[All because you say so. You tell me I won't close the door-- Sherlock's stomach has tied itself into a sailor's knot, it feels like, but now it's a knot tying itself into more knots. --so I won't. Isn't that right? It's too familiar. Too ungodly familiar. Sherlock would like to think he has little and less in common with the slippery creature that calls itself his sister, but that isn't quite true, now is it? He shouldn't be able to convince anyone to obey him unconditionally, yet Molly Hooper has always (always) followed along with his every word. (Why?) (Why?) (Why does she continue to subject herself to that?) This is why he has to be more careful with her. Careful with her heart. She's impressionable. Sculptor's clay that never seems to harden.]

I want to explain myself, [he says, and he feels like he's gasping for air.] The experiment. I want to explain that it wasn't-- I said it was an experiment, yes, but I didn't mean it was mine. It was someone else's. That's what I'm trying to tell you. [He had this all worked out in his head before he knocked on Molly's door, so what's happening now? He's practically tripping over his own words. He sounds like he did on the phone: sweet, wheedling, on the verge of panic. As far as he's gone this time (way too fucking far), he knows that he really could lose Molly and her esteem for him. That's how Eurus intended to win. Same idea behind burning the heart out of him.]

This all started when I learned that I have a sister.

[And that sounds so unbelievably moronic to his own ears. God damn it.]