Always Hope

This idea is based on Loo Brealey's question to Benedict at Cheltenham as to whether is hope for Molly and he says there was always hope for her.

In the time that necessarily followed Sherlock's "suicide" and his eventual return, he turned to Molly for shelter and aid. And of course, she was more than capable of helping, both with faking his death and temporary housing. She told herself that she would have done the same for any of her friends but even she knew that was a lie. The list of people she would risk her career for had exactly one name on it. So it was lucky for him that it was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock knew that he was imposing on her affection for him when he asked for her assistance, but he literally had no one else. Besides, he'd been presuming on her emotional weakness for years now, it was habit. Which was not to say that he didn't appreciate the help. Of course he did. John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade were all alive, and, though they did not know it, they had Molly to thank for their lives. They were grieving for him right now, granted, and he grieved the loss of his chosen companion, career and home.

Two months passed. Sherlock, reluctantly assisted by Mycroft, successfully cleared his name and was restored to his former life. He packed up his few possessions and closed the door on Molly's spare room. She was waiting in her sitting room. When he came in, she stood up, tears in her eyes.

"What's the matter?" he said quickly.

"It's so silly of me, I just got used to having human company around the place. I knew this day would come but I'm…I'm sad to see you leaving."

Sherlock was deeply uncomfortable with this display. He had done his best not to encourage Molly's feelings in the time he'd been there. Indeed, he'd hoped that familiarity would breed discontent. Apparently not. Abandoning all decorum, Molly threw her arms around him and hugged. He allowed the hug, thinking idly how tiny she was. She barely came up to his chest. After a minute, because the hug seemed to be continuing, he awkwardly patted her shoulder and said;

"It's all right, Molly. I'll be taking cases again. We'll see each other at work."

She nodded, pulling herself together at last and disengaging.

"Thank you for everything. The story, when it comes out, will unavoidably mention your involvement but Mycroft will ensure there's no ramifications for your job. You deserve only praise and that's all you'll get from me."

"All I'll get from you?" Molly sounded confused. Did he think she expected something else?

"Well, you have my eternal gratitude too."

Deciding this had been prolonged quite enough, Sherlock swept out of the room. Molly collapsed down on the sofa, the silence of the sitting room was already uncomfortable.

Outside, Sherlock leaned against the wall for a minute. His inner monologue, or perhaps his conscience, always in John's voice, asked "would it have killed you to acknowledge how much she now means to you?" Yes, it's not fair to give her hope, he thought, when I don't know if I'm capable of in that area. They both had the rest of their lives ahead of them, and he couldn't very well ask her to wait while he got himself together.