Realizations

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before."

Molly froze in the middle of a question Sherlock hadn't heard. She had a look of…What emotion was that? Embarrassment?

"I just refreshed it a bit." Her voice was slightly panicked, Sherlock noticed. He tried hard not to roll his eyes at the lie he didn't understand.

She was asking a question, came a voice in his head. Nevermind her lips, find out what she was asking.

"Sorry," he said, mostly to himself, though it would seem he was apologizing to his companion. "You were saying?"

Molly looked less confident now then she had a moment ago. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."

Simple enough question, he thought. And with an answer that is just as simple.

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs." It was rather nice of her to offer to fetch him coffee. Though why she would need lipstick for such a task was beyond him.

Lukis and VanCoon were smugglers, just as Soo Lin had been. Sherlock knew this without a doubt, but DI Dimmock would take some convincing. Lestrade is far easier to work with than this idiot, Sherlock thought savagely.

The only way he knew to prove his point was to show Dimmock the tattoos Sherlock knew were on the victims' heels. They arrived at Bart's Morgue to find it empty. A little put off, Sherlock told the detective inspector to stay there while he went in search of Molly.

He found her in a cafeteria line, looking hard at the food in front of her. She had changed her hair. A clipboard was gripped, forgotten, in her arms. She was clearly taking a short break, one she had not planned on.

As he engaged her in small talk, he realized she seemed quite pleased to see him. (What a dull life she must have.) It became clear rather quickly that his original plan was not working. He needed to look at those bodies now. He looked at her hair, pretending to notice it for the first time. "You…changed your hair."

She was clearly thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "What?"

"The style. It's usually parted in the middle."

"Yes, well…"

"No, it's good. It...suits you better this way." He smiled a warm smile down at her, all the while complaining internally about the simple-mindedness of the comment.

"The feet?" Molly seemed to think she had misunderstood the detective, who walked straight to the bottom of the bag.

He turned to face the body and Molly, Dimmock standing to the side. Sherlock smiled at Molly with his hands behind his back. He watched as she walked towards the body bag.

Her hair really does look nice. Very nice, actually.

As she unzipped the bag, he came back to his senses. He pushed Molly and her hair easily to the back of his mind.

The door to the lab opened and Molly slipped in, smiling. "Any luck?" she asked cheerfully.

"Ah, yes," Sherlock replies, grinning at the computer giving a positive result.

The door opens again and in walks a scrawny gay man, wearing a tight grey t-shirt and neon green underwear visible above his trousers. "Oh, sorry," he said, though he didn't look sorry at all. "I didn't..Um…"

"Jim!" Molly exclaimed. "Uh, hi!"

Sherlock looked between them, confused. Molly seemed to know this man, and fairly well judging by the sound of her voice.

Gay Jim motioned back to the door, as though asking if he should go. "Come in, come in," Molly invited, though Sherlock would have rather the man left him, Molly, and John alone so they could work. He didn't need more people to hang around as he was trying to solve a case.

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." Jim walked over to join the three of them standing around the microscope.

"Ah." He seemed far more interested in Sherlock than the detective was in him. He stared at Sherlock, a kind of longing in his eyes, as Molly tried to remember John's name, but failed.

"Hi," This Jim seemed rather nervous. "So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. Are on one of your cases?"

Sherlock closed his eyes against the microscope. Why was this man here? Didn't he see Sherlock was busy?

"Jim works in IT upstairs," Molly explained. "That's how we met! Office romance." Both Molly and Jim giggled a little at this as Sherlock looked over the new man once more.

"Gay." Sherlock felt Molly should know. If she truly liked this man, she should know the truth.

"Sorry, what?" Molly sounded confused and a little... Oh, Sherlock was not good at emotions, so why even pretend he knew what else was in her voice.

He looked up again. "Nothing, um…" Sherlock searched his brain for something else that he might have said. "Hey."

"Hey," whispered the man now standing right beside him. He put his hand on the table, knocking over a pan and placing a piece of paper underneath it as he picked it up. "Well I'd better be off."

As he walked towards the door, Jim confirmed his plans with Molly for that night. Then stopped next to her and turned to face Sherlock, who had dived back into his research. He said a few more things Sherlock had no interest in listening to, and was gone.

"What do you mean 'gay'?" Molly asked trying to sound light-hearted. "We're together."

"And domestic bliss must suit you Molly; you've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two and a half." Molly was starting to get defensive.

"Well, three."

"Sherlock," John complained in the background. The other two ignored his.

"He's not gay! Why do you have to spoil-" Molly almost yelled. She regained her temper a little and tried again. "He's not."

"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock was now starting to get defensive in return. He listed off what he had seen to lead him to his conclusion. He showed Molly the piece of paper Jim had left under the pan, proving it was the man's number. He finished with his honest opinion of "I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

There was a silence in the lab, in which John stood awkwardly in the corner, watching and Molly just glared at Sherlock. Then, much to the latter's shock, Molly turned and ran from the lab without another word.

Wait, Sherlock wanted to yell after her. What's wrong?

Before he could get the words out, however, the door slammed shut and John was reprimanding him for his behavior. Sherlock honestly didn't see what he had done wrong. He was always told to be nice, but when he tried to help someone by telling them the truth about a man they were dating, it was wrong.

How do ordinary people survive? With all their unspoken rules and confusing double standards.

He could still see the look on Molly's face as she ran out. He didn't like that look; he didn't like how it made him feel, as though that look could ruin his whole day. He looked around for a distraction and noticed the shoes still sitting on the lab table. He had already seen everything there was to see about them, so he slowly pulled one to John.

"Go on then." Let's see how you like not understanding the obvious. Sherlock thought savagely.

Mrs. Hudson began to clap as he finished his last song on his violin, smiling to himself. She made a joke about a pair of antlers she had bought him, and he laughed it off. Now that he was done playing, he felt the pressure of the party start to engulf him. John's new girlfriend walked over and offered him a small pie she had made for he party. He smiled kindly at her, knowing that it would all be over soon enough.

"No, thank you, Sarah." Sherlock knew that wasn't her name, but the smile and polite rejection of the food had already taken too much of his energy. John came over to make things better, though Sherlock did not make that possible with listing the doctor's previous girlfriends and insulting the one standing in front of him.

As Jennet and John walked away from him, Sherlock caught sight of Molly coming up the stairs. She was dressed in a large overcoat that covered the dress she was wearing; her hair was done up quite nice and she was laden down with two bags full of poorly wrapped presents and one wrapped with much care.

She has plans after this party, probably with another of her criminal boyfriends. Sherlock let slip his disapproval at the arrival of yet another party guest by mumbling, "Oh, dear Lord."

"Hello, everyone," Molly smiled as she entered the room.

The other guests began to greet Molly with cheerful voices. It was too much for Sherlock to handle. "Oh, everyone just say 'Hello' to each other. How wonderful," he grumbled sarcastically.

John offered to take Molly's coat, and as she took it off both the ex-soldier and Lestrade could not contain their shock at her form-fitting black dress. "Having our Christmas drinkies then, are we?" she asked, embarrassed, trying to ignore John's comment.

"No stopping them, apparently." Sherlock sat down and opened John's computer, ready to escape this hell. He went onto John's blog, knowing there would be nothing on his own website. He called John over to show him the hit count, still stuck at 1,895. Didn't really matter, he just wanted to show his disinterest in the party. John was about to walk away when Sherlock noticed something that upset him more than he already was. "You got a picture of me wearing that hat?"

"People like the hat," John said, clearly not going to let anything bother him tonight.

"No they don't." Sherlock was tired of that picture. And honestly, he thought bitterly, how many people read this bloody thing? "What people?"

Smiling, John walked back to his date as Molly questioned Mrs. Hudson about her hip. She joked at the fact that she had seen much worse. "But then I do post mortems." She chuckled for a second, before realizing no one else had found that funny at all.

Sherlock, still annoyed over the ever growing crowd and the hat photograph, snapped at her. "Don't make jokes Molly."

Lestrade handed her a drink and she asked about his Christmas plans. He told her he and his wife were back together, though he sounded disappointed for some reason. Sherlock suspected he knew why. "No she's sleeping with the P.E. teacher." He scrolled down the blog a bit farther as Molly turned to John.

"I hear you're off to your sisters. Is that right? Sherlock was complaining." Sherlock gave her a look that suggested that conversation was to be kept private. Oh, how I hate parties, they loosen people's tongues. "Saying," Molly corrected.

"First time ever she's cleaned up her act." John said proudly, ignoring the last part of Molly's sentence. "She's off the booze!"

"Nope."

"Shut up, Sherlock!"

But I'm just starting to enjoy myself now, John. Isn't that what you wanted out of all this? Sherlock looked around the room. He had already targeted John's girlfriend, Lestrade, and John himself. That just left Mrs. Hudson and Molly. When he deduced Mrs. Hudson, however, she would always stop cleaning the flat for a week. So Molly it was. Very simple.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend Molly, and you're serious about him." He looked away from the computer with a grin on his face.

"Sorry, what?" Molly was shocked at how quickly things had turned to her.

"In fact you're seeing him this very night, and giving him a gift!"

"Take a day off," John begged him.

"Shut up and have a drink." Lestrade set one down next Sherlock's hand, who ignored it completely.

"Oh, come on. Surely by now you've all seen the present at the top of the bag: Perfectly wrapped with a bow." Sherlock stood and walked towards Molly's bags of presents she had placed next to her. She glanced at the bag to see the gift in question. "All the others are slapdash, at best. Must be someone special, then."

Molly looked slightly panicked as he reached over and grabbed the gift. "Shade of red echoes her lipstick; either an unconscious association, or one she is deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has love on her mind." Molly shifted uncomfortably. Sherlock grinned even wider and continued. "The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving the gift at all. That all suggests long-term hopes, however forlorn. And that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her makeup and what she's wearing." He had told her that her lips were far too thin, and now here she is, wearing bright red lipstick. Oh, how very simple and mundane people are.

He was nearing the end of his deductions now and, for some reason, he was itching to know whose name was on the inside of the flap. Who was it that Molly Hooper had taken such a fancy to? He began to fiddle with the tag, trying to open it.

"Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts-" He had just read the inscription on the inside of the tag, also in the same red as her lips and the wrapping.

Dearest Sherlock

Love, Molly xxx

He didn't quite understand what he was feeling. His heart had seemed to skip a vital beat, while his stomach clenched. He couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe. Worst of all, he couldn't think. His mind had gone completely blank. He stared at the three tiny 'x's'. Three kisses suggest a romantic attachment. He had told John that so long ago.

The room had gone quiet and still. Molly looked around, hurt, before her eyes fell on Sherlock. "You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always, always." She started out talking to him, though by the end, it sounded as though she were saying it more to herself.

She loves you. Of course, she loves you. She has always been in love with you, you were just too thick to realize. Sherlock tried to walk away, but something stopped him. He rocked back to face her, not looking her in the eyes. He was unsure of why he didn't just keep walking, it would have been easier.

"I am sorry." He hadn't planned those words. Where did they come from? He had made no conscious decision to apologize. "Forgive me." Why was he saying these things? He took a step closer to Molly, very slowly, then another. He still had no control over his words or actions. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." His lips brushed her cheek gently before he was able to regain control and step back, still not making eye contact with anyone in the room, but aware that all eyes were on the two of them.

There was a sudden erotic sigh, causing Sherlock to finally look at Molly. He had been convinced for a moment that the noise had come from her mouth. He realized quickly, however, that it had come from his pocket instead.

"Oh, no! That wasn't—I didn't-" Molly began to protest, seeing the looks of the other party goers.

"No. It was me." Sherlock said, not really grasping how he felt about Irene Adler intruding upon this moment.

Only John seemed to understand, for Molly looked horrified and Lestrade looked as though he were ready to punch Sherlock as he demanded, "My God, really?"

"My phone."

His mind was spinning as he walked into the morgue alongside Mycroft. How had that phone ended up inside his apartment without his noticing previously? Who was it that had killed The Woman? How had—

His thoughts stopped suddenly as he saw the one woman who could make this worse. He continued to walk, avoiding eye contact. Mycroft was saying something, though he couldn't see how anything his brother had to say would help him.

"You didn't need to come in, Molly." Sherlock noticed that the makeup was gone, as were the fitted dress and done up hair. She now had on a festive jumper and her usual lab coat. Her hair was down and frizzed. She had left before Sherlock had come out of his room, the gift, apparently gone with her.

"It's okay," she said, her voice calm, as though she wasn't thinking of the encounter that had taken place less than two hours previously. "Everyone else was busy with…" She inhaled deeply and he knew the thought pained her, which, in turn, pained him. "Christmas. Um, the face is a bit-sort of… bashed up, so i-it might be a bit difficult."

She pulled back the sheet away from the face, which was indeed "bashed up." The hair was the same color as The Woman's, but there was no way of telling from the face.

"That's her isn't it?" his brother asked.

"Show me the rest of her." Both Molly and Mycroft seemed slightly surprised at this request, though Sherlock acknowledged neither. He looked over the body for a moment.

32. 24. 34.

"That's her." As he turned, he saw a look of confusion mingled with hurt on Molly's face. He closed his eyes with his back to her and his brother, then continued walking and waited outside the door for Mycroft. He couldn't stand being in the same room as his pathologist at this moment.

Mycroft joined Sherlock by the window a minute later, offering a cigarette. Still thinking of the look on Molly's face, the younger brother took the cigarette, needing it more than the elder would ever know. They spoke for a moment before being interrupted by sobs of despair coming from a room down the hall.

"Look at them," Sherlock said as he and Mycroft turned to watch the grieving family."They all care so much." Xxx. "Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?" Of course there is. You hurt that poor girl in there who loves you despite the way you treat her, and how much do you care?

"All lives end." Of course, Mycroft thought he was thinking of The Woman. "All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." The words were wise, and Sherlock knew his brother spoke the truth. He would put Molly Hooper from his mind.

Sherlock looked closely at the computer screen which held the X-ray version of The Woman's camera was still not sure how it had ended up in hs flat on Christmas, but knew that she would be after it soon. He needed to open it quickly before that happened. His eyes wandered over to Molly, who stood a few steps away with her back to him. It had been almost a month since the night he hated to think about. They had seen each other only once between then and now, but John had accompanied Sherlock and the meeting was brief, keeping the uncomfortableness of it all to a minimum. This was the first time they were alone and he felt strangely unnerved about it. He turned back to the image on the screen as she faced him.

"Is that a phone?" Molly tried to sound interested, but she couldn't hide the confusion in her voice.

"It's a camera phone," he replied, staring hard at the tiny circles in each corner.

" And...you're X-raying it?"

"Yes, I am." The answer was out almost before the questioned was finished. Though the obviousness of the question irritated him, Sherlock tried hard to sound pleasant. He did not want to upset her any more than he already had in the time he had known her.

"Whose phone is it?" She was clearly pleased they were able to ignore what had happened enough to have a decent conversation.

So are you, don't try to deny it.

" A woman's," he told Molly, trying to ignore the thought.

"Your girlfriend?"

Sherlock looked away from the screen, confused. That was not what he had been expecting. How had she jumped to that conclusion? How did he manage to fail at a simple conversation about X-raying a phone? Did every talk with this woman have to involve a relationship?

Why are you panicking about this much? the voice asked him.

"You think she's my girlfriend because I'm X-raying her possessions?" The question came out in a rush and sounded a bit harsh.

"Well," she giggled slightly, "we all do silly things."

"Yes," he agreed, suddenly wanting this conversation to come to a quick close. Something hit him then. The Woman did many "silly things" to avoid detection. Many of which involved this phone. "They do don't they?" He looked at Molly, expecting her to have realized this as well, though how could she?

She stared at him with a look that clearly said she was confused, and that look only intensified as he moved over to the X-ray machine, saying "Very silly." He took out the phone and hit the unlock button.

I A LOCKED

"She sent this to my address." He entered 221B. "She loves to play games."

"She does?" The tone of Molly's voice was unclear to him, but he didn't have time now to decipher her feelings.

The screen flashed red at that moment revealing that the passcode was incorrect. He felt his face fall in disappointment. How was this one wrong? He was never wrong and now he had been twice with one task.

He pocketed the phone, ignoring Molly who stood nervously to the side. His temper was starting to rise as he sat and turned back to the computer. He closed out of the image of the phone and shut down the computer. When he had finished, he stormed out without another word to his pathologist.

When he got to 221B later that same day, the sitting room was empty. John must be out. Probably shopping. He took a step into the flat and stopped instantly. A scent had just reached him; a familiar scent that brought back memories of a mirror, fire alarms, gunshots, and...skin.

He moved around to the window, inhaling deeply through his nose, as the door downstairs slammed closed, revealing John had made it home. Paying no attention to the footsteps on the stairs, Sherlock moved to his bedroom where the scent seemed to be the strongest. As John walked into the flat at last, Sherlock saw The Woman laying in his bed, fast asleep. John joined him in the room holding a bottle of wine, just as shocked as the detective at the sight.

A half hour later, the three of them sat in the sitting room discussing the camera phone. Sherlock revealed that he had gotten a safe deposit box, implying that the phone was there.

John, obviously, had no knowledge of the empty box and was just as naive as The Woman as he said, "Well we can't just go and get it, can we?" Sherlock avoided rolling his eyes at the pathetic man, when something unexpected was said. "Molly Hooper."

Sherlock felt his chest tighten with guilt once more as he glared at John. Why on earth would he bring her into this? She has nothing to do with the camera phone. What could possibly be going through this man's mind right now? This is not the time, John, to be talking about Molly.

"She could collect it..." The rest of John's explanation was lost to Sherlock, though his expression could be interpreted as that of someone paying rapt attention.

Of course. Why would this be about anything else? It obviously has nothing to do with the two of you.

There is no "two of us" thank you very much!

You know what I meant. You should not jump to conclusions so quickly.

That is my job.

Just focus on the situation at hand. You can deal with her later.

This internal struggle went unnoticed by the other two in the room, causing Sherlock to smile to himself as he responded to himself, just as much as to John. "Very good job. Excellent plan. Lot of intelligent precautions."

John accepted the praise too quickly, cutting off as Sherlock pulled out the phone and push Molly, once again, to the back of his mind.

Sherlock jumped out of the cab quickly, leaving John to pay the driver. He had far too much on his mind to worry about such a small task. After all, two children had just been kidnapped and the key to finding them was in the small flask in his hand. He rushed into the hospital, headed for the well-known lab where his microscope would be waiting for him.

She will be waiting, too. Of course she would, but that hardly mattered. He just needed a few things from her, mostly to act as an assistant.

Sherlock turned down a hall and through a set of double doors, John half running behind him. He was so excited that he had forgotten the time until he walked past a vending machine and heard John moan in hunger. He looked at his watch, seeing that people normally went to lunch at this time, and Molly would probably be headed that direction soon. He pulled out his wallet and bought two bags of crisps, telling John he should grab something as well.

As they continued on their way, Sherlock placed the bags into his large pockets, one in each hand. They turned down several more corridors and through a few more doors before the came across Molly, putting on her coat and trying to get out the doors they just entered.

Pleased he had caught her, Sherlock grinned and greeted her with a cheerful "Molly."

"Oh, hello. I was just going out." She looked between Sherlock and John, as though trying to figure out why they were at St. Bart's.

Sherlock placed a hand on her back and spun her around to walk with them. "No you're not."

"I've got a lunch date," she protested, though she didn't seem to struggle against the hand on her upper back.

Lunch date? With who? Does she honestly have another boyfriend after what happened with her beloved "Jim from IT"?

"Cancel it; you're having lunch with me." Sherlock said, removing his hand so he could walk slightly ahead of Molly and John. He pulled out the two bags of crisps to show her.

"What?" She slowed a little, letting John get ahead of her.

"Need your help." Sherlock explain. "It's one of your boyfriends; we're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty." Molly had stopped walking altogether now.

"It's Moriarty?" asked John as Sherlock opened yet another door.

How has he not seen this? I thought I was training him rather well.

"Of course it's Moriarty."

"Um, Jim wasn't actually even my boyfriend." Molly chirped. The two men looked at her. "We went out three times," she went on. "I ended it."

Of course you ended it! He nearly tried to kill my best friend!

"Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England, and organized the prison break at Pentonville." Sherlock said, slightly annoyed that she felt it necessary to say Jim wasn't her 'boyfriend' after she had insisted that they were 'together' on so many occasions. "For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."

He whipped out a bag of crisps again, to remind her that he still expected her to follow, and he walked through the door he was still holding open. Why can't she just come when I ask her?

Explain things to John.

Prepare work area.

Assign Molly and John tasks to complete while working.

Search through chemical makeup of piece one of foot print.

See that John is okay.

Demand results, quickly.

Check computer for matches.

Look at oil from footprint under microscope.

See that John is still okay.

Continue checking computer and looking at oil.

Test a theory.

See that John is okay. You can't let him get hurt. Not again.

As Sherlock goes through this list of things to do, he is unaware of what is happening to anything off the list. Molly gives him a result she has just found, though he thanks John, currently on 'Check on John' step.

He begins to think about Moriarty's stop by 221B. He hates riddles, always has. They were just tricks that people used to make themselves feel smart, though they lacked any real intelligence. Moriarty's riddle, however, was constantly on Sherlock's mind, though most of the time he was unaware.

"I.O.U." he muttered to himself while looking through the microscope. He felt his hands beating out the familiar code. He forced himself to stop as he checked the computer once more. He mumbled to himself, trying to focus on the task at hand, not noticing Molly standing right next to him.

"What did you mean, 'I.O.U.'?" Molly said, seemingly trying to make small talk. See that John is still safe. "You said 'I.O.U.'. You where muttering it while you were working."

"Nothing, mental note." Sherlock was sure Molly had more to say on the subject, but he did not wish to discuss it. Especially not with her, of all people.

There was a small pause. Thank you for getting the hint, he thought, trying to focus on his work again.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead," Molly began, quickly realizing how that sounded. "No, sorry—"

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation, it's really not your area." Sherlock said, unable to hold back this time. Molly seemed to somehow interpret this as "Please keep talking, I am so interested in what you have to say."

"When he was dying, he was always cheerful; he was lovely, except when he thought no one could see." She had, for some reason, caught his attention. He continued to stare into the microscope, though he did not see anything. He was holding on to every word Molly had to say. "I saw him once. He looked…sad."

Sherlock was quite done listening to this story. He was beginning to get uncomfortable, though he wasn't sure why. He hadn't known this man, and even if he had, he found it hard to believe he would have cared at all for the father. The feeling would surely have been mutual.

"Molly." His voice held a certain warning. She should be quiet now. That should scare her into silence.

But it did not. "You look sad," she continued gravely, "when you think he can't see you." Without needing to ask who she meant, he already knew. He glanced up at John again, just to ensure that he was still alright. And to make sure he was not listening to this exchange. Both held true. He finally allowed himself to look over at Molly, who had a look on her face that Sherlock could not place.

"Are you okay?"

Yes, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be okay? he thought. He was not sure how true this was though.

Molly interrupted before he could start to answer her question. "And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."

She wasn't making any sense now. Had she not been standing there the whole time watching him? He had seen her there several times, by his side.

"You can see me," he pointed out, feeling a small tug in his chest.

"I don't count."

Sherlock Holmes never knew the effect three small words could have on someone. But as soon as those words reached his ears, he felt as though he were falling, falling fast into the dark unknown. He felt like a truck of bricks had just been dumped on him. His heart ached like it had never done before. His stomach jumped into his throat, causing him to feel as though he needed to gasp for air. His mind had gone blank except those three words.

He thought back to that Christmas party, now so long ago. He thought about how he realized her feelings, hidden only from him, though they were obvious after he had realized. He thought of the look on her face when he had read the name inside the tag. He hated that look, the look of embarrassment, sadness, and worst of all, of hurt. The look she was now giving him was so different, though sadness still took over a large portion of her face.

He felt as though he had been electrocuted as the three words she had just spoken were replaced.

I love you.

Sherlock Holmes had never cared about a woman. Not anymore than he cared for most people. What then, made him think those three words that had never crossed his mind before?e HH

'Caring is not an advantage.'

All of these thoughts and emotions flashed through his mind in less than a second. It left him feeling dazed and disoriented. Those three new words were suddenly all he could process. They seemed to have built a statue of themselves in the center of his Mind Palace.

Molly, the woman Sherlock Holmes was in love with, began to speak again, pulling his attention away from the newly built structure. "What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me." These words took a moment for Sherlock to comprehend, still dazed by his realization. "No, I just mean…I mean, if there's anything you need…" She seemed to lose all her courage now. She added in an offhand sort of way, "It's fine." She turned away from the man who was still trying to remember how to breathe.

He didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell her how wrong she was, that she did count, that he loved her more than he had ever thought anyone could love another human being.

Somehow, on their way to his mouth, the words became jumbled. "W-w-what could I need from you?" He didn't stammer, he never stammered as he just had. He found that he couldn't look at Molly, and that looking at her was all he ever wanted to do from now on.

"Nothing. I don't know." Molly turned back to Sherlock, sounding slightly hurt at his words. "You could probably say 'Thank you', actually."

"Thank you." He hoped that those two words she requested would make her realize how much she meant to him. He wanted them to express every thought he just had about her, though he was not sure if they came out that way.

She walked around him, headed for the door. She turned back, her voice a hundred times steadier than he felt as she said, "I'm just going to go get some crisps. Do you want anything?"

Yes, you. I want you to know.

He opened his mouth to reply, but Molly hadn't noticed. "It's okay, I know you don't." She turned to leave.

Stop her.

"Well actually, maybe I'll—"

"I know you don't." There was no mistaking the pain in her voice this time; it cracked, leaving Sherlock with a more intense pain in his chest. It was clear that as she turned to the door again, tears had formed in her eyes, maybe a few had even spilled over.

Stop her. Stop! Why are you letting her walk away? Just STOP HER!

But there was nothing he could say that would bring her back now. Not anything that he could articulate at the moment, anyhow. She almost ran to the door and pushed through it hard. Sherlock sat there, wondering how all of this had come about. How was it possible that the man who pushed any kind of emotional attachment out of his mind, now found that he was in love with his pathologist?

My pathologist? He wondered how long he had been calling her that.

"Sherlock?" John called over to him, forcing him to put his thoughts of Molly and this strange new emotion in a room that had just appeared in his mind palace. He locked the door tight, needing to focus on the case he still had not solved.

Everything was clear now: All of the games Moriarty had been playing, why he allowed the Yard to arrest him, how he had managed to come off clean without any evidence on his side. Yes, it all made perfect sence now. Everything he had planned, from when he was still "Jim from IT" was finally coming to its grand finally. All of the crimes, the murders, the kidnappings and robberies had led up to something that was very close.

Sherlock nearly ran from the flat of Kitty Riley, John right on his heels, both breathing heavy from the anger they felt. Sherlock's mind was whirling out of control. Moriarty was going to get away with it all again. He was going to convince everyone that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud, and the detective wasn't sure how many people would be left on his side.

John, of course, he thought. John who has always believed in me. And Molly, obviously.

"Can he do that?" the faithful friend asked as they walked into the cool night air. "Completely change his identity? Make you the criminal?"

"He's got my whole life story." Sherlock tried to hide the panic in his voice with anger. "That's what you do when you sell a big lie." He stopped walking forward and began to pace, throwing his hands up in aggravation. "You wrap it up in a truth to make it more palatable."

"It's your word against his," John supplied, still trying to steady his breath.

"He's been sewing doubt into everyone's minds for the past 24 hours." It was starting to get unbearable. What was Moriarty after? What was "The Final Problem"? All Sherlock knew was that it was almost over. The end was drawing near. "There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game and that's to-"

Kill me.

No, countered a voice in his head, a voice that sounded too much like the consulting criminal's for comfort. No, is that really the way I play?

No, it's not. So, make me admit your lie is truth?

Good, good. And? Moriarty's voice urged.

And force people to believe it.

How?

I have to kill myself.

It was a statement, not a question. He heard the cruel chuckling of his enemy, fading until it was gone.

"Sherlock?" John's concerned voice brought him back to reality.

Tell him. He deserves know what you are going to do.

But Sherlock couldn't tell his best friend the truth. He couldn't think of anything other than the face of Molly Hooper. The woman that he loved. She would be devastated by this as much, if not more than John. If anyone needed to know, it was her.

"There's something I need to do."

"What? Can I help?"

Can he? Should I allow him to be part of this? "No." He will try to stop me. "On my own."

He walked away, headed straight for the morgue, for Molly, and, all too soon, for death.

He walked into St. Bart's ready to reveal everything to Molly; ready to tell her that he loved her, that she was one of the most important things in his life, that he was sorry beyond words for hurting her so many times, that his life would soon come to an early end. As he reached the lab that led to her office, however, he froze.

He was not ready to die, not now that he finally had someone to live for other than John. He didn't want to face her pain as he hurt her more than he ever had in his life. He couldn't bring himself to walk into her office and tell her what he had planned to say. The words ran through his mind again, the only thing he would be able to say.

"I love you. I am going to kill myself now, because that is what Moriarty wants."

Even he knew that that was no way to tell someone how loved they are. He had to think of something, anything, to keep him from having to deliver this message.

A plan slowly began to form in his mind as he stood in the dark lab for nearly an hour. This plan, if successful, would mean that he would not have to die. It did mean, however, pain for John and the others who cared for him. All except Molly. For Molly was the one person he would not, no, could not hurt anymore.

He heard her shut off a light and walk out of a door at the other end of the lab. Her footsteps were light as they walked towards where Sherlock stood by a shelf. He took a deep breath to steady himself. Her hand was on the door handle, already pulling it open slightly before he gained the confidence to speak.

"You're wrong, you know."

Molly jumped, gasped, and spun around in the same instant. She was terrified at first, but Sherlock did not look at her. He stood, willing himself to continue.

She needs to know, he reminded himself.

"You do count." He tried to keep his voice calm, steady. "You've always counted and I've always trusted you." His voice broke slightly, causing him even more pain. "But you were right." He finally looked at her, standing next to the door, still looking a little scared, confusion beginning to take its place.

You must continue, Sherlock. You owe her this at the very least. You need to keep talking.

It was harder than he ever imagined anything could be. They were just words, so why did they hurt so badly?

"I'm not okay."

The confusion on Molly's face turned instantly to concern and worry, causing Sherlock's chest to tighten even more painfully. He was the reason for her worry and he hated that. He wanted this to all end, but knew that it was just going to get worse.

Molly finally spoke, her voice steady, but full of worry. "Tell me what's wrong." She seemed to desperately want to help him and to calm him down. She must have sensed the danger.

Knowing these things pushed Sherlock forward, in words and motion. As he took slow steps towards her, he began to explain further, his words just as slow as his feet. "Molly, I think I am going to die."

Her look now showed panic. She was clearly not expecting this and it pained Sherlock to see her fight back tears as she was. An inner battle began again.

Stop! Can't you see the pain that you are causing her? Just stop, NOW!

No, if you stop, her pain never will. You need to tell her so that she can be happy again. A few moments of pain now is better than a life time of pain starting tomorrow, is it not?

Just STOP! She can't take it. Find someone else to help you, just stop her pain.

It's too late for that. You know it's too late to turn back now.

Sherlock saw Molly's lips, her tiny, perfect lips, move, but heard nothing coming from them. He had decided to find out if she could handle it like he thought he could, though it took every ounce of his strength.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?"

He was only a few feet from Molly now, looking down into her beautiful eyes that still held back tears. He saw the pain now covering her face as she nearly whispered, "What do you need?"

Sherlock felt as though tears of his own were about to spill over. He took another, slow, hesitant step towards his pathologist, ready to reveal his plan to her, tell her the materials to gather and the people to call. All of that was swept from his brain, however, with one more look into her tear-rimmed eyes. Only one word came to him as her question replayed itself. In a voice full of pain and tears, he told her everything he needed in that moment. Everything he would ever need again.

"You."

A/N: Thank you to everyone who favorited/followed this story. I don't usually put up unfinished works, but I wasn't sure how long it would be before I could finish and just wanted to get this out there. I hope you liked it, it has been in my head since I finished the series.