Molly, for the best part, remains perfectly still. Her hands in her lap, curled into small fists, as she listens to the story. There's much to take in, too much, but she's patient enough and she makes sure to take in each word, measuring up everything in her mind.

The colour slowly drains out her face the more he speaks but her expression doesn't change from the silent intent, not interrupting him until he's finished. Her lips purse for a moment and she looks down at her hands.

It made sense. It didn't make it hurt less, but knowing it wasn't really his fault eased it a little. She felt angry to have used by his sister, humiliated a little - to have her love broadcast to publically, that crushing weight still pushing down on her. But it wasn't Sherlock's fault.

"That's just you though, isn't it?" she says quietly. She smiles as she speaks but there's something pained in it. "You always have to know, you always--"

She stops, shaking her head. Something has still been broken, something precious and secret and safe. Neither of them can undo what was said - and the aftermath before them... Molly didn't know what to think.

She takes a breath closing her eyes. "It's-- it's not your fault." she says finally. "I'm not saying that means it's your fault."