Just Say It

by Michelle

＊＊＊＊＊

"Where are you going, Sherlock?" John asked his best friend when he started walking slowly away from the police cars surrounding Musgrave Hall.

It was quite a different sight from what he usually saw with Sherlock - his upright posture, a leopard-like brisk, yet dignified walk, and his eyes fixed on the horizon vanished with the events of this evening. In fact, they vanished months ago already, since that horrifying night in the Aquarium… His head was slightly down, shoulders hanging as if he was carrying a heavy weight on them and could not shake it off. Understandably so, with all the events over the last six months. It was a painful sight for John, and he felt a sting of guilt and shame that he had played his own part in his best friend's current state…

"I'm going home," Sherlock's soft baritone replied quietly into the darkness of the night, while he pulled the collar of his Belstaf up closer to his face.
"You have no home…" John countered, shaking his head slightly.

The detective stopped abruptly, turned around and looked at him, confused. John realised that his words came out the wrong way, so he added quickly.
"I mean… at the moment. Your flat was blown up, remember?" he said.
Sherlock blinked and nodded as if he had just awakened from a dream and only now remembered what had happened that day.

"You will stay with me and Rosie until we bring your flat back to normal."
Sherlock looked at John again, this time with genuine fondness. John's lips stretched into a quick little smile.
"I told you once before, Sherlock, friends protect people. You are not alone, in anything…"

Sherlock swallowed and felt a strange inexplicable urge to say something nice to his friend, but at that moment, he ran out of words. So he just gave him a truly heartfelt little smile expressing his gratitude. His eyes were suddenly burning for some reason.

＊＊＊＊＊

They were sitting in a police car, driving them to John's house. For the first time, the prospect of the hustle and bustle of London City with its flashing lights everywhere didn't excite them. They were too tired and had too many emotions to process that night.

They were quiet throughout the journey, with John glancing at his friend sitting next to him from time to time to check if he was all right.

Of course, he's not all right, you moron, how could he after all those horrific incidents he had to go through today, John cursed himself in his mind and he felt even worse, realising that he couldn't really help Sherlock. This was something he had to process on his own, in order to move on with his life, just like John did after Mary died.

John was aware of the dark rings under his best friend's eyes, the paler-than-usual complexion of his skin and the hollow cheeks. The usual sparks in his steel-blue eyes were totally absent as if all life had gone out of them. His hands were in his lap, holding the phone.

The doctor had never seen Sherlock holding his phone without actually doing anything with it - texting, browsing the Internet to obtain information related to crimes (or 242 kinds of tobacco), calling or taking pictures at crime scenes. This time, Sherlock was just holding it and staring at it for some time, as if hesitating about something. John noticed it and he knew exactly what Sherlock was thinking about. The call…

Suddenly, Sherlock broke the silence while keeping his eyes fixed on the phone in his hands.
"John, could you…. Could you do me a favour, please?"
"Of course," John replied knowing what it was before Sherlock even asked.
"Could you…." Sherlock's voice broke, he didn't have the strength to say it out loud.
"...call Molly?" John finished for him softly.

Sherlock looked up with amazement. Even after years, despite his usual disability to see the obvious in detecting crimes, the man he called his best friend hadn't ceased to surprise him in detecting human struggles and feelings. Seeing the true agony in his eyes, John said reassuringly, "Of course." He smiled with understanding.

Sherlock exhaled with a sigh closing his eyes in pain.
"Thank you…," he whispered. Then he opened his eyes again. "I just… I want to make sure she's … safe…"
"Of course, mate, but…" John said carefully, but Sherlock cut him off quietly.
"I know. I will, but I can't right now… You know?" He was hoping his friend would understand like he mostly had in the previous seven years. And he wasn't mistaken.
"I know," John replied with a painful smile and reached for his phone in the pocket of his jacket to dial Molly Hooper's number while putting the call on loudspeaker.

The phone rang a few times more than it usually did; Molly Hooper always answered her phone calls straight away, but it took much longer this time, and he started feeling worried and sensed the tension in his friend (the feeling of déja vue was sending shivers down their spines). Suddenly, they heard a click and a familiar voice.

"Hello…?"

John was both, relieved and scared, hearing the weak and depressed tone of Molly's voice. He glanced at Sherlock, who was still looking at him, and saw the relief on his face, but also noticed that his hands were shaking. 
That only ever happened when he was high before and that time in Baskerville…

"Molly, it's John… Are you all right?" John asked quickly with quite a worried voice.
"No… I mean… Yes, but… why?" They could both hear the confusion and sadness in her voice.
Sherlock clenched his fists and laid his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes and taking deeper breaths, as John continued.
"Molly, I... I know what happened tonight and I need you to listen to me carefully…"

＊＊＊＊＊

Sherlock was sitting in the armchair of John's living room, leaning back and staring at the dark ceiling. He didn't have the lights on, the darkness in the room reflecting the darkness which fell over his mind and heart. The cup of tea, which John had brought him half an hour before, was still untouched on the side table next to him. John couldn't sleep long and Sherlock couldn't at all. All he did was just dozing off, sinking in his mind palace for a few minutes, and waking up suddenly from nightmares, feeling even worse.

It has been two days since Sherringford and Musgrave Hall and he still couldn't find a way how to process everything. Eurus. Redbeard. The victims. John in the well. Molly…

He didn't even realise, that he said the last name aloud. The memory of her sent a burning sensation to his chest. He still felt a deep hurt knowing how much pain he had caused her. Not only with that call…

He thought of all of his rude or sarcastic remarks towards her, especially in the early years of their acquaintance. He knew from the start that despite being terrible at jokes and starting conversations, she was intelligent and excellent in her profession. But he hadn't paid closer attention to her, apart from when he needed to examine a cadaver or needed body parts from the morgue for his experiments, or a pathological expert to shed new light on his cases. Until the events preceding the fall…

"You look sad when you think he can't see you... Are you okay? Don't say you are because I know what it's like when you're sad when you think no one's watching..."
"But you can see me."
"I don't count..."

That was the first time that Molly Hooper truly caught his full attention. When she said she doesn't count, it felt almost like a bee sting. It was the first time he had realised how much he took her for granted and how much she had sacrificed for him.

Whenever he wanted a new victim for his experiments, she provided him with one, although it meant ignoring the hospital rules and risking her job. When he needed pathological expertise for one of his criminal cases, she made one for him immediately, no matter how busy she was. When he called her to ask, no, to basically command her to do something for him, she always did. When he got drugged up, she examined him and looked after him. She never lied to him, betrayed or judged him no matter how much he wronged. Yet, she was always honest with him. When he messed up, she told him off with a worrying look in her eyes, truthful words or slapping his face 'till it hurt to 'wake him up'. She was always there for him no matter what, she truly cared…

Everybody knew Molly Hooper was desperately in love with Sherlock Holmes but for a long time, Sherlock thought it was just a childish crush that would pass with time. For him, romantic entanglements would cloud his judgement at his work and he was married only to his work.

And yet, the more he got to know Molly, the more he started to realise, she was anything but childish. Yes, sometimes she was talking without thinking about the consequences that her words might cause (well, he did it all the time anyway), and she had quite terrible taste in men she chose to temporarily get Sherlock off her mind, and he wasn't always comfortable with her at the beginning, but he tolerated her.

Soon, the tolerating phase changed to respect, and then he started seeing her as someone close to a friend, whatever he was capable to understand under that term at that point. Back then, he only regarded John Watson as his friend. And it was John who opened his eyes to the fact that emotions and caring for someone didn't mean loss of one's own control, but that it can complete them as human beings.

And so with time and circumstances, the circle of acknowledged close friends included Mrs Hudson and DI Greg Lestrade. He even got along better with Mycroft (tolerated him more, that is, as much as their different natures allowed it). And of course, there was Molly…

"You were wrong, you know? You do count, you've always counted and I've always trusted you, but you're right, I'm not okay…"
"What do you need?"
"You…"

Whenever he thought of that conversation in the morgue before the fall from the rooftop, he always felt something strange, some warmth around his heart, remembering how he approached her so close that he could almost feel her nervous heartbeat, and said he needed her. At that point, Sherlock had meant her help with finding a corpse similar to him to enable him to fake the fall from the rooftop of the hospital. But he could still remember that strange flutter in his stomach when pronouncing the you, the look she gave him and immediately did what he asked her for. Without questioning, without any buts, without thinking about what risk it might have been for her job if she got caught. All she knew was he was in danger and needed her help, so she did help him.

From that day, Molly Hooper stopped being just Molly Hooper, his pathologist and friend for him. She became, Molly Hooper, the dear friend he trusted with his life…

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John's worrying voice brought Sherlock back to reality.
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you, John."

His friend switched on a small table lamp near the window. Its amber-coloured light cast soothing shadows on the wall and ceiling. John pulled a chair opposite the armchair where Sherlock was sitting quietly, though now he was holding the mug with tea John had given him before.
"It must be colder than a dead body now," the doctor said with a grin, raising his eyebrows.

Sherlock smiled and studied the man in front of him. John Watson. His friend. His soul mate. His brother in arms. The man who saved him… Their friendship went through some very tough times, but now it was stronger than ever and he knew he would do everything in his power to make it last forever.

The faint smile disappeared slowly from his lips, and he bowed his head looking at the tea again. John saw the grief on his friend's face and he was still frustrated with the fact that he couldn't do anything to help him overcome it. Though he knew what could, he knew who could.

"Mate, I think it's time," John started carefully.
Sherlock sighed and put the mug back on the side table. His shoulders sagged and he buried his head in his hands.
"After everything, after all, that I've done…. I don't know how…" The despair in his voice almost broke John's heart.
"By telling her the truth."
"She knows the truth…" cried Sherlock.

"The truth about how you really feel," John said, this time determined.

No more backing off, no more hiding. The truth has to out.

Sherlock raised his head and looked at John. At that moment, the barrier which Sherlock had built in his childhood, the protective layer against the cruelty and pain caused by caring too much, by getting too emotional, that barrier fell apart like a house of cards, and his eyes started welling up.

Feel… Yes, he felt, he had felt so much over the past years. His faked death and forced separation from John and the few friends he had, his lonely exile in Eastern Europe, his comeback to London, John getting married to Mary, Mary's death, almost losing John's friendship, Eurus…

Yet, this feeling was totally new to him, and he thought it was such a cruel irony that he became truly aware of it only thanks to the horrific events in Sherringford.

"John, look at me! What do you see? A high-functioning sociopath, a man who ridicules others for allowing themselves to give in to emotions. A man who plays tricks on people just to get what he wants and because he gets off on it; a man who nobody can stand, the joke of the society…"

Sherlock spoke in a frenzy with a feverish look. His haunted eyes reflected a lost boy who never managed to overcome the loss of Redbeard, a boy who shut himself off from everyone, thinking it would protect him though it was destroying him.

"Not caring protects me."
"No... Friends protect people..."

John replied with absolute calmness.
"I see a good man with a heart as big as the world; a man, who despite pretending to be the biggest ass in the world, getting off on murders, almost killed a man who attacked his landlady; who asked a policeman to look after his brother because he was worried about him. I see a man who pretended to be dead for two years just to protect the lives of his closest friends, a man who made a wounded soldier get rid of his crutch, held him tight when his world fell apart and saved him in every way a man can be saved…" John went quiet for a few seconds, blinking a little.

"I see a man who protects the weak, the desperate, the overlooked and the helpless. And I see a man who has for so long defied the existence of true love in his life that he doesn't know what to do with it now, that it really hit him right in the face."

Sherlock froze, his eyes still fixed on his best friend. He didn't know how to respond. You know he is right, you fool, John Watson is not blind to human feelings…

Suddenly, he felt something wet rolling down his cheek. He wiped a tear from his face, with a confused and resigned look. Too many tears in these past few days. Too many to go back to where he was before. There was no going back, only forward. His lips started trembling, his glance changing directions, fighting the turmoil inside of him. His hands started shaking.

John kneeled in front of him and hugged him carefully. There was nothing else he could do. He was at his friend's side when he had to face the truth for the second time in the last three days, and now it was up to Sherlock to act upon it. All he could do was to be there for this incredible, yet so fragile genius of a human being and hope that he was given enough emotional context to give his life a new purpose.

＊＊＊

When Sherlock got hold of himself again, he finished the cold tea and stood up slowly but resolutely.
"I think it's time for the truth and fighting my own demons," he said in a quiet but firm voice.
His posture was almost back to normal, his head up - the broken man from a few moments ago seemed to have gained enough strength to go on. At least for the new day dawning at that moment.

John stood up from his chair, which he hadn't left since they ended the hug and were drinking tea in silence.
"You know where to find me if you need help," he offered reassuringly.
Sherlock replied with a soft and warm smile.
"The best and the most human human being I have ever known…" he said softly, mirroring John's words about him from some time ago.
Then, he nodded lightly, turned around, grabbed his scarf and coat and walked out into the cold early morning.

"Thank you, Mary…" John whispered with a smile and for the first time since her death, he felt happy.

＊＊＊＊＊

Those three words were burning in his brain all the way to her house. He still didn't fully understand how and when exactly did it happen, and how to deal with it but he knew there was no going back. He crossed the line, dropped down a barrier surrounding him for most of his life and although he wasn't sure about the outcome, he knew he didn't want to build the barrier again. Too much was at stake.

Friends protect people.

He understood John that night before the fall; he couldn't let him know but he knew John was right, even back then. That's why he 'jumped'… He learned his true heart, he learned to feel again, to care, to love…

How strange and yet how easy it was to say that word now! He loved John as deeply as a friend can love his best friend, someone who literally saved him from the deepest bottom of his existence.
He loved his parents although their shared eccentricities have clashed at times and they didn't agree on everything, they loved him and he loved them.
He loved Mrs Hudson because she was like a second mother to him - the lovely drug dealer widow who could drive him insane and at the same time, made him feel at home.
He also loved Mycroft in his own way, although they were too similar in showing, or rather not showing, what they were feeling, but Sherlock knew he would never let him down.
And he loved her, the woman who stood by him through Heaven and Hell countless times, who was his touchstone, who in a quiet and inconspicuous way opened the door for him to the feeling he thought he was not capable of for most of his life.

He may have been unexpectedly infatuated with Irene Adler at a time, attracted mainly to her exceptional intelligence, but the feelings he developed for Molly Hooper were built on a very different base - trust, empathy, comfort, honesty and kindness. The two women couldn’t have been more different, but Sherlock had evolved too much as a human being within the years to be deceived by appearances anymore. Love was often connected with attraction, but attraction didn’t always necessarily mean love.

When he smashed in rage, utter despair and heartbreak the coffin intended for Molly, he understood exactly how John felt when Mary died. Though Molly was physically alive, he felt like he might as well have pushed a dagger right into her heart, and his own heart was shattered to millions of pieces. And it hurt, it hurt like hell, for this would either make them, or he would lose her forever…

"If you tell them, and they decide they rather don't know, you can't take it back, you can't unsay it. Once you've opened your heart, you can't close it again…"

Sherlock shivered with disgust when he suddenly thought of Culverton Smith, but that appalling creature was dead right. There was no going back, he knew that, he just needed to try to pick up the millions of pieces of his heart in order to try to mend another one which he broke, the one of Molly Hooper.

He pulled the collar of his coat up again and realised he was walking already for well over an hour. He saw the sunrise over the London skyline, the golden light was clear in the crisp morning air of his beloved city. It felt almost as if a grey veil had suddenly lifted to give way for a new light to shine through. The light of hope…

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a few seconds. He needed to be strong today, a soldier back on the battlefield, but today there wouldn't be any victims, any fallen ones, he would not allow it.

Sherlock took his phone out of his pocket and checked the time first.

7.25. Saturday. She will wake up soon, she never sleeps long even at the weekends…

He opened messages and started typing.

St James's Park, the War Memorial near Horse Guards, 11.00 am? We need to talk. Please… SH

After sending the message, as he was just about to put the phone back in the coat pocket, he heard a beep.

I'll be there. MH

He felt his pulse quicken but tried to compose himself and typed again. She does not hate him, at least maybe, she didn't refuse to see him….

Thank you. SH

He put the phone away and walked into a coffee shop in front of him. He had more than three hours, which was more than enough for a cup of tea. Or maybe two. Yes, after having had not more than five hours of sleep in total in the past three days, he definitely needed two.

＊＊＊＊＊

Molly felt her heart racing the closer she was approaching the meeting point. It surprised her that she replied to him so quickly. Of course, she was not sleeping when Sherlock had sent the text, she slept very little since that night they spoke the last time - since that strange and painful phone call.

After John called her later that night and explained what happened, she did not know what or how to feel. She was absolutely drained from emotions ever since Mary's death. Her eyes were framed with black rings, the colour had almost vanished from her cheeks; her already slim figure got even slimmer and fragile; she looked and felt very tired. She was heartbroken for Sherlock (and John and Mycroft) but couldn't find a way how to cope with her own heart. The initial anger and pain left way for the guilt Molly felt because she made it even harder for Sherlock during that phone call.

She was dreading the meeting and yet… Yet, she longed to see him. She needed to make sure he was all right, to look into those always observing blue eyes and know he was as well as he could be after everything that happened.

The sudden image of the War Memorial drew her from her thoughts back to reality, and Molly pulled her pink and black striped woolly shawl tighter around her neck, to protect herself - less against the cold than against what might have come. Sherlock wasn't there yet, she almost felt relieved a bit and looked at her watch - 10.54 am. Too early, still.

But when she looked up again, her heart started thumping in her chest again, since she saw the familiar tall figure in a Belstaf and marine blue scarf, walking slowly towards her. The morning sun illuminated him from the back, and it looked as if his silhouette was surrounded by a warm light.

Does it ever get easier? Seeing your heart walking to you and yet, knowing it will never belong to you…

She almost stopped breathing but tried to compose herself and took a few slow steps in his direction to meet him. They both stopped right in front of the Memorial, with only a little distance separating them. A couple of pigeons flew loudly over their heads.

"Molly…" Sherlock said quietly, with a gentle smile.
"Sherlock…" she replied, almost whispering his name, quickly looking down, too aware of her voice betraying her (as always at the wrong time).

Only then, she noticed the white paper bag in his left hand. He slowly took out a paper box and handed it to her, while taking out one for himself and squeezing the empty bag into his coat pocket.
When Molly took the box from his hand, she suddenly smiled widely at the smell coming from it. Its warmth was a blessing for her cold hands. In her haste, she forgot to take her gloves.

"Seriously? Chips for breakfast?" She smirked but inwardly, she felt touched.
Sherlock chuckled and looked into her deep brown eyes again.
"I invited you once, but you didn't… couldn't come that time… So I thought, I should make it up to you." His eyes were smiling as softly as his lips.

Suddenly, although he recognized his pulse had quickened again slightly, he had an unknown feeling of tranquillity.

Molly smiled and observed him for a few seconds. He looked absolutely exhausted, both, physically and mentally. His eyes, despite looking softly at her, looked very tired, his cheekbones were even more pronounced; he hadn't shaved for a couple of days. His usually perfect figure appeared slimmer as well, but not in a healthy way. Sherlock Holmes, the epitome of a strong, unbeatable man full of life looked lost, broken and vulnerable.

My God, how did we get here?

Molly opened the box and took a chip out of it. As she put it in her mouth, she closed her eyes for a second and smiled.
"Mmm, just what the doctor ordered." She hoped a lighter tone might make it easier, for both of them.
Sherlock smiled again, thinking how her lovely smile illuminates everything around her.
"Good," he said and opened his box to dig into his portion of the British national meal as well.

Suddenly, he was really starving. He had barely eaten anything since Sherringford. John was trying hard to feed him properly, but all Sherlock had managed to digest in those three days was a few biscuits and tea. He knew the probability of him getting sick after he ate the chips was high because it was the first proper meal he'd eaten in days, but he didn't care.

God, this tastes like heaven! he couldn't help himself thinking and was finally enjoying the taste of food again.

Molly sensed his brief delight and guessed the reason correctly - she was really glad she had decided to come. Maybe if she hadn't, the famous consulting detective might have died of starvation.

Sherlock regrouped quickly though, before taking another bite again.
"Shall we walk a little?" he asked with a cautious smile.
"Sure," Molly replied with the same expression.

Despite the thirty-six years that she had been walking this Earth and the mental strength and maturity she developed in the past years, she felt like seventeen again. This was no high school, though. No date with a teenage crush, no worrying about her looks, or what to say or do to impress the boy. They were two adult people who respected and cared for each other, walking side by side, sharing a simple though comforting meal, trying to overcome the dark shadows of very dark times they had been through.

Molly loved him deeply for the man he was, although it was painful sometimes, but she could always see through him. For some inexplicable reason, he let his guard drop a few times and let her see him as he was - not a hero from novels, not a freak and insensitive ass as described by most. He was a real human being, living and breathing, able to care for and love those who truly cared about him, willing to do anything for them, even die for them if needed. He had walked a long road to get there but evolved so much as a human being since the fall…

Both of them were eating and walking quietly for a couple of minutes, with only a few short remarks about the weather or how lovely the park looked in the winter air. Sherlock was desperate to talk but didn't know how to start, how to express all the emotions running through his head. He, the greatest detective in the world who always had an answer for everything, suddenly found himself lost for words. Luckily, Molly made it easier for him when she started.

"So… how are you feeling? I mean, after everything that happened…"
Sherlock sighed. "I'm fine." He attempted a smile, but it wasn't very convincing. His eyes just couldn't lie. "And how are… you?" He enquired cautiously.

Molly took a deep breath and replied even less convincingly. "I'm okay… I'm fine…"

The tiny nervous smile betrayed her as much as Sherlock's had betrayed him just before. Suddenly they both turned to each other and spoke quickly at the same time.
"I'm so sorry…"

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then broke the gaze, trying to recuperate. Molly's gaze remained stuck at his scarf as if afraid to look into his eyes again, afraid of seeing only pity in them, afraid of saying the wrong words, of making a fool of herself again.
Sherlock noticed her uneasiness and was in a way glad he was not feeling afraid alone. Yet, the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. Suddenly, he remembered something she said at the beginning of that call.

"What happened that day?"
Molly looked up at him puzzled.
"You said you were not having a good day… What happened?"
His eyes were piercing hers with real interest and care. She had rarely seen such a look.

Molly swallowed and let out a sigh.
"I had a phone call that day. A different one… I mean…" she said quickly trying to shake off the nerves.
"I don't have close contacts with my family, haven't had for years, since my father died… My Mum does not really appreciate the fact that her daughter decided to make her living out of dead bodies…"

Sherlock couldn't help himself with a remark and a grin.
"In that case, I guess she would not like me."
She chuckled but her smile faded quickly.

"Well, anyway… That day, my mother called me and told me that my brother died in a car crash…" Molly swallowed but continued. "We did not get along in recent years, he started drinking after Dad passed away. I tried to put him off alcohol, but he didn't want to accept any help and pushed me away completely…"
"I'm sorry…" Sherlock frowned slightly with concern.

Of course, how utterly idiotic of me not to have seen she was in distress right from the off! Eyes red from crying, face skin tone very pale, almost hunched posture, the same jumper as the previous day in the morgue... Oh, Molly...

He couldn't help but see parallels between himself and Molly's brother - she tried to help them both from their addictions, and they had both pushed her away at some point…

"I know we have not been in contact for a few years…. well, that he has not been exactly of a role model of a brother but still…." Molly's voice broke and she was breathing heavily, trying to keep it together, with her look still fixed on the deep blue shade of Sherlock's scarf.
"But he was still your brother. Nothing will ever change that," Sherlock said softly.

He lifted his hand towards her cheek seeing a tear escaping from her eye. He wiped it with his thumb and brushed her cheek with a brief stroke. Molly lifted her eyes up to him, surprised. Such a move was truly uncharacteristic of Sherlock Holmes. Surprisingly for Sherlock, it suddenly felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"Sometimes those who hurt us most are the ones we love the most," he said calmly, with his eyes fixed on Molly's.
"I think I know something about that," she replied with a sad smile.
Sherlock felt a sudden sting close to his heart and sighed.

"Don't do it, please, just…. don't… do it…"

Her words were still ringing in his ears stabbing him like a dagger. He knew how much he was hurting her at that moment and yet he had no choice (at least he thought so at that moment) but to go on trying to make her say it. No more, he's not going to cause her any more pain, ever. Whatever the outcome of today, the only thing that mattered to him now was Molly Hooper's well-being.

As if Molly was reading his thoughts, she swallowed and tried to speak in a lighter tone.
"It is what it is."
The detective was getting too familiar with this phrase lately, but he was not going to let it get to him this time.
"It does not have to be," he said firmly but quietly, hoping Molly would get the meaning somehow and help him express, what was so difficult for him to put into words.

Her eyes narrowed, trying to understand what exactly he meant.
"Sherlock, can I ask you something?"
"Of course, Molly,” he replied, and his hand finally slowly left Molly's face and returned to its usual position.
"Why did you smash my coffin back there?"

Sherlock froze for a second as a shudder ran through him at the memory of the whole horrific phone call situation. He swallowed and blinked.
"I felt like I have just… killed you…" He closed his eyes unable to face her gaze in shame.

"I knew right from the start how the call would break you, but it did not hit me completely until Euros told me you were never in real danger… Until then, although I felt horrible for causing you so much pain, all I cared about was keeping you alive… And then, when you made me say it… when I said… I could not stand it… The absurdity of it all."

Sherlock's voice was breaking and Molly noticed that his bruised hands started shaking. 
"I knew it destroyed you, it destroyed our friendship, our… " He took a deep breath trying to find the right words.

"I couldn't breathe, I felt angry, desperate, helpless, broken into million pieces… I felt a terrible loss… As I put the lid on the coffin and saw the plate with those words on it, I felt absolutely gutted that it took this situation for me to realize what was staring right at me for such a long time… I couldn't bear the thought of… losing you… Only then did I truly understand how John felt when Mary died, and that is why I lost it completely. I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest… I was convinced you would never forgive me no matter what the explanation and that I would lose you forever… I felt… lost… "

His hands were still shaking when he was looking down at them, for he didn't dare to look at her, and the image of that blasted coffin was still playing in his mind.
Well done, Sherlock, he could hear John in his mind, well done, mate.

Sherlock went quiet, exhausted from the stream of outcoming words, emotions flowing from his heart and the deepest place in his soul. He was terrified that his words wouldn't change anything and that he would lose her anyway.

Suddenly, he saw Molly's hands slowly reaching for his own, still visibly injured hands and holding them gently but firmly. The touch of them sent an unknown sensation through his body, almost like an electric shock, the intensity of which even multiplied when she tenderly kissed them.

He looked up at her in awe and saw her eyes glistening.
"I am here… You're not lost anymore," she said quietly.

Sherlock couldn't believe his ears. He felt a lump in his throat; his breathing and his pulse got quicker again. Suddenly he could barely see Molly; his vision got blurry for some reason.

It was Molly's turn to wipe away tears from his cheek. He couldn't keep still any more and instinctively took her in his arms, carefully but deeply heartfelt. Her slender arms embraced his waist, as her head rested on his shoulder and she smiled through the tears as Sherlock Holmes did what nobody ever saw him do - he kissed the top of the head of the woman he loved. He closed his eyes as he did it and hugged her tighter when the three words that nearly broke them both escaped like a prayer from his lips.

"I love you…"

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When John Watson put his daughter to sleep that night, he checked his phone and found a short, but very clear text from Sherlock Holmes sent about half an hour before.

I AM A COMPLETE HUMAN BEING NOW. SH

A wide smile appeared across John's face and he replied with a short, but clear text back.

WELCOME TO THE CLUB, MY FRIEND.
P.S. I HOPE SHE LIKED THE CHIPS. JW

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