So many things were going through her mind…none of which made much sense. Her heart was whispering that he had been telling her the truth in the garden, but her heart had failed her so many times that she couldn't reconcile that particular thought.

But here Molly was, at nearly four in the morning, and she was waiting for Sherlock Holmes to explain himself.

Why he had hurt her. Why he was there…why…?

He sat forward and folded his hands. "Where had I stopped at the restaurant?"

"With your sister?" she replied.

He nodded.

"Ah…she murdered your best friend."

"Victor Trevor," he said to no one.

…and Molly didn't respond.

Sherlock's head fell and he ran his hands through his hair. "She murdered him, and because I was unable to come to terms with that, I changed my memories. In my mind, Victor was my dog I never had, Redbeard," he looked out of the window. "I couldn't deal with reality. I became addicted to heroin, and…" he swallowed. "And I kept away from people, because I never stopped understanding that for me to grow close with someone meant that their lives were in danger."

She was emerging from a strange place as she heard his voice…what exactly was he saying…? He was avoiding personal relationships…? Molly swallowed.

He sat back and looked at her. "Molly…that day…just over a week ago…when I called you…Euros had John, Mycroft and I in the insane asylum she had been in, and had taken it over. She was having us…" he paused. "Me…solving puzzles. She had murdered four people, convinced another person to commit suicide…" he shook his head.

"Euros?" she swallowed.

"My sister," he replied. "Molly…" he whispered. "She told me that she was going to blow your flat up if I didn't get you to say…to say…"

She paled. "I love you…" she replied, and closed her eyes. And it all made sense now. The phone call. His desperation. The way he frequently had changed his tone…everything. And her imagination had really gotten the better of her…And she wanted to leave. She didn't want to hear anymore…"Stop…" she said.

"What?"

"Please…just stop. I can't listen to any more of this. I understand. You were trying to save my life. And you know that you hurt me, so you're here to make it up. I understand…" she ended softly.

"No, that's only a very small part of it," he said.

"Well, I get it now," she went to stand.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving, Sherlock. I'm tired."

He stood with her. "Sit. You haven't heard all of it…"

"I'm not a dog," she crossed her arms. "You can't just command me to do something, and if I want to leave…"

"You can't," he reached for her. "Please…just give me a few more minutes. Please."

She looked at his face, desperation etched in his features. Molly nodded and sat, not looking at him. She was tired of this conversation and it was four in the morning…she didn't think it would be going anywhere.

He sighed and sat across from her once more. "I understand why you would think that. And I thought that at first, too. I thought that I was saving your life. But there was never any explosives, Molly. And I…you…I said those words. And I meant them."

Her eyes snapped to his. "What?"

"I meant them. I meant it. I love you," he choked a bit. "Do you…?" he paused. "What are you thinking?"

Her mind was blank. She couldn't think. "I'm tired."

"That's all you have to say?"

"I…" she thought that she should say something. "I…" but she couldn't think what.

"Stay with me, Molly," he reached over and took her hand. "Just to sleep…I'm so tired…and even if you despise me in the morning, I'll risk it…I've longed…" he swallowed. "And it's only sleep…I promise."

She looked at the bed and then back at him. She nodded…mostly because she couldn't think…she was delirious. And she walked over to the bed and laid down, her back facing the side where Sherlock had space. She heard him rustling and then felt the bed dip. She felt her eyes drooping…but her heart was pounding. "Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Did you say that you loved me?"

"I did."

"Ok," and she pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, and fell asleep.

…and she woke.

There was a dull light feathering through the curtains. She was momentarily confused…but the cool air reminded her…

And she turned over.

He was still sleeping…

This wasn't how she would have imagined waking up next to Sherlock Holmes. She had envisioned intertwined limbs and her face on his chest.

Instead, she was fully clothed, and he had a blanket wrapped tightly around him… and there was a considerable distance between them.

And he had told her that he loved her…but…her brow furrowed…how was that possible? How could he love her? He was Sherlock…he didn't get involved.

He loved John, though. That much was certain.

And Mrs Hudson. She believed that he loved her…rather like another mother.

She looked at him again and started to sit up. He must have meant as a friend. That was it. And she could almost believe it.

Almost.

She knew…believed beyond a doubt that he cared about her. He had proved that countless times.

But to love her…even as a friend…that was a bit more difficult to believe.

She got up and went to the window, looking out into the waking morning…she pulled her dressing gown close…the curtains were blowing softly in the breeze.

She heard movement behind her…and she turned. Sherlock was looking at her, sitting up. He had no shirt on…she had assumed he had gone to bed clothed. Molly didn't speak, but she went to the loo and brushed her teeth with his toothbrush. It felt oddly intimate.

When she went back in the room Sherlock was leaning against the headboard, but other than that, he hadn't moved. He was staring at his hands, folded on his lap.

Molly slowly walked back around the bed, wrapping her dressing gown close, and sat at the table facing him.

"I assume that you despise me now," he said.

She swallowed, and looked at the floor. "I don't really know what to say."

"I can think of a few things."

Molly looked at him. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this to me? Why did you ask me to stay with you?" she felt a lump rise in her throat. "I should have left. I should have never allowed this…"

"Were you paying attention at all last night? Or rather, this morning?"

"Yes."

"Then that should answer your question."

"It isn't possible," she choked.

"What do you mean?"

"What you said. It's simply not possible. I don't believe it."

He sighed and rubbed his face. "Molly…"

"Don't placate me, Sherlock Holmes. I've lived for years… Years with this. And now…now you decide out of nowhere that you love me? Love me how? We are close friends, and that took ages…"

"And I just realized the depth of my feeling," he countered, his voice slightly elevated.

"What?" she whispered. "What do you mean?"

"You aren't this thick. I am speaking in plain enough terms."

"And now you insult me. Not a great response."

He sighed and looked out of the window. "I don't know how else to explain. I love you. I wasn't lying when I said it on the phone."

She stared at him.

He looked back at her. "Molly?" she watched as his eyebrows went up his forehead.

"That's what this is? You're here to tell me that you weren't lying," her voice was raised slightly.

"That's…right?" he sounded nervous, and was still in the bed.

Molly swallowed and shook her head…looked out of the window. Tears started to slide down her face. "This isn't right. It's not."

She heard him behind her…"It's the only thing that is."

"I don't understand."

"I left Sherrinford without anything but a sister I didn't know, a best friend, a brother incapable of affection…and the knowledge that I loved you. That was all. And I had hurt you, countless times. I needed to speak to you to make it right…"

She turned, and saw him there, in strange pajama pants and no shirt. "How do you mean?"

"How do I mean what?"

"How do you love me?"

"I…" his brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"I don't know how to explain it…as in, a friend? Better than John? Did you tell John that you loved him?"

He smiled slightly. "Different from John."

"Different," she replied.

He took a step toward her. "Think, Molly. I kissed you last night in the garden. Would I have kissed John like that?"

Her eyebrows went up. "Some may think that you would," she smiled slightly.

"Do you?"

She shrugged…"Dunno."

He rolled his eyes and looked at her. "No. I wouldn't have done."

"So…" she blanched.

"Yes," he took another step.

"Oh my god."

"Yes," he paused. "But…not really," he added, smirking.

She shook her head and swallowed. "You love me…"

"Yes," he stopped.

"As in…you are in love with me?" she whispered.

He nodded.

She backed away and brought her hands to her mouth. Molly shook her head and turned toward the window, crying.

"What are you thinking? I'm finding it almost impossible to read you now."

"Really?" her reply was somewhat sarcastic. "Now it's difficult to read me?" she wiped her cheeks and turned again toward him.

"I don't know why…there's a block where you're concerned. Only certain things register."

Many things were going through her head at the same time…she should run. She should kiss him. She should slap him. "I'm thinking that I should leave."

"Leave?" his voice was low…it almost cracked, and he took a step toward her…he was directly across from her now. "I was right. You despise me."

"No, Sherlock, I don't despise you. But I…I'm so confused… I think I need some time to think about this. You've had time…" she accused.

He held his arms, eyes wide and nodded. "I have," he paused. "Do you want me to leave Derbyshire?"

She looked at him… he was so lost. So desperate. She had never seen him look…no. When he was about to jump. To fall…he looked like he did in front of her then. "No," she replied with a faint smile. "But I'm going to my room now."

He nodded.

"You can't come with me."

He nodded again. "What will you do today?"

"Not sure," her gaze fell.

"Can I…can we take a walk? Or a drive?"

Molly shrugged. "I guess so. But in a few hours."

Sherlock nodded, then stepped aside so that she could pass. "I'll come and get you round about eleven…?"

"Ok," and she walked passed him, out of the room, and up the stairs.

…she fell asleep once more before her head hit the pillow.

Molly woke and felt strange. She felt as though things were topsy turvy…things were amiss. Her reality had been upended…her understanding of her life was awry.

She got up and showered, trying desperately not to think about anything save cleaning herself.

She was mildly successful in that endeavor.

She got dressed and looked in the mirror.

Molly closed her eyes…everything she had dreamed of was happening. He was in love with her. Something that she never dreamed possible was reality.

Why was she so hesitant?

She opened her eyes…because she couldn't believe it. When something is so dear, yet so impossible, one makes oneself give it up. To have it handed over is unsettling.

And that was what she was. Unsettled. She had given it up. Even though she had thought that she had done when she accepted Tom's proposal, she hadn't really. As soon as Sherlock came back she realized she hadn't gotten over him.

And she never would, because she was in love with him.

But that didn't mean that she needed to pine away, it merely meant that she would be alone. And that was how she coped.

Molly went back into the bedroom and looked at her phone…ten am.

She checked her messages and emails…nothing, really.

And she sat on the edge of the bed. She had agreed to spend time with him that day, mostly to erase that look from his face. She couldn't stand to look at him like that.

What on earth would she say to him? She was mentally tried…

Maybe she wouldn't say anything, and make him talk…

…but that was what she always did.

She went downstairs and had some breakfast…not having eaten much dinner, she was hungry. No Sherlock, which was fine.

Molly went back upstairs and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her heart was pounding…and she thought of how he kissed her in the garden. There was much passion, something she hadn't even thought he was capable of.

And she turned on her side. Maybe she was being silly.

No. She had spent so much time in quiet desperation, it would take time to get out of it. If even a little.

There was a soft knock at the door, and she sat up quickly, took a pillow, held it against her, as she swallowed nervously. "Come in," she called, and hated that she was nervous.

The door opened slowly, and Sherlock came in. He smiled at her. "I'm a bit early."

"Are you? I hadn't noticed the time."

"It's before eleven."

"I gathered," she smiled.

And this seemed to lighten him, he returned her smile. "Where would you like to go?"

Molly shrugged. "Dunno."

"Well, we could take a drive south to Coventry. It's about an hour and a half drive."

"What's in Coventry?" she asked.

"There is a legend surrounding the place. I can tell you on the way if you like," he smiled very softly.

She considered this. It was a day trip, to be sure. Three hours in the car with Sherlock…Molly looked down and played with the pillow case.

"Or not…" he said.

"No it's fine. Let's do it," and she stood and got a sweater and her bag.

"Excellent," he stood aside as she passed. "Your car or mine?"

"Mine," she said without thinking. If she was driving, the pressure to speak would be on him. They left the Old Lock Up and Molly took her keys out. They got into the car. "Co pilot?" she smiled as she turned the car on.

"Absolutely…though I am accustomed to having a co pilot, it'll be a refreshing change," and he looked out of the window as Molly pulled out of the lot.