A/N: Thank you, everyone who has read and reviewed! Your support over the span of this fic means so much to me!

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Summary: Sherlock and Molly come to a crossroads. Can their relationship be saved?

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One week later…

Sherlock stood with his arms crossed, gazing out the window in 221B's sitting room. His ordinarily calm, orderly mind was in chaos, and even if he wasn't the world's only consulting detective he would know why.

The day Moriarty had been shot and killed, Molly went in hospital to recover from the drugs and the choking. Everyone else had taken turns being with her. Sherlock didn't leave her the entire time she was unconscious.

That night, John had proposed to Mary. She of course said yes, and the two of them had been planning their wedding, honeymoon, and John's departure from Baker Street.

That was... upsetting. But that wasn't what was the main source of his…feelings.

Two days later, Molly had broken up with him. Try as he would, the scene kept playing in his head.

"Sherlock, I know you don't really want…this. It was forced on you."

He stared at her. "Molly… I love you. It doesn't matter how it happened. The fact remains that it exists."

"But it was all a lie at first. Our first date, the first night we were together… everything was a lie. And I believe that you think you love me, but how can I trust it now? How can I trust that it's real?" Molly asked, tears in her eyes.

Sherlock didn't know how to respond.

"I love you. I always will. But it's for the best that we ends this," Molly said. "I don't… I can't take not knowing if the next day is when you'll realize it's a horrible mistake and leave. I'd rather end it now and… maybe someday we can be friends again."

Of all the things He'd ever imagined Molly saying to him, this was never one of them. "But I love you," he repeated. "I've never told anyone I loved them before. Why can't you trust me?"

"I'm sorry."

"Molly," he moved towards her but she shook her head.

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

And she all but ran from 221B, him too stunned to react.

There had been no cases. Nothing to distract him from his jumbled thoughts and his feelings.

At first, he'd told himself she was right. Love was a dangerous distraction, sentiment a chemical defect found on the losing side. They'd just let things go back to the way they'd been before and it would be fine.

But it wasn't fine. He missed Molly. Missed her in a way he'd never missed anyone, even John. Her eyes, her laugh, her voice, even her terrible jokes. Pop music and cat and atrocious clothes: everything that was his pathologist he missed. He wanted to talk to her, see her smile, even eat with her. There was a horrible emptiness inside him, but somehow it suffocated him too. He felt alien in his own skin and the tightness in his chest refused to go away.

So this was what the painful side of love felt like. No wonder people committed crimes over it.

John came in at that moment. He stopped when he saw his friend standing unmoving by the window. It wasn't the first time he'd done it over the past few days. "Sherlock?" He asked.

Sherlock didn't respond. He was walking through his mind palace, trying to find some way to stop the pain in his heart. But there was nothing there to help deal with heartache.

"Sherlock," John repeated gently. He walked over, touched Sherlock on the arm. Sherlock blinked in surprise, as if he'd just now registered John's presence.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?" John asked. Sherlock shook his head.

"I want," he began, and stopped.

"You want what?"

Sherlock's eyes slid shut painfully. "I just want Molly," he said, voice harsh and broken.

John sighed. He'd heard this before. It wasn't their first discussion about what had happened.

"She's scared," he said gently. "She's hurt and afraid and doesn't know what to think."

"But what I told her is true," Sherlock said, opening his eyes and turning to face his friend. "I do love her. Yes, it's because of Moriarty's manipulation, but that does not change the truth of it. I don't know how to get her to understand it, John. She'll slip away from me."

"Are you sure you want to be with her?" John asked. "You've said some pretty harsh things to me about feelings and love. How do you know you won't decide it's a mistake?"

"How does anyone know?" Sherlock asked him. "How do you know that in 10 years Mary won't tire of you and want to leave? How did Lestrade not know his wife would be habitually unfaithful? If people knew the future, John, these things wouldn't happen. But we don't. We just live each day as best we can, and deal with whatever comes our way."

John blinked. "That was…amazing, Sherlock. I never thought you'd understand anything like that."

Sherlock shrugged. "Love gave me insight. I have hesitated to delete it, because…"

"Of Molly," John finished.

Sherlock nodded.

John exhaled deeply. "Right. I wasn't sure before, but I am now. I think you're ready."

Sherlock looked at him quizzically. "Ready for what?"

"For me to tell you how to get Molly back."

Sherlock stood hesitantly in front of Molly's door. John's advice had made sense, seemed logical… but he was afraid.

He snorted. Him, Sherlock Holmes, afraid of something.

But the thought of losing Molly outweighed the fear of this attempt. He had to try.

He rang her doorbell. He saw her look through the peephole.

"Sherlock…"

"Please, Molly. Just give me 5 minutes."

After what seemed like forever, she opened the door and let him in.

He walked into the sitting room as she closed the door. She followed him, and he deduced her as she came into the room. She hadn't slept well, and had lost a pound in the past 5 days. Her eyes were dark and she clearly exhibited signs of emotional turmoil. While he was not glad she was unwell, he was pleased that she clearly had been missing him as much as he had her.

Molly crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

He moved until he was standing right in front of her. "You."

She blinked hard. "Sherlock…"

"You wanted to know how you could believe this was real, that what I feel for you is real. The very fact that I am here should tell you that I love you. If I thought this was a mistake, if I didn't really love you, I would not be here telling you these things. There is no Moriarty, no blackmail, just me here with you telling you how I feel."

"But…"

"You said to me once if there was anything I needed, anything at all, I could have you," Sherlock continued. "I never fully understood that until I fell in love with you. But I do now. I need to share my work with you. I need you beside me when I sleep. I need to hear you sing. I need you to tell me when something's not good and make bad jakes and wear a bow in your hair at Christmas."

Molly was crying, staring at him through her tears. Sherlock felt his throat tighten but he went on.

"I can't promise you that it will be easy. You know it won't because you know me better than anyone but John. I will keep saying and doing things that upset you and apologizing for them. I will be difficult and demanding and exasperating. But I will do whatever I can to make you happy and be what you deserve. I'm not good. But you, Molly Hooper. You make me want to be a better man."

"Sherlock," she whispered.

"So please, Molly. Stop worrying about what might happen in 5 years, or 20, because we don't know. But I know that I love you, and I want to love you for the rest of my life."

Molly pressed her hands over her mouth, staring at him with wide eyes shining with tears. She pulled her hands away and kept staring at him. His own eyes felt suspiciously wet.

"Molly?"

Molly launched herself at him, wrapped her arms around him tightly and kissed him as hard as she could. He kissed her back, holding her just as tightly, everything in him screaming out at the rightness of it, the pain disappearing and there was nothing but him and Molly being together, really together.

"I missed you so much," Molly sobbed, still holding him tight. "I wanted it to be real but I couldn't… I was afraid to believe it."

"I know," Sherlock said, running his fingers through her hair. "I was afraid to come and tell you: afraid you would turn me away. But I didn't want to lose you."

"What made you come?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

"John," Sherlock admitted. "He said he knew now that I was ready and told me I needed to stop being an idiot and 'go get the girl,' I believe were his exact words."

"Just like in the movies," Molly murmured.

"It's not a movie anymore, Molly. It's life. And I want us to get back to living it together."

She smiled at him, then took him by the hand and started pulling him towards her bedroom. "Then let's start with some reconciliation sex."

Sherlock kissed her again. "That seems appropriate."