AN: Yes, I know I have other stories I should be working on, and yes I know there's already been plenty of these, but I just couldn't help myself, okay?

Disclaimer: I own nothing

She hadn't been expecting... that. When she told Sherlock to say it first, to say 'I love you' and say it like he meant it... well, she hadn't expected him to mean it quite so much. She thought he'd laugh it off like it meant nothing, or use that fake sad voice he used to guilt trip John sometimes.

What she'd got... that had been real, she was sure of it. It had been years of trial and error, but she was pretty sure she had got the hang of knowing the real Sherlock from his games, and whatever he was playing at now wasn't a game. The first time had been tentative and yet sure at the same time, like a confession and a realisation at once, followed by another, more than she'd asked for, as if he couldn't keep it in.

So she'd said it back. What could she do but what he'd asked after a confession like that? He hung up immediately after, but not before she'd heard his relieved exhale.

She'd stood staring at her phone with wet cheeks for long moments after, pondering what kind of case or experiment could possibly have made him need to hear her say that as badly as he seemed to. The only thing that could make sense in her mind was that he must be dying. He'd come so very close to it on the last case he'd been on that she didn't want to think about it. But he had seemed to be getting better after, seemed fine when they had gone out for cake on his birthday.

Her tea had gone cold, but she didn't much fancy it now anyway, so poured it straight down the drain before going in search of something stronger. Another thought occurred to her that perhaps her own demise might prompt such emotional behaviour from Sherlock, but then she doubted it. Besides, despite the cold ache lodged in her chest from their conversation and the headache she'd had even before it, she was very much alive.

Hundreds of miles away, Sherlock sunk to the floor in amongst the shattered remains of Molly's coffin.

When her alarm went off the next morning, Molly's hands flew straight to her phone, as though expecting an important text or call to have come through. When she remembered why, she wasn't sure whether she felt relieved or not to find nothing. What was she expecting, an explanation? Sherlock never wasted time explaining his behaviour, she knew that well by now. Trying to simply forget the whole ordeal, she gathered herself together and got out of bed. She took a quick shower and dressed without paying much attention to what she was putting on, before wandering out to the kitchen for some much needed coffee. Before she made it to the kettle though, she heard it, two gentle and slow knocks on her front door. She thought she must have been mishearing at first, since the sound seemed to be coming from nearer the floor, but then the sound came again and she knew for sure it was someone knocking. It was little past five in the morning, since she was on an early shift today, and so there was no doubt who could be knocking on her door at such an unsociable hour. Sherlock. But why was he on the floor? Immediately her mind was assaulted by images of him gravely injured, and she rushed to open to door to get to him.

Sure enough Sherlock was there with his back to her as he straightened up from the floor, but he didn't appear injured, more like he had been sitting with his back against her door. Perhaps he was high was her next thought, but his eyes as he turned to face her held no tell-tale redness or dilation, only the dark circles of an exhausted man.

"Have you been sitting down there all night?" She found herself asking, the many other things she had to ask and say to him after last night's call pushed aside by simple concern and curiosity.

"Mm, not sure, I lost track. I think it was past midnight when we got back to London. You weren't up anyway so I thought I'd wait."

"Oh." The silence that fell was awkward, charged with things that had been said and needed further to be said. Never one to endure a silence, Molly stepped aside, holding the door open wider. "Coffee?"

"Desperate for a cup."

He knew his way to her kitchen well enough, but waited for her to lead the way, perching himself meekly at the breakfast bar as she got the things together. His behaviour was so far from the norm, Molly found herself worrying all over again.

"Sorry if this sounds a bit abrupt, but, why are you here Sherlock? Why come straight here from... whatever you were doing last night?" She finally blurted, impatient from waiting for the kettle to boil.

He looked up from his hands, where he'd been staring for the last five minutes, with a confused scowl on his face, which was so much more like him it was almost a relief to see.

"I would have thought it would have been obvious."

"Nothing's obvious with you" Molly replied in an almost whisper. Maybe at one point she thought she had him sussed, but recently he seemed to do nothing but surprise her.

He looked at his hands again, speaking to them rather than to her.

"That phone call last night. I told you I couldn't tell you why at the time, and that was true... but I didn't think it would be fair to leave you wait any longer than absolutely."

"Fair?" Molly gave a bitter laugh and turned away again to attend to the coffee. "What makes you think..." she took a couple of seconds to calm herself, the stirring of the coffee a therapeutic gesture. "No. No, none of this was fair. I appreciate you coming to explain, Sherlock, or at least I think I do. I suppose it depends on what you say."

She sat herself down opposite him at the breakfast bar with her coffee, and pushed the second cup towards him. He nodded. But seemed to be taking a moment to gather his thoughts, so she let him. When he looked at her he looked straight at her, meeting her eyes earnestly.

"I thought you were going to die." He confessed to her shock, "There was a coffin built for you in front of me, and she-" his voice cracked slightly, and he hesitated, clearing his throaty to attempt to control it.

"She?" Molly asked in the gap. She had come across several of Sherlock's 'she's, always the kind of beautiful women who made Molly feel self-conscious and lacking, like he could never possibly notice her. This quick flash of jealousy was quickly stifled by his swift answer however.

"My sister, Eurus. She'd already killed five people in her games that night, and then she told us you would die if I didn't make you say it. I had to make you say it. I... I'm sorry."

Molly's head spun with the information. Had she really been so close to death last night without realising it? Was that why he had sounded so desperate on the phone, why he had gone to such lengths... it hurt her head again to think about it, so she focused on another part of his tale to distract herself.

"I didn't know you had a sister."

He laughed, a short sharp bark, not of bitterness, more of something that is so not funny that it kind of is. It was a very Sherlock laugh.

"Would you believe, neither did I, until very recently."

"She doesn't sound very nice."

"She's... troubled." Sherlock said softly, something approximate to concern clouding over his eyes as they stared into he distance for a second, before he refocused on Molly. "She's safe now though, secure, you don't need to fear her."

"So... what now, we just... go back to normal? Whatever that is?" Molly asked, chewing her lip nervously.

"Is that an option?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.

Part of her wanted to say no. How could things possibly go back after what he'd made her say, even if it was something he already knew? And with what he said to her? How could she face him striding into her lab and asking her for favours with all that between them? But the other part of her knew she'd do anything for those precious moments in his company, that she'd put on a smile for him whenever he strode in, even if she was dying inside. She hesitated too long however, and Sherlock saw right through her.

"I thought not." He said softly, before reaching across the gap and laying one large warm hand over hers where they shook holding her cup. She couldn't help pulling away, hiding the action by taking a sip of her still-too-hot coffee. He took the rejection, slowly pulling his hand back to link fingers with his other, his own coffee forgotten.

"Molly, listen, about what you said..."

"Please don't-" she blurted, then cut herself off, not sure what exactly she was protesting to, except the feelings bubbling up in her chest the way they had yesterday on the phone. Sherlock regarded her for a second, but then carried on anyway, albeit in as softer voice as she imagined he could manage.

"You said you couldn't say it because it was true. I didn't realise it until the time, I swear I didn't, but it was for me too."

Molly choked back a sob, tears she thought she no longer had in her escaping her eyes, though she made no more attempts to interrupt or stop him saying what he needed to say.

"There had been a man with us, the prison governor, and one of the first things she did was tell us we had to kill him or she'd shoot his wife. He begged us to kill him, and when we failed, he did it himself in a last ditch effort to save his wife. Because he loved her. Then when Eurus set her sights on you, I knew I would do at least that, that I would do anything, to keep you safe. What is that but love? But instead she made me torment you, torture you psychologically, no, don't try to play it down I know it was." He cut her off as she opened her mouth to do just that, "And you know one of the parts that scared me most, besides the idea of you dying, was knowing that after that things could never be the same between us again. No, I would either have to live up to my words and make... this-" he gestured to the two of them "-work, or I would lose you, forever, and that terrifies me because I'm not sure I know how to do that."

Molly sniffed and drew herself up, bracing herself for what he was inevitably about to say, that since they couldn't work and she was a weakness for others to exploit, he would cut her out of his life. She should have been happy, after all he'd put her through, after all he was right, what had been said last night could never be undone. And yet already she was planning the pleas she would never say, begging him to stay. Sherlock must have seen the turmoil in her eyes however, as he once again closed the gap with his hand, settling it warm and heavy over hers.

"John told me, not long ago, that he didn't believe he was the man Mary thought he was, that he wasn't good enough. But that she made him want to be that man. He told me - and these are his words not mine - that I should 'get a piece of that.' At the time he was talking about Irene, ridiculous, she isn't the right sort to make me a better kind of person. You are. It's always been you. You're the one I want to be a better man for."

Molly could do nothing but silently stare back at him, hardly daring to believe he meant what she thought he meant. He hadn't said it directly, but how could his words be construed as anything else? Before she could do anything else, however, Sherlock drew his hand back, and stood up.

"Yes, well, of course it's bad timing, what with... everything, and you'll want time to think things through of course..." he practically babbled, before downing his coffee in one go "I'll just... go"

And go he did, practically fleeing the confines of her flat. She raced to catch up with him, leaning out the doorway to call to him as his long strides ate up the corridor.

"Sherlock!"

He stopped dead in his tracks, turning hesitantly to face her.

"Don't I get a chance to have my say?" She asked and demanded at the same time.

"Yes... of course." He agreed, slinking back to stand before her as if bracing himself for rejection, or perhaps another slap. He still towered over her, and yet looking up at him, Molly felt all the power in her hand and relished it for a second, as she tried to decide how best to express her feelings, realising she already had.

"What part of 'I Love You' don't you understand?" She asked, revelling in the look of surprise on his face, and letting it embolden her. She reached a hand up to his cheek, and though he cringed away, part of him still expecting a slap, cupped it gently to bring his face down to hers. The first meeting of their lips was soft, and tentative, but then his arms wrapped around her like a drowning man desperate to stay afloat, and she allowed it to deepen, but only for minute.

"I um... I have to get ready for work." She admitted awkwardly, blushing at him again for the first time in years. "But I can swing by Baker Street after work... if... if you'd like that."

"I would." He said, his voice slightly gravelly from their kiss. "It's a bit of a mess though, there was a bomb... we'll be sifting through the wreckage all day I imagine."

"Then I'll bring takeaway. Chinese?" Molly suggested.

"Go to the one on Wardour street," he assented "Tell them I sent... that you're with me."

"Will they give us extra portions?" Molly chuckled, well familiar with Sherlock's ways.

"No, but they'll put it on my tab. It's my understanding it's rude to let a woman pay for her meal on a first date."

Molly laughed again, tears of joy springing up in her eyes. She had the feeling dating Sherlock Holmes would be everything she dreamed of, and yet nothing like she'd imagine.