I never know what I write. I just write and hope things make sense. This came to me while driving. And I figured Molly could have gone for a drive, post-TFP ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to ACD and BBC Sherlock.

It was a bit hypnotic. Gazing straight ahead, just above the hood of the car as she drove down the road. Staring between the lines of the street, just letting her eyes glaze over a bit. Watching as the headlights brought out whatever lay ahead. Which was generally nothing. Not exactly the safest thing to do. But she was the only one on the road. It was empty except for herself. At least it felt like that.

It wasn't even her car. It was a car Mycroft had left for her. One of a few spread across the city. It was ready for if she ever needed it. Should she ever feel something felt off, he had instructed her to take one of the cars, leave town, and go someplace she was familiar enough with but hadn't visited in years. Then after a day, send a message to him or Sherlock. Of course there were other contingencies if she needed to contact them sooner. But this plan had been set ever since the fall. But she just wasn't sure if the cars would still be there now that Sherlock had returned. So she was surprised but pleased to find one in a warehouse just outside of town.

The car had money, water, some food, and other "survival" essentials.

She had only used one of the cars on one other occasion. About ten months after the fall. The circumstances had been different then. Then, she was on her way to see Sherlock. He had contacted her and told her to meet him two hours outside of London.

But now…

It had taken her fifteen minutes to build the nerve to leave her house. Everything had just felt… wrong. Not right. It had taken her fifteen minutes to realize that she was shaking and it wasn't going away.

She packed an overnight bag. Left some food for Toby for a couple of days, and walked out the door. Her cup of tea still on the counter. The lemon sitting next to the cutting board. Her phone left beside the knife. She hadn't bothered cleaning up.

And now, it was nearing 3 am.

There was no a set destination when she started out. Her mind on autopilot since leaving the house. To be honest, she had been taking random turns on the roads, slowly winding her way north and had been driving for about seven hours now.

She had made a stop for petrol at a station. Grabbed a cup of coffee. Not great, but oddly enough, still better than the coffee from Bart's. And a map. If she was going to be driving to and fro, she could at least know where she was at. Which was probably not her best idea considering she was alone.

She did have a secondary phone though. For emergencies. It would automatically forward messages and calls from her primary phone. But Mycroft told her it was still untraceable. For the moment she was ignoring everything that came through.

She hadn't slept in over a day. She had an overnight shift at Bart's but she couldn't even fall asleep when she got home.

Then Sherlock called.

'i love you'

The words haunted her. She couldn't think of that phone call without a chill running up her spine. She tried not to think about it as she drove.

She knew something was wrong the moment he started the conversation. But she ignored it. Because she really was having a bad day and needed the time alone. But the urgency, his tone, everything about it was not Sherlock. He was afraid. She could sense it.

Dawn was coming up now. Time flying by so quickly. The black night sky fading into a dark blue. The stars still visible. But off on the horizon a slight orange hue lined the landscape.

It was her favorite time, as the night gave way to the day. The last bit of stars hanging on until the sun overwhelmed them.

The further north she got, the more familiar some of the roads had become. She knew where she was. She finally had a destination in mind.

She was surprised she even found the place. Just a random piece of shoreline that she had only been to once many years ago.

It wasn't winter anymore but the morning air was still frigid. Grabbing her jacket, her hat and her boots from the backseat, she climbed out of the car. She made her way toward the waters, away from the parked car, her boots knocking the gravelly stones as she treaded as silently as she could.

It was quiet save for the water that lapped against the rocks. There probably wasn't anyone around for miles.

She sat down just above the shoreline.

They always say early mornings are the coldest. And at the moment, she could attest to that. She forgot her gloves in her haste to leave the house. She tried tucking her hands between her thighs but it brought little warmth. She wish she had brought a thermos with coffee. Her coffee from the station had gone cold long ago. It would have made the moment nicer. Made the memories all the better.

She knew she couldn't stay here for long. She just wanted to see if it still looked the same. But really? How much different would the shoreline change? Inside, she was just hoping for some of those happy memories to come back. That coming back might make the memory a bit more vibrant.

She and her parents had been driving further north for holiday. But they had made a stop here to eat lunch. A picnic on the coastline. Back when dad was still alive. When she was still speaking to her mother. A childhood bliss when everything felt like nothing could go wrong. It had been a good day.

Nothing like yesterday.

Around eleven last night, she got a text from John. Just asking if she was alright. A phone call from Mycroft a bit later with a message vaguely explaining things. Obviously not the total truth.

She was waiting for Sherlock to call. But she knew it wouldn't come.

He was waiting on her.

That was partly why she left. Yes, she was afraid of whatever circumstance the boys had found themselves in that resulted in that phone call. Which is why she had left to begin with. Only following rules set aside long ago.

But as Mycroft had explained in his message, there was no harm to her. That there was never any harm. She could have turned around when she got the message late last night. But she didn't.

Over the years, Sherlock started to make amends for his faults more often. And he was usually quick about it. Wanting to atone for anything he did wrong. Wanting to set right whatever fault he made in their relationship. So she knew he'd be at her house. Would have stopped there soon after.

He wouldn't call. Wouldn't text. He would just wait. Whenever she was ready.

She couldn't ignore him forever. But for now. She needed this. Because despite the facts that the phone call was deemed necessary at the moment, the conversation had left damage. She had wanted to throw up after he hung up. The anxiety had built so much, she wasn't sure what caused his strange behavior at the time. And honestly, she was frightened, hurt.

But also scared. Scared for him. She still was.

It was late. She hadn't left the coast until near noon. She was freezing. No doubt she'd be sick in a couple of days. She just couldn't bring herself to leave. But when she started hearing traffic pick up along the road, she figured it was time to go.

It was a slow journey, though. She stopped for lunch at a town further up the road. Taking coffee to go and eventually started her way back.

Later in the day as she was pulling into the outskirts of London, she realized she had missed work. She'd have to come up with an excuse for that. Regardless, she stopped by Bart's first to pick up whatever paperwork she had. All in all. She was reluctant to go home. So she was procrastinating.

The impending conversation was one she was trying not to think about.

She opened her front door. The entire place dark. Maybe he wasn't here after all.

But then she saw it. His belstaff coat, hanging in the closet by the door, his shoes set neatly on the shoe rack.

She didn't like calling herself a perfectionist but there were OCD qualities about her. Cleanliness one of them. And despite his disgruntlement, Sherlock abided by her rules. She didn't know why he came by so often when it was obvious those rules drove him crazy. Yet he never uttered a complaint.

Placing her shoes on the rack, her coat on the hanger, she breathed in deeply. She didn't bother switching on the lights. Looking around as best she could in the dark she noticed the kitchen had been cleaned up, everything put away. Noticing her phone on her desk, already charged to 100%, as she set her work papers down.

That feeling in her stomach was coming back. She could feel herself shaking as she made her way to her bedroom. The cold from the morning seemed to have remained in her.

The house seemed empty. But she knew where he'd be.

His silhouette sat in the arm chair by the window in her room. It was his favorite spot in the house. She could never get him to leave the chair when he came by. Even when she needed to sleep, he'd tell her to just go to bed and leave him be while he lost himself in his thoughts, his gaze directed outside. It was odd at first but then it just became normal.

As normal as things get with Sherlock.

He didn't turn to her when she came to the door. He didn't say anything, so she didn't either. Instead of entering the room, she leaned against the door frame.

He had changed into a set of spare clothes he left here. A glass cup sitting next to him on the night table.

Clearing his throat, the noise breaking the silence. "I found them all," motioning to the night stand, "all the cameras." He spoke to her, but he didn't look at her. Just kept his face directed to the window, watching whatever was going on outside on the streets.

So she stayed quiet. Only looking to what he pointed at. Then she saw them. The cup contained little items. Filled halfway. Even in the dark, she could make out the many devices inside. She was curious, yes. And probably more frightened now that she knew about the cameras. Obviously they had been in her house, somehow related to the incident yesterday, otherwise Sherlock wouldn't have mentioned it.

She had questions. But she'd rather him get what he wanted out first before she asked anything.

The street light streamed through the window, highlighting Sherlock's face. He was tired. And she'd daresay sad.

He could have been sitting there for hours. Perhaps even since he first arrived, probably after collecting all the cameras and tidying the kitchen.

It was then she felt a twinge of regret for being gone for so long. Whatever had happened. Whatever made him stay this long, waiting for her…

There was something more.

She watched as his face changed between different emotions. Thoughts going through his head. Her presence seemed to set him on edge.

"Sherlock…" She started. His eyes snapped to her then. His face unreadable. She didn't have a question or anything to say. She just wanted to bring him out of his thoughts. He'd already been here for some time, going through whatever plagued him.

Yesterday opened things for them. Opened things for him. And rather than be here to talk to him when he needed it. She ran.

Leaving Sherlock in his thoughts, she realized some time ago, was the worst thing you could do to him. She hadn't done it intentionally. She needed to get away. She needed today.

But now…

"I am sorry, Molly. So sorry."

She could feel the tears coming. The way her face felt hot when she was going to cry. She didn't want to cry right now. She hadn't cried after the phone call. Hadn't cried throughout her small journey.

And back here facing reality and thinking about yesterday, it was too much. But she held it in.

It was silly, but she didn't want to move. Afraid to make noise in the silence. Slowly she made her way to her bed. Sitting down at the edge, facing away from him. She didn't want to cry. If she spoke. She would cry. She knew she would. So she didn't say anything. Just breathing deeply for several moments, trying to stop the torrent of tears.

The feeling eventually passed a bit.

She could have told him to leave. He would if she did. But she didn't want him to.

Instead she just said, "I need to change."

It was quiet for a moment. But then she heard him move. Could hear the joints in his knees snapping a bit as he stood. He had been there for hours. Unmoving. Waiting for her.

A second later, he was in front of her, leaning down to kiss her forehead, then walked out of the room, closing the door.

It wasn't until she had put on her pajamas, that she noticed she had been wearing the same clothes from yesterday. The smell of the sea breeze still on it from earlier that day.

She found herself laying in her bed, facing away from the door, staring at the wall ahead of her. Sleep evading her.

She heard the door squeak open, the bed dip down a bit as Sherlock slipped under the covers. When Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, she realized she had been shaking. She had been tense ever since she left her house yesterday. From the chill of the morning. But now, as he held her tightly, hearing him breathe in deeply, her back to his chest, she could feel herself finally calming down.

The weight of yesterday, of today, easing out of her.

She hadn't slept in what was probably two days now. And she was exhausted. Her eyelids were getting heavy.

She wanted to talk more. To ask him questions. But she knew the answers would come. For now. He was here. She was here. And they were safe. For now, everything was okay.

As she drifted away, she could hear him whisper the words that had haunted her mind for the past day.

This time, though. She was certain he meant it.