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He had had his heart broken before. Most would not believe it, considering he acted like a human robot most of the time, but once he had been in love. It was part of what had sent him spiraling off the edge into his drug addictions. He had classified his life as “before her” and “after her,” where “before her” he seemed pretty normal, if a bit distant thanks to his intellect and ‘after her” he locked his heart away to keep from getting hurt again.
His brother knew all about her; he had to, having started his spying on him at a young age. As soon as Sherlock had turned of age he knew his brother had started to spy on him. So he had to have known all about her, about how in love with her he was, about how she had broken his heart. His brother had stood by and done nothing even though he was sure she had been looked into and the bits and pieces of her past that would cause so much trouble for him had been found. Perhaps that was Mycroft’s way of beginning to teach him that caring was not an advantage. It was a lesson that he had learned well in the aftermath.
He was many years older now, wiser. Of course he let things slip a bit at times. He had let Irene Adler get closer than he would have liked, and once again he was made the fool for his actions. He vowed after that affair, after he had rescued her from the terrorists and set her off on a new life that he would not care again. He would not put his heart out to be trampled on again, and he wouldn’t let anyone other than his friends get close. His friends would not hurt him, he knew that. They would keep him safe.
In turn, he had to keep them safe. He had to jump off that roof, fake his death, separate himself from them. He had to, or else they would all have been killed. He couldn’t have done it without Molly. She told him how to cut off his pulse with the trick with the ball, how to fall from a great height without breaking every bone in his body. She was there in the morgue when he was wheeled in, she was the one who patched him up as best she could and sent him off to his brothers.
He repaid the favor by keeping her in the loop, at least when she wasn't able to assist him with his medical needs in person. He knew Mycroft did as well, and she was his secret keeper. It placed a burden on her, one he couldn’t imagine but knew at least partially. It was one thing for him to lie to all of them, because he didn’t have to see their faces. It was another for her to see them on a regular basis and still perpetuate the falsehood. He admired that about her, and he tried to help her keep up the façade as best he could. If she worried about him she might be more inclined to crack, to spill the secret, so he gave her regular updates. It seemed to have worked; three years had gone by and no one was the wiser.
He stopped to see her first, before he saw Mycroft, before he revealed himself to the others. He knew her address well, having sent blank or cryptic postcards to her, having sent her the occasional letter. He had it memorized, burned in his memory as a place he could turn to when he came back, a place safe from harm and scorn and all the other messy emotions that would come about when the others found out. But it was more than that to him. He realized that over the three years, while their relationship had become carnal, he had partially given her his heart as well for her. He cared for her, more than he wanted to admit, more than he should. He had taken out his shuttered heart and let it beat again, let it feel, and that was all her doing.
She had looked surprised when she opened the door, but the wide smile and the warm hug and soft kiss had been worth it. He was not a person who liked hugging or kissing someone, but being able to hold her close had felt right. She had ushered him inside, sat him down on her sofa, and offered him food and drink. After a moment he had agreed, and she went into the kitchen to begin making him some food. He didn’t stay on the sofa long before coming into her kitchen, watching her cook. She must have just been planning to make her own dinner, he realized, and he felt honored that she would cook for him as well.
She asked him questions, and he found himself filling in the bits and pieces he hadn’t gotten to tell her before. They talked as she cooked, they talked as they ate, and then they were both back to the sofa and they talked long into the night. She offered to share her bed for the night when it got too late to continue, without the promise of intimacy, and he accepted gratefully. One night in this safe haven would do more to replenish and restore him than a meeting with his brother, would do more to fortify him before the reunions that could go wonderfully well or horribly wrong.
She called into work the next day, and upon rising she made him breakfast. They had just finished eating and he was at her sink, washing all the dishes while she poured herself a second cup of coffee. She picked up the mug she had given him. “Would you like more, Sherlock?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you,” he said with a nod as he finished washing the last pan.
She went to her coffee maker and poured another cup of coffee, then handed it to him once he put the pan in the drying rack. Their fingertips brushed slightly and he could have sworn he had felt a slight jolt. It was not the first time their skin had come into contact, and he had felt it each time. He knew what that had meant, and he knew what it might cost if she did not feel the same. She had his heart now, whether he liked it or not. Now he just had to let her know.
“Molly, I have something to tell you,” he said quietly after taking a sip of the coffee.
“Oh?” she asked, a warm smile on her face and a quizzical expression in her eyes. “What is it, Sherlock?”
“We’ve talked about my past in the last few years,” he said, staring into the depths of his mug.
“Yes. I believe I know you better now than I ever did before,” she said, going over to her table. “And I believe you know me better than you’d imagined.”
“I do,” he said with a nod as he followed her, sitting next to her. “You know I do not care for people easily. I do not have many friends, and I closed my heart off years ago.”
“The young woman you told me about, right?” she said before taking a sip of her coffee.
He nodded. “I believe it is now time to stop living that kind of life,” he said. “The more I got to know you, understand you, the closer I got to you. I realize now I mistreated you greatly before I had to leave. I would like a chance to see if there's something more between us than just shagging. I believe I have fallen in love with you, Molly.”
She had the cup nearly to her lips when he said that, and she froze. He could see her hand trembling, and he reached over for the cup before she dropped it or spilled coffee all over the table. Her grip was not very tight so he thought there had been a very good chance she would drop it. “You love me?” she asked, her voice very quiet and slightly strangled sounding.
“Yes.”
“I see,” she said, slightly dazed.
He had to brace himself for the worst. He had put himself out there, opened up his heart after keeping it away for so long, and he had to be prepared to let it sink back into its emotionless depths. “If you do not feel the same way, I understand. I treated you horribly for so long. There are times I do not think I deserve your friendship, let alone more than that.”
“I love you too, Sherlock.”
He blinked, as it was now his time to be surprised. “What?”
She put one hand on the table and then hesitantly reached over for the one of his that wasn’t holding a cup. “I said, I love you too. While you've been gone we would talk, and you were opening up to me and I was telling you stuff that only my closest friends now. The more I got to know you, the better I liked you. Once we became intimate I stopped dating. I haven’t had a date in about two years.”
He looked down at their hands. “I’ll probably be rubbish at things, at least at first. It’s been a long while since I've been in an actual relationship.”
“I can be patient,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I had to be patient waiting for you to come back, didn’t I?”
“And you’ll be understanding?” he asked, looking at her.
“I will try my best,” she said, a warm smile spreading on her ace. It was a smile that he answered with one of his own. “I think we can handle a lot, Sherlock. Just don’t slip back to your old ways and we’ll be fine.”
“All right,” he said with a nod. “Thank you, Molly.”
“You’re welcome, Sherlock,” she said as she squeezed his hand one more time. “Do you want me to go with you to your brother’s home?”
“I would like that,” he replied.
“Then let me go change and then we can go,” she said, letting go of his hand and standing up. He watched her walk away and knew, deep down, that this was the right move, the right decision. This was going to only lead to good things, and not more heartache and heartbreak. Caring was not a disadvantage, and he would always remember that with her.