A/N - Wow, thankyou all for your wonderful reviews - Ssmill, magicstrikes, almightyswot, daisherz365, IAmSherlocked123, louisethelibrarian, Lilelvis, MadAsAHatterJayy, TheDayItRayne's, Rose Detyler, Amalia Kensington, friend2friend1 and patemalah21. You are wonderful people! Here comes the angst as promised, more to follow. Read and review, enjoy!

With thanks to my beta again, TruffleHead, for working her magic on my story!

Disclaimer - After 5 chapters, I still don't own Sherlock.

Sherlock had been stunned into silence exactly twice in all his thirty-three years, and both times by this very same Ms Molly Hooper. The first time was when she correctly deduced him just a day before his confrontation with Moriarty. Sherlock had retreated to his room for hours after that conversation, trying to figure out how Molly had done it-how on earth she could have read his emotions when his face had remained void of feeling. On that day, Molly had brought down his barriers and had allowed a miniscule amount of emotion to trickle out before Sherlock could stop it. That ordeal had been confusing for both of them, and Sherlock was still trying to pin down the reason for the small pathologists influence over him.

The second time was happening now. Molly was standing before him with those wide doe eyes that he had seen so often; yet now, they were out of disbelief- not admiration. Molly had changed physically, opting for a more mature sense of fashion, but Sherlock could not tell if she had really changed, inside. He hoped not; although why he hoped, he did not know.

The silence in the office was deafening; neither Molly nor Sherlock dared to open their mouths. Sherlock for fear of what might come out, and Molly out of pure shock. It was John who eventually broke the silence.

"Molly, is it really you?" He asked, more out of his need to break the silence than anything else.

"Of course it is her." Sherlock snapped, not bothering to tear his eyes away from Molly's small form.

"Hi, John." Molly spoke quietly, choosing her words carefully in a vain attempt to stop Sherlock from deducing too much. She wasn't sure why she was so shocked to see them. Ever since Sherlock's resurrection she had been expecting a visit, or a phone call at least. She half expected the police to show up at her door and question her about her part in his death; she even prepared what she would tell them. No-one had called though; she hadn't heard from any of them. Not one of them bothered about her.

Now that Sherlock stood before her, all curly hair and swishy coat, she felt sick. Seeing him here reminded her of her other life, in London. Yes, she missed being a pathologist, but she hadn't missed these feelings.

All of a sudden, she felt a rush of emotions she hadn't felt in a long time. She was confused and angry and sad all at the same time. A whirlwind of raging emotions stirred inside her, each one fighting for dominance. It was all Sherlock's fault. He did this to her every time.

"Molly, are you okay?" Asked John.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm fine; sorry, what were you saying?" Molly stuttered as she played with the hem of her jumper, twiddling it between her fingers nervously.

"I was just saying that it's good to see you." John said with a grin that looked entirely genuine. Molly almost felt bad for leaving John after Sherlock's death; he must have gone through hell. Still, that's what she moved to avoid and now Sherlock bloody Holmes was bringing it all back, the feelings she had buried not so long ago all brought back to the surface.

"No, what were you saying before that?" She quipped. She needed them to leave, or they were going to ruin everything she had worked so hard to establish.

"Oh, well, we're here on a case, and we were told you could get us a list of employees. Sherlock thinks he can tell who the culprits are by looking at their names." John replied, chancing a look at Sherlock, only to see the detective staring pointedly at the floor.

Molly quickly moved around to her desk and brought up a list of employees on her computer. She was happy to have something to do, even if her fingers were shaking. "Yes, I can get you that. It'll have to print it off downstairs though, the printers in this place never work right, so we have to send all print outs down to the main reception or they will print with stupid ink lines across them. I'll, just...emm, nip down and get them for you once they're printed."

Molly was rambling and she knew it, but what was she supposed to do? Two men she thought she would never see again- or actually, more like made sure she would never see again- were standing in her office, and suddenly she had reverted back to old Molly. Little stuttering Molly who never stood up for herself. Well, she wasn't having it this time.

She took longer than usual shutting down her computer- she thought she might as well go home anyway; her shift finished in ten minutes and she was not staying late for Sherlock Holmes, not this time.

"Right, they should have printed by now. I'll get them on my way out." She said, gathering her trench-coat and handbag from under her desk.

"No, John will go." Sherlock said, still looking straight ahead and as indifferent as ever.

"What?" John and Molly uttered simultaneously.

"John, we passed through the reception area on our way in; surely you haven't forgotten? Just ask at the desk, I'm sure they will give them to you."

"But, do you not…"

Sherlock cut John off mid-sentence, "Go, John. I'll meet you outside."

John looked at Sherlock, who had not shifted once since they walked into the office. He wasn't acting like the Sherlock he knew, and that frightened John. He was quite sure that whatever was happening was due to Molly's presence, but thought better of broaching the subject for now.

Sighing in surrender, John said, "Right. It was great to see you Molly- keep in touch, this time." Laughing nervously, he turned to exit.

"Goodbye, John." The timid voice of Molly sounded from behind him.

John nodded and left, thankful to get out of the small office where the tension could be cut with safety scissors, not to mention a knife.

After a few minutes, it was Sherlock who finally spoke. "I got your note." He stated, looking Molly in the eye.

Molly shrank away from his piercing gaze before mentally scolding herself for doing so. She was not weak anymore, and she would show him. "I didn't expect you to."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Don't know, I guess I didn't think you would come back."

"I came back to your flat to inform you about my progress, and to tell you I was still safe you had asked me to keep you informed." He paused, and his eyes flicked again to the floor before returning to her. "But you weren't there."

"I know. But it doesn't matter now." She said, glancing away from his eyes but standing her ground.

"I'm sorry, Molly." Sherlock blurted out, before he had time to stop himself.

"What?" Molly asked, her head whipping up to finally meet his gaze; she was too shocked by his revelation to bother about being under his scrutiny.

"I'm sorry, Molly. For everything. I was rude and unappreciative towards you when I should have respected you as an equal. I am truly sorry and I hope you can accept my apology." He said slowly, not wanting to trip over his words; he was only doing what was expected in this situation, wasn't he?

"Well, thanks- thank you. That means a lot, Sherlock." Molly wasn't quite sure why he was doing this; he needn't apologise- but maybe she did mean something to him, after all? He had told her she counted, hadn't he?

No, she wasn't going to think about that right now. Anyway, he could never reciprocate the feelings she once had, so why surmise about it?

She looked at Sherlock now, really looked. He was facing her, but his hands were tucked behind his back. He was looking in her direction, but his gaze was distant. She wished she was able to tell what he was thinking; it would make this situation a whole lot easier.

Molly was cut from her train of thought by Sherlock asking a question rather bluntly, seeming to pluck it out of thin air, but Molly knew better. Sherlock Holmes never did anything out of impulse; it was always premeditated.

"Will you be returning to London?"

Molly didn't even have to think about her answer, "No."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, put out by her sharp answer.

"I've got a life here now. There's no need for me to go back."

"What about your career; pathology? You are not happy working here, that much is obvious. You can't just turn your back on the profession you worked so hard for! What will I do if I need help in the lab or access to body parts? There will be no-one there to give me that access, so what would I do then?" Sherlock asked. He knew he was being selfish and unreasonable, but he was annoyed about not being able to conduct his experiments. Surely that was the feeling that was building in his chest? Yes, he was angry that she would just leave him behind; that accounted for the strange feeling.

"That's your problem, not mine. I'm sure your brother could sort it out for you." She retorted, leaning against her desk and folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"Probably, but I want you." Sherlock stressed, apparently unaware of the double meaning in his statement.

"Is this what this is about? You need me to get access to bodies for your little experiments and goodness knows what else? Mousy Molly Hooper who always lets you get your own way; little Molly Hooper, always too love struck to say no. Well, you're too late, Sherlock- she's gone. I've got a new life now, and I do /not/ need you coming in here and ruining it for me!" Molly shouted, her courage growing with every word she spoke.

Sherlock noticed the defensive tone of her voice, and the way she fiddled with the silver chain around her neck as she spoke. Obviously a present from a man. Ah, that was it? She had bagged herself a man as soon as she had moved up here, judging by the size and price of the gift. Stupid, why hadn't he noticed sooner?

"What is his name?" Sherlock asked, already certain of his deduction.

"Steve. Steve Hunter." Molly answered, unsure of how Sherlock had known. Then again, he was a consulting detective; knowing things he shouldn't was part of his job.

Molly was growing uneasy; she would not let him pick apart the life she had built for herself now- not after she had worked so hard for it.

"Am I to assume he is not a criminal?" Sherlock stated, gaining back his composure after his deduction.

"No, he's not. He is a civil servant, he's kind, he's generous, and he loves me." Molly spat.

"But you don't love him."

Molly was startled by Sherlock's bluntness; yes, the detective could be cold, but now he was simply being cruel. If he were any other man, Molly would have mistaken the tone for one of jealousy, but this was Sherlock Holmes. The man who declared himself a sociopath.

"Yes…I do," She replied meekly, "Listen, Sherlock, you can't just waltz in here and expect me to drop everything. I might have done that before, but that's in the past. I won't let you destroy my life now. I waited for you to notice me for three years, Sherlock- three bloody years. Well, enough is enough. I'm not waiting anymore. I was in love with you Sherlock, but not anymore. I'm sorry, I really am, but you're too late. If you really do respect me now, then respect my decision and stay away from me.

One day, you might feel something for someone else, Sherlock and I hope that you are not stupid enough to ignore it. You are a man, Sherlock, not a machine. Remember that. Now, John will be waiting for you; you'd better go." Molly inhaled deeply and held Sherlock's gaze. She would not back down now, not if this was the last time she ever saw Sherlock.

"I do respect your decision. Goodbye, Molly Hooper." Sherlock said solemnly. And with that, he walked out of the door, leaving a gust of air to wash over Molly.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." She all but whispered. He had already gone, though, leaving her to collapse in her chair and cry. She wasn't sure why she was crying; she just knew that she had to.

As Sherlock made his way downstairs, he bypassed John who yelled his name and started after him. He was in no mood to talk. What had Molly Hooper done too him? She had poisoned him, his mind was no longer on the case, and he craved a cigarette.

Caring is not an advantage.

Suddenly, he heard his brother's motto echo through his mind. Yes, caring was not an advantage, but he didn't care for Molly. Yes, he respected her professionally after her assistance during his 'death', but he didn't care for her. He couldn't care for her.

Sherlock practically flew out of the building and jumped into a conveniently parked taxi. He didn't even notice John get in the taxi with him, and certainly didn't acknowledge his friend's questions about what had happened. He still needed to figure that out for himself.

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