard?" Molly sipped her beer.

"Did you say it?" the keep wiped the bar.

"What?"

"Did you say the words?"

Molly looked at him crookedly. "Well, that's not actually the point."

"So you did. You said 'I love you' to him, because you've been wanting to for years."

"I did say it, but I made him say it first," she took a long draught.

This made him pause. "Oh ya? He said it first? Did you use the word, 'first'?"

"I…" Molly thought. "Yes. I think so."

"Hm," and he took Molly's glass and filled it. "That's interesting."

"Is it?"

He handed it to her and nodded. "Well…it's just that…perhaps he wanted to tell you as well. Why else would he have said it, merely by wanting you to tell him, for no apparent reason?"

Molly considered this. There was no 'why,' she hadn't even considered a 'why'. She had just been so upset about being manipulated that she hadn't thought about the why…"I don't know why he did it, come to think of it…"

"You didn't ask him?"

She closed her eyes, picturing herself in her kitchen. She had said to him…"Please don't do this…just don't do it…" And then…"Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?"

And Sherlock had very deliberately said to not ask why.

She opened her eyes, and they stung. Why had he called her with such a strange request? Why didn't he want her to, as he had said, 'Not ask why…?'

It was all very strange, now that she really thought about it.

"Hello…? You all right?"

She looked up at the keep. "Yes. Fine," and Molly put some money on the bar. "Thank you," and she left.

Molly walked the short distance to the B&B and went directly to her room.

She took out her diary, and thought that she'd write…

"It isn't like he wouldn't know…he must know. I know he knows, and he knows that I know. Why, then, would he do that? It was the most horrific thing he had ever done. It's not as though I had done anything to piss him off. At least, nothing that I know of. I've been a good friend. Better, actually, than most. Because of that thing…that thing that I never admitted out loud until he made me."

She winced. He had utterly ruined the word for her. It was nearly meaningless.

And her eyes stung again.

No…she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't…

…but the tears began to fall. And she hated herself for it.

And she fell asleep.

The morning was bright, which was something.

Bright mornings were always something in England.

She stretched and got up, wrapping her dressing gown around her.

Molly looked out of the window. Perhaps she'd go for a walk that day. She was so near the Peaks…it would be a perfect outing, and something she longed to do, anyway.

She smiled and got dressed. She'd bathe later.

…and Molly remembered that there was to be a breakfast made, which made her smile and her stomach ache. All she had at the pub was some chips.

Not very good chips, at that.

So she made her way downstairs, longing for some coffee and some eggs.

There was a small parlor adjacent to the main room, and she walked in, bright eyed. There were three tables there, but the one by the window was occupied by someone holding the Times in front of their face…

…someone sitting cross legged.

…someone with black dress shoes and black trousers on.

…someone who had a Belstaff coat hanging off the back of the chair.

And she swallowed.

"You shouldn't just stand there gaping, Molly. You know it's me," and he lowered the paper, smiling slightly. "Care to sit?"

Her chin went up. "What are you doing here?" though she thought she knew the answer.

"Well, I've had a time, and I thought a holiday was in order."

"Is that so?" and she crossed her arms in front of her.

"Yes, actually. Mary died to spare my life. I nearly died…true, it was my own doing, but John needed me to do it. And then there's the whole sister thing which sent me reeling. Among other things. So yes. A long weekend was certainly called for," he paused. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I…?" she felt her hands shaking. "You can't be serious."

"Do I look like I'm serious?"

"You look like an arse."

He smiled. "A serious one, I hope."

"Please go away."

"Nope. I'm staying. Sorry," he blithely said, and he began reading the paper again.

"Please, Sherlock. I…I need…" she paused, swallowing. "I need some time. To sort things. And to…just…be away from you."

"Well, we needn't see one another, if we are very careful," he lowered the paper again. "Though I do sincerely hope that, at some point over the next few days, you'd change your mind, seeing as how we are friends."

Molly felt her blood pressure rise, and she went over to him, pulling the chair out across from him…and her anger intensified when she saw the smirk grow. "We are not friends, Sherlock. Friends don't do those things. Friends are nice to one another…"

"Nice," he pulled a face.

"Nice!" her voice was raised. "And considerate and they have fun with one another and they talk about things…" she paused. "Important things. Personal, occasionally. And things…and they go on outings. And laugh…."

"Well, by that estimation, we've done all of those things, save possibly the 'outings' element, which we can rectify today with a walk to the Peaks. I've been, and they are…"

"No! No," she collected herself, looked at her lap and took a deep breath. "We haven't, actually. Yes, we have had some funny times, but fun…? Not really. And you talk, Sherlock. And I listen. And I do things for you. And you expect me to do them. That's not really a friendship."

"Now, Molly…I do think that we've talked more than you are giving us credit for."

"…there is no us…"

"…and we are both here. Why shouldn't we spend some time together?"

She shook her head. "You just don't get it."

"What?"

She looked at him steadily. "Sherlock, right now, I rather despise you."

His eyes went a bit wide, and he blanched. "I…" he swallowed. "Molly…we need to talk."

"Nothing you could say would make me change my mind," she sat back.

He looked out of the window. "Then what if we didn't talk. We just…went to see the Peaks?"

"And not say anything to one another?" she smiled.

"That's right. I won't say a word."

"That sounds stupid."

He looked at her. "It's just as stupid for two people who have known one another for years to be the only guests in a B&B and not spend any time together."

"Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you here?"

"Because I am, and I think we should leave it at that for now," he sipped his coffee.

"Did you know I was here?"

He looked at her pointedly. "Yes."

"So you followed me."

"In a way."

"And what way is that?"

"I, too, needed a break, Molly. And as I knew you'd be here, and since you refused to speak to me a few days ago, I thought that this would be a way to…" he paused. "To confront what happened."

She shook her head. "I really hate you sometimes, you know," she sighed. "What if I don't want to talk about it? Does that matter at all?"

"Not really. But we needn't discuss it now. We can wait…I'm here until Thursday. When is your time up?"

She rolled her eyes, "Thursday," she muttered.

"Excellent. Plenty of time."

"I'm not walking with you today," and she stood.

"All right. If you insist. I'll be here when you return," and he went back to his paper.

And she was rather taken aback by how accommodating he had just been, but didn't press it and left.

How absolutely infuriating! To think, he followed her there and now he's ruined any chance she had of objectively making sense of that phone call. And indeed, their entire relationship.

She could leave and find another place…

…but no. That would make him win, again. And she'd never find a spot like that at that price.

She really wanted to punch him.

Molly got into the rental and drove to the park.

She wandered for what seemed hours…they were lovely, the Peaks, but she was very distracted and wasn't able to enjoy them fully.

…yet another thing he had ruined.

She should start a tally.

Molly went back to the car in a sour mood, slightly because she was pissed at Sherlock, more because she hadn't eaten anything.

…he had also ruined her breakfast.

She sped back to the B&B and got out, deciding to look for a place to eat. She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked around.

Why did he come? Surely there were other things that were higher on his to do list than speaking to her. More important things.

People.

She hadn't mattered to him except when he needed something…

Well, he did tell her that she mattered the most. That one time. Because she had helped him. And she counted. He had said that, too.

But perhaps he was just placating her. He was certainly capable of that.

There was a small market outside, with people buying produce. Molly meandered over and took an apple. She smiled at the lady as she payed and continued to walk along.

She headed back to the B&B and walked into the empty parlor. There was a peat fire going, and the place was filled with the scent. It wasn't unpleasant. Her home growing up had a peat fire, and it made her reminisce.

She sat and bit into the apple.

"Peat is an unusual smell to most people."

She sighed.

"Though many here in the UK are accustomed to it."

She watched as he sat across from her.

"You seem as though you have experience with it."

"Do I? How?"

"You were drawn to it."

She didn't ask how he knew that.

"How were the Peaks?" Sherlock sat back, looking at her steadily.

"Fine. I think."

"You went…"

"I'm distracted."

He nodded, and looked at his lap. "Would you care to have dinner with me later? I can place an order for us…"

"You want to have dinner with me."

"Well, you need to eat, Molly," he looked at her and smiled.

She looked at the fire, ignoring his gaze as best she could. "We aren't talking about it."

"All right," though he sounded disappointed.

And her back went up. "We will discuss it on my terms, not yours. And I'm not ready."

He nodded.

"Then I'll have dinner with you," and she stood and left.

And she went to draw the bath. It would be lovely to sit in the warm water and relax…

…and to tell herself she wouldn't think about Sherlock Holmes.