Regardless of her understandable hope

Molly was frightened. She was petrified of Sherlock walking into the morgue and trying to talk to her about what she'd told him. Or even worse, completely ignoring what'd happened. 
She imagined that he was exactly the type of person to do that. 
So, in a desperate bid to avoid him, Molly had asked Lucy to cover her night shift, just in case he turned up. He usually did around this time. 

"Bye Lucy," She called, walking out the morgue and through the halls of St Barts. 

Once she'd stepped outside, the cold air had hit her hard, the bitter wind slapping her cheeks as she tried to move through the snow, thick and heavy on the ground. 
Why did it have to snow? 
Holding out her hand, Molly flagged down a taxi and asked the driver to take her home. 
She was so relived when her house came into view. Well... Untill she saw who was sitting outside it. 
Butterflies immediately flooded her throat as she payed the taxi driver with a shaky hand and climbed out. 
What was he doing here? 
As soon as her trainers hit the soft blanket of snow, he walked up her her, his coat flowing behind him. 

"W... What are you doing here?" Molly tried to speak calmly but failed, her usual stammer ruining the charade. 

"It's about... I... Mean," Sherlock took a breath and closed his eyes, "It's about what you told me."

Molly had to stop her mouth from forming a unattractive 'O'. She'd never seen him stammer before. 

"It doesn't matter," Molly whispered, not sure how much hurt it would take before she broke down in front of him. "Ignore what I said."

She headed for the door but his pale hand caught her wrist, turning her towards him. Her stomach dropped at this simple touch as she moved her eyes up to meet him. His face displayed a unreadable expression and his mouth formed a tight line. 
The longer she looked at his face, his expression became softer, the muscles in his jaw relaxing slightly.
Was it pity? He felt sorry for her. 

"Molly..." He began as she tried to pull her wrist from his grip. 

He let go but rested his hands on her waste instead, holding her in place. She squirmed, desperate to escape his touch. She felt warmth where his hands were and she felt colour rising in her face. 
She was blushing. 

"I don't know what to do here." He admitted, staring straight into her orb - like eyes. His were like ice, burning her very soul. "I've never ever had this experience."

Molly tried to back away but he refused to let her go. 

"S ... Sherlock. G ...Get Off." She stammered as he pulled her closer, his hands still on her waist. 

"I talked to John about it," Sherlock said, his eyes fixed on hers, "I told him what you said and he told me how to make if better."

Eventually Molly gave up trying to push him away and she just let him hold her as she shut down. 

"But I don't know if I can do it." He mumbled, shaking his head, "I don't know If it'll make it better."

"I... Sherlock... Since when do you care about making me feel better?" She asked, slightly confused. 

It took him a while to answer and during that time Molly averted her eyes from his iced ones. She focused the streets, the blanket of snow sparkling slightly in the moonlight. The moon was full, casting a shadowy glare on the houses below it. 

"Because you count." Sherlock answered finally, his voice slightly wavering. 

"I didn't... I mean... I can't even... I... What?"

Sherlock slowly lowered his head, his eyes never leaving hers as he moved closer. Realising his intention, Molly moved her hands up to his chest and pushed on him, hard. She couldn't do this. Not now. 

"Don't! Please don't!" Molly cried, holding back tears. "I know why you're doing this, you feel sorry for me."

"No," Sherlock shook his head, "John said this would make it better."

"How on ... How will this make it better?" 

"You need to know you count."

Those words caused her stomach to drop. 

"So are actually care?" Molly shouted, causing Sherlock to wince, "Do you feel anything for me at all?"

He hesitated and Molly knew. No, he didn't. He might have wanted to make her feel better but it didn't mean he had feelings for her. Why would he? What was she, Molly Hooper, compared to the wonderful and beautiful Sherlock Holmes? 

"I ... Care..." He finally said, his voice barely audible. 

He moved his head down again and this time Molly let him, tired of fighting. She just gave in and let him make her 'feel better'. 
Was this real? Was this actually happening? 
She didn't care, she just decided to indulge in the moment she'd been presented with. 
It seemed like ages before Molly felt the tip of his nose, lightly brush hers and his lips brush against her skin as he found her lips. 
He kissed her softly, gently, moving his hands to rest under her neck as he moved closer to her. She moved her own hands over his strong ones, holding them in place. 
Molly felt his lips slightly part hers as he deepened the kiss, causing her to go dizzy for the slightest moment. 
He didn't seem to want to let her go and eventually, when she moved his hands away, so did he, finding hers and lacing his fingers through them. 
Once he'd finished, he removed his lips and rested his forehead on hers, trying to slow his breathing. Three times she tried to kiss him again, but he wouldn't let her. He wouldn't remove his forehead from hers. 
When she opened her eyes, she saw his were still closed... Tightly.  
Why were they so tightly closed? 
He didn't move for a solid five minutes and twenty three seconds (yes, she'd counted) so she decided to take matters into her own hands. 

"Sherlock?" She asked, her voice a whisper. 

His eyes snapped open at once and he removed his forehead from hers, snatching his hands from her grasp. 

"Goodnight." He said curtly before walking off into the cold night, his coat blowing behind him. 

He'd just... Left her. 

"Enough now." Molly whispered once he was out of sight. "Now it's enough."

She wouldn't think about that kiss ever again, or the way his hands moved, so softly to rest at her neck and then lace her fingers. Or his breathing as he rested his forehead on hers. 
Why did he do that? 
People didn't usually do that. 
The kiss had been enough, enough to last her a lifetime and she wouldn't ask for anything else ever again. 
It was now time to move on. 

That was when her phone beeped. Fumbling slightly, Molly pulled it out of her coat pocket and glanced at the message. 

We should have coffee.
- Sh

Molly smiled to herself slightly as she typed her reply. 

Black, two sugars. I'll be upstairs
- MH