A/N: For the April 13th prompt - "A time you changed your mind." Post-TFP. Rated T. Another stand-alone.
After dropping John off at his house, Sherlock at first directed the cabbie to go to Baker Street out of habit, then he remembered his sister had blown it up, so he gave the cabbie Molly's address.
Letting himself in with the key she had given him a lifetime ago, he slipped off his Belstaff and muddy shoes by the door then carefully walked down the hallway of the darkened flat. No sign of Molly. The last place he checked was her bedroom. The door was closed but not locked so he slowly opened it.
There was a Molly-sized lump on the bed, completely covered by the duvet. Toby sat by her head, growling at him as he came nearer. Sherlock put a finger to his lips then made a shooing motion with his hand. The cat, used to him by now, gave up his male posturing then hopped down from the bed, tail held high as he left the room. Sherlock closed the door behind him then stripped down to his pants, hindered somewhat by the bandages on his hands.
"I don't care how much you need a bolthole, Sherlock – I'm not giving up my bed tonight, not to you," came Molly's muffled voice from beneath the duvet. "You can sleep in the guestroom. Or the Thames, I don't particularly care." She sounded like she was tired of feeling any kind of emotion at all.
He sat on the edge of the bed. "We've always shared your bed before," he said quietly. "Why can't we share tonight?"
She sat up and glared at him. "Because the last thing I want right now is to have you laying beside me – so close yet always out of reach. New rule, Sherlock – if I'm in the bed, you're not."
He swallowed hard. "Will you at least let me explain?"
"Mycroft already did."
"What?" Sherlock didn't know what to expect, but that certainly wasn't it.
"He called. He explained everything – the live video feed, the threat, the countdown. He apologized profusely for what Eurus put me through. Mycroft thinks you meant what you said, but we're talking about the Iceman – he doesn't have a lot of experience with emotions, though I could tell he's feeling a lot of them tonight."
He's not the only one. "And you're not?" he asked carefully.
"I felt plenty of emotions when you called but now I'm numb. I don't know if that's better or worse than crying my eyes out like I was earlier."
Worse, definitely worse. "Molly … I don't know where to begin."
"You don't have to begin anywhere. You don't even have to say anything – leaving requires no words whatsoever."
"Molly…"
"No, Sherlock," she said firmly. "I'm the one who was hurt today, I'm the one who deserves to have time to themselves."
"That phone call hurt me just as much as it hurt you."
"Somehow, I doubt that." She laid down again, her back to him.
He climbed into bed next to her. She stiffened but didn't protest. He considered that progress.
"Molly," he said softly, "doing that to you broke my heart. I knew I had to do it to save your life but believe me, exposing your feelings like that is the last thing I wanted to do. If Eurus had picked any other words for you to say, it would have been easy but she wanted it to be hard for both of us."
She didn't say anything for several moments then just as Sherlock contemplated leaving, she said quietly, "It should have been easy for you, you hate sentiment."
"I do, or at least, I did. But saying those words after you told me to … the first time was a revelation. It made everything click. I realized that I feel something for you and that that feeling has a name."
She slowly turned to face him. "And the second time?"
He gazed at her, saying softly, "The second time was exactly what I feel for you, Molly Hooper."
Tears welled in her eyes and she said in a voice choked with emotion, "But you hate sentiment, you hate love…"
"Not anymore," he murmured. "I love you, Molly. If that makes me a sentimental fool, then I wouldn't want it any other way."
She pulled him into her arms and kissed him deeply. Sherlock kissed her back and he knew that in her arms was where he wanted to be for the rest of his life.