The day of the fall had been horrendous for Molly, getting all the players together, making that the compound that would make Sherlock appear dead and dealing with her own emotions about what Sherlock had said(you count, you have all ways counted and I have allays trusted you. - what do you need? You.) what did that mean in Sherlock-speak? Had he actually realized that she really cared? Truly cared – not some silly crush but that she cared liked John did. To hell and back if necessary. Was that his way of saying that he cared too? Molly's head was spinning when Sherlock told her she should try to get some rest (ha! like that would happen!) Molly had actually looked at him and spoke her mind. That if she needed to sleep then he certainly did too Moriarty out there or not. Surprising he let her sneak her out of the morgue so that he too could get some form of rest. Who would look for him at Mousy little Molly's flat. Everyone looked her over no one noticed her (except one) Surprising even himself Sherlock followed her out to her car. He would never admit it but tonight he didn't want to be alone. Not if tomorrow he would have to die.
The ride to her flat they made plans for after the fall. He was going to hide out at her flat until the media coverage died down and then he would be off to dismantle Moriarty's network of criminals. Molly didn't know what she worried about the most. The fall or the fact he would be in her flat or that he would out there on his own battling God knows what. Sherlock noticed that this Molly Hooper had not stammered once. She had made up her mind to help and that had some how settled her. Why was that? He had noticed that she had been slowly losing the awkwardness that she all ways had around him. A emotion unfurled in his stomach -fear. What if he lost her too? His last tie to his life before all of this!? His last friend.
Friend!? Molly Hooper that association had never crossed his mind before. Surprised by his own conclusions he thought over the woman currently driving them to her flat. He thought that his past deductions about her were- not good. She didn't have a small mouth and her figure was pleasing if she ever let her self show it off. (a black dress sliver piping had proved that) she was hard working and loyal. She had compassion and saw the best in everyone. She saw she saw him. The part that even john had not seen. The man that hid behind his self imposed armor. He understood emotions hell he would even admit he had emotions. Problem was his emotions overwhelmed him. to keep himself from them he pushed everyone(well almost everyone) away. How had he missed seeing her till today!? There was all ways something!
During the short drive back to her flat, Molly felt Sherlock turn those laser eyes at her. Glancing at the elegant man sitting next to her she wondered what he was seeing. He could deduce a person's history so quickly so why wasn't he spewing out what deductions he had about her, and why did it look like he was smiling? She pondered weather to ask him or not but got to her flat before she got the nerve to ask.
The walk up to her flat was quiet, it was late, but at her door Molly panic set in. Oh bollocks she mummered to herself. A close too close Sherlock told her not to worry about the state of her flat. His breath stirred the hair on her neck and Molly felt a shiver run the course of her body. Rolling her eyes that his voice had such an effect on her (did he even know) She unlocked the door and let him in.
The flat was what Sherlock had expected all most. Mainly clean and clutter free it said home and comfort. Sitting down in the battered couch(old she had it since Uni ) he jumped right back. Seemed a feline lived with Molly. "Toby his name is Toby try not to sit on him Sherlock... .He doesn't like it." Molly informed him through the giggles. Sherlock felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
"Going to change be right back." Molly said between her remaining giggles.
Taking the opportunity he walked around the flat seeing what else he could deduce about this new Molly Hooper. Parents gone-no newer pictures since the horrible fashions of the 80's. Single child. Enjoyed a wide variety of music from the Classics(nice) to the modern crap dance music (lady gaga really! Taylor swift -ugh!)Seemed to like trashy romance novels that involve vampires (not surprising really) and really sappy movies. Likes to cook though doesn't get too many chances with her work schedule. The décor was surprisingly tasteful and kitten free. A framed print of Sunday afternoon on the Island of Le grande jatte dominated the sitting room wall. It was her favorite painting other wise why pay so much to have it framed. The others were prints from VanGough (starry night) and signed copies of prints from the comic book artist James O'Barr. Those too must mean a lot to her they were protected in museum quality frames. Some how the contrast between Seurat and the Gothic darkness of The Crow prints both suited Molly. They were both her. Quirking an eyebrow, "The Crow, Molly pretty tragic story line isn't it?"
Coming out of her room she paused. Of all the things he cold have said about her flat, that simple question was not what she expected. Going to her kitchen, she started making some hot coca. She thought about her answer. God how to explain this with out sounding like a sappy sentimental fool. Carrying the cups of coco to the sitting room she gave up and just told the truth.
Handing Sherlock his cup she settled down into the corner of her sofa. "I guess you could say that but the driving force of the movie was pretty moving." Taking a breath to brace herself she finished her thought. "The underlying meaning of movie and comic books was that Love never dies. For Eric it was strong enough to bring him back to correct the wrong that had been done to both him and Shelly." Looking up from her cup she waited for him to ridicule her from silly notions but the detective looked like he was truly considering what she had said. He looked so lost so alone it broke her heart how alone he allays seemed. Before she knew it she had set her drink down and had moved over to where she was sitting next to him proper. She tentatively touched his hand to bring him back from where ever this thoughts had taken him.
"It actually reminds me of you, Sherlock." That made him raise his head and look at her. Before he could speak she continued. " it's kinda like what you are doing. You are willing to …. well die. To fix the problem of Ji-moriarty. Then in your death you plan to right the injustice. To stop it so it can't touch those you care about, and you do care about them. John, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson you care greatly about them and that is love in my book. You might not recognize it in yourself, but I do." with that she moved a little away from him.
He watched her move slightly away from him, disturbed by what she said. Not that she had given name to what he felt for his chosen companions(his friends maybe his chosen family?) that he suspected was a correct deduction on her part. What made him upset was that she hadn't included herself in that list. Hadn't she understood what he had told her. That she counted and that he had all ways trusted her. Did she not understand just what that had meant for him to say?
Since Sherlock didn't seem to in the mood to respond to what she had said and seemed to be in deep in thought . She got up and headed to her spare bedroom to tidy it up bit. A few minutes she came out and he hadn't moved. Walking over to the still form she placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Sherlock try to get some sleep tonight. I got the room ready for you , there is a dressing gown that you can use. Bathroom is to the left down the hall, but I am heading to sleep. I am beat."
Like a snake his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Molly , is that truly what you think. That I am doing this out of of ...um sentiment? For my friends." He looked scared like his greatest failing was there for everyone to see. No he just looked scared, worried. Molly took a small step toward him. Her voice was quiet but steady. "yes it is Sherlock. You care for them. If you were any one else it would be called love. Brotherly love ,love of family but love none the less . You feel things so intensely that for you to say you care. It is saying you love and my dear Sherlock. Love never dies." Patting his hand to indicate let go, she turned and left him to think that over.