A/N: Oh, dear. I know it's been a while again. I actually finished that one a while ago but I've been quite insecure about it so I didn't load it up. But here it comes now anyway. I've decided to stick to the canon a bit more and go for the drama – and I really hope you like that :D

It was like a slap in her face. She felt so humiliated. It was like every headline on every newspaper these days was mocking her. Sherlock woke up two days after he'd been shot and Molly was sitting next to his bed, staring at one of the newspapers that read "Shag-a-lot-Holmes – 7 times a night in Baker Street". She was out of tears at that point. She was just exhausted and felt utterly humiliated. The events of the last few days had just been too much to handle for her.

"Molly." he whispered weakly as he finally opened his eyes. Molly squeezed his hand softly, not looking up to him. Instead she kept her eyes fixed on their hands.

Sherlock needed some moments before he began to speak. Apparently he remembered what had happened. "Good lord, that didn't go after plan. Mary…"

"What about Mary?"

"She…" he considered his reply for a moment "Ah, doesn't matter now, I guess." He didn't want to bother her with his discovery. He was sure the past few hours? days? must have been hard enough for her.

"Good. I think so too." Molly removed her hand from his and took a deep breath. She threw the newspaper next to him on the bed and he put it up with weak hands to look at it.

"Ah. Obviously. Of course she'd go to the press."

"Is that all you have to say to that?" Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she stared him directly into the pale blue eyes that still looked tired and weak.

"What else am I supposed to say? It was for a case, I thought you of all people would understand."

Molly stood up from her chair, shaking her head.

"You know what, you were right. You ARE an arsehole."

Sherlock looked up at her in confusion. "She's obviously lying. I didn't sleep with her."

"And why would I believe that? John told me something different."

"I kissed her a few times to keep up the façade, that's all. I just needed her to break into Magnussen's office."

"Well, I heard different things."

"Bathing together is not the same as having sex."

Molly just rolled her eyes at that and turned around to leave. "You know what? Screw you! You're just like everyone else. Just like Tom, cheating on me. And like Jim, using people for your own purpose."

"Oh, come on, Molly. I am not. It didn't mean a thing it was just for the case."

"I don't care. You know… there are… there are rules when you are in a relationship. You can't just go around and take drugs and sleep with other people just because a case requires it. You can't." Molly felt tears coming up, but she really didn't want to cry in front of him. "I'm going now."

Sherlock sighed, pain filling his chest. He didn't even know if it was physical pain from his wound or pain caused from sentiment, because he already sensed what was about to happen.

"Will you come back tomorrow?"

"Why would I?"

"Because that's what girlfriends do, don't they?"

Now she would say it. The pain in his chest increased and he instinctively turned up the morphine. He didn't want to hear it. But he knew he'd screwed up.

"Yeah. But I'm not sure if I'm still your girlfriend, Sherlock."

It hurt. It hurt so much. It hurt Molly to say it, but she knew it was the only possible thing she could say. She just couldn't forgive him just yet. And it hurt Sherlock to hear it. More than he'd ever admit.

He'd promised. He'd promised not to hurt her. But he'd failed. After only four weeks. What had he been thinking? He'd risked so much for her. And of course he knew what Tom and Moriarty had done to her. She didn't deserve this. And he did neither. He'd treated her and himself like crap. Just out of old habits.

"Stay. Please?" he said quietly, even though he knew she wouldn't.

"I can't, Sherlock."

"I… love you."

Molly's heart stopped for a moment as she took in his words. It sounded a bit like a question, probably a question for her to stay. It still meant a lot to her. Why did he have to say it now of all moments? When she looked up into his eyes she smiled sadly. "I know."

She really did. She knew. And she believed him. She knew him well enough to read the signs. But it wasn't enough right now. Maybe she would forgive him one day. She probably would. But she couldn't just yet. It was just too much.

Molly's eyes lingered on him a few seconds longer before she turned around and left him alone.

Sherlock was staring at the ceiling when John came in. Considering the expression on his face and the sweat on his forehead he was obviously in pain. But that was no wonder, considering that he'd cut off the morphine supply. John turned it back up and gave his best friend a worried look.

"What's wrong?"

"Molly. Left. … Me."

"And you're seriously surprised about that? You cheated on her. Just like Tom did. I still don't know how you could do that to her."

"It's not the same. First of all, it was for a case and second, I didn't sleep with Janine."

"You didn't? Well, even if not…What you did was enough to wreck a fragile heart like Molly's."

Sherlock sighed. "I know. How can I ever make this up to her?"

"Do you want to?"

"Of course I do. " he felt the morphine starting to take effect. "I… love. Her. I'm not used to that. I never thought something like that could happen to me…Oh, and I know now why you people like having sex. It's rather brilliant. Better than being high even."

John blinked a few times before he shook his head in disbelief. Sherlock and relationship stuff – that was still an unfamiliar area.

"Wow. WOW. Never expected to hear something like that from you."

The morphine was slowly taking Sherlock away. His eyelids began to flutter and he turned his head on the side. Sleep. Sleep would help. Maybe he would be able to think clear again after.

"Shhhe's so beautiful, John. Haavvve you seen her eyes? Aand that cute little nose? Shhe undersssstands me – to a degree. Can you believe thhhat? Nobody… does…"

His eyes were already closed when he spoke, voice sleepy and drawn-out. In the next moment he was fast asleep. The morphine had finally taken him over.

John smiled slightly and shook his head once again. "Oh, Sherlock."

Molly didn't come. Sherlock hoped every day that she would show up despite her words, but she didn't. He sent her several texts every day, but he knew it wouldn't help. He'd hurt her and now he'd have to pay the price.

John was just as devastated. After he'd found out who Mary really was and that she'd shot his best friend, everything seemed to fall apart for him too.

Two pathetic blokes, they were! Bloody sentiment had finally taken them down. And Sherlock knew once again, why he'd always refused to feel. And why Mycroft had always told him that it was a bad thing. But at the same time he couldn't regret that he'd allowed himself to love Molly Hooper. He just couldn't. Even though it hurt now and he hated that feeling. He was a pathetic wimp, nothing more.

From now on, he would go back to be colder towards the world around him. Except Molly, of course. He wanted to make everything up to her, wanted to win her back. But the rest of the world wouldn't see any more of this nicer version of him. It was dangerous and it made him vulnerable. He'd just keep his feelings inside of him, like he always had.

The following weeks were horrible. The white walls of the hospital were driving him insane and he was feeling more bored than ever before in his life. Uselessly lying around all day was dull and even worse since he couldn't stop thinking about Molly. He wondered whether she would forgive him one day and cringed at the thought of her being mad at him for the rest of her life. In the rare moments she didn't appear in his mind, he was breeding over Magnussen and how he could bring him down once he was released from the hospital.

Sometimes Sherlock would throw things through his room just out of boredom. Once he even threw a newspaper after a nurse who wouldn't stop annoying him. All in all he was in a very dark mood and felt the strong urge to either destroy something or to take drugs again. He knew it was wrong and he wouldn't do it if only for Molly.

John visited him a few times every week, but since he was being in the same dark mood he wasn't really of much help. When he came they sat together in silence, watching TV or just being depressive together.

"Have you heard from Molly yet?" John would ask from time to time and Sherlock would just answer: "No. Have you talked to Mary?" and John would say: "No."

But the weeks passed somehow and after one month Sherlock decided to release himself, because he couldn't bear the walls around him any longer. Mycroft arranged a mobile medical service for him for 221B, so that he would at least still be taken care of.

"I'm not a child, Mycroft. No need for you to pick me up and bring me home." Sherlock said when Mycroft was waiting for him in the doorway of his hospital room.

"Of course not. I'm just making sure that you won't bring yourself in any new trouble on the way home."

"Who says I want to go home anyway?" He put on his coat and ruffled his hair. He had in fact not planned on going home just yet. Instead he wanted to try and talk to Molly. He hadn't seen her in a month now and he missed her terribly, even though he wouldn't admit it to anyone.

"Where else would you want to go?"

Sherlock didn't answer and Mycroft sighed. "Of course. The sweet Miss Hooper again."

"It's DOCTOR Hooper. And that's none of your business."

"Are you even sure she wants to see you?"

"Well, I'll try. Just drop me of at hers', if you would?"

Mycroft shrugged. He knew Sherlock wouldn't listen to him if he said something. Not anymore. He would do what he wanted and right now he wanted that Doctor Hooper. He'd said he loved her. Did he really? Mycroft had always assumed that he and Sherlock were equal when it came to sentiment, but apparently they weren't at all. While he was still cold when it came to romantic attachment, Sherlock had developed romantic feelings for an ordinary girl. Then again, Sherlock had always been more prone to feelings and attachments. One just had to remember Red Beard.

When the brothers were sitting together in the car, Mycroft couldn't help staring curiously at Sherlock. But his curiosity turned into a smug smirk really quickly.

"Mother can't wait to meet your girlfriend, you know?" he said.

"What? How would she… oh. Of course. You told her. Can you tell me why you would do that?!"

"Well, I thought now that you two were getting serious… She's over the moon by the way."

"I don't even know if she forgives me." Sherlock gritted his teeth. "HOW am I supposed to explain that to Mother?"

"Tell her the truth. That her lovely son is a smutty cheater." Mycroft laughed in amusement and Sherlock cringed. He still didn't feel like he was a cheater but apparently the whole world considered him one.

Anger was boiling up inside of him. It was obvious that Mycroft was just jealous, because he was lonely most of the time. Well, he chose to be lonely, but Sherlock knew that deep inside of him Mycroft wasn't that much different from him. Not that he would ever admit it.

"You know, you should have sex once in a while. It releases the tension."

"Oh, so you're an expert now? Have you finally gotten deflowered?"

Sherlock snorted and stared out of the window.

"No wonder you're so attached to that Hooper-girl. The first one you'll never forget they say, don't they?"

"Don't talk about her like that. She has a proper name."

Mycroft sighed. "When did you get so sentimental?! Are you sure you haven't bumped your head while faking that fall?"

"Believe it or not, but things change. People change. And change isn't always that bad."

"Sherlock, you're seriously scaring me. How so? Enlighten me."

"Nah, I don't feel like sharing my thoughts to that topic with you. You wouldn't understand anyway."

"Well. Never say I didn't warn you."

Sherlock didn't answer to that. He was tired of discussing with Mycroft. He'd already had all these discussions in his head and he was over it now. He'd accepted that he wasn't as cold-hearted as he wanted to be and that he loved. No need to go over it again. And he seriously doubted that Mycroft would understand any of it anyway.

Twenty minutes later Sherlock knocked on Molly's door. His heart was beating fast in his chest. He really hoped Molly would talk to him… and maybe even forgive him. But he didn't want to hope too much. Apparently he'd really screwed up with her without even wanting it.

Molly opened after a minute. She was wearing one of her ugly jimjams and her hair was a mess. It fell open and tousled over her shoulders and over her face. He could only see one of her eyes, because the other one was covered with hair. In her small hands she held a pack of Ice Cream.

"Sherlock?" she asked in confusion and wiped away the hair from her face.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course I am."

"You don't look like you're okay. May I come in?"

Molly just shrugged. "Sure." Then she turned around again on her heels and scuffled back towards her living room. Something was seriously wrong with her, he could tell. Closing the door, he followed her and pulled off his coat. Molly sat down on her couch and wrapped herself up in a blanket, eyes staring blankly on the TV screen where some old movie was on.

"Okay. What's wrong?" Sherlock asked as he sat down beside her.

"Are you seriously asking me that?"

"I… guess… I am?"

"Well, you know best what's wrong."

"But it's been over a month." He would have thought she was stronger than that. That she could handle everything. But apparently she couldn't. He must have hurt her even worse than he'd thought.

Molly laughed bitterly. "Exactly."

"I didn't sleep with her. I promise."

She shrugged, eyes continuing to stare on the screen.

"Does it matter?"

"Well, I thought it does."

Molly shrugged again, brining a big spoon of ice cream to her mouth.

"Will you forgive me then?" He was begging. He really was begging. It scared him that he even felt the need to. After all, Sherlock Holmes just didn't beg. But he did.

A shrug. Again. "I guess."

"Okay."

That was all they said to each other that evening. There was an awkward silence between them, just like their talk had been more than awkward and so Sherlock quickly decided to leave again. Molly just noticed it with another shrug. Sherlock was worried about her, but didn't quite know what to do, so he just flew. Something was wrong with her and he needed to find out what it was.

Three weeks later they still had barely talked properly. They'd seen each other a few times and even kissed once, though very shortly, but there was still this awkward tension between them. When Sherlock asked her to accompany him to his parents on the weekend she agreed, but it didn't seem like she cared. It was like she was the mere ghost of herself. There was nothing left of the positive and confident, smiling Molly Hooper. Instead it was like she was depressed. Sherlock tried to deduce her every time he saw her but somehow failed miserably. He just couldn't think properly when he was around her right now. He was too worried about her wellbeing and their future.

Molly smiled around his parents, was nice and friendly, but Sherlock saw through her, just like she'd always seen through him. He must have really hurt her. That was the only possible explanation why she was so miserable. And the bad thing was he knew he'd have to disappoint her another time to finally get Magnussen.

John had finally forgiven Mary, which was a good thing since one miserable couple in the house of his parents was more than enough. Once he found Molly and Mary whispering in a corner but couldn't make out what they were talking about.

His mother was really over the moon though, just like Mycroft had said. She loved Molly and even more the thought that her younger son had finally found someone. Someone who was nice and ordinary. Someone stable. She even asked Mycroft when he'd bring her a daughter-in-law, which made him furious, Sherlock uncomfortable and Molly blushing.

When they had a moment on their own in the living room, Sherlock once again tried to talk to Molly. She'd looked at him in that special way all day and he was wondering what that was about now. Their whole situation confused him and he hated confusion.

"You're really trying, aren't you?" she said, smiling slightly at him. It was the first time in weeks that she did that.

"I am."

"Why?"

"I meant what I said in the hospital."

"Yeah and I believe you. It's just… I don't think I can trust you anymore, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed in frustration. "I'll be honest with you about every case from now on."

"Why is this so important to you? You used to loathe sentiment. You said it was unnecessary and dangerous. Sherlock Holmes doesn't beg. Wasn't that your motto?"

"I still loathe it. It still is stupid, unnecessary and despicable. But I can't help wanting to be with you. I'm better with you. I needed some time to figure it out, but it is indeed true that I, Sherlock Holmes, am madly in love with you, Molly Hooper."

Molly stepped forward and cupped his cheek in her hand. "You're so different. Like you said months ago. Everything changed since you came back."

"Do you…" Sherlock started, but paused for a moment, "Do you… still love me?" He sounded insecure, almost shy.

Molly smiled up to him. "Of course I do. I never stopped. But sometimes love's not enough."

"Still think that I'm one of the good ones?"

She remembered her words almost as if she'd said them only yesterday. She considered her answer for a few moments.

"Yes. Yes, I do. Because I know you don't hurt people on purpose. It just happens."

Sherlock nodded. "It just happens."

Molly sighed and stepped back again, worry lines appearing on her forehead. She took a deep breath, then forced herself to look into his eyes again.

"Actually, there's something I need to tell you. Something important."

He frowned at this and gave her a curious look. He wasn't used to not knowing what was going on. Usually he could look through people, read the signs… but not with Molly anymore. Something had started to block his view.

"It's…"

Molly merely started her sentence when Sherlock's mother came in and smiled happily when she found them standing relatively close together. Molly gave him an apologizing look and shrugged slightly.

"Ah, there you are! Dinner is ready."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He really wanted to know what Molly had to say. But he knew it'd have to wait. He wanted to shoo his mother out again with a snappish comment, but he reined himself in. Molly didn't like it when he was rude and he really didn't want to risk anything with her right now.

A/N: Yeah, well, drama, drama, dramaaa. More drama in the next chapter. :) Which will come online soon, I hope. xx