Chapter 14: Feeling

Sherlock was supposed to leave three days ago, but he seemed to have no intention of leaving. In fact, he seemed determined to stay and hover over Molly. Normally his worry for her would turn her into a blushing, giddy mess, but now she tried her best not to care. Any feelings, even the littlest sliver of happiness, opened the door to all the others. Feeling meant guilt and pain. She had hurt John, who was gentle and kind to her. As a gentle person herself, the fact that she had caused someone else pain was slowly eating away at her. It wasn't right.

Since she still wasn't cleared to go back to work and having two weeks of vacation thrust upon her, Molly found herself drifting aimlessly around her flat. She vaguely got the sense that she was becoming a ghost, more and more distant every day. But she didn't try to stop it. She could barely remember what she was doing anymore. She found scraps of paper that she had started to write something down n and then abandoned and she would suddenly look around, confused as to how she got from one room to another and how long she had been there.

Sherlock was panicking. He was consistently trying to make her eat, make her read, make her watch television, make her care. The irony. Being told to have feelings by Sherlock Holmes, of all people. Once or twice she caught him trying to steal her phone. She didn't want him to call for help for her. She didn't want anyone's help. She started locking her phone, using the most absurd codes to try to keep him out. He usually cracked the code by the end of the day, so she just turned it off and hid it. She wanted to be left alone.

…

A few days later, Sherlock put his foot down.

"Molly, that's enough."

She didn't answer, only continued staring down at her hands where they were folded in her lap. She chanted in her head: don't feel, don't feel, don't feel…and tried to block out his voice.

"Molly."

Still no answer.

"Molly." He was getting more insistent. "Look at me."

When she didn't, Sherlock strode forward and grabbed her face. Staring into her eyes, he spoke, growling out his words.

"This had to stop. You're killing yourself." She tried to pull her face away, but he held on even tighter. "You can't keep doing this, Molly."

She let herself focus on his face and saw how concerned he was for her. Seeing Sherlock have emotions was still something that surprised Molly. She let her eyes travel over his face, taking in the tightness at the corners of his mouth and the angle of his furrowed brow. He was still beautiful and whole. At least she knew she couldn't hurt him. But then he spoke again.

"Please, Molly." His voice broke when he said her name and her eyes flitted from one eye to the other, seeing the tears that were pooling there. Sherlock was crying.

Molly blinked in shock. Tentatively, she raised a hand and caught the tears that were slowly making their way down his face. They clung to her fingertips like little pieces of Sherlock's soul that were made just for her. She looked up into his eyes as he watched her, and places her whole hand against his face, holding him there. She cleared her throat and tried to think of something to say. Sherlock beat her to it.

"I love you. Please."

Molly blinked at him and took a deep breath. Unexpectedly, a flood of tears burst out of her. She slumped forward and felt Sherlock's arms go around her.

After a few hours of sobbing, Molly tried to speak, but it came out garbled and unintelligible. Sherlock leaned closer to hear.

"What was that?"

Molly pushed up and away from him so she could look into his eyes. This time when she spoke, her voice was strong and clear.

"I love you, too."

…

Over the next week, Molly got back to her usual self. She was happy and gentle. Sherlock smiled and laughed, never straying far from her side. Molly found herself leaning into his touch when he put a hand on her cheek. She discovered that she had unconsciously started to play with the curls at the back of his neck whenever she was thinking, talking, kissing him, or any other time she was close enough to reach out and tangle her fingers in the fine strands. It seemed Sherlock had adopted his own adaptation of her fascination with her hair in that he would play with the ends of her hair. She had once caught him about to place a strand in his mouth and had teased him relentlessly about it. She had never felt safer or happier.

One night after they had climbed into bed, Molly felt Sherlock's fingers in her hair and smiled, rolling over so that they were face to face. She leaned forward and placed the lightest of kisses on his lips, feeling him smile beneath her lips.

"Molly?" His whisper sounded off, something in the tone alerting Molly that there was something on his mind that he wanted to talk about.

"Yes?"

"We should…should we talk about…?"

"What is it?"

He squirmed next to her and Molly realized that this was really bothering him. She propped herself up on an elbow so she could clearly see his face.

"Sherlock?"

"I haven't… I mean, I've never…" He took a deep breath before blurting out: "I'm a virgin."

Molly froze for a second, mentally readjusting. That wasn't what she had been expecting, in fact, it was one of the last things she had ever imagined Sherlock wanting to talk about. Then she giggled and looked on in fascination as Sherlock pale skin flushed a bright crimson. He tried to hide his face in a pillow but Molly leaned down and kissed him again before he could get away. He looked up at her through his eyelashes, still slightly pink.

"It's not funny." He sounded so disgruntled that Molly couldn't help giggling again. He huffed and went to roll over but Molly's voice stopped him

"No, love, I'm not laughing at you. It's just that I didn't expect you to say that. Ever."

He turned back towards her, slightly mollified.

"Sherlock, it's okay that you haven't…done any of that before. And we don't have to if you're not ready. It's enough for me that you're here, with me. I don't need any of that."

"But I'd like to. Not now! But someday, I want to be able to give that to you."

Molly smiled and pulled him closer, hearing the beat of his heart and imagining that she could feel it all the way to her own heart. "We have time."

"We do?" He was looking at her like a child, afraid to be abandoned.

She hesitated for a moment, trying to weigh the risk of exposing herself to Sherlock so much, but reached the conclusion that she no longer cared. "We have forever…if you want it."

He stared at her for a moment before breaking into a breathtaking smile, sweet and gentle and full of promise.

"Forever," he agreed.