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Sherlock couldn't count the number of times that he tossed and turned in bed. After everything that happened earlier today - the faking of his death had drained him quite a bit - he was exhausted, but for some reason sleep would not come to him.
The curly haired detective sat up and pulled out the squash ball from underneath his pillow, flexing his fingers around it. There was nothing different about this place from what he saw and staying in the guest room didn't bother him. He was used to it.
Still, he wasn't able to find rest. Then, suddenly, it occurred to him. He was alone in this bed and it felt strangely foreign for once. Sherlock recalled how he coldly told John that being alone protects him. Granted, he said those words to make his friend leave Bart's, but Sherlock had secretly begun to question if they were true.
For years, he'd been a detective and never had he formed a true friendship with a single, living human being. John became his first real friend and he learned that sentiment wasn't as bad as he previously believed. The doctor quickly grew to be his best friend and even like a brother to him.
But then, there was Molly. She was one of the very few people in his life to be a permanent fixture and over time, Sherlock's casual and professional regard for her became something more.
Without her help today, he would have died. And after the horrible way he treated her through the years, he was lucky that she had an unceasingly loyal heart and continued to care for him.
Molly Hooper deserved so much better than Sherlock. If anything proved that, her actions today did.
With this in mind, Sherlock pushed back the covers and quickly exited the guest room. He kept moving until he reached Molly's bedroom. She left the door cracked, so he pushed it open and went inside.
The sounds of her even breathing made him smile as he got onto the mattress and lie next to her. Sherlock raised his hands, placing one on Molly's waist and the other above her head. She smelled of cinnamon and it beguiled his senses, bringing him to breathe in her scent.
The movement on her bed and her skin made Molly moan and her eyes slowly fluttered open. When she realised that Sherlock was lying next to her, she turned and whispered in a sleepy voice, "Sherlock, is everything alright?"
In that moment, he wanted to admit the truth about his own blossoming feelings for her. But then, he'd be leaving in the morning to board a plane and begin dismantling Moriarty's network. It might takes years and who knew when he'd come back? Would it be fair of him to tell her something she wanted to hear for so long only to abandon her the next day?
The pain of not knowing, of not being in control of his situation made Sherlock more melancholy than ever. Without thinking, he just said the first thing that came to mind. "I can't sleep in your guest room. It's too small and I need more space."
He could see from the moonlight shining through the window that Molly smiled and she touched his hand with hers. It was a warm, friendly kind of touch that he wished he'd be able to experience more of before he left. "If you want to stay in here, you can. I don't mind."
"Thank you, Molly."
The petite brunette nodded and Sherlock felt her start to move off the bed. "Where are you going?"
"To the guest room. You said you needed space."
Oh, no. Did she think that he meant he wanted her to leave? Maybe it was from desperation on Sherlock's part, but he didn't want to see Molly leave because he was being a selfish prat like always. "I do, but I'd rather not be alone right now. I need you."
Molly's eyes widened and she parted her lips as she remembered how he'd said the very same thing to her earlier today before enlisting her help to fake his death. The sincerity in his voice during that moment had shaken her then just as it did now. Except this was a considerably more intimate setting.
"You really mean that?"
Sherlock responded by taking her hand in his and pulling her gently until she was lying back down on the mattress next to him. Then he kissed her hand and held it to his heart. "I always need you, Molly."
There was nothing Molly could say because those five little words managed to take her breath away. So she curled up next to Sherlock, her head resting on his chest and their fingers entwined. Eventually, he fell asleep and Molly just listened to him breathe.
Of course she knew that he still had to leave in the morning. He had a difficult mission ahead of him, but he was Sherlock Holmes, the most clever man she knew. In that knowledge, Molly had no doubt she'd find him back at Baker Street or at her flat as if no time passed at all.
Tomorrow, she would have to pretend that Sherlock was dead, and grieve for God knows how long. It would be difficult, but she knew that she could bear it as she had borne so much before. Right now, in this moment, with Sherlock lying so close to her and their hands connected, Molly felt like she could do anything.
And hopefully, that would be enough.