'It was worth a wound-it was worth many wounds-to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.'

~The Three Garridebs by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~PART FIVE~*~

Some days were harder than others.

Molly calmly sat on the roof top of Bart's Hospital. It was a clear night and the stars that shone down looked quite beautiful against the black velvet sky. Down below life was moving. Life was being lived at the moment it seemed to be moving at a fast pace. The cars and the people reminded her that she was still living. Still breathing.

The sharp breeze was cold and made her shiver. Molly knew she should go in, perhaps even go home, but she wasn't ready to do that just yet.

For earlier before her shift had ended completely she'd had a very bad moment. Molly had been in the elevator when two strangers talked about the trial of a serial rapist. A serial rapist, Sherlock Holmes, the detective in the funny hat, had brought to justice. The serial rapist, very man who had raped her. A man that had been beaten severely, who Sherlock had sworn to Greg Lestrade that he had found him that way…

Molly had felt so sick as memories had overwhelmed her. Her heart had pounded so hard within her chest that it had seriously hurt. Sweaty and feeling uncontrollably scared. It had been a serious panic attack and she had escaped the elevator as if her life depended on it.

So now she found herself up here on the roof top of Bart's Hospital. The very same roof top that Sherlock, himself had used to fake his own death.

Molly knew even after a few months she no longer needed to be scared and a part of her was deeply ashamed over her own response. What she had suffered through during the rape. The horrible pain, overwhelming terror that during the moment had been worse than the intense pain. The shame, degradation, fear, shame and the shock that came afterwards.

She still wished that none of it had happened to her. Wished with all her might that the pain, shame, nightmares and memories would simply go away.

Yet, nothing was ever truly simple, was it?

As she looked down at the life going on down below her, she wondered if she had great deductive reasoning skills like Sherlock what would she know about those two people she was focused on at the moment? Were they lovers, good friends or even family?

What was their story?

A breeze caught her making her teeth raddle and she shivered violently. No, she was staying out here. No matter how cold it was.

'The picture of the man…He looked so ordinary... Hard to believe…They said they showed some of the tapes at the trial…Still have more to go through…It's horrid stuff…Personally, I'm glad that the detective in that funny hat had beaten the hell out of that man…'

That was some of the conversion she'd over heard in the elevator…

Molly gasped as something heavy and warm fell upon her shoulders. She was stunned to turn around and see Sherlock. She was not sure way really. He seemed to stop by more often than he used to. He'd check in to see how she was and what she was doing. He'd even text her randomly, at all hours and heaven forbid if she didn't answer right away. He'd come and find her with extremely worried eyes that would turn to a brilliant anger. It was annoying, his weird fear yet she knew he was simply concerned.

To be honest, it was nice at times, knowing he cared. Other times she just wanted to punch him. When she shared that with John he had told her that he completely understood. More then she'd ever know.

Molly quickly wrapped herself up in Sherlock's coat. Breathing in his scent and feeling his warmth.

"Thanks." She muttered.

Sherlock nodded before informing her, "I don't like you out here."

"Why?" Molly questioned without thinking, before sighing because Sherlock's look spoke volumes. "I'm not going to do anything bad, Sherlock."

"Yet anyway." Sherlock stated before asking. "Are you okay?"

His eyes were sharp and searching for the truth. Watching for any lie. Perhaps even mentally readying his handcuffs.

Molly nodded slowly. "I have bad moments. Sometimes more than bad moments. Really bad days. I think…I think I'm doing better. A little bit better, anyway. My therapist says I just need to take things slowly. One day at a time and if I have doubts try a minute at a time. It's hard knowing I'll never forget, that I have to deal with what happened to me. More importantly, I have to live with it."

She wished she could tell Sherlock not to worry any more. That she'd never…But she knew he'd always catch her in a lie.

"There are moments," Molly carefully continued, "that I can do a minute and then things are a bit…better. I find I'm a bit more…hopeful after. You know, Sherlock, you don't have to check up on me every day. You have better things to do. You have your mysteries and cases to solve and figure out…You don't need to worry about my life…You have your own to worry about."

"I really don't have better things to do." Sherlock cut in. "Yes, I have my mysteries, my many adventures and my countless cases but just as I must have my mental palace and air to breathe I have this need to know you are okay. Your *life* is very important to me…"

The cold breeze hit her in a way that made her eyes water forcing her to wrap herself tighter within his coat.

"Okay. I wish I could say I understand, but I don't. I know there is a reason and given time I'm certain that you'll get bored-"

"Molly." Sherlock cut in on her babbling. "You don't have to understand to know that I care, even on the days I'm bored. When it comes to you…I seriously doubt you'll ever bore me."

Molly blinked at him before saying softly. "That's nice of you to say. Real nice."

"I can be nice when I want to be. No matter what John might say in his blog." Sherlock informed her dryly before repeating himself. "I don't like you out here."

Molly tilted her head to study him. "Well, someone nailed and painted my balcony door shut."

She narrowed her eyes at him as he smiled looking highly proud of himself.

"It will take me hours to fix," Molly found herself saying, "And when that happens and it will happen, Sherlock that door better say the way I fixed it or I swear I'll nail and paint something of yours shut!"

His smile faded and his eyes narrowed before a flash of anticipation and happiness fell upon his face. "Well, I guess, my dear sweet Molly, we'll be making a game of this because each time you get that door opened; I'll be there with even more creative ways of keeping that door closed."

Molly shook her head. Knowing he spoke the truth. Of course he'd see it as a game. "Sometimes I really do hate you, Sherlock."

He moved closer and sat down beside her. "Yet, you love me far more than you could ever hate me."

"Sherlock, d-don't be cruel. You know I hate it when you are cruel to me." Molly stated miserably. Pain piercing her. She was finding it hard to breathe.

"I'm not. At least I don't mean anything bad about it. You have a big heart, Molly Hooper. You care very deeply. What I meant…I simply meant that you love…You love Ms. Hudson, John, Mary, their little one, also anyone you term as friend…So, you love me in return, for you see me as a friend, yes?"

Suddenly she felt she could breathe once more.

"Yes…Yes, of course, you are my friend, Sherlock." Molly admitted finally.

"I like being your friend, Molly, I really do." Sherlock told her as if sharing a huge secret with her.

Hearing a car horn blare, she looked over and down to the traffic below her. She watched in silence with Sherlock watching her. Studying her so very closely. It was odd yet it didn't bother her at all. With all the times she had studied him…She actually felt safe knowing he was at her side.

Knowing that Sherlock being the high-functioning sociopath actually allowed himself to care about her…

It meant the world to her. It really did.

No matter how bad her memories and nightmares got he seemed to be close by. To sooth and comfort her when she so desperately needed it. On a really bad day she was at times thankful of the fact he cared. He could, at times, be a loyal friend. Yet, sometimes her thankfulness would fall to the waste side and she would simply want the raw pain and torment to go away. When she was certain she was alone she seriously thought about ending it, truly escape it all. She no longer focused on jumping off her balcony or flying off a tall roof. There were other ways flouting inside her head. Not that she would, yet anyway, the thought was simply there. Never seeming to be far away.

Molly's focus on the traffic below became so sharp it seemed to blur everything all at once.

"Molly…" Sherlock's voice seemed so far away. As if he was talking to her from a deep dark tunnel. "Molly…" He repeated, making her blink, forcing her to look at him and not at the traffic.

"Yes, Sherlock?" Molly asked, she could feel a headache slowly coming on. A small part of her now wished he'd go away. Only a small part…

"Are you having a bad moment?" Sherlock asked softly and carefully.

Molly nodded and looked away feeling oddly ashamed. One day, he'd probably regret making her live.

"Oh, my dear sweet Molly…" Sherlock seemed to sigh those words with an unfamiliar tenderness.

She was surprised when she suddenly had two warm hands cup her face. Firm lips were on hers. Slowly, Sherlock kissed her. As the kiss deepened, something inside her that she had felt certain had died a violent death gave a faint pulse of life. She slowly, cautiously returned the kiss. Allowing herself to enjoy the warmth and the long forgotten feelings that were reawakening themselves. At the moment she remembered what it felt like to be alive. Truly alive and be, for a second, grateful about it.

For only a moment anyway before she forced herself to pull back and end the kiss.

Sherlock looked stunned, either by the wonderful kiss or the fact that she was to one to pull away first. Molly wasn't sure of which surprised him, maybe it was both.

"Don't, Sherlock, don't you dare…play me. I know your methods, you can be so coldly manipulative to get what you want; be it for a case or…or…To get what you want…Just don't."

She moved to stand up and leave to be stopped in place, as Sherlock grabbed her wrist and arm, she slowly allowed herself to remain seated next to him.

"Yes. Molly my methods can be cold and harsh. Sometimes even cruel. You, however, are not a case. A mystery, yes. A wonderful, delightful mystery that I don't totally understand as of yet. Normally when I kiss someone there is indeed a calculated reason behind it. For the first time, only time, I simply wanted to kiss you because I wanted to, needed to." Sherlock looked confused, "I really don't understand why."

"I'm a mystery to you?" Molly asked, feeling bewildered.

Sherlock nodded, answering softly, "Yes, one that I hope to solve one day. I do know that I can't ever play you for the day I do, I will lose you. Your trust and friendship do matter to me, Molly. Even when I error greatly, *you* matter. Yes, I want you to live but I'd never manipulate you into doing that. Manipulation never lasts forever."

Molly found herself slowly relaxing against him. She laid her head against his shoulder before eyeing the stars. They were so beautiful. She was uncertain about what to say. Should she believe his words? Trust them…Trust *him*?

"I am so screwed up, Sherlock…So very screwed up." Molly found herself admitting. In a way she hated herself for saying that. For knowing just how true those words were. She wished she wasn't so damn broken. So very damaged.

"Screwed up or not screwed up…You are my Molly. To me you are somebody…Somebody very special." Sherlock said putting an arm around her.

"Sherlock, don't lie…"Molly told him, brokenly. "Don't you dare lie to me."

"I'm not lying. I swear to you, my dear sweet Molly, I speak nothing but the truth. One day…hopefully…I will make a believer out of you."

"I don't know how to respond to that, Sherlock, I really don't. But maybe with time…I'll believe…Maybe." Molly whispered, allowing him to hold her. Knowing she needed this moment somehow.

"And maybe with time, I'll solve that great mystery that is you…" Sherlock whispered right back. His hand around her wrist, feeling her pulse with his long fingers.

"I'll try to give you time to figure it out." Molly promised softly, hoping for once that she could actually do just that. Live. That just might be the hardest and bravest thing she'd ever had to do.

Even if she only stayed Sherlock's friend and nothing more…She'd do her best to live…

That thought left her feeling almost hopeful about that future. Almost anyway, maybe, she would get better. The nightmares and memories were still overwhelmingly bad, still quite painful, they always would be; but maybe she could be strong enough to survive them…Perhaps…It might be possible. Maybe, the brokenness within her would heal…

Perhaps the damage wasn't unfixable…

Maybe…

Molly closed her eyes, her head still on Sherlock's shoulder.

"It really is quite a beautiful melody." Sherlock said thoughtfully, mostly talking to himself, yet, Molly knew he was speaking of the pulse under her skin.

Thinking he was weird in a wonderful way, Molly felt a small soft smile grace her face.

For now, she was looking forward to tomorrow.

~*~THE END for now~*~

(I am working on a sequel, well more like a series of stories really, so be warned. I'm not really ready to fully leave this world…If you aren't ready to leave this world with me feel free to let me know)