Molly watched as seamlessly strung together emotions flitted upon Sherlock's distinctive features. In that moment she saw the conflicting sentiments clearly branding his usual high and mighty face. She tried telling herself that there was no point in finding out anything about any of her supposed friends; they could all lie to her quite convincingly if they wished to. Quietly she spoke:
"Do you promise not to lie to me?"
Sherlock stared at the young woman, watching the pleading sadness in her eyes encompass the love that had once resided there. What if she never remembered him, or worse, what if she did? Sherlock had a feeling that Molly Hooper wouldn't be so forgiving of his indiscretions the second time round, despite his conflicted feelings, Sherlock thought about the prospect of a life devoid of the pathologist and formed a response:
"Molly, I wish I could say I was a good man that I worked only for the protection of others. I'm afraid to say that I used you, and I had no right to. I realise now more than ever that you cannot place your faith in me ever again. But I vow Molly, that every word that will form in my intolerable brain shall be nothing but the truth."
Molly Hooper listened to Sherlock Holmes' speech with a silent, judging reverie. Somewhere deep in her soul she felt a tug at her conscience, a nagging doubt that persisted about the man, should she trust him. Suddenly Molly realised that she had little option but to trust him, after all, who else was there?
The supposed sociopath regarded the pathologist with an almost accusatory stare, convinced that she would turn him away without a second thought; he steeled his emotions to suffer the brunt of the rejection.
"I suppose I don't have much option but to believe you then, do I Sherlock?"
Had Sherlock Holmes had a heart the pathologists cool demeanour would have frozen it, where was the kindly words, the insecurity, the love. Sherlock had a feeling a lot more of Molly Hooper's personality had been altered than the doctor's believed. He watched her turn her pretty face away once more to the window, almost in defeat, Sherlock knew, they were running out of time to bring Molly back.
No one understood Molly Hooper, no one ever had; the looked with scorn upon the man that was meant to help her. When she saw his swirling eyes, they were not the beautiful orbs that she had fallen in love with; they were grey and stony, as cold as the icy winds of her seaside home. She saw no empathy or emotion within those eyes, and she seriously doubted that she ever would. So it was with a cold stare she regarded the great detective, after all, it wasn't as if he had a heart to feel it.
Sherlock sighed as he watched the once warm pathologist turn away from him and felt the glacial coldness radiating from her person. A cold, icy grip emanated from her soul, for once in his life Sherlock Holmes was scared, what if she wasn't the same? He had denied his feelings for her for years, believing her a distraction and an inconvenience. But he had never considered his own motto: every mind must have a distraction to detract from the boredom of life, after all, what is brilliance without an audience?