A/N: Thank you for your encouragement and support of this story. It means the world to me!

Thank you to ML for proofreading and his suggestions.

Appearances

"I give you fair warning before you attempt me further,
I am not what you supposed, but far different."
– Walt Whitman, Whoever you are, holding me now in hand

Sherlock had had enough of waiting. Patience had never been his strong suit. He had asked Molly repeatedly about the analysis of the hair they found in Tom's flat. But she told him time and time again that she had more pressing matters and would need a few more days to do the analysis.

So Sherlock had grown sick of waiting and decided to do it himself. He didn't need some lab technician or Molly Hopper to do it; he could do so on his own.

The outcome of the test had surprised him, he had to admit. And it meant that he would have to rethink his previous theory about the case of Thomas Hopkins. Therefore he needed to gather more evidence.

"How many times have I told you to get a new lock? This one is ridiculous. A 13-year-old could break into your flat."

Molly almost dropped the dish she was busy drying when the consulting detective made himself known. She drew a breath to calm her racing heart and turned around.

"And how many times have I told you to just ring the bell and not pick the lock?"

"Twelve times." Sherlock shrugged and went back into the living room.

Molly sighed deeply, put the dish onto the counter, and followed the consulting detective. She really was not in the mood for his games today, and his visit was more than a little unwelcomed.

When Molly entered, Sherlock had just exited her bedroom and was wandering around, which Molly found quite peculiar. Usually he just sat on the couch, closed his eyes and retreated into his mind palace, or went straight into his – her – bedroom, closed the door and was not seen until the next morning, if at all; he often left by the time she got up.

"Sherlock, what brings you here?"

He neither stopped his wandering, nor answered her question. Instead he said without looking at her, "What did I tell you about turtleneck shirts?" He waved a dismissive hand in her direction.

Molly crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was getting more and more angry with her uninvited visitor. "Sherlock, why are you here?"

He stopped his wandering for a moment and looked at some brochures on her coffee table. "I needed a bolt hole."

"Why? You are living alone now."

Sherlock looked at her as if she was being slow on purpose. "That doesn't mean I don't need a bolt hole from time to time."

Sherlock picked up the brochure from the coffee table. Molly hastened to his side.

"Are you planning to go on a cruise? 'The Rock of Gibraltar' sounds like a stupid name for a ship." He held up the brochure. As soon as Molly was at his side, she snatched it from his hand.

"This is none of your business, Sherlock."

The detective cocked an eyebrow. "I think it is. When my pathologist plans to go on vacation, I should know about it."

Molly glared at him, the brochure wrinkled up in her fist.

"I can go wherever and whenever I want. I am not your property, Sherlock Holmes."

There was something in her eyes that Sherlock had never seen there before. It was not only fierce determination, but also an almost dangerous glint that didn't seem to fit sweet Molly Hooper. Sherlock found himself intrigued by it. More than he would admit to himself, let alone anyone else.

The air seemed to be too thick to breathe while they remained staring at each other and Sherlock wondered what had brought on this change. And suddenly he had to think about what John had said about needing a lot of courage to love unconditionally.

Before he could stop his lips from moving he heard himself say, "You are so much braver than I am, because you choose to love."

He reached for her hand, but to his great astonishment she pulled away. He felt rejected, and he hated it. Molly Hooper was not supposed to reject him.

She took a step away from him and her words were like poison, "I didn't choose anything. We do not choose who we love. Or would you have chosen to fall for a dominatrix who worked for your nemesis? Or do you think I would've chosen to fall for a ADD sociopath who is married to his work? If you had been brave, you would not have played games with that woman. And if I had been brave, I would have told you to get lost the first time you used my feelings for you to get access to the lab. We are all cowards here, Sherlock."

She started to walk away from him. Sherlock felt himself getting angry, but managed to keep his voice even, "You're being highly irrational."

Molly stopped dead in her tracks, turned around and glared at him, "I'm a woman; I have the right to be irrational."

Sherlock drew up his eyebrows, "I doubt feminists would agree with you."

"I'm not going to have a gender discourse with you now."

The consulting detective shrugged. "Well, you started it."

Molly gripped the brochure in her hand even harder and stated, "You know where the door is. You can show yourself out."

With that she went into her bedroom and closed the door.

Sherlock shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had no idea what had just happened. Why had he said what he did? What had brought on Molly's reaction?

He was about to turn around and leave, having gathered the evidence he had been looking for, when the buzzing of Molly's phone on the couch caught his attention. Never one to care in the least about privacy during an investigation, he went over, unlocked Molly's phone (her dad's birthday, hardly a challenge) and read the text she had just received:

YOU DID THE RIGHT THING. JUST LIKE WITH EB.

The caller ID said the text was from a certain AG. Sherlock stared at the text. Who was AG?