Molly awakens to the sound of a garbage truck groaning down the road out front. She blinks, adjusting to the light, and takes in her surroundings. For a moment she's confused… this isn't her bedroom. But the weight she feels across her chest is an instant reminder of her current condition. She looks down at Sherlock, fast asleep, still clinging to her like the edge of a cliff. She gently releases herself from his grasp, whispering apologies about needing the loo. He doesn't stir. Despite the pressure in her bladder, she watches him for a moment. In all the years she's known him, all the times he's used her flat as a bolt hole, she's never seen him sleep so deeply. Before she can stop herself, she pushes a few curls off his forehead and leans down to press her lips to them. Then she makes her way into the en suite.

After relieving herself and washing her face, she pads into the kitchen. She knows there's bread and eggs, so she sets about making some breakfast. Coffee is brewing and she's about to begin a quest for sugar when she hears a thump and a cry from the bedroom.

"Molly?" she hears Sherlock call, his voice sounds pained and panicked. She sets down her mug and begins to walk back to the bedroom when Sherlock's cries become louder and more fearful, "Oh god, MOLLY!" She's running now, hearing more banging noises as she rushes into the room. Sherlock is sprawled across the bed, the lamps are overturned from pillows having been tossed aside, the duvet has been thrown onto the floor, as though he was tearing apart the bed, searching for something, for her.

"Sherlock!" she gasps, her heart pounding in fear and confusion at his present state. He looks at her then, eyes as frightened and wild as they had been the night before. She approaches the bed as he scrambles over to her. She throws her arms around his shoulders, cradling his head. "My goodness, I'm here, Sherlock. I'm right here."

He's holding her almost painfully tight, "I thought you'd gone. I thought I'd lost you again." He sniffles and she's not sure he's completely awake.

Pulling her head back and turning his face to look at her, she sighs, "I've not gone anywhere. I was just in the kitchen. I wouldn't leave, we've got too much to discuss," she says cheekily, trying to lighten the somber mood.

He huffs and presses his forehead against her breastbone, seeming embarrassed. She's absently stroking his hair as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, rubbing the sleep and tears away. He groans, "I have no idea what I am doing."

His hands move to settle on her waist, but he keeps his brow firmly planted against her chest.

She laughs then. "No one knows what they're doing. We just wing it and hope for the best." He looks up at her, taking in her smirk and realizes she's teasing him. Sherlock closes his eyes, gathering his thoughts. Sensing him building momentum, Molly kisses his nose. "Come on then. Breakfast." She pulls him to his feet and guides him to the kitchen table.

After he's eaten enough to her satisfaction, they both settle into their seats as though bracing themselves. He tells her everything. About the governor, about Eurus, the Garrideb brothers, the plane, Redbeard, and Victor. She listens in silence, but her face betrays every emotion she feels throughout his harrowing story. He often opts not to look her in the eye as he speaks, seeming to lose his nerve whenever he sees her large brown eyes full of tears. When it finally comes down to the trial of the coffin, Molly shifts awkwardly in her seat. For the first time in over an hour, she speaks,

"Sherlock, did Mycroft or Greg tell you anything about yesterday?" She's looking up at him through her lashes, chewing her lips nervously.

He nods weakly, "Just that you shanghaied the British navy and launched an attack on Sherrinford."

He smirks shyly as she rolls her eyes, laughing.

"OK, besides that part."

He reaches over and takes her hand, softly running his thumb across it. He turns serious again, "You saw the footage. You know the call was to save you, from what I thought was a legitimate threat." He pauses, his voice breaking softly. "I never meant to hurt you."

She squeezes his hand in return and smiles. "Sherlock, I know that. I saw what she made you do. And I knew when you called that something wasn't right. I knew in my heart you couldn't be that cruel. I just… I was already having an awful day. Tom got married, I saw it in the paper and I just got angry at everything. At myself, at you… Then you called, and it was like a slap in the face, but… when you actually said… it, I could tell that you weren't yourself. You sounded afraid, and you begged me to respond. It was still hard to say it, but once the call dropped I went to find you."

He's looking intently at her again, his razor-sharp eyes taking in every single detail of her face. He frowns a moment and says, "You say I wasn't myself, but that isn't quite true. Eurus's point in that exercise was to strip me down to my most basic emotional elements. It wasn't really about hearing you say it… It was about me." His eyes fall to their joined hands.

Molly's brow furrows in confusion, "I don't understand," she says softly, honestly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment before rejoining his hand with hers. "It wasn't enough for Eurus to know how I truly felt, she wanted it brought to the surface, raw and exposed… like a nerve. She knew everything about you, how you've always felt and how I've always treated you. She knew it would break me to do it… to tell you the truth."

He goes quiet then and Molly gasps silently, understanding beginning to dawn. She can feel the tightening in her throat, and her chin trembles. "But I thought…" She can't continue. Her thoughts are scattering like marbles, too much input at once and she thinks briefly that this sort of sensory assault is similar to what Sherlock deals with on a regular basis. She tries to control her breathing as Sherlock scoots his chair closer to her.

"She murdered my best friend, Molly. He was just a boy. I was so traumatized, I completely erased the memory. Of him, of her… Redbeard became a dog in my mind and the pain was so deep and so awful that no one in my family wanted to draw it back up. Things may very well have remained buried had Eurus not been given conference with… Moriarty." His tone drops sullenly and Molly's eye blow wide.

"What?! After what you said, did she -?" she stammers futilely.

He nods, "Yes, she got in his head and everything he did before he died was all her influence. She wanted to get my attention, but she didn't have the means until after Moriarty. But, more to the point, losing Victor in such a way was so awful that I repressed it. And spent the rest of my life hiding behind the walls that I had built to protect myself from that pain should anyone else I care for meet the same fate. John and Greg wore me down over the years, but I dug in my heels to protect myself from you." He sounds ashamed but also relieved to have given voice to these long held, but seldom seen feelings.

Molly is silently weeping, still being bombarded with years of pent up confusion, frustration and grief. It was all a front, she realizes, a façade so strong and firmly held that eventually the charade became the truth. Every harsh word, every dismissal, every insult was all an attempt to push her away. But at the same time, the thought of her moving on from him spurred him to senseless acts of jealousy and sabotage. All at once, everything made sense. And at the same time, nothing did.

A silence falls over the pair, both looking solemnly at their hands. Softly, without looking at him, Molly speaks, "So… what happens now, Sherlock? I mean, to us." She tries desperately to remove any hint of hope from her voice, remaining as neutral as possible.

Sherlock takes a deep breath, and looks at her.

"It's clear to me now that I cannot be without you. But I also don't know how to be with you. After 30 years of emotional suppression… I'm practically a child. I will be difficult and insufferable, as always. I can't promise anything at all, I won't promise anything, but… I would vow to do everything within my power… to be worthy of you." He pauses as she meets his gaze. "If you'd have me," he breathes.

No longer able to stop the flow of tears she throws her arms around him and buries her face against his neck. She inhales deeply and then chokes out a laugh. "Oh… you're such a fucking bastard!" Against her chest she feels the rumble of his deep laughter as he folds his arms about her.

"Yes, I know. I'm so sorry. I'm so, very sorry, Molly Hooper."

Drawing back to look at him, they both share an awkward smile. Wiping her eyes as she rises from her seat, she closes the distance between them and settles into Sherlock's lap. He leans back and puts a hand around her hips and one across her legs, steadying her.

"Before I agree to anything," she starts, "I want to be completely clear about a few things." She fixes a pointed look on him, he nods resolutely and Molly continues, "I want marriage. I want children. I want a home and a garden, and parent/teacher meetings, and Christmas dinners, and…"

"And a dog?" Sherlock grins.

She gives him a teasing glare. "But I also want experiments and mysteries, Beauchene skulls and honey bees. I don't want to take anything away from you, but I don't want anything taken from me either. I've already given up so much… This has to be something you're willing to do." she says seriously. She feels the hands on her squeeze, he swallows thickly and nods.

"I don't think I can go back to how I was before, not now. Not after Eurus. But I'm still me. I think I can be a more tolerable me, with your help." He brushes her hair behind her ear and tweaks her nose. "I want to be the man you have always believed me to be and give you everything your enormous heart desires." He smiles brightly. The kind of smile she's seen on him precious few times and her heart swells.

He's gazing at her oddly and she senses what it is he's after, but is too unsure to ask for. She turns toward him and places her hands at the sides of his face, brushing his temples lightly. Her eyes dart back and forth between his eyes and his mouth as she closes the distance between them.

They share the same breath, each taking kisses in small, soft sips at first, both a little unsure and learning. The passion builds slowly, like a tiny subtle ember, growing stronger with each breath. Sherlock cradles her face with his large hands and pulls back to look at her, overwhelmed by this unfamiliar longing in his gut and an overpowering warmth in his chest as she smiles sweetly, expectantly. Suddenly, his expression brightens.

"So... if we're married, that pretty much guarantees me a steady supply of body parts, right?" He smirks playfully.

Molly leans back with a huff, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms across her chest. She bobs her head in mock thought.

"Maybe… I'll see if I can pull a few strings."