*Trigger Warning: Memories of physical, mental, and emotional torture. Mention/photo of scars and being abused*.
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"Hey...", she whispers, taking his face in her hands tenderly. Realizing he has retreated into some sort of memory by the look in his eyes, she presses a bit more. "Sherlock...hey, where'd you go?"
Sherlock blinks rapidly and looks back at her, swallowing hard. "I-I...I..."
Molly becomes concerned, seeing how afraid he looks. "I'm here...you don't have to be afraid. I promise. Whatever it is, you won't lose me, you won't upset me. I love you; I'm not going anywhere. You can tell me anything."
He buries his face into her neck, and she runs her fingers through his curls soothingly, letting him work through things quietly for a moment.
"I've never told anyone...shown anyone. The only one who knows is Mycroft because he was there. Not a soul knows, not even John...", he trails off.
"Knows what, Sherlock?"
His eyes begin to mist up, the fear returning to them. "A-about...about...S-Serbia...after..."
"After I helped you fake your suicide...you never did tell anyone what happened when you were gone, not even me. What happened to you, Sherlock?", she looks at him worriedly, seeing the clear PTSD he has from whatever ordeals he endured.
Molly slips his shirt over her head and pulls a blanket over their lower halves. "Take your time...", she says quietly, intertwining their fingers and giving his hand a squeeze, brushing her thumb over the top.
Sherlock takes a long, shaky breath and looks and her. "Serbian members of Moriarty's network...I-I guess I miscalculated something and...they captured me. L-Like a war criminal..."
Molly's eyes widen concernedly. "Oh, God..."
"Th-they uh...", he begins but doesn't quite finish, his eyes getting the glossy look in them again.
"Sherlock. Hey, I'm right here...focus, love."
Upon hearing the pet name, his eyes move back to her and soften. Molly places a kiss upon his forehead. "There you are...I'm here."
Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut then blinks rapidly, trying to begin again. "Right um...so they captured me, and I was brought to this...cold, concrete, cellar type holding cell. Except there were no bars."
Molly nods slowly but doesn't quite understand yet, so he presses on, despite the disturbing flashes of memory and sharp twangs of real pain that shoots through him the same as it had back then.
She looks at him scared as she sees his face twist up in unbearable pain, trying his best to speak through it.
"Th-there were only chains and metal cuffs...I-I was...I was...hung by my wrists...", he begins to sob, letting out small shouts of pain from his episode. Molly immediately pulls him close and cries quietly, wishing she could do more to help him through it.
After a few minutes, the sobs subside, but the tears remain as he continues. "Starved for information...t-tortured constantly...humiliated..."
Molly's face crumbles as she cries for him, stroking his face.
"M-made to urinate on myself...beaten..."
"Sherlock...", Molly sobs softly. "Oh my God."
He sniffs and looks ashamed. "B-But the worst part w-was the rope...and the rod...they'd t-take turns whipping me, hard. O-or...or cutting me with this...this sharp edge of a metal pipe...the pain...the blood loss..."
Holding his hands, she cries weakly for him in disbelief. He never even let on that he was hurt, or broken, or damaged. Not when he came back. Not to her, not to anyone. She can't imagine the exorbitant amount of pain he must have been in the whole time they first spoke again, but how he somehow made it seem like everything was normal.
"Molly...I'm not the perfect picture that you wanted me to be. That you dreamed me to be."
Molly shakes her head. "No, Sherlock, you don't have to be perfect or flawless to be perfect to me."
Tears rush down his face. "You say that until you really see it. The reminder, the branding, the hideousness that will stay with me every day for the rest of my life."
"Sherlock, don't you dare say that. You are not hideous."
"You can't say that until you've seen it."
"Seen...seen what?"
He closes his eyes shut tightly and strokes over her hands. "You'll never see me the same again, you'll never not have a look of pity on your face when I look at you, when I get undressed...I don't know if I can handle that."
"Sherlock, please just tell me what you're talking about. I'll never see you differently. I love you. That means I'll love all of you. Even that parts of you that you believe to be ugly. I swear to you, my opinion will not change, no matter what."
"I have very high regard for you Molly, but I doubt this."
"Then just tell me so I can prove it to you", she sniffles, wiping the tears from her face.
"It'll make you cry again...", he whispers sadly.
"Then let it. I need you to trust me..."
Sherlock looks deeply into her eyes, his irises swirling with tragic storms. "My...back."
"Your back?"
He nods slowly and already visibly flinches in anticipation. Molly swallows hard and gets up, slipping her underwear on then climbs back up on the bed, noticing Sherlock visibly shaking. She tears up and goes to his side, kissing his cheek lightly. "I know you're afraid, I know that you know that I won't hurt you, but you can't help your reaction. Just know that I love you, anyway. No matter what."
He nods and trembles. "Please just...get it over with."
Nodding sadly, she slowly crawls behind him and takes in what she sees, gasping at the horrors that were unleashed on him there. His back is riddled with thick whip scars, overlapping each other, along with other ragged scars which she assumes was the jagged pipe. She shakes her head, her heart absolutely sinking at the thought of him being tortured that way. "Sherlock...", she takes a deep breath. "I-I...", she is at a loss for words as she breaks down, finally feeling the weight of everything he has been carrying with him ever since, including her own guilt for not knowing, not asking.
"There's nothing I can say that'll ever make that better or take it away", she cries hard. "But I still love you, just like I said. You are /not/ hideous, you are /not/ ugly. What they did to you was a hideous act, an ugly act. But you are still the most handsome man I've ever met, and this does not change that. What they did to you does not define everything that you are", she chokes out, crawling back in front of him. He cries with her.
"They come with awful memories, and pain, and hurt and anguish. I wish I could take all of that away from you, because you never ever deserved that."
Sherlock hugs her tightly, clinging to her like a lifeline, never having trusted anyone this fully in his entire life, his entire body still buzzing with the lasting terror.
Putting her forehead against his, she holds his face. "You survived. Despite how many times you probably thought you wouldn't or couldn't, you are the epitome of a survivor, Sherlock Holmes. They may have taken a lot from you then, and it may still feel like they have a hold on you because of those marks, but they don't. Because they couldn't take your life. They couldn't take your will, your strength. They couldn't take everything that was you. They didn't win, and they will never win. Because you're here. Home. Safe. Happy. With so much to still look forward to. They couldn't break the core of you because you're still here. I'm so grateful for that."
Tears run silently down his face and onto her shoulder.
"Those scars are not a sign of any hold over you, nor should you see them that way. Those scars are a sign that they tried to break you, ruin you, destroy you, and you still won. Those scars are a sign that despite everything they did to take your will and your soul away, they couldn't. Those scars are a sign that you beat them, that you survived, you made it home. That they gave you their very worst, and you still ended up your very best. That you are stronger.
Molly strokes his hair, soothing him as he continues to tremble in her arms. "It's perfectly reasonable to carry that pain, to be triggered by it, to hurt and feel this way at those disturbing memories. I promise you, it's normal. And I know you already see a therapist. That's good. But I want you to work with me to overcome the thought that it's something ugly. It isn't anymore. It was. It used to be. But I don't want this haunting you every time you see yourself in a mirror. I don't want you terrified of me seeing you."
Sherlock looks at her brokenly and nods weakly. "I know..."
"I don't want to push you too fast. I don't want you to be scared. Can I try to touch them? I need you to know that no more pain will come. Not from me."
"I-I know that in my mind, Molly. It's just-...my body won't get the message. I...react. I don't let anyone touch my back. Shoulders, fine. A hug over my shirt, fine. Since nobody knew and that's...different somehow. But being shirtless and the knowledge that it's...I don't know if I can. But I'll try. For you." He breathes shakily.
"Okay. Thank you. It's okay if you want me to stop. You can tell me to stop. I won't be offended, it's your call."
Sherlock swallows thickly and nods. Molly moves behind him again.
"I'll start with your shoulders, ok?"
"Mhm.."
Molly very carefully places her hands on his shoulders, stroking them lovingly. She very slowly makes her way further down and can feel him physically tensing up more and more until he panics.
"No, stop!", he yells out. Molly immediately withdraws her hands.
"I-I..I'm...I'm sorry...I don't...I'm so sorry..."
"Don't be sorry. It's alright. I don't want to hurt you, not even emotionally. It's too soon."
She gets off the bed and stands in front of him, taking his hands. "It's your personal space, it's something deeply painful to you. I'm not going to push you too fast too soon. I love you."
Sherlock looks up at her with tear-filled eyes. "I feel utterly pathetic."
"You're not. God, Sherlock. You've been through something that people could never even imagine in a million years. Most people would not have survived. But you did. Give yourself some credit, you deserve to feel what you feel. It is completely valid. I swear to you, your reactions are valid. That does not make you pathetic. At all."
He sighs deeply and plays with her fingers. "You're...the best person in the world", he murmurs. "I know that sounds lame, but my brain can't muster much of anything more creative or accurate right now. I just want you to know that you're...you're...the best."
Molly sniffles softly and leans forward, kissing him tenderly. "You don't always have to be clever. Just hearing you say how you feel will always be good enough. Plus, I think that was a very sweet thing to say."
A weak smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he can't quite force it. "I'm sorry...I'm sure that doesn't need much of an explanation. But I am. For everything. All of it. All of my...badness. Everything not good about me."
"Sherlock, everyone has a bit of brokenness inside them. It doesn't make their pieces any less beautiful."
This time he smiles slightly, taking her hand. "Well, if I have an opinion, I happen to think your pieces make up the most beautiful work of art I've ever seen."
"Oh hush", she says cutely, blushing. She moves close and kisses him slowly but passionately, letting him know that nothing has changed in the way she feels about him. Not only with her words, but with her actions.
Sherlock allows himself to get lost in her touch and her kiss, his own newfound love for her being poured into it so she knows as well that this is for real.
After a few moments, they slowly pull away panting softly on each other's lips. Molly smiles softly and helps him back into his pants, blushing and rubbing his chest tenderly.
"I didn't quite like being stabbed nearly to death, but I am glad it happened if only for leading us here. I probably would have still been stubborn and impossible. But I want to be the type of man that can balance his life. That can be both ordinary and extraordinary. I want to be what you need, you don't deserve any more pain, or heartbreak, or loss. I can't promise that I'll be the perfect partner. We both know I am hardly capable of anything close to perfection. But as I said, I want to try.
Molly grins and squeezes his hand. "I'd like that a lot. It's refreshing to know someone so well that I can be completely myself around them. With my other boyfriends, I always felt like I was suppressing something or another. Whether it be my past, or my job, or anything else. With you, you already know all there is to know. We've both been through hell and come out the other side better. I think we can be a really incredible team if we are open and honest and don't hide anything. If you ever, ever need help with anything, I want you to tell me. Trauma, addiction, a difficult case...whatever it may be that you need to talk about or get out of your system, I want you to come to me and we can figure it out together. That's the only way that we are going to work. Alright?"
"Alright. I will do my best. I'm used to being solo with my...feelings. It may take a while for me to adjust to...this. But I do want this, I do want you. You've proven that you can be everything that I need Molly.
He draws her close into his arms and nuzzles her hair, breathing in the scent of her strawberry and vanilla shampoo, a cozy contrast to the usually stark lemon formaldehyde smell she usually drags home from the morgue. He can't help but stroke her arm, his heart aching to stay close to her, to wallow in the comfort of her warmth and the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers.
Molly lets him hold her and touch her. She peppers soft kisses along his chest, causing him to flush. Grinning, she keeps doing so, knowing it makes him feel good.
"You're a hero to me, you know. No man could go through everything that you have gone through and still be here. You're the strongest person I know, I'm in awe that you've survived so much, Sherlock. You amaze me."
"You've been through horrific ordeals as well Molly. We just do what we can to survive and try our best to move on. Even if our best isn't enough every single day. I'm glad we have each other; that in a way, we have always had each other. Even when we would just vent our troubles over chemicals at the lab. I was always grateful for those moments, even if I didn't seem like I was at the time. I wish I had expressed that to you more often. I wasn't a very good man back then."
"I enjoyed those small moments too, and in a way, I knew you did too, or you wouldn't have kept coming back to vent to me", she laughs softly. "But now we're here. I'm glad we made it here. However unconventionally we arrived at this point."
Sherlock nods and closes his eyes, stroking her shoulder under the sleeve of his tee. Molly smiles and helps him scoot back to the middle of the bed so he can lie down on the pillow. She lies down with him and resumes cuddling him, placing her head on his chest and tracing random shapes on his pecs with her fingertips.
"We can work on getting you more comfortable with yourself and with me, regarding your scars. I really want to help you. I really want you to be able to love yourself as you are now. And I want you to be able to trust me to touch you. It will take time and probably time at your therapist's for both of us. She can guide us through it if you're willing."
He draws in a deep breath and slowly releases it, looking down to meet her eyes. "I want that too...I-I will try. For you."
"For both of us. It's more for you. I want you to be able to live with it, and not go back there every time you see yourself in a mirror. And I know that will take a lot of time and effort, but I will gladly see it through with you."
"Thank you. That means so much to me, Sherlock." She leans up and kisses him. He responds in kind, and they end up snogging for a while before they both drift off to sleep in each other's arms.
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Three weeks later, Molly takes him to physical therapy. His leg has gotten so much better in the last few weeks than it has been previously. He is able to bear a good amount of weight on it and has started walking again, very slowly. He holds onto the metal bars lightly, with no amount of terrible strain on his muscles or expressed on his face. He smiles over at Molly as he walks toward her step by step, making sure to use his left leg as much as his right. She grins and claps happily, and his instructor congratulates him on the progress.
He continues to do his stretches and his leg exercises and is instructed to try to do some at home during the week as well. He agrees and they wrap up his session. He's still using a cane just to be sure that if his leg does get tired, that he has something to lean on.
Molly beams proudly and goes on her tiptoes, kissing him softly. "Oh, well this is different. I'm going to have to adjust to not being able to reach your lips easily", she snorts. "It was so much easier when you were sitting all the time and less mobile.
Sherlock chuckles and strokes her cheek. "Well don't you worry, I'm sure it's not too much effort for me to lean down a bit, love."
Raising an eyebrow, she smirks softly. "What did you say?"
His cheeks turn pink, and he grins. "You heard me. I'm...trying it out."
"Well, I like it."
"I like that you like it", he laughs softly as they walk to the car. Out of habit, she tries to help him in, and he smiles. "I think I can handle it now but thank you."
"Right, sorry", she giggles, heading over to the driver's side. As they drive, Sherlock can tell that there is something going through her mind.
"What's on your mind?"
She glances over at him quickly, as to focus on the road. "Well seeing as how you're getting better and more mobile, I was just wondering when you think you'd want or need to go back to Baker Street..."
"Ah...well...I haven't much thought about that. I quite enjoy staying with you. Though, I don't much believe you'd like clients traipsing in and out of your house, never mind all of my experiments and the body parts in the fridge, etcetera."
"That's true..."
"Just because I move back to Baker Street doesn't mean that we can't do what most people do and spend the night periodically at either one of our places. I can be very discreet when I choose to be. We don't have to go public or anything if you'd prefer us not to. Honestly, the press is becoming unbearable, and I wouldn't want them to bother you."
Molly blushes and looks at him once she's at a stoplight. "So I'm assuming we're...pretty official then?"
"Right, sorry. First things first. My mistake." He clears his throat. "Molly Hooper, would you become my domestic lover?"
She bursts out laughing and takes his hand in hers. "You will do anything to not use the word girlfriend, won't you? Either way, the answer is yes, I'd love to become...that", she continues to giggle.
He smirks and squeezes her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "I'll think of a better title, that was a bit cringeworthy, hm?"
"Mhh a tad", she chuckles.
"Do you have any suggestions?"
"Yes, girlfriend. It's really not so bad. I do wish there was a better name, but they're all worse."
Sherlock groans a bit. "Alright, fine, I concede. Though most the time I'll be referring to you as 'My Molly'."
"I think that's lovely", she beams.
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Six months later, Sherlock's leg is fully healed and for the last month, he has been working at full capacity again, enjoying every moment of it. Of course, spending time with Molly was always enjoyed, but being cooped up in the house for so long had begun to get to him anyway. He's been taking cases in full loads, almost overworking himself, as he does.
As he had promised her, he had found a lovely balance between his work and their relationship, sleeping over her house any day he didn't have a long or large case, and being a lot more grateful for her help at Bart's when her expertise was needed, never leaving without a small kiss goodbye. On occasion, if he were feeling particularly great, he would even bring her lunch from Speedy's so they could eat together in her office. They had made sure to keep their pact to remind each other to eat since neither of them are particularly great at remembering that due to their own issues.
They had also been going to couple's counseling to try to help Sherlock get over the trauma regarding his scars, Molly working with him and their therapist to work him up to letting her touch him on his back and proving that she has nothing but love for all of him. It's not been very easy, the trauma haunting the darkest parts of him, and turning into a weeping mess nearly every time they have gone, unable to make any physical process, despite Sherlock talking about it as much as he could and opening his heart to her. It kills her to see him in so much pain; that there is a part of himself that he buries that carries deep, cutting hatred for himself, even though they both know it wasn't his fault that all of it transpired.
Molly has also has not minced words when she showed up to the Diogenes Club to demand Mycroft tell her all about his side of the story and why the hell he didn't figure out how to get his little brother out of there sooner than he did. That how dare he sit there among their ranks and watch Sherlock get the very light pulled out of him with every passing second. How COULD he have sat there without reacting? What kind of man lets his family go through that without stopping it? Especially a man who had over and over resorted to calling himself the smartest Holmes, despite all the times he has screwed up and gotten Sherlock hurt.
By the end of their conversation, Molly was screaming and red-faced, absolutely furious with him, tears running down her face, explaining to Mycroft why she came and how much Sherlock is still going through because of it.
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When she finally got home for the day today, she discards her work clothes and changes into jeans and a grey tee, waiting for Sherlock so they can go to therapy. She sits at her vanity and re-does her braid since it had gotten a bit messy throughout the day. Looking into the mirror, something behind her catches her eye. Finishing her hair, she gets up and goes over to her bed, retrieving an envelope from her pillow.
Furrowing her brow with curiosity, she opens it carefully and slips the tri-folded piece of paper out of it, opening it up.
{Dearest Molly,
Keeping in mind that you are usually home before me when we have an appointment, I thought it best to write this letter today so you could get to read it before I get there. I'm not the most romantic man in the world, as I am sure you know, but you make me want to be better every day. Nor am I the best with emotional words, hence this letter. I don't say this word usually, but I am truly -blessed- that you are mine. I know the past months of therapy have not gone as well as we hoped, and I have been reduced to a messy puddle with hardly any progress. I want you to know that every single cell in my body trusts you. I know that each time we leave, and I don't get to feel your touch, you are the most supportive woman. However, I can always see that bit of sadness within you that it didn't happen. I know this is the biggest burden in our relationship, something that has to be done in order for us to grow even further. It has been weighing on me that I am hurting you, even a little bit, by this unfortunate mess of weakness on my part. You've given me the world Molly; you have since the day that I met you. The very least I can do is give you the world back, so today, we are going to get over this road bump. I will not leave that studio until I've worked through this with you by my side. You've truly turned my life around. Hell, you're the reason I have my life to live. I owe you this, Molly. I owe US this, because I want us to have the world together. I'll see you soon, and I love you very much.
Yours truly,
Sherlock}
Molly sniffles and wipes tears from her eyes softly, folding the letter very carefully and placing it back in the envelope, putting it in her nightstand for safekeeping. Once it's closed, she hears a low voice coming from the open door.
"I meant it", he says quietly. "Every word."
Molly runs over to him and throws her arms around him, leaning on her tiptoes. Sherlock hugs her close and nuzzles her cheek softly, breathing her in.
"I believe that with your courage and strength grounding me, I can do it. I want to."
"I don't want you to pressure yourself into anything you aren't ready for. I love you no matter what, Sherlock, I know you know that", she murmurs, stroking his cheek and gazing into his eyes.
Sherlock cups her face and kisses her soundly, leaning down so she's more comfortable. "I do know that", he mumbles on her lips. "Which is why I want to. I don't want us to be held back. I don't want anything being off-limits. I just-...I want to give you all of myself, the way you do for me. And I feel like I can't do that until I can physically allow you to touch me like this. I don't want anything between us. I'm sick of everything being between us. I don't want any more wedges or situations or traumas between us. I want us to be free with each other. This is the only way I can be. You deserve that. I deserve that."
"If that's how you feel, then okay. But I'm not disappointed in you or upset with you. Whatever happens, I'm here for you. Don't force anything that hurts you too much, okay?"
He nods and strokes her cheek, kissing her forehead. "I'm going to change, and then we can head to the office."
"Okay", she responds, smiling encouragingly, before going to the foyer and slipping her coat on. She strokes his Belstaff reminiscently, flashes of all the times they've shared while he had worn it, going through her head.
"Ready to go?", he pipes up behind her after a moment, making her jump a bit. "Ooh, sorry."
"It's fine", she chuckles and nods. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."
Molly grabs her keys as Sherlock slips his Belstaff on over his white t-shirt and buttons it, having been told to wear a loose shirt there so it's easily removable. Then they walk to Molly's car, hand in hand.
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Sherlock trembles as he removes his shirt, inwardly cursing himself, used to the routine by now, and willing himself to stop shaking. He reminds himself that it's just Molly. Molly would never hurt him. He has to do this for Molly. For them.
His therapist speaks up. "Now Sherlock, I want you to fold your shirt and hold it in your lap. Remember that you are in control. You have the power to put it back on if you need to."
He nods and does so, clutching it tightly in his fists on his lap, his hands tremoring.
"Now we are going to start slowly. I'm going to have Molly touch you where it's not triggering. She's going to use her hands on your skin to soothe you. We will go from there."
"Okay", he mumbles shakily, looking up at Molly and following her with his eyes as she sits in front of his cross-legged, knee-to-knee.
Molly looks into his eyes lovingly and places her hands gently on his wrists, stroking up his arms at first tenderly and gently. She can feel his body trembling beneath her hands as she does so, worried about him, but knowing this is a good thing for them.
He tries his best to compose himself, keeping his eyes locked on either her warm brown ones or her hands on his arms, moving further up to his shoulders softly.
"I love you", she whispers.
"I love you too", he murmurs back, shuffling closer to her as her fingers make their way across his shoulders and to his chest.
"How are you doing, Sherlock", the therapist asks him.
"I'm doing fine..."
"How does her touch feel right now?"
"G-good. Soft...gentle. Loving. The way she is", he says, looking into her eyes and smiling slightly. Molly blushes and smiles at him.
Molly caresses her hands over his chest and then his abs softly, being tender.
"Remember how her hands feel on your skin. Just what you said. Soft, gentle, loving. Remember what it feels like for her to stroke your chest and your stomach. How no harm will come to you from her. That she would never want to cause you pain."
"No, she wouldn't...she's Molly. Sh-she's my Molly. She loves me, she'd never hurt me."
"That's right, Now keep that in the forefront of your memory right now as I have her move behind you. Remain calm, keep the feeling of how she soothed you a moment ago with you."
He nods slowly and takes deep breathes, closing his eyes as they become more labored. His body stiffens tightly as he feels the aura of Molly's body moving behind him.
Molly places both hands on his shoulders and leans forward, kissing the nape of his neck and murmuring near his ear. "I've got you. I'm here. You're not alone, you're not lost, you're not helpless anymore. I love you so much."
Sherlock pants hard, panic rising in his chest, and tears springing to his eyes, but he nods to her words, knowing they're true.
Molly looks over Sherlock's shoulder to his therapist. "Is it okay if I try something before delving right into it? I want to make him as comfortable as I can, and I think I know a way."
"Of course. You know him best, and it's better for him to let a bit of his guard down for you."
She nods and rubs his shoulders, then slips her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck massaging his scalp. Sherlock's eyes flutter slightly, and his body visibly relaxes into her. Molly grins and kisses his shoulder. "There we go...it's me, my love."
Keeping one hand in his curls, she slowly moves the other one down his left shoulder. "Okay Sherlock, I'm going to feel your scars now. Don't be afraid..."
He squeezes his eyes, and a few tears escape them, traveling down his cheeks, trying his best to focus on her fingers currently running through his hair.
Tearing up for him, she very delicately runs her fingertips over the scars. He flinches away from her and whimpers loudly, panting hard. Sadness wells up in her chest, seeing how traumatized he is by the memories.
"Sherlock, Molly isn't going to hurt you. That didn't hurt, you're just anticipating pain. You have to put that out of your mind and connect with your girlfriend who loves you very much. You can do this. Sit up again when you're ready, she wants you to know it's okay."
Molly covers her mouth, tears falling fast at his knee-jerk reaction and the pain written on his face. Sherlock sobs into his hands before choking them back. He looks over at Molly and sees her in tears, feeling guilty, and his lip begins to tremble. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he slowly sits up again although he is visibly shaking, wanting to let her. Needing to do this, for her, especially after everything they've gone through.
"Sherlock, if you can't do this..."
"No. I can", he cries weakly. "I can, I have to. I want to. I do trust you, Molly. I do trust you, please believe me!"
Molly sniffles and crawls over to him, cupping his face in her hands. "Hey...hey...I know you trust me. I do believe you. I believe you, c'mere, I'm here", she tells him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her, calming him with her hug. "I love you so much. So so so much...you don't need to do this if you can't. If you can't, we can go home and just try again another time." She pulls back gently and strokes her fingertips over his cheeks. "I don't want to see you hurting. Please, if this is too much, it's okay. I swear to you."
Sherlock turns his head and kisses her palm, closing his eyes for a moment. "No...I promised you. I'm not going home until we do this. I can do this."
Molly nods slowly and pecks his lips, lingering for a moment. "You're gorgeous, Sherlock. All of you. I mean that with my entire heart."
His eyes fill with tears again and he strokes her cheeks as well. "I know you do", he whispers brokenly.
"I'm right here, my love." Her gaze is soft and vulnerable as she looks into his watery eyes with her own, her expression filled with love.
Sherlock clutches her hand in his, playing with her fingers, feeling their softness. "Every bone in my body is screaming that I want this", he chokes out. "I want this, and I feel like my body is betraying me when I flinch from you", his voice cracks. "Because I trust you more than anyone in the world and I want to prove this to you. I'm not scared of /you/. I-I don't know why that happens I-...I don't want to flinch away from you, ever", he mutters, tears spilling down his face.
"I love you. That's never been a lie when I've said it. Not once. I want to give all of myself to you, even the monstrous parts of myself", he tells her, his voice shakes.
"Oh, Sherlock", Molly says sadly, sniffling. "You are not a monster. You are beautiful. You are strong. You are resilient and powerful and a survivor. There is not one part of you that is monstrous, and I resent that you think of yourself that way because I adore you more than anyone else. I love every single piece of you. Both the complete ones and the shattered ones. Every single shard that makes up who you are is beautiful to me. It always will be. I want all of you. Your bad days and your fears and your sadness included. All of you is a masterpiece in my eyes."
Erupting into heavy sobs, he clutches at her, his tears quickly falling and creating a damp spot on the front of her shirt. She doesn't care as she cradles him in her arms like a small child, allowing him to be broken and vulnerable with her after years of keeping himself together and hiding the very worst of his experiences from everyone who cares about him. Molly looks up at the therapist and waves her off, asking her for a moment, to which she obliges.
Molly strokes his curls the way he likes, rocking him lightly and murmuring to him about how much she loves him and how much he means to her. Sherlock calms down slowly, sniffling, cuddling as close as he can to her.
"Do it now", he mumbles sadly.
"What?", she questions, kissing his head.
"Touch me now...I feel as safe and as close to you as I can get", he whispers brokenly. "I don't want to escape your arms. Nobody's ever held me...especially not with as much care and love as you are right now. Please...do it now", he chokes out.
Molly tears up and leans in to kiss him softly as she finally trails her fingers over his scars again very delicately. When he doesn't flinch or shout, they both begin to cry on each other's lips both happily and completely overwhelmed. Sherlock begins to chuckle through his sobs, completely relieved and overcome with happiness as the gigantic weight within him drops off as if an elephant has gotten up off his chest.
Trailing her hand over his back and each scar precisely, Molly cries in relief as well. Her heart bursts with pride for him finally being able to get the upper hand on the worst of his inner demons and winning the fight to slay the true monster after all these years, his own self-blame, self-hatred, self-destruction, and his insatiable fear of being unworthy of love after being permanently branded.