A/N - Hello my lovelies :] here is chapter three, I am sorry it took a little longer than planned, they weren't cooperating with me! Sherlock may seem slightly OOC - but ah well, I hope you like it anyway :] If you read my tumblr, you may be expecting a sex scene, I'm just gonna say this now; there isn't one - it was too soon :[ I'm very sorry, I wanted it too, but Sherlock wouldn't allow it :/

thank you all so much again for the wonderful reviews/fav's/alerts :] they make me happy!

Oh and if you didn't already know, this isn't mine! well the story line is but that's it :]

Echo

Chapter Three

Selfish

After taking Sherlock's clothing out of the dryer and tidying up the blankets and pillow off the couch Molly stuck her head into her bedroom to check on Sherlock; he was sound asleep and tangled up in her bed sheets. After noticing that the sheets were riding up a little too high on his leg, Molly closed the door to save his modesty – she didn't want to spy on a sleeping man.

With a soft smile and a slight blush Molly strolled down the hall and continued to clean the flat, slowly and deliberately as she tried to collect her frayed thoughts and confused feelings. Molly was still rather hurt about Sherlock's whore comment; she knew fully well that he hadn't meant it; he was just being Sherlock, saying things to shut people up, to hurt them enough that they would be too crushed to continue the conversation. He always did it, always. He either did it because he was uncomfortable or bored – sometimes even both.

Molly remembered the Christmas party, that whole scene was down to boredom. His cruel words in the morgue about her weight, again boredom. Last night may have been the first time he had done it down to being uncomfortable, perhaps Molly should stick up for herself more often. It wasn't common for the great Sherlock Holmes to feel discomfort in front of mousy Molly Hooper. She felt a mixture of pride and shame – however, the shame was short lived; this was Sherlock, he wasn't exactly a perfect example of a gentleman.

Picking up Toby's food bowl, Molly frowned slightly; where was her cat? It was very unlike him to stay out all night and then miss the morning feed – perhaps Molly had just missed his usual crying at the balcony window. The buzzing of her mobile phone on the coffee table soon drew Molly out of her inner rambling.

Picking up her phone, she felt her heart drop as she noticed the name; John W. Oh god, this was the phone conversation she had been dreading, but she knew she didn't have to act anything out. All the emotional turmoil from the previous day would be more than enough to prove her innocence to the poor Doctor. Bowing her head slightly she hit the answer button, holding the cold metal to her ear and awaiting the inevitable.

Sherlock awoke to the sound of a floor board creaking. His eyes snapped to the direction of the noise just in time to see a sliver of Molly's brown hair as she closed the door behind her. She must have been checking up on him – how irritating; he was not a child and did not needed to be treated as such. Why did she feel the need to baby him, hadn't he made himself clear to her; he did not need her. She was simply being used, and she knew it. What a stupid woman. Releasing a loud sigh, he ran his hand over his face, if John had been here he would have told him off, correcting his cruelty and apologising for him. But he wouldn't be able to see John for quite some time.

Sherlock knew that he was being unreasonable and harsh, but he couldn't help it. Something about Molly Hooper drove him insane; she made him angry for no reason. The way she always knew what to say, the way she was so observant. Then she would change into a shy little creature who couldn't bear to look him in the eye. Why couldn't she be consistent? At least then Sherlock could try to understand her, to him she went from being so deeply in love with him that she lost the ability to speak coherently, to settling on the fact that she would never receive the same emotions in return from him.

Sherlock quickly shook the thoughts loose; what did it matter to him what Molly Hooper thought or felt? She was a means to an end. That is all. Gritting his teeth, he tried to rid her from his mind, her brown eyes, long brown hair, slender neck and sweet smile; what was happening to him? Was this some sort of Stockholm syndrome – no that wasn't likely, he had been here for a day, and he wasn't a narrow minded imbecile. She had always been there for him, perhaps now he was just beginning to see her true value – yes that was it, he was just getting used to seeing her. That was all.

Stretching out his limbs, Sherlock winced as he felt the ache run through his muscles like an unforgiving electrical current. He was glad to feel it ebb away gently, leaving only slight discomfort. Rising up to sit on the edge of the bed, he felt a bit dizzy, but no chest pain other than the round purple bruise left over from Molly's syringe.

With a smirk, Sherlock pushed the sheet aside and rose from her bed and looked himself over in the mirror; aside from the unruly curls he didn't look all that bad. Turning around swiftly Sherlock finally took in the room, bare walls, plain white curtains, light pink bed sheets, small wardrobe, chest of drawers with a few perfume bottles scattered about the top; so Molly was either enjoyed a blank canvas or lacked the imagination to decorate her own room. If Sherlock were to be honest – and he usually was – it was more than likely a combination of the two.

However if Sherlock were to delve deeper, perhaps the lack of pictures were down to a lack of contact with family members or perhaps a fallout between them. Making his way back to the bed, he inspected the sheets, they were clearly new judging from the tell-tale creases from being in a plastic container. Pulling back the sheet he found the tag still on the mattress, at least three maybe four months old. Ah, it felt good to be deducing again. But the question still remained, why on earth had Molly Hooper felt the need to get rid of her bed sheets and mattress; could it be down to a spillage of some sort – no, Molly wouldn't bother to bring food or beverages back to her bedroom, not with her living room merely feet away; it would be utterly pointless. Perhaps more of a personal reason then, perhaps an undesirable relationship. Sherlock paused, hands resting on the new sheets as the realisation dawned.

He knew what the undesirable relationship was – the undesirable man; Moriarty.

A rather foreign feeling crept over Sherlock as the mental imagery of Molly and Moriarty performing sexually flickered through his mind. Of course he thought of the logical ways in which they would interact, the role of Jim from I.T. and the shy Doctor as they explored each other tentatively. Would it be that way, or would Moriarty have unleashed part of his psychotic self during the primal ritual? Sherlock's jaw tensed as he imagined Molly on all fours with Moriarty taking her from behind. Closing his eyes, he released a frustrated growl – he did not understand these feelings.

With a huff of annoyance Sherlock grabbed the sheet, deciding to have some fun at the Doctors expense; he wrapped it around himself and strode out into the living area. The scene before him caught him off guard. Molly was sat on the couch, phone clutched in one hand while the other was pressed firmly against her mouth, smothering the sound of her broken sobs. Tears were leaking down her flushed face as her eyes glared at the innocent object in her palm.

Sherlock's body seemed to move of its own accord as he swiftly sat before her on the coffee table, fingers gently prying the small object out of her grasp and placing it beside him. "Molly, what's the matter?" His voice was soft yet assertive as he tried to get Molly to look at him. He had already deduced the problem, but perhaps actually asking would be a little kinder than 'showing off' – John would have been proud. However, this was Sherlock, so perhaps he could settle on a happy medium. "Did you receive a phone call from John?" Again, he knew the answer was yes, but he was trying to gentle approach.

Molly finally lifted her eyes, slightly surprised by Sherlock's soft voice and gentle eyes. Pulling her hand away from her mouth, she gave a delicate nod of her head as her eyes once again filled with tears. "He asked me if you'd spoken to me before hand, I said no. He was crying Sherlock, and I could have stopped it. I could have stopped his pain. I'm a horrible person." A tear fell from her eye and travelled painfully down her cheek before running down her chin and neck. She deserved the pain, the tears.

"Molly." Sherlock quickly warned as he reached out, tilting her chin to force Molly to look into his eyes. "I am the one who is doing this, you are helping me. This is not your fault, neither is it my fault. We are protecting him. He will know that soon enough." His voice remained strong.

"You're right; we have to do this," Molly sighed.

"Are you menstruating?" Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed as he observed the woman before him.

Molly didn't even gasp; she simply sighed gently and gave him a watery smile as she answered, "no Sherlock."

Sherlock shook his head lightly and shrugged. "You seem overly emotional, that's all. Would you like some tea?" As he asked, he rose from the coffee table, the sheet slipping open and giving Molly a little more than she had bargained to see, causing her to blush furiously before standing abruptly and tugging the sheet closed. A smirk worked its way across his face as he stared down at her. "I'm not ashamed Miss Hooper, I have nothing to hide."

All Molly could manage to do was raising her eyebrow and swallow the growing lump in her throat. To Sherlock's glee Molly was reacting perfectly. "Now tell me Molly, did you close the sheet out of being polite or because you actually wanted to cover me up?" Sherlock brought his face closer to hers so that their eyes were level as his hand slowly skimmed her wrist – pulse rate accelerated and pupils dilating; perfect.

With a quivering voice Molly answered slowly, "I was being polite." He had never been this close to her before, invading her personal space. Molly was slowly being sucked into his orbit. She knew what this was like, she had been here so many times before, but still she had not figured out how to stop it. So as she always did, Molly allowed it to continue. She allowed herself to be pulled further into him, losing her common sense along the way. Molly only prayed that he would not try to coerce her into doing something that she wasn't comfortable with.

"See, that's what I thought," Sherlock sighed, his breath fanning over Molly's face. Allowing his hand to glide up her arm slowly, he maintained eye contact as he leant in to place a soft kiss to Molly's cheek. "You should take a leaf out of my book; don't bother trying to be polite." With that said, Sherlock turned his head slowly, ignoring Molly's surprised gasp as he claimed her mouth gently. Her lips were fuller than he had expected, it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Molly didn't move – couldn't move – at first, but after gentle coercion from Sherlock, she responded slowly, allowing him to set the pace and take control as his arm wound its way around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her eyes fluttered closed as her hands came up instantly to rest against his chest, the hem of the sheet brushing against her finger tips and begging to be opened. But Molly hesitated, her body going rigid as she remembered her predicament; she was pressed firmly against a very naked Sherlock covered with a thin sheet.

"What did I say?" Sherlock sighed before chuckling slightly, "don't bother trying to be polite."

Molly opened her eyes as she examined Sherlock's features; he looked rather placid, happy almost. He wasn't wearing his trademark sneer or glaring at her. He just looked normal, as any man would look at another woman; which was very unlike Sherlock. Kissing a woman was also very unlike Sherlock. "What are you doing?" Molly's voice was slightly strangled; she couldn't quite believe she was questioning the one thing she had wanted. She must have been a fool, but damn she wanted to know why.

"I'm being selfish Molly. Would you like to join me?" Sherlock's whispered words seemed to slide into place for Molly; he was using her and she was going to allow herself to be used. It may have been selfish of both of them, but at least they knew what they wanted – knew where they stood. Yet one wanted to give everything to the other and the other only wanted to take. But that was the game they played. They tune they would always dance to.

Molly didn't answer; she simply stood up on her tip toes and crushed her mouth against his. Sherlock released a low chuckle as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up off the ground ready to carry her into the bedroom. Sherlock stopped quickly however as Molly's phone began to vibrate against the hard grain of the coffee table. Molly pulled out of the kiss quickly to look at Sherlock with surprise. "I can call them back, just ignore it." Sherlock couldn't help but give her a small smile; Molly Hooper was finally being selfish just like the rest of humanity.

With a sigh Sherlock set Molly on her feet and strolled over to the coffee table. "We can't, it's John. It's about my funeral."