Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written or profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine.

~ DEBT ~

The text comes when he's in the middle of debriefing Lestrade.

It's from a blocked number, one he suspects not even Mycroft could find.

She's not what I expected, it says. She's nice- Nicer than anyone. Nicer even than you.

I think I should like to keep her.

Sherlock doesn't wait to explain, just grabs his coat and dispatches John back to Baker Street- to Rosie, and Mrs. Hudson- just in case he's wrong. (He hates that he hopes he's not wrong).

When John asks what's wrong he says one word: "Soldiers." And then, "Soldiers today- All of us."

Even more than "Vatican cameos," it tells the doctor all he needs to know.

Mycroft's phone goes to voicemail so he dashes off a text message to Lady Smallwood, then another to Anthea. Then a third to Mummy.

Between them, they should be able to locate his wayward brother- Or sound the alarm if they cannot.

The front door's open, left on the latch. Someone has drawn a smiley face on it with what looks like yellow nail varnish, the paint scratched slightly as if by human nails.

Other than that, the flat appears untouched.

Sherlock enters slowly, hesitantly, to find Eurus sitting at Molly's kitchen table, her dark hair down, her pale, thin hands wrapped around a kitten-patterned mug. She' s laughing brightly, as if she's just been told a really funny joke.

There are biscuits on a plate on the table: Chocolate hobnobs (Molly's favourite) and bourbon cremes (his).

There's also a small, bloody-looking lump of what looks like pig's heart, which Sherlock is willing to bet is Eurus' favourite- That or her idea of a gift.

Molly's sitting with her back to him, her spine unnaturally straight, her grip on her cup so tight it makes her knuckles look white.

As he gets closer Sherlock realises that she's trembling, ever so slightly, her mouth held in a tight line.

He walks over, puts his hand on her shoulder to show he's here. She sags slightly into his grip and something, that same howling, hungry thing in his chest that caused him to wreck the coffin on Sherrinford, roars into life. Bares its teeth.

He will not allow Eurus to do this.

"I told you he'd come," his sister says lightly, leaning forward to pat the pathologist's knee comfortingly. "Really, Molly- May I call you Molly? Oh, of course I may- Really Molly, you've no idea what you do to him. All those funny little emotions you inspire in him- Really, it's rather, well, dear."

She leans forward, voice lowered as if imparting some sort of confidence.

If possible Molly's face gets paler and Sherlock feels his blood run cold.

"Us Holmses aren't at all good with sentiment you know- not built for it, I'm afraid," Eurus says, "and yet he excels at it where you're concerned- You should be flattered."

She throws her brother a sweet smile.

"And you- You should be grateful. To me, and to Molly here. A month after Sherrinford and you've not explained a thing to her- Silly boy. You're getting worst than Mycroft." She shakes her head to herself. "A woman likes a little encouragement, you know- And I won't be in a position to do this for you again.

The authorities will be here in minutes."

And with those words she drains her teacup and gets up. Pours herself another.

She pulls the late of biscuits over to her side of the table and Molly appears to be too frightened to object.

With a smile she helps herself to the plate, stopping only to glare at her brother- "Molly's frightened, you idiot, do something about it!"- but when he makes a move towards her Molly's hand tightens on his wrist in fear and instead he elects to stay close.

His sister beams to see it.

Once Eurus has been taken away, he tries to take his leave of Molly.

In all his time as her friend, he's never felt so gut-wrenchingly guilty as this.

When he rises and tries to go to the door though, she halts him. Pulls him back to her. "Was she telling the truth?" she asks, hesitantly. Shyly. Her eyes are cast downwards. "Was she..?"

"She was."

Sherlock doesn't even remember deciding to say the words, yet out they pop.

"She was telling the truth today... And I was telling the truth that day on the phone."

Molly looks up at him. Blinks. Pales. "So you-"

"Love you? Yes." The words feel so much easier this time around. They don't break his heart; they don't stick in his throat like rocks. "I love you, and that's why this happened to you- And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Moll-"

He might have finished had Molly Hooper not chosen that moment to pull him to her and kiss him soundly.

Without any hesitation on his part whatsoever, his arms come up around her and pull her close. His lips press against hers and kiss her back.

"Don't apologise," she says, and then all that exists in the world is the joy of kissing her.

Hours later, Sherlock's phone beeps again, but he doesn't look at it.

He already knows who it will be from.

Remember what you owe me now, little brother, it says. xxx