Eurus Holmes: Look at you. The man who sees through everything is exactly the man who doesn't notice… when there's nothing to see through.

"Are you going to be alright?" The concern in John's voice was palpable. Sherlock force himself to nod his head even though he was the furthest thing from alright. John took a quick inventory of his friend's face. "You should come by the house, see Rosie, take some time off."

"I'll be by later. Kiss her for me." He tried to smile but it flatlined before reaching his eyes. "Right now, there's something I need to do."

"You sure? Maybe you ought to let that take some time off? Let it settle? She'll figure out soon enough that there's more to it when Mycroft's people remove the cameras."

"I can't let it settle. She needs an explanation and she should hear it from me." He wearily rubbed his eyes and then stared out the window. "Did you know? John?"

It was hard to look at him, much less answer that question. Did he know Molly had feelings for Sherlock? Of course, he did. All of them knew even though they didn't talk about it. Did he realize how deeply her feelings ran? No. Not really. John knew she saw right through the consulting detective and that she was one of the few whose opinion Sherlock took to heart. Not that he did that very often. Being a witness to that phone call, watching them cut each other to the bone for Eurus Holmes' amusement was galling. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't heal the resulting hurt. He couldn't dredge up proper words of comfort.

"I didn't know all of it," he confessed. "Nobody did."

"Eurus did," Sherlock refuted softly. "Molly did."

"You can't...Sherlock...how could you know? She never said a word."

"She never said the words but it was there, John. It was obvious to anyone that took the time to look." He shook his head and then resumed his study of the passing scenery. "There's always one thing."

After they'd dropped John off, he instructed the driver to go to Molly's flat. "But, sir?"

"What is it? Do you require something other than the house number and the street name to find where we're going?"

In the mirror, the driver's jaw visibly tightened but his tone was mild when he answered. "Miss Hooper has been moved to a secure location, Mr. Holmes, per Mr. Holmes' instructions. Shall I take you there?" He waved his hand dismissively and settled back in his seat. As long as she was safe, he didn't care if he had to fly to the ends of the earth to get to her. "We'll be there within the hour."

The house was dark and quiet when they rolled to a stop before it. There was no sign that it was anything other than what it purported to be. He made his way up the walk, past flower boxes with blossoms shut tightly and an ornamental birdbath in the crook of the porch. The door opened before he got there; Anthea holding it open for him as she tapped out a short message on her phone. Letting Mycroft know his whereabouts no doubt.

"Is she asleep?"

"Resting but not asleep." Anthea studied him through her lashes. "She wants to know when she can go home. Her cat does not like it here."

In spite of himself, Sherlock laughed. That infernal creature. Of course, she'd bring Toby along with her. Molly was nothing if not devoted to her pet, pampering him outrageously and becoming quite protective if one tried to nudge the animal away from 'his' cushion. As if a cat could claim ownership of anything. "Have they finished with her flat?"

"Gone over it twice but Mycroft wanted it checked again. Down to the baseboards, I believe is how he put it. I've ordered a cleaning service in before we take her back."

"Good," Sherlock breathed easier, his shoulders loosening a bit. "That's good." Taking off his coat and leaving in on the back of the couch, he left Anthea to do whatever it is she did and went to find Molly.

The bedroom was as still as a tomb but he could just make out a slightly darker shadow on the bed, huddled in a bundle beneath the duvet. The swift intake of her breath gave her away...she wasn't asleep yet. She gave no other indication that she'd noticed his presence; nor did she object to his being there. Encouraged, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

That's when the shivering started, each limb quaking like leaves in a high wind. Too much adrenaline. Too much fear. Too much emotional context. He didn't know what to do with it all. His fist throbbed, cracked knuckles and jagged tears left behind by splinters. He could feel her eyes on him, intent and somber. When her silence held, he tried to break it but couldn't. He didn't know what to say. What could he say?

"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered. "Not tonight. Please, Sherlock." Molly turned on her side, her knee brushing his hip. "There are things to say. I know that. But please, not tonight."

Sherlock looked on as she straightened the pillow opposite hers and then patted it, an invitation of sorts. Holding her gaze, he lay down, one arm under his head and the other curled on the mattress between them. Her hand found his, small and strong, and she traced the outline of his fingers, skimming over his bandages. Questions bloomed in her eyes but she didn't give them voice. Apparently, her not tonight was not just for his benefit. Molly enfolded his hand in both of hers, her touch feather light, and she closed her eyes.

He basked in the comfort she gave so freely, so unselfishly so...loving. It was so clear to him now. Right there in front of him the whole time. Tomorrow then. They would talk. He would explain about Eurus and Redbeard and why he'd needed her to say those words so badly.

Maybe they could try to say those words to each other again. Maybe not tomorrow but one day soon. When Eurus was settled and Baker Street repaired and they didn't have the weight of the world about their shoulders. No...not maybe. He would. And hopefully, she would too.