He felt the presence of her, and his heart felt light.
For so long he felt the heaviness of isolation…and he opened his eyes. There was Molly, her long hair in a cascade on the pillow.
Sherlock smiled and got up from the bed. He pulled his boxers on and got his phone…there was a text from Mycroft.
He sighed.
Just wondering how things went.
It was never "just" with his brother…he went to the kitchen and started coffee. He thought about calling Mycroft…
And thought that he'd better just get it over with.
And he dialed him up.
"Well, brother mine. How are things?"
Sherlock sighed. "Fine."
"Just fine?"
"No."
He heard Mycroft shuffle things. "Shall I guess?"
"Your plan worked."
"Ah, good. You see? A little get away and everything is set to right."
"Yes. And some coaching from John."
Mycroft chuckled. "Dr Watson should serve as a couple's therapist."
"I doubt that he would agree to such a thing," and he sat down on Molly's sofa.
"So she loves you still. Despite everything."
"She does, evidently."
"Shocking."
Sherlock laughed. "It is…well…if there's nothing else…"
"Give Dr Hooper my best," and he hung up.
Sherlock sighed.
"Who was that?"
He turned and saw Molly standing in the doorway. "Good morning."
"Who were you talking to?" she went over to him and sat across.
"My brother."
"Your brother."
He nodded. "Yes. Mycroft?" and he stood. "Coffee?"
"Sherlock…"
"Hm?" he went to the kitchen.
"What's going on? What happened?"
"I don't understand," he prepared the coffee maker.
"Did you get help from Mycroft to come to Derbyshire?"
And he sighed. He didn't think that this would be a problem, but then, he couldn't be sure. Molly was still fragile. "I did."
"What did he do?"
"He…" he closed his eyes, and hoped that this wasn't going to tarnish the progress made. He was desperately in love with her, and he wasn't sure if that her reciprocal feelings were as unwavering as his own, nor if this fact would render her so cross that she would chuck him out. "He knew the The Lock Up's owner."
"The bed and breakfast?"
He nodded and turned toward her. "He sent the advertisement to you, hoping that you'd call. He arranged it so that you wouldn't pay much. And when you made the reservation, I followed."
She stared at him.
…he continued. "…and I occasionally texted John for advice, since I have, quite literally, no experience with this sort of thing."
"You mean…?"
"When I said that I would meet you in a few minutes, I was texting John. And I needed privacy because I needed to think. To be certain that I wasn't reading anything into your behavior."
He watched her swallow. "So this was all orchestrated."
"Well…in a way. In others, no."
"And what ways was it not?"
He went to her and knelt in front of her. "Molly…you must understand. I had no experience, no idea how to properly proceed. And the fact that it was possible that you had stopped loving me was so frightening…" he swallowed and looked down. "I needed to isolate us. I needed to have time with you, unencumbered by outside variables. I needed…" he looked at her once more. "Just you."
"I don't know what to say."
"Are you cross?"
He watched her look at her hands. "No. I suppose not."
"Then we can move past this."
"I dunno, Sherlock. It's always something with you, isn't it? I feel as though I'm always forgiving you."
He sat back and then rocked to his feet. He sighed. She had a point. He heard the beep of the coffee and went to pour them both some. "Molly, I know that I'm an impossible git. I know that it's a miracle that you love me still," and he handed her a cup. "But I did what I did because I was at a loss, and desperate. You wouldn't speak with me."
"Maybe you should have respected me enough to make up my own mind in the time that I needed instead of barging in and forcing me to deal with you."
He cleared his throat. "I was afraid."
"Of?"
"Losing you."
"You didn't have me at the time," and she sipped.
"No…but I was reasonably sure that if I let you, you might fall out of love with me."
"Oh, Sherlock. That's not how this works…"
"Well. Enlighten me," he said, finishing his coffee and turning toward her.
"You cannot choose who you love. You cannot decide one day that you no longer love someone. It's gradual…all of it. The only thing that you can choose is how you love. And that was what I was trying to do. I didn't want to pine over you, or to let you determine our interactions…and though I had, to a reasonable extent, changed much of those things, I had felt so betrayed by you…"
He winced, for it hurt to hear her say that.
"…that I needed to think about the way I dealt with you in a better way. I thought that, before you explained to me the situation, that you were making fun of me, or proving a point or something. And that didn't mean that I had stopped loving you, because that would be impossible," she smiled, then looked down.
"What did it mean, Molly?" he whispered.
"It meant that I needed to love myself."
"Don't you love yourself?"
"No more than you love yourself."
He smirked. "Touche."
"We are more alike than I ever thought."
He touched her cheek…"I love you, Molly Hooper. Please don't ever doubt that."
"And I love you," she held the hand on her cheek. "But maybe, just to keep you on your toes, you should doubt it now and again."
He laughed. "You want me to try to win your heart over and over?"
"Well, despite everything, it was rather fun, being away and seeing things with you…"
"To keep it fresh, next time, Cornwall."
Molly leaned over and kissed him.
That night, Sherlock was playing a tune as Molly prepared dinner. "When will 221B be ready?"
"In about a month," he said over the playing.
And she turned the timer on…then poured some wine and went over to the sofa. Sherlock was looking out of her window, the violin singing sweetly. He finished and set it down, then picked up the wine and sat next to her.
"That was lovely."
"I wrote it," he sipped, sitting back. "While in Derbyshire."
"You wrote that?"
"I did. I began it the night I told you I was in love with you, and I finished it today."
"Equal parts pain…"
"…and…" she blushed.
"Ecstasy," he finished. "Here," he handed her the sheet music.
Its title was, "Molly."