Chapter Two

She walked trough the park, wearing a navy hoodie and black jeans, trying to blend in with the darkness that surrounded her. Molly didn't really feel like wearing her usual bright coloured catastrophe. She didn't want to look happy and joyful, when on the inside she was just numb. She had been so optimistic when he rang, about meeting, so happy that maybe she could have a friend in this universe.

But then, her usually dormant side decided to wake up and make Molly question ever single stupid thung she has ever done in the history of her existence. Therefore, she was incredibly less optimistic than she was.

She had spent approximately five days, six hours, twenty three minutes and twelve seconds going back and forth in her mind. Molly had never been this undecisive in her life, and it was scary in a way.

She could see him from a mile away, at least in her mind. His curly hair, big long black coat, with the collars turned up, looking like he just walked out of Selfridge's or Harrods. And there he was, sat on a park bench, twiddling his fingers idly.

Ten o'clock had been and went, Sherlock sitting on his bench, Molly hiding behind a tree in terror. She didn't know how to approach him, how to act around the man who forced an unwilling love confession from her lips, to supposedly save her life. Or not, it hadn't really processed in her head correctly from when Mycroft told her everything that had happened in Sherrinford.

She just kept watching him, silent as a mouse the both of them. It almost terrified Molly, the idea she was this close from forgiving him, and couldn't bring herself to do it. He did seem as distraught as she did, but she wasn't entirely sure if that was a good thing. It just, happened.

Another ten minutes came by, and Molly watched as Sherlock stood up slowly, ruffling his hair in a way that seemed sad and miserable, taking a long look at the bench. He muttered something, Molly knew that much, but she wasn't sure what he muttered. He started walking, and before Molly could even begin to think, she blurted out the first thing she could.

"Wait!" Molly yelled, and Sherlock looked to see Molly Hooper running at him. Was that relief on his face? She wasn't sure.

"You came." He sighed, smiling softly. She wasn't used to seeing emotion on him, especially not looking back at how he used to be. John changed him, unsurprisingly. They say love does that to you, although Molly doubted she would ever know.

"Yeah, well, I had to hear you out, even just to stop John coming round with recorders strapped to his stomach." Molly joked, sarcasm laced through her voice, and Sherlock laughed. Not loudly, but loud enough for Molly to understand he was laughing, not crying.

"I never sent him to do that!" Sherlock replied, still faintly laughing.

"It wasn't too far away from him doing it himself, I think." Molly said truthfully, as Sherlock forced himself to stop laughing, "Anyway, what did you want to say?"

"I, um, I wanted to apologise. You know everything that happened, on that day, probably. I think Mycroft was to blame there. But, but... I only did it, because I couldn't let you die." He muttered, and Molly felt confused.

"But, Mycroft said there wasn't a threat..." She droned off quietly, hoping Sherlock would explain to her.

"Eurus decided to play with my mind, by pretending you were in danger. And that you would die unless..."

"Unless I told you I loved you." Molly finished his sentence, and Sherlock nodded, his head facing the ground in what looked to be shame.

"If I knew, had a glimpse of knowing, what she was up to, Molly, I never would have-"

But he was cut off, by Molly slowly wrapping her arms around his neck, and hugging him. He stood still for a moment, unsure of what was happening and what to do. Guess it was the Holmes intuition.

"Molly, I-"

"Just give me a hug, you giant idiot." Molly laughed, and she felt herself relax as Sherlock tentatively placed his arms around her back, bringing her closer to him.

"Um, why are you hugging me?" He asked quietly, as he brought the little pathologist closer to him.

"Well, I'm not exactly going to kiss you and declare my undying love for you. So, this is what I can do without looking like a raving idiot. Like I usually do." Molly said, and Sherlock pulled away. Not sharply, or in a cruel way, but still in a way that felt like a stab in Molly's back.

"I... I'm... Sorry. For... Embarrassing you." Sherlock stuttered, but Molly shook her head.

"You've apologised already, give it up. I don't want to spend the rest of my life hearing Sherlock Holmes apologise to me. Just, shut up. Okay?" She said, and Sherlock nodded, "Right, I'm bloody starving."

"I know this Italian place not too far from here. The owner owes, well, owed, me a favour, but he's very nice. Still." Sherlock said, and Molly was impressed. Somebody, actually liking Sherlock? Well, somebody other than herself.

"Come on then. I'm getting a whole pizza." Molly grinned, as she took Sherlock's arm and the two of them walked from the park.

If this was a normal, clichéd romance tale, this would have ended with the two of them making out and telling each other their deepest desires, Molly thought. But she knew, real life wasn't like that, though it took her long enough, and she will just have to be content with being a friend to the great detective Sherlock Holmes.