Chapter 4

Thanks for all the kinds words guys! They really put a big smile on my face. So with out further delay. We will head back into Molly's room. Mind the gap.

Sherlock opened his eyes. How could he had let that room get to that state? Everything else was in order filed or deleted. Why had he never gone in there to file it away. He felt like he did when he got something wrong. He had named her a friend but his friends had orderly rooms. Had he got that wrong? Or was it that he just hadn't realized that he needed to put the room in order. That was it. Since she was the newest addition to his friends (his chosen family) serves that her room be the least put together. More settled now he closed his eyes and opened the door.

Surveying the room first thing that needed doing was gathering up all the papers that were scattered all across the room. With a thought it was done. Then he imagined that his desk from Baker st sat under the window. Next he populated the room with a copy of the chair he was currently sitting in since it was comfortable and this was molly's room. He thought for a moment that her room should look like the lab but dismissed it. Her work was only part of who she was. So the room slowly morphed into a copy of her sitting room though a bit larger. The walls where a pale coral and sturdy if uninspired furniture dotted the space. Feeling that it was all ready feeling like Moll's space. He sat down at the desk and started sorting through everything he knew and had been through with Molly Hooper.

The first was a memory of the day they had met. Quiet reserved Molly had shook his hand and He had been unimpressed with her. He did know she was the youngest pathologist in Bart's history so she was smart. Just not impressive at first meeting. He saved that one. Lots of pages later of things that were not important – coffee, autopsies of natural if unusual deaths- he had a stack of misc information. Then he came to another page. The first time she impressed him. That case with the warafin poisoning her deductions, not his, had solved the case. That started another stack. As he kept working through the papers (we are talking 6 years worth of info) he started noticing a pattern. After the second year pictures started to be interspersed with the papers. Them having coffee in the canteen or sharing a lunch or just a snapshot of Molly herself. She styled her hair differently that day, got a new skirt or for goodness sake that kitten jumper! Or her just looking over the microscope intent on her research. That was the next to last one that was pleasant. Sherlock rubbed his eyes knowing what the next batch of papers and photos would bring.

A smiling Molly Hooper shaking hands with John Watson. It was the last happy picture of her he had. The others he came across showed pain in her eyes and the closer he got to the bottom of the stack of photos. He realized that he had been the cause of all that pain. Not comfortable with the thought he turned back to the papers hoping his deductions were not wrong.

The papers didn't not make it any better there were more of I have caused her pain and I have used her again to the facts of what he knew about her. Sherlock stopped and looked at what he had sorted all ready and he was disappointed in himself. Had he never done anything but hurt this woman?

Taking a look away from the paperwork left to go through Sherlock was surprised to see that Molly's room had dramaticly changed. Gone were the soft coral walls and in it's place was dark stained paper of undetermined color and the furniture that was sturdy and comfortable was now worn down. It reflected the damage that he had inflicted over her.

He had only got thru half of the pile and he hated the thought what the state of her room would be by the time he finished with it. Not paying attention he pulled the next photo out to inspect it. A groan escaped him. There was molly looking stunning in a black dress with silver piping. Her hair was hanging in loose in soft waves. That horrible Christmas. He had cut her to the bone with his words. She had stood up to him that night and telling him how he was awful to her always. Sherlock remembered how he felt when he realized that the present he had been for him. Like he had been punched. Molly Hooper had luuuuuuuuuuv on her mind and her mind was on him.

He remembered to try and not to be so horrible to her after that.(he didn't all ways succeed) but he tried and Molly seemed to not stammer around him as much. The last papers were all just bits he learned from her through her observations and her autopsies. Looking up at the room it had brightened up some but wasn't back to it's original décor. There were only a few things left to sort and he would be done. The last photos were from today, how sad she was when she said she didn't count. How brilliant she was. She had seen him through the masks through the hateful spiteful words. She had seen and understood. She had left Sherlock stunned.

He understood that afternoon when he left what he was going to have to do if any of them were to be safe. He also knew that he was going to have to take a leaf of faith(the first one)and trust another person.

The last photo sat there on the desk it was a Molly's darkened lab. Picking it up it started playing like a digital recording.

"you were wrong you know, you do count you've all ways counted and I have always trusted you. But you were right- I'm not OK." Sherlock remembered how his voice sounded choked as he talked to her this, god was it just a few hours ago. How she sounded, she was the one that sounded brave, certain and sure of herself.

"tell me what's wrong."

"Molly I think I am going to die," her response gave strength to Sherlock's voice.

"what do you need?" Still strong no hesitation no question just Molly being brave for both of them. Her just standing there tears in her eyes. being resolute in his need for her to be strong for him.

"if I wasn't everything you think I am, everything I think I am would you still want to help me?"

"what do you need?"

Sherlock stepped closer to Molly, unshed tears in his eyes. Tears for them both because he finally understood what she had been telling him all this time. He had thrown it away her caring. He had pushed it here into this room to be ignored. What do you need was how she told him that she loved him simply – to hell and back. So he gave her the only truthful answer he had.

"you"

Sherlock sat there and thought about how he felt toward his pathologist. Did he feel something toward her in return. Friendship no it felt nothing like he felt for John. It was close but it felt different. So what was it.

Looking around the room he was glad to see the photos (the happy ones at least and the Christmas photo and his last ideal picture of her in that outfit) in the walls. The walls were back to the right shade of coral and the room felt right. The room also felt safe and warm. Sherlock went and laid down upon the couch and before he knew it he drifted off to sleep.