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"No, that’s the hardest part. Walking around knowing what the point [of life] is, but not being able to live it, and not knowing how to get it, or if I ever will.”
--Significant Other, by Joshua Harmon
She's used to seeing Mary now. It was odd at first (and severely frightening), but it's comforting now, to have someone to talk to. Even if that someone isn't really there.
Molly missed her company anyways; what difference does it make if she's only in her head?
"Do you think he meant it?"
Mary sits next to her on the porch in the backyard. Her arms are wrapped around her legs and her cheek rests on her knees, her head turned to address Molly.
Molly takes a large gulp of her wine and doesn't answer.
Mary smiles. "You know he must have meant it in some way. He's not a machine anymore. He never was, not really.
"But you know that."
"Of course I know that," Molly replies bitterly. "You may be in my head, but you don't have to keep repeating yourself."
"Oh, but I think I do," she says flippantly, unfurling herself and stretching her legs down the step. "If I didn't, you wouldn't be talking to me."
"Stop being cheeky," Molly grumbles, rolling her wine glass between her hands.
"You liked when I was cheeky," Mary shoots back with a grin. "You especially liked me being cheeky about Sherlock. Taking the piss out of him and all that."
"Things have changed," Molly murmurs.
"Why? Why do they have to change at all?"
Molly stares at the phantom of her friend, her expression incredulous. "Are you serious? Are you really bloody serious?"
"Yes, I am," Mary says gently. "He said he loved you, Molly. He was trying to save your life when he said it, but in case you've forgotten, he said it twice. Twice. That man loves you. He may not know how he loves you; Sherlock knows more tricks than a sodding magician when it comes to avoiding and burying emotions he can't handle.
"But who says that he isn't loving you fiercely in the best way he knows how? There is more than one way to love a person, you know."
Molly swallowed hard, fighting the tears gathering behind her eyes. She's already cried so much in the past 72 hours, it's a wonder her eyes haven't swollen shut.
"I know it hurts like hell," Mary continued, "but give him time. Let him do his Sherlocky processing. Let him figure it out. Regardless of what happens between you two, you will survive. Because you are strong."
"Not so sure about that," Molly mumbles into her glass.
Mary shrugs. "I am!" she responds brightly. "You may be broken and bleeding right now, but if this is going to kill anyone, it will be Sherlock. He doesn't know how to do this. How to feel this deeply, like you do. Like you always have.
"You deserve better and he knows it. And deep down, you know it too."
Mary stands. "But, you keep loving the bastard. Because you're a good person, Molly Hooper."
“Sherlock is a good man, too,” Molly protested feebly. Mary raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” she said wryly. “He is a good man, Molly. Because he’s terrified that if you give him your heart on a silver platter, bruised and broken as it already is, that he’s going to destroy it completely. And he doesn’t know how to give you his own. It’s been locked up so long, he probably didn’t know where the sodding key was, until his psychopath sister blew the doors open for him.”
"Does it ever get easier?" Molly asked, looking up at the ghost of her friend.
Mary's brow furrowed. "Which part?"
"The waiting," she says simply. "Waiting to see if he'll come to you or leave you forever."
"I think you're the one letting him cool his heels, love," Mary replies, confused. “At least until you've stopped being angry.”
"No, that's not, I mean--" Molly sighed heavily. "Waiting for an answer. For the person you love to decide they do love you back. Does it ever get easier?"
Clarity showed itself on Mary's face and she smiled sadly.
"I think you already know the answer to that, don't you?"
Molly chuckled ironically and brought her glass to her lips. "You're in my head. I already know all the answers.
"I just wanted someone else to say them."
“That’s why I’m here.”
Molly clenched her jaw, but her voice cracked anyways. “I really miss you,” she breathed.
Mary sat down and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her cheek on her knees and turning her head to face Molly.
“I know.
"But I'll always be here for you. Promise."