After the East Wind

It was a lie

'Molly, please, open the door.' He had left for her flat right after they had secured Eurus and as soon as he was sure about John's well-being.
'Go to hell, Sherlock' she shouted from the other side of the door. 'I've already been to hell today' whispered the detective, tired. 'You're the last person I would possibly want to see right now!' exclaimed the forensic.
'Please Molly, I need to talk' he pleaded.
'If you need to talk, Sherlock, go talk to John or to a corpse! You don't need me.' Sherlock could hear the poison and the pain in her words. And he found himself being sad about it.
'But I do need you, you see. Because I don't want to talk to John or to a corpse. I need to talk to you.' He was starting to grow anxious. Holmes, after all, wasn't used to Molly saying no.
'Oh, of course' came through the woman's voice 'you haven't had enough fun for the day and you stopped by to get a chance to laugh at me a little longer before going to sleep. Well, screw you, Sherlock Holmes!
'Molly, I don't want to make fun of you. I never have, and I never will.' The detective was starting to lose all hope and beginning to think that she might actually not open the door, after all. 'I would never make fun of you because you matter. So now please just let me in. The sooner I get in, the sooner I'll leave, I promise. But I'm willing to spend the night at your door if you make me wait.' That being said, he sat down on the floor beside the door, ready to wait for hours and thinking what else was there that he could possibly say to make Molly open the door. But shortly after he had sat, the door to the flat opened, revealing a doctor Hooper that had clearly been crying, judging by her sore and red eyes. 'Get in,' she said, with a low, quivering voice, and added, this time firmly 'but be sure that as soon as you start behaving like an ass, I'll kick you out.'
She later showed him the way to the living room and gestured him to sit down. Sherlock followed, remaining surprisingly quiet, and waited.
'Well, what is it that you needed to talk about?' Inquired Molly, roughly.
'First of all, let me explain why you got that call from me earlier today.' 'I don't want to talk about that call.' 'Molly, please. Just listen'
The forensic didn't answer, and Sherlock interpreted she was letting him speak. So he began narrating how he and John had discovered there was another Holmes, and how they had walked into the lion's den. Hooper was starting to get impatient, because she was sure this had nothing to do with the call and Sherlock was just bragging again. But then the detective started talking about the coffin...
'... so after she killed those three men, we moved on to another room. This one had a coffin placed on top of a table at the centre of it. It was obvious I had to deduce whose coffin it was. I was in the process, when Mycroft took the lid and...'
'And what, Sherlock? I'm starting to think this isn't going anywhere.' Said Molly, desperate and tired, and wanting to go to bed more than ever before in her entire life.
'And we saw it wad the words I love you written on it. So Mycroft said it had to...'
'He said it had to belong to someone who loved you'. Molly was starting to dislike where the conversation was taking them.
'Exactly.' Said the detective, avoiding the woman's eyes. 'And that, together with the deductions I had already made, lead to you.' He was still avoiding her glance. He couldn't let her look into his eyes and see the truth, like she always did...
'And that's when Eurus said she had placed explosives in your flat.' Molly looked around, terrified at the sound of those words. 'Don't worry, there are no explosives.' He reassured her. 'But of course, I didn't know it then. So I believed her when she said she would kill you if I didn't get you to say the words in time.' He felt like he was about to cry. He had been through the worst of days, had found out things about his life that he had decided to forget long ago... And talking about it made him feel vulnerable. It was a new feeling he did not like in the very least. 'So I had to do it, Molly. I had to. I couldn't let you die. At first you didn't pick up the damn phone, and I feared the worst. But then you picked up and you... and you...'
'And I asked you to say the words first.' Molly understood now it wasn't Sherlock's fault, and he just wanted to save her. Nevertheless, she was hurt anyways, and she felt ridiculous for asking him, who would never love her, to tell her he did.
'Yes, and I panicked.' Confessed the detective, holding his head between his hands and still not being able to make eye contact. 'I had never said those words before. I had promised myself I would never feel that for anyone, because love is a synonym of weakness. So when I said those words to you, I was sure I was just acting like I meant it so that I could save your life.' His eyes still lingered on the floor, but he could feel the anger in her voice when she said 'If you just intended to remind me of something I already knew from the very beginning, you could've spared me the time. I appreciate you saving my life from your psychopathic sister, you can leave now.'
'Molly, no! Just let me finish and then I'll leave.' Begged Sherlock, not without difficulty, for he was not used to begging for anything.
'Sherlock, I didn't have a good day. Please, leave.' She answered, letting through how tired and done she was.
'No, Molly. I won't leave. Because today I saw what absence of love did to my little sister, what loneliness turned her into. What despair made her do. And I will not become that. I won't let that happen to me. Today I learnt I was wrong. Love is not weakness, it is strength. It is something to hold on to when the East Wind comes. Today I have uncovered things I had decided to erase from my memory. And it is shattering me from the inside. I have let loose my true self, Molly. And I have understood that it was a lie. It was a lie.'
All this he said like the words were knives through his heart, and he needed to let them out as fast as possible, because his life depended on it.
Molly was amazed and terrified at the sight of the mighty Sherlock Holmes breaking apart. It was a painful thing to watch.
'What was a lie, Sherlock?' She was afraid of what his reaction might be. He looked like a wild animal in pain. But she insisted. She knew she had to, he needed her to, so she did.
'Sherlock,' she said, sweetly and carefully 'what was a lie?
To that, he finally looked her in the eye, and she felt like screaming at the sight of those piercing blue eyes she had always loved, usually filled with excitement, now filled with pain, agony, and sorrow.
'It was a lie that I was acting.' He finally answered, in a low, hoarse voice. Both their hearts were pounding with anticipation.
'I love you, Molly Hooper.'