Chapter 19

"Are you ready Sherlock?" John asks as the clock in the kitchen chimes 11am.

Sherlock sighs. "Ready as I'll ever be. Now, shall I go hide in the back garden?"

"Sure, then I'll give you a wave when I come into the kitchen to make the tea."

"Perfect. It will give me time to have a cigarette first," Sherlock fiddles in his Belstaff pocket to find the lighter and package of fags he brought with him. When he looks back up, John's eyebrows rise in warning.

Sherlock scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Don't be so self-righteous John, I merely want to calm my nerves. Now, go and look like you're tidying up. Molly is less likely to suspect something if you're busy."

"Right. I suppose that's fair, considering," John says, turning to go fluff the cushions on the settee.

Sherlock opens the back door and steps out onto the paving slabs of the patio. He moves off to the side and lights up a fag. Taking a long, contemplative drag he blows it up into the dreary sky. His eyes flick down again as his trembling hand brings the cigarette to his lips and he groans inwardly. To say that he was nervous was a glaring understatement.

Quite frankly, he's terrified.

He still loves her deeply, there is no doubt in his mind. But the possibility that what he is about to relay to her could have the potential to damage any further reconciliation. He'd already been through a trial run of that for the past two and a half years and honestly, he hated every damn moment of it. Not being close to Molly nearly drove him insane, regardless if he was doing it for her sake. Sherlock misses her so very much. Whether or not she reciprocated his love was not the point here; he could live with his feelings being only one sided. What he couldn't live without was a life without Molly Hooper in it at all. He needs to make sure at the very least, their friendship is still in tact. He couldn't bare it, if that wasn't the case.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends...

Sherlock opens the door with more bravado than he feels and steps inside. "Oh hello Molly, I didn't realize that John was having you over," he says, trying to act surprised at her appearance in the kitchen.

He's met with daggers. "What are doing here?" Molly throws her hands up in the air. "Ugh, I should have bloody well known you would pull something like this Sherlock!"

"And You," she rounds on John, finger pointed at his face, "How cold you let him when you knew damn well how upset I am about what he did!"

Sherlock can see the anger coming off of her in waves. Time to try a little diplomacy. He raises his hands up in surrender. "Molly, you have every right to be upset. John and I know it looks like we've betrayed your trust, but I had no other option to get you to talk to me. You wouldn't take any of my calls and my attempts at texting you have gone unanswered. John simply helped me achieve what I could not on my own." He takes a sidelong look at John, who is flicking his own eyes about between Molly and himself, apprehension etched onto his face. Sherlock takes a calculated risk and continues explaining his reasoning. "You see, I wanted to make amends for the pain I've caused you – that and I would also like to clear a few things up as well, if that's alright with you of course." He hopes that was put delicately enough.

John clears his throat. "I think that's my cue. I'll be back in an hour, if anyone wants to know." He makes his way to the front door, grabbing his coat on the way out.

As the door shuts behind John, Molly's mercurial eyes lift up to meet Sherlock's. Her glare is so intense, it forces him to look away and fidget with the pack of fags in his pocket.

"Go on then," Molly spits out, "Let's see what you've come up with. I doubt you could even begin to fix this." She crosses her arms. "Did you even think for a second that I wouldn't have been supportive of you? That we could have figured things out together? I was happy Sherlock, and you ripped that away from me!"

The venom in her words pierce Sherlock's heart and he flinches as if he's been struck.

Then, he sees Molly's demeanour change. Her brows knit together in concern and her eyes go from burning with rage, to worry. It's only for a moment or two though and then the mask of wrath is back in place. But now he knows. She's not nearly as angry as she's portraying. This may work, after all!

Sherlock fortifies himself and stays stoic, even though he is jumping for joy inside. Molly's tell has betrayed her—she still cares. "I think it's best we both sit for this. But first – tea. Would you like some? It would be a shame to waste it since John has already boiled the kettle."

"I suppose so," Molly says snidely as she goes and sits on the settee.

"Right. It's settled then," Sherlock affirms as he makes his way into the kitchen. He finally is able to take his Belstaff off and throws it over the kitchen chair, then rolls up the sleeves on his purple shirt. He grabs two mugs and the teapot from their respective places and begins to place them on a tray with some biscuits that he found in John's cupboard. The actions are helping him remain calm, even though his heart is palpating rather fast. He knows his elated feelings are to blame, but he can't help but feel exhilarated when there is still a chance for Molly to accept his apology openly.

Once everything is put together, he takes it into the living room and places it on the coffee table between Molly and himself. Without a pause, his hand grabs the teapot and pours Molly's first, and then his own. After he stirs his own tea, he passes her the spoon, milk and sugar.

"Gingernut?" Sherlock asks as he offer's the plate to Molly. She nods and grasps the one closest to her, taking a small bite and following it up with a sip of tea.

Before Sherlock is even able to begin to explain, Molly gives a shake of her head."Look, Sherlock," she starts, holding her hand out to stop him. He doesn't want to hear what excuses she has come up with, so he takes a hold of her outstretched hand.

"Molly, please-" he urges. "before you say anything more, let me impart what I need to."

Her hand fits in his perfectly. Oh how he's missed her touch. He closes his eyes for a moment, savouring the feeling of her fingers encased in his before he allows her hand to drop from his.

Her silence gives him all the affirmation he needs.

Sherlock's eyes open to watch her assertively. "It was tremendously wrong of me to assume I knew what you wanted. I know that now. I displaced my insecurities on to you, to protect myself instead of talking about what was really at the heart of the matter. I might not have been ready to progress our relationship, but that shouldn't have meant that I pushed you away because of it. For that I am so very sorry, Molly Hooper. You deserved better than that." Sherlock looks down at his lap for a moment, shame bubbling up. "You deserved better from me."

"Well," Molly answers, "You've got one thing right. I did deserve better from you." She takes another sip of tea, her visage looking less irate and more empathetic by the minute.

Sherlock's heart skips a beat.

"But," she adds after a sigh escapes her lips, "I was also your first serious girlfriend, so how were you to know the nuances between two people in a romantic relationship? You had really nothing to go on. And for that I am sorry. I carried unrealistic expectations of our relationship and I treated it as if you had loads of experience to go on, but you didn't, did you?

Sherlock shakes his head. "No, I really didn't. Especially when the context of emotions was so new to me. But that's no excuse. I knew that I was hurting you, and yet I still chose to do those things. I chose to stay out on cases, I chose to forget your birthday, our anniversary... but it was because I thought I... I wasn't worthy of you. You are a strong, brilliant, independent woman Molly. One who is kind, caring and thoughtful – a true gift. I am merely a cold-hearted asshole who values deduction and reason above all things." Sherlock finds her hands, clasping them in his own. "But because of you," He stops and finds Molly shaking her head, her hair becoming a curtain surrounding her face. "yes, you Molly Hooper, I have begun to understand I don't always have to act this way. I can continue to hold reason in high esteem, while still being capable of love. Emotions will not dumb down my mastery of deduction, but allow me to understand it further. So, thank you for that."

All the anger has dissipated from Molly's face and in its place, a watery smile grows. "You're welcome Sherlock."

He realizes in that moment, something is different.

It's not the way Molly has responded, but something... physical. He missed it before, but that was because of his priority of telling Molly what she needed to hear. Then, he catches up to his brain. The ring.

It's gone.

He looks down at her left hand, held in his right. No engagement ring. No engagement ring! Without skipping a beat, Sherlock takes a leap of faith. "Molly, I need to express something to you. A delicate matter of sorts."

"Yes," She replies, wistful.

He looks up to find tears streaking down her beautiful face. His right hand moves from its perch beneath Molly's left hand and raises it to her face. Sherlock brushes the pad of his thumb over the apple of her cheek, wiping away the tears that have dared to fall.

"I still have feelings for you. After all this time they have remained steadfast and I cannot hide from them any longer. I must tell you," Sherlock takes in a shaky breath. "I love you Molly Hooper and will do so until the very last breath escapes my lips."

A wet laugh bubbles up from Molly and she covers her mouth in surprise. The tears flow freely from her eyes, and he can't help but wonder if he's said something he shouldn't.

"Oh, Sherlock," Molly says affectionately and leans in, wrapping her arms around him.

His arms find their way around her back, melting into her embrace and savouring every moment he gets to be in such close proximity to her.

He can feel her breath pass over the shell of his ear in heavy uneven sobs, his shirt slowly becoming wet with her tears. Then he hears her try and whisper something over and over between her ragged breathing.

Then, he finally catches it.

"I love you too, Sherlock."