A/N - Well after the great response, I couldn't stop writing :] so here is the next chapter, honestly thank you all for reading and reviewing and for following my story, it means a lot - I hope you enjoy my take on Molly and Sherlock :]

Oh and I have a tumblr if any of you want to see my edits :] I'll put a link on my profile page :]

Echo

Chapter Two

Breaking Point

After a quick wipe down to get rid of the dried blood, Sherlock and Molly left the lab. Molly had stolen – or as she preferred, borrowed – a large black hoodie from the changing room and given it to Sherlock, taking his usual attire and stuffing them into her bag. Sherlock was extremely recognisable man as his face had been splashed through the newspapers for months now. He fought valiantly against the idea of wearing such an uncharacteristic item, however as Molly had pointed out; wasn't that the point?

Sherlock's lips twitched into a smile as he inclined his head. "Well done, Dr Hooper. It appears that you aren't quite as stupid as the rest," he said with true wonder lighting his eyes. His back handed compliment only made Molly roll her eyes slightly; she was used to his backward praise and misguided words.

"Thanks; I think?" she muttered.

Sherlock took the lead as they made their way to the curb, holding his arm out gracefully and waiting for the nearest black cab to pull up alongside them. As Sherlock lowered his arm a sharp pang rushed to his chest causing him to double over in discomfort, Molly was quick to wrap and arm around his front for support while the other draped over his shoulders. "Sherlock, come on. We need to get you back to my flat. You need proper rest," her voice was assertive as she steered him into the back of the cab, sliding in next to him. Molly recited her address to the cabbie before staring out of the window.

As the cab pulled away to take them to Molly's flat, she sat watching the streets blur past. She was finding it much easier to slip back into her medical training than she had imagined. But then again, she didn't really have a choice in the matter; she could either step up to the plate and help Sherlock or shy away and watch as the man she loved died. It seemed like such an easy decision for Molly. She would honestly do anything that he asked and it frightened her. What was her breaking point? Did she even have one when it came to Sherlock Holmes?

Sherlock sat in the uncomfortable hoodie, mind reeling, chest aching and body twitching. All he could think about was the woman beside him, the things she had done, the things that she had always done for him. He could count on her for anything. The thought made him slightly resentful; Sherlock disliked being weak, having people care for him. He was no fool and did not enjoy being treated as such. He knew how to care for himself. He knew that his heart needed rest, that his body needed to burn off the adrenaline, that his body would ache in the morning and that he would need to take a hot soak in the bath to help ease the tired muscles slightly. Molly Hooper was merely a means to an end, nothing more. He would continue that mantra until it finally stuck, and neglect the other part of his mind which was objecting profusely.

Sherlock's jaw tensed slightly as the cab pulled up outside Molly's flat, he detested spending any amount of time outside of his comfort zone – but at least he would have something to entertain himself. He had not set foot in her flat, so it would be a nice little window into her life, her personal life. His attention was caught as Molly paid for the ride and exited the cab. Sherlock followed suit with a hard scowl marring his features. "You do know that it is common courtesy for the man to pay, don't you? I'm supposed to be a gentleman, Molly."

Digging around in her bag, Molly paid little attention to Sherlock as she gave a non-committal grunt and pulled her key out before jamming it into the lock and shoving the rusty, old door open with her shoulder. Bustling her way in, she quickly whispered to Sherlock, "come on, get in. We don't want to risk anyone seeing you." To which Sherlock gave an irritated sigh as he stepped through the threshold and awaited her instructions. He was not a child, but he had to remember that he needed her, so now probably wasn't the best time to behave like a complete dick.

Taking in a large breath he gave Molly one of his sweetest smiles as she steered them toward the stairs, taking them up to the second floor. Molly – to Sherlock's immense pleasure – fumbled with the door key as she tried to unlock her flat door; his charm was obviously having the desired effect. Sherlock could tell a lot about Molly from her door alone. Molly did not go out drinking very often; there weren't any scratches around the key hole. Also, judging by the stiff lock and new appearance, she very rarely used it at all. He had always known that Molly wasn't a social butterfly, but what on earth could entertain her each and every night?

With a slight blush Molly pushed open the door, dreading what Sherlock was going to deduce about her from her flat. She had always hated him using his 'talents' on her; it made her feel exposed and vulnerable in light of his pale blue, all seeing eyes. Molly remembered the mess she had left, the glass of half empty wine, the empty wine bottle, the Chinese take away cartons in the kitchen and the clothes strewn across her couch – this was going to be terrible, however perhaps the noticeable things would keep him from going deeper. Molly knew that it was just wishful thinking, but a girl can dream right?

"Sorry about the mess, I didn't have time to clean up before – you know?" Molly feebly muttered as she set her bags down in the kitchen, pulling out Sherlock's coat and scarf. "I'll clean these for you. You should go get in the bath; it's the first door on the right. Let me know if you need anything." Her rushed words skimmed over Sherlock as he glanced around the room, his eyes honing in on every little clue about Molly. He desperately needed this; he needed to take his mind off everything.

Judging by the worn out buttons on the television remote, the obvious indent in the couch cushions, the left over wine, empty bottle and Chinese take away stains on the carpet, his deduction about spending most of her nights in was being concreted. A painful ache to his chest brought him out of his pondering, he would have to deduce later on, now he had to have a bath. With a large sigh, Sherlock tugged off the hoodie, discarding the offending article onto the floor.

Molly stood helplessly, watching the consulting detective as his eyes flickered around her flat. She knew exactly what he was seeing; a lonely cat lady who didn't have any friends. It wasn't entirely true of course; yes she spent a lot of her time in her flat alone, but it wasn't from lack of offers, it was just lack of offers from a certain person. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was waiting for Sherlock, she always would be.

Without a word Sherlock pulled off his shirt and passed it to a flustered looking Molly. Her eyes grew wide as she was once again faced with Sherlock's bare chest – she had dreamt of this, but hadn't been quite prepared and well, she wasn't as outgoing as 'dream Molly'. Sherlock sauntered past Molly with a smirk plastered on his face, making his way to the bathroom. He made a mental note on her reaction to his partial nudity; it could come in handy later on.

Molly took the time to clean up her flat as Sherlock was taking a bath. Today was a complete blur. She had begun the day with the image of Sherlock dying, it was heart breaking. She had busied herself in the morgue for the morning and then hidden out in the bathroom as she tried not to cry. Her life had changed completely, all in one day. Molly knew that she didn't have anything to be crying about; after all it was Sherlock's life that was ultimately changing now, not hers. Molly Hooper could go back to her day to day life without worrying about putting her friends in jeopardy.

Dropping down onto her spot on the couch she released a sigh as she closed her eyes. Toby probably wouldn't be back until tonight and then they could cuddle up and sleep together. Molly felt her mind begin to go blank as she slipped off to sleep. Images of a blood drenched Sherlock flickered behind her eyelids, the silent heart in his chest, the paler than normal complexion, then the look in his eyes as he awoke and the soft yet steely gaze as he looked up at her with a confused expression. His lips moved slightly as he spoke her name.

"Molly." Sherlock's voice could be heard but his lips were not moving. "Molly." His voice seemed to be growing sterner as he stared into her eyes. "Molly!" That one did it; Molly jumped as Sherlock's loud voice carried to her ears, waking her up from her rather bizarre dream.

With bleary eyes Molly sought him out, finally landing eyes on him and wishing that she hadn't. There stood the arrogant yet beautiful Sherlock Holmes, hair dripping, body wet, wearing nothing but a towel and a charming grin. "Sorry to wake you, Molly. I was just wondering if I could use your bed." His grin grew wider as he took a step forward, eyes shining as he stared down at her. "It's just, after the fall I'm still a little stiff and it would be rather detrimental to my health if I slept on the couch." If it were even possible his grin seemed to grow even wider.

Molly was still rather flustered and sleepy as she stared up at him, confusion marring her features. She opened her mouth, ready to comply with his every whim however she stopped herself short as the penny dropped inside her mind. All the signs were there, yet again Sherlock was using his little mind games to manipulate her; catching her off guard with the after bath scene, bare torso and practiced smile. "You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." Molly remembered Sherlock's earlier confession of trust and foolishly thought this kind of trickery would have died – but he was still the same old Sherlock. She had found her breaking point.

Taking in a deep breath Molly stood up, drawing herself to full height as she walked over to Sherlock. "How dare you." Her nostrils flared slightly as she pinned him with a murderous gaze. "After everything that I have done; after I saved your life, and you're still using these stupid manipulative tricks on me. I thought I meant a little bit more to you than that. You are such a horrible man. I have always fought in your corner, telling people that they were wrong whenever they said you were heartless, a machine – but you know what? They were right. You're a selfish disgusting human being, and I pity you."

Her end statement caused a fire to blaze inside Sherlock; he didn't need pity, especially not from Molly Hooper. His jaw tensed as he fired back a response, "pity? Why on earth would you pity me?" He sneered.

With a sigh she replied, "Because Sherlock, you're never going to know what it's like to be loved. All you ever think about is yourself." Molly's hands were not fists at her sides.

"Molly." Sherlock gave her the customary warning, as he always did whenever she spoke for too long in his presence.

"No, Sherlock. Not this time. You need to hear this. I would do anything for you and you know that. So instead of coming to me and asking for my bed like a civilized human being, you decided to try and manipulate me; you're a coward. We were finally starting to get somewhere, as equals and you mess it up. You spoilt it." Her eyes were downcast, face slightly flushed and chest rising to match each angered breath.

"So who is worse I wonder, the man who uses the woman, or the woman who allows herself to be used. You are not much better than a common whore." His words stung Molly, causing her to take in a sharp breath as tears stung her eyes. Sherlock was also slightly surprised by his own words, he hadn't meant to be so blunt but the anger had taken over in the heat of the moment.

Instead of storming away like she wanted, Molly stood her ground. With a slight sniff, she raised her chin and met his eyes. "I suppose we are as bad as each other, but I would never manipulate you Sherlock. I take you the way you are because I don't want anything different. I guess I should thank you really, at least now I know nothing will ever change; you will always be the cold, calculating man who only cares about himself. I was naïve to believe that you could ever be anything more." Sherlock's eyes widened momentarily as he was struck with her bold statement, he recovered quickly though, giving her a sneer before walking to the couch. "What are you doing?" Her words were curt as she followed the consulting detective with her eyes.

Sherlock shrugged before dropping down onto the couch. "I'm sleeping here."

"No you're not, a man who has recently taken a large amount of adrenaline into the heart needs rest. You can have my bed. Good night, Sherlock."