Sherlock awoke early the next morning, way before Molly. His body still remembering the sensations of last night. The way Molly felt as she came in his arms, the sensation he had felt as she took him in her mouth. John was right. He had let go, and he had loved it. He had loved her.

He rolled over and watched her sleep. Beautiful Molly, her hair spread across the pillow. His Molly. Dependable, reliable Molly. The person he had come to rely on as much as he relied on air and water.

But deep down something was nagging him. He wanted to care. Damn it, he did care. And he wanted to keep on caring. He wanted to stay in her arms for ever, and to find sanctuary there. He didn't want it to end. But end it had to, if she was to stay safe. He knew he had to keep her safe. He knew loving her meant danger to her very being. He had to stop caring. He had to let her go. He loved her too much to keep loving her. The only way she would be safe was if he walked away.

He got up and put on his dressing gown, and went into the kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table. His insides were aching. Not aching from the gun shot wound this time, but aching from the pain of even contemplating losing Molly. He sat in silence for a long time, visiting his mind palace, trying with increasing desperation to find a way of keeping her. To find a way of keeping his Molly safe. The more he thought, the more it became apparent to him that he could not keep her. The more the ache in his inside grew.

John appeared at the kitchen door "Good night by any chance?"

Sherlock didn't respond. He couldn't even lift up his head. He was fighting back tears. Sherlock never cried. Sherlock never fought back tears. But today he was.

John walked over to Sherlock and put his hand on his shoulder "Are you OK?"

Sherlock just shook his head. The tears started to flow, helpless to control them, he just let them come.

"Do you need to talk?"

"Yes, but just not now."

"OK. You're going to hurt her aren't you?"

"Yes. I have no choice."

John looked at Sherlock in desperation. "What do you mean you have no choice? There's always a choice. There's always a way. You have to find a way." His voice was growing increasingly desperate.

"I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. I've desperately tried." Sherlock looked up at John, the pain evident in his eyes, red with the tears that were still flowing "If I could change it..."

John squared up to Sherlock and looked him deeply in the eyes. And he hugged him. John knew he couldn't understand why, but what he did know was that for once in his life, Sherlock had a heart. A heart that was tearing him apart. A heart that was loving someone for the first time, but that knew love meant danger.

"I have to go and talk to Molly." Sherlock stood up from the table and went straight into the bedroom. John headed straight upstairs. He grabbed the first clothes he could find, and headed out of the flat as quickly as possible. He didn't want to be around. He didn't want to see Molly torn to shreds. He didn't want to see Sherlock cry as he watched Molly head across the road and out of his life.

It was several hours later that John returned to the flat. The flat was immaculate. Clean, tidy and everything was in its correct place. Sherlock was pacing the kitchen, in between washing up. It was obvious to John that he had spent the whole time busying himself as Molly would have done had she been with him.

Sherlock had obviously been crying as his eyes were puffy, but he was doing his very best to brush emotion aside again, to regain composure, and to re-focus. John wanted to start a conversation with Sherlock but just wasn't sure of the best way to start.

"Have you had any lunch?" John casually enquired, trying to start the conversation. He had a feeling it wouldn't be a long one.

"Not hungry" was the response. Sherlock wouldn't even lift his head to meet John's eye contact.

"Did you do it? Did you talk to Molly? How was she?"

Sherlock couldn't answer. He just nodded his head, as the tears started to flow again. John walked over to Sherlock and hugged him again. Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder and sobbed. He'd never fully let his emotions out in front of John before. He wasn't sure how John would react, but then of course John would be there for him. John was his best friend. He was John's best friend. Best friends do that for each other.

He cried for quite some time, then took himself off to the bathroom to clean himself up. John put the kettle on to make a cup of tea and waited for Sherlock's return.

When he did return, Sherlock had obviously had a shower to freshen himself up. He sat down in his chair with his cup of tea. John sat opposite him.

Sherlock began to speak. The words were broken and well thought out "It had to be, John. I have to sort Magnussen. Molly can't be involved. He looks for the weakness in everyone. He plays on that weakness and threatens it. She can't be threatened, John. It can't happen. While she is with me, she is in danger. I have to put her welfare first. I have to make sure she is OK."

"But you two are so good together.

"Which is why it has to end. Magnussen will not stop at anything until he gets his way. He'll find her pressure point and exploit it to get to me. And that can't happen. This is the only way she can be safe. That's all that matters."

"Do you love her, Sherlock?"

Sherlock paused for a moment before responding."Yes John, I do."