Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Molly tapped her foot nervously in the police car after yet another failed lead. The stress was definitely getting to her. Too much pressure, and most of it she was putting on herself. She jumped as her mobile buzzed on the console.

YOU DO REALIZE YOU'RE MISSING EVERYTHING OF IMPORTANCE. –SH

Molly sighed and set her phone in her lap. She bit her nail and continued tapping her foot. A minute later, Sally Donovan got in the car.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Sally said, clearly noticing her partner's demeanor. "We'll figure it out, we always do."

"Right, yeah, of course," Molly shot back in forced confidence.

Sally frowned a second later as she noticed the text on Molly's mobile screen. "Tell me you're not gonna answer him."

Molly tilted her head and grimaced in embarrassment, making Sally roll her eyes. "I don't know what else to do! I've hit a dead end and apparently he knows something. Wouldn't it be stupid of me to ignore him?"

"You're good at your job!" Sally stated firmly. "But he comes on the scene and does everything he can to make us all look like a bunch of children who are playing at police work, including you! That's far from fair and you know it." She shook her head as they both saw another text come in.

THIS WOULD MOVE A BIT QUICKER IF YOU'D TEXT ME BACK…YOU OBVIOUSLY WANT TO. –SH

Molly gave Sally an apologetic smile. "I have to see what he thinks. I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't follow all possible leads!"

"It's not just about that, Molly." Sally gave her the pointed look of not only a colleague, but also a friend. "He's a distraction…and you know exactly what I mean."

The DI's face flushed instantly and she pressed her lips together. But then she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she looked back at Sally. "I'm answering him. It's the right thing to do. So far he hasn't been wrong, and I'm willing to bet this time will be no different." She dropped her voice a little. "I need him."

"Yeah, I bet you do," Sally muttered with a sardonic laugh as Molly began typing a reply.

WHAT DO YOU KNOW? –MH

ALMOST EVERYTHING…EVERYTHING IF YOU BRING ME TO THE CRIME SCENE. –SH

FINE. MEET ME THERE IN 10. –MH

MAKE IT 15. PERHAPS STOP AND GET SOME COFFEE FIRST. –SH

Her lips lifted in a blossoming smile. Aw, is he telling me to take care of myself? What a surprisingly thoughtful-

BLACK, TWO SUGARS FOR ME. PLEASE AND THANK YOU. –SH

Molly clenched her teeth. "I'll kill him."

Chapter Text

Molly watched with rapt attention the expression on Sherlock's face, straining to hear anything that might be coming from the pink phone held to his ear.

Weeks of terror on the streets of London would likely be hinging on this conversation, and at this point Molly was too tired to be annoyed with how little progress they'd managed to make, only really interested in getting this resolved and she was sure that the man before her was the only one to do it.

Suddenly, his blue eyes went wide before his entire face became stone.

"What happened, Sherlock? Sherlock, what is it?" Molly pressed as he sat there with the the pink mobile pressed to his ear.

She and John looked at each other and realized what he must have heard, and not heard, and her heart sank. Before she could say anything else, Sherlock set the phone down and got up from his seat to walk over and stand by the window statue still.

"What should I do?"

"Cleanup, mostly likely, Inspector Hooper," Sherlock responded flatly.

"Oh God," she murmured.

Sally popped her head in the door a moment later. "There's calls coming in…been an explosion."

Molly began to move automatically toward the door, but then hesitated, staring at the tall man's back.

"Go, Molly," Sherlock said as if feeling her stare. "There's nothing left for us to do here."

She listened. She didn't want to. What Molly truly had the urge to do was squeeze his arm, maybe even hug him, if he allowed it, and tell him everything would be ok, despite the fact that he'd say there's no need and that such tragedies didn't matter much to him.

But she listened to him, as usual, and held back.

She's never thought that her promotion to Detective Inspector would come along with an inherited consulting detective.

"I think you can handle him, Molly," Greg Lestrade had said as he packed up his office, heading off to teach the academy and greener pastures.

She's been skeptical at first, considering her relationship with Sherlock Holmes until then had mostly consisted of fetching coffee and taking notes at crime scenes. It was with trepidation that she'd sent the first text to ask for his help. She'd fully expected that he wouldn't have shown up, but to her surprise and shock Sherlock had not only shown up, but had treated her with no less respect than anyone else, occasionally even deferring to her own expertise.

They'd come a long way since that first case, long nights in freezing weather, annoying texts when he was bored, the occasional missing ID badge, and endless empty threats about arrests.

"What are we looking at, Inspector?" Sherlock asked, still staring menacingly at the distressed looking woman who'd just been caught forging priceless art.

"Well, conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least, the murder of the old woman, all the people in the flat-" Molly started ticking off the list.

"I didn't know anything about that!" the woman frantically interrupted, her previous haughty contempt disappearing in panic. "All those things- please believe me!"

Sherlock gave Molly a little nod, seeming to confirm the honesty of the woman's plea, and so Molly continued listening quietly.

"I just wanted my share…the thirty million," she admitted sadly, before proceeding to explain the details of the art fraud she'd orchestrated. Not all on her own though.

Molly tugged Sherlock aside a few minutes later after they'd finished the questioning.

"That name, Moriarty…you knew it, didn't you?"

Sherlock gave her only she ghost of a smile.

"And he's the bomber then? He's responsible for everything we've been dealing with? My God, I'd like to get my hands on him," Molly said with a shaky sigh.

"You most likely won't. That's not how he works, clearly. He keeps in the shadows, keeps his hands clean, doesn't even speak with his own voice!" Sherlock ran a hand over his lips. "But he certainly enjoys the game, even from a distance."

"He's playing with you, Sherlock."

"Yes, of course he's playing with me," he agreed. "Obviously."

Without thinking, Molly laid a hand on the crisp suit covered arm and looked intensely into his eyes. He reacted, almost imperceptibly…almost.

"Be careful," Molly whispered hotly.

"Yes, mummy," he mocked.

"I'm being deadly serious, Sherlock! Look at what he's capable of! You bested him, yes. But only just barely! His mind, it's obviously right up there with yours. And heaven help us all if you turned to a life of crime." Molly shook her head and couldn't help giving him a little smile. "I think I'd retire."

"Don't be ridiculous," he joked back. "You'd be a fool to do that. I'd keep you in a job for the rest of your life!"

She laughed for a moment but then pressed her lips together, putting on a serious expression once again.

"We can't have anything happening…to you I mean." She cleared her throat and swallowed what felt like a lump of coal. She'd arrested and questioned hardened criminals, and yet she felt herself becoming a pile of nerves as she stood toe to toe with him.

"If it helps, I don't plan on dying. It sounds terribly dull."

Molly nodded, figuring she should shut up now. Maybe it should be enough that he doesn't have a death wish. But she still felt like there was so much to say.

"Well, good." She smiled up at him. "It would be dull…not that quiet is always so bad. I mean, this whole bomber thing seems wrapped up now, and maybe this Moriarty fellow will keep out of trouble for a while. Things might be calming down for both of us."

"It's possible," he agreed, eyeing her perceptively. Was it possible he already saw what she was getting at?

"So, I mean, if you get bored you know where to find me," Molly offered with as casual a smile as she could muster.

"For…cases?" Sherlock asked with narrowed eyes, and again, it almost seemed that he was already working out the real answer.

"Well, yes." She chewed her lip for a second. "Or…maybe not cases…"

Naturally, it was in that moment that one of the administrative assistants came over to the doorway and interrupted. "Inspector Hooper, you're needed for some of this paperwork."

"Right, um, yeah I'll be right there," she forced a smile.

"And on that note, we should both get back to work," Sherlock stated, his tone having shifted noticeably. "A pleasure, as always, Inspector."

"Thanks, you too, Sherlock," she answered quickly before he hurried off with a little whoosh of his coat.

At the sound of her name, Molly sat bolt upright in bed as her hand reached out for the gun on her nightstand. But she quickly recognized the shadow that lurked near her bed before she reached that far.

"God, Sherlock, I could have shot you." She clutched at her chest while leaning back on her headboard and hoping her heart would stop thudding dangerously fast.

"I'm not that dim. Didn't take the chance." He reached his hand from around his back and placed her gun back on the nightstand.

"What's going on, Sherlock? Why are you here?"

"I met him tonight…Moriarty."

"What?" Molly murmured, leaning forward again.

Sherlock stepped forward a bit, the moonlight illuminating him a little more at that angle. "He's gone for now. But he'll be back."

Molly threw the covers back and swung her legs over the edge of the bed before turning on the light at the nightstand. "Well where did he go?" she questioned, her voice rising in intensity a bit. "He couldn't have gotten far. Just tell me where and I'll get a team together and get on it."

Sherlock sat down on the edge of her bed, placing a hand on her shoulder before she could insist on actually getting up. "Relax, Molly. I didn't come here to set you the hunt. He's long gone, no doubt. And he tends to be found only when he wants to be. I just…" He hesitated for a second. "I simply came to tell you."

"Oh," she breathed out, indeed relaxing a bit. "And, um, is John ok?"

Sherlock nodded. "We both managed to make it out alive and unharmed, partly due to some rather unexplained intervention from a mystery individual."

"I see. Ok well, that's good. And I suppose I'll just keep my eyes open then."

"Yes, I imagine we'll all need to…for quite some time."

Molly frowned a bit, trying to understand where he was going with this.

"I thought you would want to know," he repeated. "Since it seems that things may not be calming down anytime soon, as you thought they would, though I have reason to believe that no one else is getting blown up."

"Right." She laughed a little. "No surprise there, I suppose. And I'm sure you're not terribly disappointed. Always glad to stay busy and keep on your toes!"

Sherlock stared at her for a moment before nodding. "Absolutely. I prefer it of course."

"It's nice," she said softly, and even a bit sadly. "For both of us to be able to be busy with work. I mean…what else is there?" It nothing short of a big fat lie, and she could only wish against all logic that he'd contradict her. He didn't though.

"I couldn't have said it better, Inspector," he answered, just as softly, and then stood once again. "I'll let you get back to sleep. I realize most people can't function on as little sleep as I can."

Molly doubted if she'd get much more sleep tonight, but may as well lay here quietly and stew. "Well thanks for giving me the prompt update. I'll um, keep it in mind."

"You're welcome," he chirped back, and then pursed his lip before giving her a tight smile. "Sleep well, Inspector."

Oh I won't. "I will, thanks."

He left down the hallway and she heard him lock the door on his way out. As she collapsed back against her pillow, she began, for the hundredth time, going over the myriad of reasons why she should not even want to be with Sherlock Holmes. It was actually something akin to counting sheep, seeing as there were plenty of reasons to work her way through. It certainly had the potential to be a helpful exercise.

Except that she was already pretty deeply in love with him.

Chapter Text

Molly stopped her car and she and Sally jumped out with guns already in hand as they approached the open door of the posh apartment. They saw shell casings on the ground near the door, but there was no blood. Always a plus.

As they were about to make their way through the doorway, Molly was surprised to see John Watson descending the staircase.

"Inspector, I'm definitely glad to see you!" John sounded a bit winded. "Come with me, Sherlock's upstairs."

Molly felt her heart instantly do double time. "Donovan, stay here and wait for the ambulance!" she instructed before following after John while questioning him frantically. "There were shots fired at this address! Was Sherlock shot or did he do the shooting? Is he ok?!'

"He's ok. He's not shot, but he's been drugged," John explained quickly as they rounded the corner into the grand looking master bedroom.

Molly's eyes widened as she was met with the sight of Sherlock lying on the floor and looking only half conscious. She noticed a woman on the floor as well.

"Who's that?" Molly asked as she knelt down next to Sherlock. "Is she ok?"

"I checked her out. She seems ok, just unconscious. Not sure if she lives here but she definitely works here. And she's not the one that did this…it's sort of a long story."

Molly grasped Sherlock's face, turning it to face her a bit more. "Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me? It's Inspector Hooper! I'm here to help, ok? There's an ambulance on its way!"

He groaned and his eyes roamed around haphazardly, seemingly having trouble deciding what to focus on.

"Let's sit him up, John," Molly suggested. "Help me lean him against the foot of the bed."

"Yep, good idea," John agreed, slipping an arm under Sherlock's shoulders and then helping Molly to pivot him over a few feet so he could sit up against the bed.

It didn't work all that well though. He had less physical control than they hoped, so once they tried to lean his back against the foot of the bed, he almost instantly slumped over again. Molly caught the weight of his torso, holding him somewhat upright.

"I hope that ambulance hurries up," Molly muttered as Sherlock's face settled quite comfortably in the crook of her neck. She had a fleeting hope that he wouldn't choose that moment to vomit. "John, how did this happen? Who did this?"

"We were here seeing a suspect…or client…I'm not even sure what category she falls into actually. Anyway, she drugged Sherlock because he tried to take something of hers. She's long gone now. Her name is Irene Adler."

Molly glanced around the room, noting some things that caught her eye. A chic outfit laid out on the bed, some makeup on the vanity, the pair of black thigh high heeled boots…this woman was clearly stunning. She'd bet her life on it. And the name did sound vaguely familiar.

"Mm…" Sherlock hummed against her neck and leaned closer against her, even flopping an arm over her as well.

John snorted out a short laugh. "Sorry, he's obviously not himself right now."

"It's um, perfectly fine. I've certainly seen worse!" She definitely had, but for obvious reasons this was a much more difficult situation to remain professional in. Molly hated the fact that being snuggled by a drugged Sherlock Holmes was enough to make her blush.

"Paramedics are here!" Sally called up the stairs.

"Tell them to bring two gurneys up!" Molly called back. She leaned down and tilted Sherlock's head up in order to look at him. "Sherlock, the paramedics are here and they'll have a look at you, ok?"

"Irene said he'd be fine in a few hours, so it's probably something like a mild sedative," John added.

As she was holding his face, Molly's thumb caressed the side of his cheek, noticing the slightly battered skin. "Goodness, did she punch him as well as drug him?" Sherlock's hand attempted to come up to his face and touch her fingers, but her didn't have the strength and control to keep it there long.

"Actually, no, that was me."

Molly looked up at John in shock.

"Like I said, it's all a pretty long story," John said with a sigh.

Sherlock mumbled something, making Molly turn her attention to him again. "Hm? What's that, Sherlock?"

"Know…where…"

Molly looked at John and he shrugged. The paramedics were coming in with the gurney now and John began filling them in on the situation.

"I know…" Sherlock mumbled again.

Molly patted his cheek gently. "It's ok, don't try to talk right now. You can tell us later, alright?"

Sherlock suddenly raised his voice as she began moving away and the paramedics got down on the floor to check him out, slurring the words out. "I know where to look, Molly!"

Molly noticed that John was covering his mouth to contain laughter. She tried to smile understandingly at the dopey detective. "Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure you do. You're a very good detective," she said sweetly.

She got up and made way for the paramedics and then couldn't help herself from taking a short video on her phone of Sherlock muttering things that sounded like attempted insults at the people who were actually trying to help him. She felt pretty confident now that he was going to be fine, so it was easier to spare a moment for a little laugh.

Molly sent Sherlock and John off to the hospital, urging John to let her know how Sherlock was doing later. On her way out she met up with Sally again.

"Ok let's get a warrant out for the arrest of an Irene Adler. She's the one who owns this flat," Molly said with a little bite as they got in the car.

"Can't do that. I just got told that she's out of our jurisdiction. We can't have anything to do with that woman." Sally shrugged. "Came from way up top."

"What?" Molly frowned, wondering what in the world this woman could be involved in…and why Sherlock was connected.

"Not our problem. One less thing to worry about I guess," Sally added. "The freak might have got himself into something big this time."

"Yeah…" Molly murmured, more to herself than to Sally. "I wonder if he has."

Molly shut the curling iron off and set it aside. She ran her fingers through the long curls she'd now finished, creating a softer all over wave. This kind of effort happened maybe bi-annually, but she did enjoy the finished result when she had the time.

She returned to her bedroom and stood in front of the mirror, taking a final look at the flattering black cap sleeved cocktail dress with beaded detail around the neckline and red heels she'd chosen. Every few minutes, she'd pause from feeling like this was an amazing outfit to worrying about it being too much. It was an undeniable fact that she almost never dressed like this, so naturally it came with a tiny bit of self-doubt. But once again she reminded herself that she did indeed look great, and the dress fit great, and surely the evening would be…great.

Molly grabbed her handbag, coat, and tote of wrapped gifts, and headed out the door into the chilly winter evening.

She was a little disappointed when she came through the door and heard Sherlock just finishing up playing his violin. It was rare that she got to truly enjoy it. She'd only heard his playing briefly when she was either arriving to ask for his help on a case or leaving to let him think and work on something. There usually was no cause for her to simply sit and listen, and surely he wouldn't have appreciated it if she tried to.

"Hello, everybody," Molly announced with a smile once walking through the open door of the flat. "It said on the door just to come up, so…"

The moment she glanced around she could see that Sherlock was in some sort of mildly foul mood. He seemed uncomfortable about even joining in to utter a simple greeting along with the other few in attendance.

"Hi, I'm Molly," she said politely to the young woman with John.

"Jeanette," the woman answered with a smile. "Why don't I get you a drink?"

"Red wine for me, thanks."

"Oh yes, must keep the alcohol flowing," Sherlock muttered quietly over at his desk.

Molly glanced over at him while nervously fiddling a bit with the neckline of her dress and tugging the fabric down at her hips as well. She'd been so sure she looked great when leaving her flat, so how could doubt have crept in this quickly? She loathed to admit that it was probably because Sherlock hadn't yet given her even the faintest of smiles.

She was grateful when handed the glass of wine. At least it kept her hands busy and prevented nervous fussing with her dress.

"Molly, didn't you say you might be going away this weekend? I thought you mentioned some sort of invite you were considering." John hesitated to expound, clearly trying to be a little discreet. Sherlock didn't hesitate though.

"Ah yes! Tom! A holiday invitation from the ex-fiancé…clearly an attempt to reconcile," he commented with a hint of disdain.

Molly tried to ignore Sherlock's tone and gave John a brief smile. "Um, right, Tom did invite me to his place in the country for this weekend. He always has a few friends there this time of year. Not that I'm saying I'm definitely, um-"

"Oh yes, surely inviting you as one of the friends," Sherlock added.

"John, you're going away too, right?" Molly asked, desperate to change the subject. "Sherlock was complaining- saying the other day."

"My sister's place, yeah. She's really doing great lately. Cleaned up her act and is off the booze!"

"Nope," Sherlock commented with a little pop.

"Shut up, Sherlock," John shot back.

"And it seems you've decided to accept that invitation to Tom's after all, Molly," Sherlock suddenly said, directing his attention to her as he stood.

"Sorry, what?" Oh God, what was he doing now?

"Oh yes, and I would venture to say she's headed there this very night! It's rather obvious considering her makeup and what she's wearing. It's certainly not for our benefit!" He gave the room a know it all smile as he strolled over closer, then reaching into the bunch of gifts she'd brought.

Molly nearly leapt forward and swatted the gift out of his hand when he picked it up, but she was almost too shocked to move.

"And here we have the obvious gift for the object of her affection! Pristinely wrapped with a bow, while all the others have barely half the effort put into their presentation. Ah, and look at the wrapping paper! A suggestive shade of red to match, and perhaps draw attention to, the very same shade on her lips. Nicely played, Inspector Hooper," he said with a bit of laugh in his eyes as he glanced at her, completely oblivious of her horrified expression. "And the same shade on her shoes as well. They're rarely worn; perhaps, mm…two to three times a year based on the effort it takes for her to walk in them, and only on occasions when she'd like to ensure the shape and appeal of her legs…and likely another connected body part."

Molly's jaw dropped a touch more at that deduction, and she knew her cheeks were well on the way to matching the aforementioned gift, lipstick, and shoes.

"Oh yes, she has high hopes indeed," Sherlock continued while flipping the small red wrapped box in his hands and then beginning to grasp the attached tag. "Hopes that perhaps this time Tom's issues with fidelity will be truly resolved and he'll treat her properly. She'll be disappointed all over again of course, not yet realizing that she can't compensate for Tom's inability to commit with an especially shapely-" And that was when he opened the red tag and read the words that everyone in the room but him could have guessed ahead of time.

It was Sherlock's turn to stand slack jawed, and Molly finally had a chance to formulate some words of her own.

"I guess you hadn't deduced the gift yet. Probably would have done that next…it's your own police badge." She cleared her throat as she saw his eyes shoot over to meet her's. "It's probably been over a year now that you've been badgering me for one. And naturally it took a while to pull some strings. But I finally got it." Molly managed a little smile, though it melted away quickly.

There was a heavy silence in the room for a moment as everyone looked uncomfortable, including Sherlock who was still holding the gift and shifting on his feet, looking as if he didn't know whether to flee or not.

"I suppose I often do tend to have such high hopes," Molly went on softly, her voice just a tiny bit unsteady. "But I always seem to end up disappointed." She shook her head. "You always say such horrible things. Every time…always always…"

This was the moment when it really seemed that Sherlock was on his way out. He actually took a step to leave, and it was more than a bit surprising when he stopped and moved back again, turning to look at her with one of the most humble expressions she'd ever seen grace his features.

"I am sorry…forgive me."

She didn't even have time to set aside her shock and fumble through some sort of acceptance, because Sherlock took another step closer and spoke again.

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper," he said softly as he leaned down and briefly touched his lips to her cheek.

Amidst that next wave of shock and awe was when Molly heard a strangely intimate sounding moan. For one mortifying second, she actually questioned if it had come from her own lips. But once that second passed, she moved on to hoping nobody else had the same thought.

"No, that wasn't- I didn't-"

"It was me," Sherlock stated quickly.

"What?" Molly asked, almost in horror.

"My phone," Sherlock clarified, pulling his mobile out and reading a message.

After a strange exchange between Sherlock and John about exactly how many of those texts he'd received and then Sherlock finding some sort of hidden gift on his mantel, the walking mystery of a man excused himself without any explanation, shutting himself in his room down the hall.

Molly was left to desperately try and process all that had just happened. The good, the bad, and the downright confusing.

"John," she asked after he came back from trying to check on Sherlock. "Fifty seven texts…from who?"

John looked uncomfortable with this question, seeing as he was perceptive enough to realize the sort of impact this would have on her, and he clearly didn't want to be the bearer of bad news.

"It's um, a woman." He frowned a little himself, as if the words were difficult to get out. "You remember the incident with Irene Adler?"

Molly nodded.

"Yeah well, that's her."

"Oh," Molly breathed out, feeling a strange combination of surprise, and also somehow feeling like it made perfect sense. There was something about that incident, the scene she'd come upon that day in that beautiful flat…it wasn't just any case.

"So…" She cleared her throat and tried to sound as casual and unconcerned as possible. "So she's his girlfriend then?"

John chuckled a little, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Your guess is as good as mine, Inspector. Honestly, I have no idea. There certainly was…something between them, but it's hard to say with Sherlock. I don't know if he's ever had a real relationship, let alone whether he's in one now."

Molly nodded and tried to smile a little. "Hard to read, I know."

"Yeah." John touched her arm and returned her smile. "By the way, you look lovely, Molly. Just thought someone should tell you that tonight. And um…sorry it was me."

"Thanks, John," she whispered, moved by his sympathetic effort.

Molly didn't stay long at 221B that night. There wasn't much in the way of festivities to be had after all that. Especially once Sherlock eventually emerged from his room and announced that he had to go and identify a body…

"It's your mobile," Sally commented at the sound of buzzing under the seat. "Mine's here on the dash."

Molly dug under the seat just in time to answer the call. And of course it had to be him, just as they were heading back to the station.

"Hi, Sherlock, what's up?"

"Inspector Hooper, we've had a break in at Baker St. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance."

"My God, are you ok?" Molly instantly looked over at mouthed to Sally to turn and head to Baker St and send for an ambulance.

"Oh no no no, we're fine," he said casually. "No it's the uh, it's the burglar. He's got himself rather badly injured. A few broken ribs, fractured skull, suspected punctured lung…he fell out of a window."

Molly set her mobile down as Sherlock hung up and she met Sally's inquisitive glance. She shrugged. "A break in at Baker St. And I'm pretty sure the burglar will have wished we got there first."

A half hour later Molly stood on the street with the perfectly cool and collected detective as they watched the ambulance drive off with the burglar, who was indeed in very sorry shape. Molly stuck her hands in her pockets and looked up at Sherlock.

"And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?"

"It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector…I lost count." He turned just enough to meet her gaze and gave her a hint of a smirk.

"Right, well…" Molly pursed her lips in thought. "Just the once for the records then."

Sherlock's smile spread a little more, appreciative of her cooperation.

Molly started to walk away but Sherlock spoke again, stopping her.

"As you can see, I don't take kindly to anyone hurting my people."

She turned and slowly came back over. "Well that's good. That's…admirable. Good to be protective in some ways."

He looked at her pointedly and lowered his voice a bit. "Even including times when it may be me who has done the hurting."

Understanding flashed across Molly's eyes and she shifted her gaze for a moment, chewing her lip nervously. She had been sure he'd never speak of that incident again.

"That's admirable too," she said softly, looking back at him. "We're all thoughtless sometimes, and humbly admitting it takes real strength. Friends always value that."

He pulled his eyes away from her's after a second, staring off into the distance. "That being protective, as you said," he continued, "it can sometimes even mean maintaining someone's distance from me."

Sherlock's eyes met her's again and she felt the full weight of his statement. She wasn't foolish enough to assume that this was some sort of a declaration, but it meant something. It said something about what he believed deep down about himself, and about his ability to be in any sort of a successful relationship. It was endearing in a way, but she also couldn't help thinking how emotionally muddled he was. He honestly believed that keeping people at arm's length was for the best; for him, and for them. The man was his own worst enemy on just about every level.

Molly let out a short laugh after a moment, and even smiled at him. She must have looked as if she were amused by some little inside joke, because his expression shifted and he frowned at her.

"What?"

She shook her head and then let out a little sigh. "Do you want to know something?" He continued watching her, so she leaned forward a little, even prompting him to follow suit, as if she were about to share something top secret.

Molly dropped her voice to a whisper. "You've got quite a lot left to learn."

Sherlock straightened up again, looking a little uncomfortable and defensive. "No I haven't."

She smiled again and turned to walk away again. "Goodnight, Sherlock," she called over her shoulder with a wave.

"I said, no I haven't!"

Molly threw him another wave, refusing to look back, and went on to cross the street to her car. She may love the man, but on this subject…she refused to let him have the final word.

Chapter Text

Molly lugged her bag off the train and onto the platform. She was actually glad to be back and looked forward to catching a cab and enjoying a peaceful ride back to her peaceful flat and enjoying the next couple of days before she had to actually return to work. It would have worked out that way…had she not come face to face with Mycroft Holmes staring out at her from the rolled down window of a sleek black car.

"Welcome back to London, Inspector Hooper. I trust you had a pleasant holiday." He gave her an obviously disingenuous smile.

"I um, yeah I did." Molly gave him a tight smile, nervously glancing around and trying to locate some other reason why Mycroft would be here at this very moment.

"Would you perhaps mind having a seat for a moment?" Mycroft opened the door and moved over to make room.

She looked around again, hesitating to climb in, but eventually giving in on the off chance that perhaps this was some matter of national security (or Sherlock's safety) and time was of the essence. She set her couple of duffle bags on the floor of the vehicle and settled back against the seat, smiled at the lovely brunette that she noticed sitting across from them, and then raising her brows at the elder Holmes.

"So…what's this all about then?"

"It is fortunate that I caught you here at the train station, Inspector, with your bags already packed, because I have a smallish out of town assignment that I'd like for you to take care of." Mycroft folded his hands neatly in his lap.

Molly let out a short laugh. "Um, out of town? But I- I just got back."

"Yes, well you aren't needed at the station for two more days, and I'd say that would give you plenty of time to go to Dartmoor and come back. Not to mention the fact that I can certainly make any necessary excuses for you, should the job take longer than anticipated," he explained evenly.

"Dartmoor?" she asked as she did the simple mental math about what sort of favor Mycroft Holmes could be here to ask of her. "So this is about Sherlock?"

"I knew there was a reason you were deemed worthy of that badge that reads 'detective,'" he commented wryly. "Yes, Inspector Hooper, this is indeed to do with my brother. He and John Watson seem to be on a case in Dartmoor."

"Do they need help because it's a dangerous case?"

"I have no reason to believe so, though I have no idea of the exact nature of the case. But let's just say that he's managed to start a bit of mischief."

"Oh. So you just want me to…" Molly was dearly hoping that the mysterious man would spell things out a bit more clearly.

"See how things are going," he said simply. "And see how Sherlock is doing."

Molly could see one or two problems with that plan. "Yes, well, he may not really want me to-"

"And then report back to me," he clarified with a smile.

"So I'm just supposed to spy on your brother for you?" Molly narrowed her eyes at him and then glanced at the woman for a moment, who gave her an amused smile.

"What can I say, Inspector? I worry."

Molly nodded. This certainly wasn't the first time Mycroft Holmes had approached her with some request having to do with Sherlock, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. Despite the fact that it was one of the strangest family dynamics she'd ever been witness to, she did appreciate it in a way. This man cared more about his little brother than he'd ever verbally admit, and it was a little endearing. Yes, her loyalty lay with the younger Holmes, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the fact that Sherlock needed a bit of looking after from time to time.

"Well I do have to stop at my flat. You see, my cat-"

"Not to worry. Toby's needs will be completely taken care of, I can assure you. No need for that to hold up your departure." Mycroft glanced at the brunette. "Is the other car here?"

"Just pulled up, sir," she answered without looking up from her mobile.

"Excellent," he said, smiling at Molly again. "It seems your transport has arrived!"

Molly still hesitated briefly. "Yes well, in addition to Toby, there is the matter of, well…" She wondered how exactly she should go about specifying to Mycroft Holmes that she didn't have any more clean knickers among her luggage.

"Anthea," Mycroft prompted to the woman sitting across from them.

"Inspector Hooper, I took the liberty of packing some essentials for you since you wouldn't have the time to stop at your flat. There is a small bag in the boot of the car behind us. They should be to your size and taste." Anthea offered an understanding smile.

"Oh. Ok." Molly found she was officially out of excuses. It seemed there was no reason to delay being shipped off on her assignment of sorts.

Mycroft reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a couple papers. "Here are the details of the location, and this is a confirmation for the reservations at the inn I've taken the liberty of booking you a room at. They serve an exceptional breakfast, I'm told…which is also already taken care of." He grinned.

"Oh, well, thanks for that. I'll just um…I guess I'll get going then. Should I try to uh, contact you or-"

"I shall be in touch." Mycroft was clearly done chatting and glanced toward the door.

Molly grabbed her bags and tugged them out with her, shutting the car door behind her and glancing at the similar black car that was waiting to take her to the agreed upon destination. The window of Mycroft's car rolled down before she could walk away.

"Oh and, Inspector Hooper…" He looked up at her from inside. "No need to mention this to Sherlock."

Before she could actually answer, the car had begun to drive away and she was left only with her own regal looking ride. Molly blew out a heavy puff of air and headed over to the black car. Her holiday was officially over even more quickly than she'd anticipated.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

The obviously irate baritone was the first warm welcome Molly received as she stood by the bar. Sherlock came marching into the pub with John in tow, and she did her best to put on a relaxed smile.

"Oh hello, you two. Believe it or not I'm actually on holiday."

"No I don't believe it," Sherlock shot back instantly.

"Hi, Inspector," John offered more kindly.

"I thought I heard you two were in the area. You after that 'hound of hell' like on the telly?" Molly tried to look pleasantly fascinated in hopes that it would distract and put his focus on the case.

"I'm still waiting for an explanation. Why are you here, Inspector?" Sherlock pressed.

Molly became a bit more hesitant. "I- I told you I'm on holiday."

"Look at you," Sherlock said, gesturing toward her. "You're obviously just back from your holiday. Sun kissed glow on the cheeks, freckled nose, and even a very slight lightening to the hair! Please! You've already been on holiday, and somewhere sunny."

"Well maybe I fancied another one, somewhere less…sunny," Molly attempted while feeling her face heat up.

"This is clearly Mycroft," Sherlock stated confidently with a little eye roll. "One hint of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to spy on me."

"I'll have you know that I don't just do what your brother tells me." Molly was a little annoyed at that new title. Handler! Not exactly the choice role she'd like in this man's life. She certainly could have argued more, but she decided against it, opting instead to force a change of topic that would throw Sherlock in the hot seat.

"And thank you, by the way."

"Sorry?"

"Oh, you know," Molly said with a sweet little smile before taking a sip of the pint she was handed. "I'm glad you think I look nice like this."

The bridge of the haughty detective's nose crinkled instantly. "I- I never said you looked-"

"Well you did say she looked tan," John was kind enough to interject, which made Molly smile anew.

"No, in fact, I did not say she looked tan," Sherlock corrected, though it quickly backfired.

"Oh right, you didn't!" John quickly responded with a sneaky sort of smile. "Your words were 'sun kissed glow.' Yeah, that's definitely worth remembering accurately."

Molly had to stifle a giggle and exchanged a quick smile with John.

"Obviously that's all beside the point!" Sherlock proclaimed gruffly and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. His gaze shifted nervously for a second before looking at Molly with slight discomfort and speaking in a more lowered volume. "And…you're welcome."

Molly smiled again at the now uncomfortable looking man.

"You know, it may just come in handy that she's here," John mentioned, thankfully stepping in before Sherlock could begin complaining again. "Wouldn't hurt to have a scary Inspector from London doing the questioning. I did some poking around and found this…quite a lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant."

"Oh sure, it's hilarious," Molly drawled with a glare at the two men she'd been questioning. "You've nearly driven a man out of his mind!" She got up from the table and stalked off.

John followed closely after her, talking as they exited the restaurant. "You know he's actually pleased you're here...secretly pleased."

"You think so? Well that's nice of you to say. Suppose he must like having all the familiar faces around, despite the different location. Probably makes him more comfortable. He doesn't exactly like change, does he? And it's nice for me too. You know, getting to work a case with Sherlock without the whole force constantly breathing down my neck and questioning my ability to do my job!"

John frowned. "Hang on a minute, is that really what you deal with because of Sherlock? That's not right. You're an excellent police inspector."

"Well I appreciate that, John, thanks."

"Seriously, I can talk to him if you want. Tell him to, you know, back off a bit and just let you do your job."

Molly squinted in the direction of the overcast sky for a moment before shaking her head and looking back at John.

"No it's fine. I want him helping out in London, really. I care about London and the people in it, and if Sherlock Holmes can help me keep that city full of people safe…well then it's all worth it, isn't it? And he helps people; brings them closure, or even takes away their pain. Don't ever tell him I said that though. I'm sure he wouldn't like to be thought of like that. Like some sort of a hero," she said with a little chuckle.

John laughed as well. "You're probably right, since he told me once that heroes don't exist, and he wouldn't be one if they did."

Molly nodded contemplatively before smiling again. "I guess that shows what little he knows."

Sherlock strutted out just then.

"So you believe them?" Molly asked. "About the dog being put down."

"No reason not to."

"Hopefully there's no harm done. And despite the fact that I'd like to, I don't think I can really charge them with anything. Goodness knows I'd like to put them both behind bars just to give them a taste of what that dog lived with! It's no wonder the poor thing was uncontrollable." Molly shook her head, hating to think how heartless some people were with animals. "Well anyway, I'll have a word with the local force about it all."

"Yes, good, thank you," Sherlock said, rapid fire.

"No problem. And besides, I'm having a nice time," Molly said with a bright smile. "Lovely to breathe the fresh air and enjoy the new scenery isn't it?"

As Molly walked off, she heard Sherlock mumble something under his breath which was somewhat unclear, but it did sound a bit like, "the scenery isn't so bad."

Molly jumped from her light sleep at the sound of her mobile and fumbled next to her little bed to grab it, sitting up as she answered the call from Sherlock.

"Hello?"

"Inspector Hooper, get to the Hollow."

"Wait, what-"

"Dewer's Hollow now! And bring a gun!"

She barely had time to say she was on her way before he hung up. As Molly got up and readied herself to rush out the door, she couldn't help but have an especially uneasy feeling about the turn this assignment was taking.

"Sherlock!" Molly called out as she made her way down the small hill in the darkened woods.

As soon as she'd gotten anywhere close to where the three men already were, she could feel the palpable fear creeping in on her. And not just her own fear, which sent a chill up her spine and made the hair on her arms stand on end. No, it was also their fear that she could feel. And that was a rare occurrence when working with the great Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. It put her all the more on edge.

"It's just a dog, Henry. It was real and it scared people, but it was just an ordinary dog," Sherlock explained carefully to the troubled looking young man. "We saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. There never was any monster."

Molly approached closer and was about to ask Sherlock exactly what was going on at the moment, but that's when they all heard it…the chilling sort of howl one would hear in a ridiculous werewolf film. But this was most certainly not pretend. And neither was the vicious growl that followed.

"Sherlock, what the-"

They all followed the sounds to the edge of the hollow above them where a huge and wild looking creature was lurking and peering down at them with glowing red eyes.

"No no no!" Henry screened, falling to his knees in despair at what seemed to fly in the face of the hope he'd just been offered.

"Are you seeing this?" John asked her, and Molly could just barely manage a nod in horrified response. "Sherlock, she is not drugged, so what is that?!"

"Alright! It's still here!" Sherlock admitted. "But it's just a dog! It's nothing more than an ordinary dog, Henry!" He may have been speaking to the young man, but he was also clearly trying to convince himself.

"My God," Molly murmured as the strange animal began to descend the hill, growling and still staring them down.

Sherlock inched a bit closer to her and for just a moment she felt his gloved hand dart out and grasp hers, almost so tight that it hurt. She barely had the time to think about the act itself, seeing as she was also terrified enough to grasp anything within reach. But almost as soon as their hands had bonded together, he whipped his away and rushed over to another figure that had emerged through the mist.

Molly's attention was pulled in opposing directions from Sherlock grappling with this new stranger to the beast that was making its way towards them. But her attention went fully to Sherlock a moment later.

"The fog!" he cried to the rest of them. "The drug is being dispersed by aerosol! This is a chemical minefield!"

Molly tried to cover her face with her arm, though she knew it was a bit silly by that point. As the hound stalked closer and growled again, the man near Sherlock began yelling for someone to shoot the animal. Molly tried, raising her now shaky hand and attempting to aim through the dim light, but John was the one who shot it down.

She took a few breaths of the apparently contaminated air as they all felt relief wash over them being saved from the impending attack. Sherlock took it upon himself to force Henry to confront his fears and prove to himself that this truly was just a dog. Of course that released a whole new flood of emotions in the poor man. Henry proceeded to attack the other man for all the unnecessary years of confusion and suffering he'd caused him.

Molly rushed over along with John and worked to pull Henry off the man, though she almost felt this man deserved a good pummeling if it would make poor Henry feel a bit better in the moment.

"Twenty years of my life, making no sense! Why didn't you just kill me?!" Henry screamed.

"Because dead men get listened to. No, it was much more productive to discredit every word you said," Sherlock explained as she and John held Henry back. "He conveniently dosed you with chemicals every time you came back here." His eyes began to gleam a little as he regarded this place in the woods. "Thank you, Henry! This case has been brilliant!"

Sherlock was kindly reminded of his awful timing by John, but Molly was glad to note a newfound contented, albeit emotional, look in Henry's eyes.

"No, it's ok. This means that my dad was right!"

Molly put a hand on Henry's shoulder to discourage him from attempting to attack again when he took a step forward.

"He found something and that's why you killed him…because he was right."

Just then everyone's eyes went back to the hound who miraculously seemed to let out another growl, prompting John to shoot at it again. Which also gave the older man the chance to bolt, sending them all on a chase after him.

"It's no use, Frankland!" Sherlock shouted after him, but the man continued on, even climbing over some barbed wire outside the edge of the forest.

Molly was just coming out of the trees and beginning to weigh the pros and cons of following this madman herself, when he stopped in his tracks for a second. And another brief moment later, they were all shocked by the terrifying explosion that consumed Frankland where he stood. She looked over at Sherlock's face, his eyes blown wide and reflecting the fire in front of him.

She exhaled slowly and then walked over to put a gentle hand on Henry's arm. "It'll be ok. It'll all get better now," she said softly.

"Thanks to the great Sherlock Holmes," Henry murmured, looking exhausted.

"Yeah," Molly agreed with a little smile. "He's a good man."

Molly settled back against her seat and began perusing her podcast options for the few hours she had left on this train ride. She had just settled on something lighthearted and comedic, in an effort to offset the events of the previous night, when the tall detective himself came out of nowhere and took a seat next to her.

"Oh hi," she said, setting her mobile back in her bag. "So you did take this train after all."

"Yes, John and I are in the next carriage down." He settled in and unbuttoned his suit jacket, making himself more comfortable. "Of course he's already napping, thanks to the unnecessarily large breakfast he had before we set out," he said with an eye roll.

"Too boring with him sleeping eh?"

"Too annoying actually…he snores."

He and Molly both laughed for a moment before Sherlock looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"I imagine you'll be giving my brother a full report."

Molly cleared her throat. "He um, already got in touch this morning actually. Before I checked out. Said he had some important business to attend to for the next few days and wouldn't be available, so he wanted to talk to me before then."

Sherlock peered at her again. "And?"

"Well I didn't really give him details if that's what you're worried about. All he really cares about is that you're not taking- I mean involved in any…you know…"

"Nothing self-destructive," he summed up for her. "Yes, I imagine that's what he most wants to hear."

There was a moment of silence before Molly swallowed thickly and smiled at him. "Thanks for letting me help. Not that I really did much I suppose."

Sherlock shrugged noncommittally and without looking at her. "You were no bother. It certainly didn't hurt to have you on hand."

Molly nodded, looking at her hands in her lap. It didn't hurt. That was hardly the level of sentiment that she wished he'd have about working a case alongside her. But then again, perhaps it was more than he'd say about many others and she should be grateful for the little regard he did have for her. Professionally at least.

"I was glad to be on hand," Molly said softly. "I'm…always glad to be."

Sherlock turned and looked at her then, his eyes roving almost as if he were scanning her face. Her own eyes couldn't move away from his, like he had locked her in during the process of reading her. She saw him swallow and press his lips together, and then he turned away again.

"So…back to London then," Molly finally said, unable to bear his silence.

"Thank God."

As Molly was again desperately trying to come up with some sort of topic of conversation that might elicit more than a one word or one sentence answer from him, Sherlock spoke again.

"Inspector, seeing as you've already spoken to my brother and there's not much likelihood of him contacting you again for more information…" He clasped his hands together and looked over at her with a little gleam in his oceanic eyes. "Would you like to hear a few more details from the case involving the hound?"

Molly's lips lifted a little in a very grateful smile. "I would, yes of course."

Sherlock instantly looked like an excited little child, turning himself a bit in his seat in order to face her more fully and bringing his hands up to gesture animatedly as he spoke. He obviously wanted to discuss out loud everything that had just gone on for the past couple of days, and goodness knows she was more than happy to be the one to hear about it.

She had to smile as she listened to him speak and relate all sorts of details involving both the events, and his mental process along the way. And she had to think that this truly was love. But not her own, though of course she still loved him. No, the love she noted was actually written on his features. This was what he loved. He loved his work and it was plain as day when he spoke about it. He practically lit up from head to toe.

Molly allowed herself to enjoy it. She told herself that if she could listen to him talk about what mattered the most to him, and feel the warmth of his excited gaze as he spoke, perhaps that was enough. If they could share a love of something, even if not mutually of each other, maybe that was enough to cling to. She dearly hoped so.

Because she was pretty well convinced there would never be anything else.

Chapter Text

She ran as fast as she could. As fast as her feet could manage, despite the fact that it just didn't feel fast enough. Sherlock finally grabbed Molly's hand as they rounded a corner on the backstreets of London. He pulled her aside and looked at her with wild and almost terrified eyes.

"Inspector, stop running and listen to me!"

"But we've got to go! We can't just stand here! They might get you!" Molly grabbed both his shoulders, giving them a slight shake as she spoke.

"They're going to come for me, but you shouldn't be here with me when they do," Sherlock said, more calmly now. "You need to let me go."

Molly shook her head. "I can't- I can't just do that! I don't want anything to happen to you, and I want to help. In any way I can! Please let me!"

Her heart stopped as Sherlock gave her a ghost of a smile while dragging his eyes over her face. "I've got everything completely figured out, Inspector…what could I need from you?"

"I dunno, Sherlock," Molly said with a shrug as she shoved the gun she was holding back in her holster and drew a breath of courage. "But I certainly know what I need."

Sherlock was surprisingly compliant as Molly leapt forward to slide her arms around his neck and force her lips onto his. She almost instantly felt his arms creep up her back and secure themselves deliciously around her torso. And his lips parted, perfectly happy to participate in and reciprocate the passionate kiss she'd initiated. It was almost too wonderful, and even the sirens in the distance couldn't stop the lovely little shivers that were involuntary running down her spine. Molly's back somehow ended up against the brick of the building they were behind, and although she kept kissing him, she had to admit that she could tell the sound of sirens was getting closer.

Long before she was ready, Sherlock pulled his lips away from hers, just enough to look into her eyes. He made a strangely contemplative expression and then pursed his lips.

"No," he murmured, close enough that she could still feel his breath on her lips. "That wasn't what I needed."

"W- what?" She felt like she'd just hit a stone wall at full speed.

Sherlock straightened up and stepped away from her all of a sudden, adjusting his shirt collar and coat and clearing his throat. "Obviously I don't need anything like that, least of all from you, Inspector Hooper."

Molly lost the ability to form words and her tongue felt suddenly frozen in her mouth. A deathly weight was now crushing in on her chest, and there was Sherlock looking cool as a cucumber while tugging his gloves a bit further up his wrists.

Without another word, and with nothing more than an icy stare, Sherlock turned and walked away from her, down the alleyway till he rounded the corner behind the building and completely disappeared.

Although she felt that painful lump in her throat like she was going to cry, she was also almost instantly distracted from her emotions by the strangely familiar cat winding around her feet where she stood against the brick building. The grey tabby began meowing loudly, looking for attention, and as Molly gave in and bend down to pet him, the world around her went black…

Molly's eyes flew open, quickly realizing that she wasn't in a back alley of London, but instead in the quiet comfort of her own bed. She sat up with a groan and rubbed her eyes, a little irritated at the incessant head butting she was receiving from Toby.

She'd been on edge ever since the trial with Moriarty had ended, and she hadn't been sleeping well. The fact that this lunatic was now roaming the streets of London, going wherever he liked and doing whatever he pleased, hardly constituted as a soothing bedtime story. And lately, her unrest had the ability to give her the strangest sort of nightmares.

Molly did worry for Sherlock and his safety, just as much as her own and perhaps more so. Moriarty was out to get him, no doubt. Somehow she feared it wouldn't end as easily as their first encounter. And apparently this worry was also projecting onto her existing insecurities about about her relationship with Sherlock…also not a soothing sleep aid. But unfortunately, that was nothing.

That was before she got the call about the kidnapping of the US ambassador Rufus Bruhl's children, Max and Claudette.

The little girl's shriek made Molly practically jump out of her skin. Despite everything the children had been through, it was the last thing she'd expected when Sherlock and John had walked in the room to speak to little Claudette Bruhl. Molly was shocked and horrified enough to be causing the little girl any more anguish, that she instantly grabbed Sherlock and ordered him to get out.

As they exited the little room and closed the door, shutting off the sound of the poor terrified girl, Molly's eyes met Sherlock's and she saw a trace of terror in them as well. He was genuinely shocked by what had just happened.

"She's traumatized," Molly explained to John with a somewhat forced smile as Sally watched Sherlock like a hawk. The now stoically silent man stood by the window, simply staring outside. "There must be some little thing about Sherlock that reminds her of the kidnapper."

"What else has she said?" John asked.

"She hasn't said another word. And her brother is still in intensive care, so we won't be able to speak to him for some time." Molly glanced nervously over at Sherlock, wondering what he was thinking. "It's ok, I'm sure all of us want to scream at times when you walk in a room," she added with a little laugh, but it was met with more silence. She really should learn not to make jokes.

The whole incident made her uneasy, and she didn't want to dwell on it long enough to really admit why. All she knew was that she wished she could erase the whole scene from her mind. She tried to once Sherlock and John had left, but she didn't get far.

"Molly, come on," Sally urged as she looked at the array of minute evidence which Sherlock had used to find the children. "It was nothing but a footprint. That's all he had to go on."

"Well sure," Molly agreed with a shrug. "But you know, that's Sherlock. That's what he does."

"We never could have done this."

"But that's why we use him. He's just better at that sort of thing. We've seen it a hundred times!"

"That's one explanation," Sally said, looking a bit uncomfortable. "But I've got another one…a more logical one."

Molly swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her middle. "Yeah?"

"How could that little girl have been so afraid of a man she'd never seen before? She screamed the first second she set eyes on him. It makes no sense…unless she actually had seen him before."

"What are you saying?" Molly could feel her heart starting to race.

"You know exactly what I'm saying. You just don't want to consider it."

Molly let out a strangled little laugh of disbelief as she shook her head. "No, no I don't want to consider it. Don't you care about all the times Sherlock has practically saved our jobs? All the times he's been there for us exactly when we needed him?"

"Or maybe we were exactly where he wanted and needed us! Come on, Molly, you know what you'd think if this were anyone else."

"That's right," she agreed, her gaze at Sally turning harder. "But it's not anyone else. It's Sherlock! And I know exactly what that man is, and what he's not!"

"You're too close to this, and you won't let yourself see what's right in front of you!"

Molly began to push past Sally and to leave the room, but she followed after, and Anderson joined them, seeing as he'd been listening in already.

"Just ask him in for questioning, Inspector," Sally begged. "If he's innocent, he'll come in."

"No he won't," Molly replied firmly. "I know he won't come in. He'll be angry we're even asking!"

"We have to at least consider the possibility," Anderson added. "It wouldn't be right if we didn't look into it a bit further."

Molly sighed deeply, silent for a moment as she felt the full weight of the situation Sherlock had now gotten himself into. This was big. And it could certainly get bigger if it wasn't squashed right here and now. She withheld a groan. She did have a duty to perform, an oath she took to uphold justice, regardless of her feelings. Perhaps this was what had to be done to put an end to all this silliness.

"Ok fine," Molly agreed with a slight scowl. "I'll ask him to come in."

She couldn't help but note the pointed look that Sally and Anderson shared for a split second, but they both gave her a smile and assured her she was doing the right thing.

Molly was far from sure.

"No, Inspector," Sherlock said the moment she stepped foot in the flat. He claimed down from where he was standing on a chair, holding something small in his hand.

"I- I haven't asked anything yet."

"You want me to come in for questioning and I'm saving you the trouble of asking."

Molly looked down at her feet for just a moment, a bit of shame washing over her as she realized that she was betraying her friend just a little.

"The scream?"

Molly shifted on her feet. "Yeah, the scream," she admitted quietly.

"I'll bet it was Sergeant Donovan who first suggested, wasn't it? Oh yes, Moriarty is smart," he murmured with fiery eyes. "You see, he's planted an idea now. And you can't kill an idea. Not once it's made a home…" He lifted a finger and touched its cool tip to her forehead for a second. "…there. You'll have to be strong to resist it."

She desperately wanted to tell him. Tell him that she didn't need to resist anything. Because she didn't believe this stupid idea; not one bit of it even for a second. But she supposed that at this point she needed to just finish the job at hand.

"So, will you come?"

"No," Sherlock repeated instantly. "He wants a photograph of me being brought in for questioning, that's Moriarty's next move. It's a game, Inspector." He looked at her intently. "And it's not one I'm willing to play."

Molly held his gaze what felt like a very long moment before letting her shoulders slump and turning to go. She dreaded the world waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

Back at the station, a couple hours later, Molly got called into the chief's office. She was surprised to see Greg Lestrade standing there along with Sergeant Donovan and Anderson.

"What's all this?" Molly asked while shutting the door.

"Well apparently it was necessary to call for a more…objective set of eyes," the chief said pointedly.

"Sorry," Anderson volunteered. "We all agreed this situation would be a bit too much for you to handle."

Molly did her best to bite back a cutting remark that would have made Sherlock proud and instead looked at Lestrade. He smiled apologetically.

"I'm sure it'll all get sorted, Inspector Hooper," he offered, clearly trying to be positive.

"Yes it will," the chief said sternly, looking at Molly. "And after you assist Inspector Lestrade in arresting the suspect, you are officially suspended for two months. And don't expect anything but paperwork for a few weeks after that!"

"Sir, I wasn't the only senior office to ever-"

"Shut up! Both of you," he said, noticing that Greg was about to open his mouth. "You'd better not do or say anything to make me even angrier than I already am! Now go and get your men. I'm coming with you and we're doing this right!"

The four of them scurried out, Molly taking a moment to throw irate glances at Donovan and Anderson. Greg gave her shoulder a pat and smiled again.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he repeated. "And I did tell him I used Sherlock's help all the time as well. Trust me, if I were still working here regularly I'm sure I'd be suspended right along with you."

"This isn't right," Molly muttered, shaking her head as they walked. "You know it, and I know it."

"Yeah well," Greg answered glumly, "Let's get to the truth as quickly as we can then, and put a stop to all this nonsense."

Molly nodded, but was hardly comforted. As they grabbed their coats and headed out the door, Lestrade paused. "It's nice to see you, Molly."

"Thanks, Greg," she replied with a small but genuine smile. As he led the way out to the squad car, she fired off a text to John, warning him of the storm that was coming.

Molly had rarely had such a difficult time being professional, standing there trying to be calm as Lestrade clipped the handcuffs around Sherlock's wrists. And it was understandable that John Watson wasn't making matters any easier.

He stepped over a bit closer to her, staring her down intensely. "This is madness, and you have to know it," he hissed.

"It's alright, John," Sherlock said calmly.

"No it isn't!"

"John, please-" Molly attempted.

"No, I cannot believe that you have any part in this. After all he's done for you and all you've been through with him and the way I know you-" John stopped, pressing his lips together and stopping the words before speaking again. "There must be something you can do."

Molly locked eyes with John, trying desperately to convey her silent wish that there was something she could do to magically make this go away. John inhaled sharply through his nose, straightening up and looking back to where Lestrade was beginning to lead Sherlock away. Molly dutifully followed them down the stairs, hearing Sally's inappropriately know-it-all tone with John as she went.

By the time they'd got down the stairs and one of the officers was standing with Sherlock by the police car, John Watson was being brought down as well. Molly had to try awfully hard to keep a straight face as she noticed the chief tending to his bloody nose. But in the same moment, her eyes went back to the two men that were ready to be taken away to the station.

This was wrong.

Molly had always had a strong sense of right and wrong, which was naturally one of the things that moved her to want to be in law enforcement. And for the most part, she felt good about her job. She felt she was contributing, and doing good that many people would never have the chance to do on a day to day basis. It was a privilege as much as a job. But tonight, she felt like she was the one who should be led away in handcuffs.

Sherlock may be an arrogant and unfeeling git at times, but he was no criminal. And he was certainly nothing even close to a fraud. In some ways, he was one of the best men she'd ever known. She knew it, even if most of the other people around her didn't. And that meant that in this moment, she knew what was right and wrong, and by standing idly by, she was choosing the wrong path.

"No more," Molly whispered to herself and unsnapped the leather flap that held her gun in it's place on her belt.

She marched over to the car where Sherlock and John were being held and put on her angriest face.

"I'll take it from here," Molly said to the officer.

He looked at her questioningly for a moment.

"I said I'll take it from here," she repeated more firmly. "There's one or two words I'd like to have with this fraud before he's taken where he belongs." She punctuated her venomous words with a piercing glare at Sherlock.

"Yeah ok," the officer mumbled and scurried off, plenty convinced that she had a bone to pick with the suspect.

"How dare you ruin my good name like this!" Molly spat at Sherlock as he listened to her over his shoulder while still leaning his chest against the police car. But as the other officer got a bit farther away, she completely changed her tone before Sherlock could question what she was talking about.

"Listen very carefully," Molly whispered, still gritting her teeth for show. "You have about twenty seconds to take advantage of the fact that I'm standing this close to you. My gun is on my right hip and the keys to the handcuffs are now in your pocket."

Sherlock momentarily glanced down, realizing what she'd done, but didn't make it obvious. John was staring at both of them, slightly agape with wide eyes at the scene that was developing right next to him. He was obviously anticipating the madness that was about to erupt.

"Inspector, you don't have to-" Sherlock's voice was surprisingly tender before Molly quickly cut him off.

"I know, but I want to. Because none of this is right. Now I won't say it again. In ten seconds you'll have to figure out another plan!"

Sherlock's eyes met hers over his shoulder and they locked together for a split second. And then, in the space of a breath, she felt his free hand on the gun.

"I'll be as gentle as possible," he whispered.

"What?" But a second later, she was given the explanation.

Molly felt herself being spun around and her back slammed against the police car in the same moment that Sherlock whipped out her gun. He was now facing her and pointing the weapon directly at her. She instinctively put her hands up as he began backing away from her and yelling toward the rest of the crowd.

"Everybody please get on your knees!" When everyone hesitated, he shot twice in the air. "Now!"

"Do as he says!" Lestrade prompted, and everyone finally began obeying.

Molly watched as Sherlock and John continued to back away from the scene, still threateningly pointing the gun toward her, his eyes piercing into hers even at a distance. He's protecting me, she realized. Now it might only look like she was careless instead of acting directly against the orders of her chief. Not that she cared about her career in the moment. Because as Sherlock and John began to disappear around the corner and her fellow officers began rushing around in a panic, she felt completely confident in having made the right choice. And she was willing to sacrifice for what was right.

She was willing to sacrifice for him.

Chapter Text

Molly trudged up the staircase of her building with a small box under one arm and her usual bag on the other shoulder. It was late by this time, and all she really wanted to do was collapse in her bed after hopefully taking a nice long soak in the tub. Perhaps she'd wake up tomorrow and take another long soak in the tub and then go back to bed…she certainly had the time for it. She'd have a fair amount of time on her hands for quite a while.

Molly had to set the box down in order to unlock the door to her flat, and once it swung open she shoved the box through the doorway with her foot on her way inside. She puffed out a heavy breath as she closed and relocked the door behind her, figuring it was time to unwind a bit after the unusual stress of the day, but she realized how wrong she was when she switched on the floor lamp by her door.

"Oh God, Sherlock!" she cried, clutching her chest. She heaved a sigh as the tall man stood calmly from where he sat in her armchair. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. What happened? Are you ok?" Her shock has quickly shifted to fear as to why he would be here. He was a fugitive, after all.

"I'm fine at the moment," he stated softly. He glanced at the box near her feet as he approached. "And you?"

"Me? Oh I'm…ok."

He raised a brow and then peered a little closer at the box. "Well at least they haven't sacked you. Though, judging from how much you took from your desk I would venture to say you've been suspended for, mm…at least two months?"

Molly smiled and nodded. "And those idiots think you're a fraud," she whispered wryly.

Sherlock chuckled low, making her face warm up just a little. She shrugged off her coat and hung it up along with her bag before making her way into the kitchen.

"I'll just put the kettle on," she called out. "Not sure how long you're stopping here for, but I could make you a cuppa if you'd like."

"It doesn't bother you, Inspector?"

Molly stopped and leaned out toward the sitting room. "Sorry? What doesn't bother me?"

Sherlock advanced toward the kitchen a bit, looking strangely serious. "It doesn't bother you that people think I'm a fraud?"

His tone made Molly stopped in her tracks. Her voice reflected the shift in mood when she answered. "If you're asking whether it actually bothers me, it does. But that's because they're wrong and I don't want people thinking of you that way."

Sherlock continued staring back at her silently, almost as if he were waiting for more. And she obliged.

"But if you're asking whether it bothers me in the sense of it changing my…opinion of you…then no, it doesn't bother me." She smiled briefly and then turned back to the task at hand.

Molly filled the kettle and set it on the burner, hardly noticing that Sherlock had joined her in the kitchen till he spoke again.

"I won't have time for a cup."

"Oh," Molly halted from grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard and instead just set one out for herself. "Ok, well then what was it that you needed? You haven't really said yet."

There was silence for a moment which made Molly look at him nervously. Was this such a terribly large request that even Sherlock help-me-now Holmes was having a difficult time spitting it out?

Finally, he stepped over a bit closer, leaning his palm on the kitchen counter as he spoke. "All I need is for you to stay home tonight. Keep your doors and windows locked and don't go anywhere till mid-morning tomorrow."

She frowned. "Oh…that's it? Well that's no problem. I wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon. On a bit of a time out in the naughty corner," she said with a small laugh.

"There's one more thing as well. My brother will be contacting you some time in the more distant future, and at that time he'll be asking you to investigate everything to do with myself and Jim Moriarty. Every detail, every shred of proof about who I am and especially who he truly is."

Molly tilted her head in thought. "Who he truly is? We all know who he is."

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "Very soon, not everyone will be so sure."

Molly shifted on her feet and crossed her arms over her middle. "Sherlock, what's going on? If there's something happening I want to help."

"No, not now," he insisted. "You've done enough for now. And at the moment, nobody who is known to be closely connected to me is likely to be very safe. All you must do now is to keep to yourself, get through this suspension, and gradually regain your status at the Yard."

"You mean because you and your brother will need me in the future?"

Sherlock opened his mouth as if to agree, but then he closed it again for a moment before responding with more careful words.

"Actually, Inspector, I'd say it's mostly because you've spent quite a lot of time putting yourself out and putting your career on the line for me…and it's time for that to stop for now. It's going to stop for a good long while actually." He gave her a very slight smile.

Molly was not smiling. This tone, his words, the look in his eyes…it did nothing but fuel her concern.

"Are you…" She stepped a bit closer to him. "Are you going away?"

Sherlock's smiled broadened a bit, seeming proud of her deduction. "Very good, Inspector," he whispered.

Molly nodded, looking down for a moment as her concern began to shift to sadness. "And um, I suppose it's pointless to ask where or for how long."

His stoic silence was a clear enough answer, and she nodded again in understanding.

"Well," she said with a sigh. "I guess I'll just have to look forward to your return, whenever that'll be."

Sherlock's lips turned down a bit and he looked away, even beginning to turn as if to leave. But he stopped himself suddenly and looked back at her, as if he had decided to say something at the last second.

"Whatever you read tomorrow in the papers and online…don't believe it."

"Oh, you mean about you being a fraud?"

"No, Inspector- Molly," he corrected pointedly, looking at her with sad eyes. "Not just that. I truly mean anything to do with me that will be written and published tomorrow, no matter how genuinely real it seems."

Now she was even more confused. "I don't understand. What sort of-"

Her breath caught in her throat as Sherlock reached his hands out to cradle each side of her face as he looked desperately into her eyes.

"Anything you read, Molly! That's all you need to know, alright? Just promise me! Promise me you won't believe it!"

Molly had to swallow hard before managing to form a one word answer, which was still barely audible. "Promise," she whispered with a little nod.

Sherlock released a shaky exhale in what seemed like a bit of relief. "Thank you," he said softly.

Molly knew that in about half a second, his hands would leave her face, he would step back, and he would probably leave her flat completely. And if she'd stood there silent and still, perhaps she could have allowed that to happen. But in the space of that half second, she decided that this wasn't really the time for being silent and still, so she placed her small hands atop his where they rested on her face, her thumbs moving gently over his skin. She kept her eyes trained to his and watched as they got just a bit wider and brighter.

"Whatever you need," she whispered. "You know I'm always here."

Sherlock looked almost afraid as he stared back at her. He looked on the edge of…something. And again, Molly was moved to give him a little push.

She removed her hands, and his, from her face and instead reached up to grasp his face in much the same way. She raised herself on tiptoe and slowly, watching him cautiously as she advanced, leaned in to press her lips to his cheek, only an inch or so from his mouth. She felt the warmth of his slow exhale on her face as she did, but she certainly wasn't expecting what happened next.

As if something had suddenly snapped inside him, Sherlock turned his head, catching her mouth with his as his hands came up to cradle her head again, tilting it in order to hungrily deepen their kiss.

To say she was shocked would be a gross understatement, but Molly's shock was nothing compared to the elation and pleasure of really and truly kissing the man that she loved. This most basic, yet complex, connection they were finally sharing had been built from years of emotion and history, both good and bad. She knew that there was too much to say. It was far too great a volume to express in one kiss. She could have kissed him all night and only scratched the surface of everything that lay between them…and she certainly considered giving it a try.

Sherlock pulled away though, ending their connection long before she was ready. And as beautiful as he was in that moment, face flushed and eyes half lidded from their kissing, he looked pained as he stared back at her.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out, shaking his head. "I hadn't planned that."

"I'm not sorry," Molly said, her voice shaking a little. She only then became aware that there were some tears escaping and she had to wipe them away.

He pressed his lips together and she could have sworn she saw a slight quiver in them for just a moment. "You may be sorry tomorrow," he said sadly.

Molly drew a deep breath and looked at him intensely, speaking her next words very slowly and pointedly. "I promise you that I will never be sorry for this."

Her heart beat faster as her words made the corners of his lips tug upward just a bit. Whatever storm was on the horizon, she was glad to bring him any sort of comfort happiness that was within her power.

He leaned in again to press a firm kiss to her forehead before releasing her and turning quickly away to head to her door. She felt empty in an instant and had to hold down the urge to rush after him.

"Goodbye, Molly," he said with a small smile. "I believe we will meet again."

She gave him as brave a smile as she could muster. "Then I'll believe it too."

One more look, and he was gone.

Molly stood there with hands clasped so tightly together that they began to ache. It was getting more and more difficult to hold it together, and as the last of the earth was being piled over Sherlock's fresh grave, she could feel the emotions close to overflowing.

She was grateful when people finally started to walk away, leaving a smaller and smaller crowd that encircled the defamed detective's final resting place. Not that the crowd had been that large to begin with. Some of the people who she would have imagined to attend this man's burial had been scared off by the fact that he apparently wasn't who they always believed him to be. But not everyone was so fickle in their loyalty. The people who truly mattered to Sherlock had come to say goodbye, and that was heartwarming for Molly to see.

Poor broken John Watson stood there like he was in the midst of sleepwalking. He didn't hang back, didn't speak to anyone else, and simply walked away after the last bunch of dirt was pressed in place.

A select few came and gave her a hug before leaving, like Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Mike Stamford. Mike in particular had given her a kind smile and gently touched her cheek. He knew the extent of her pain seeing as she'd practically broken down his door the day the news had come out. She had desperately and tearfully questioned every possible thing about Sherlock's supposed suicide; his body and DNA tests, the exact cause of death, and every bit of connected evidence. Mike seemed to hate giving her every answer of confirmation that she requested.

Molly stayed. She waited till every last person had left and the backhoe had been driven away. She didn't turn and face his shiny new headstone until she felt really and truly alone in the silence. She stood there and read the inscribed words and dates over and over, the words that didn't mean anything, not really. They didn't tell anyone who Sherlock Holmes really was. It was impersonal and cold, and she hated the way this monument didn't stand out in any sense from every other headstone around it. Because the man himself certainly stood out…oh how dramatically he stood out in a crowd.

Her face began to crumple and she sniffed back the first tears she'd allowed to fall that day. She had been trying so very hard, for hours, to do exactly what he said. All morning getting ready, the whole church service, and the entire burial ceremony she'd focused on the fact that this wasn't real.

"I don't…believe it," she choked out. "I don't believe it, Sherlock."

Her knees gave way and she eased herself down to sit in the grass at the foot of the grave.

"I don't, I don't, I don't," she repeated over and over through her sobs till the words blended together and she had to cover her face and give in to the uncontrolled weeping.

A few minutes later, feeling a completely drained, she wiped her eyes a bit and looked up again. She stared at the headstone with what had to be a false date of death, which marked the dirt that covered a casket that could not hold his body. Don't believe any of it. Molly reminded herself of those things once again as she hoisted herself up to her feet and brushed off her simple black dress and trench coat.

Molly took a few deep cleansing breaths of fresh air and looked around her at the ironically lovely and partly sunny day. This time, when she spoke, she didn't address the grave, but instead spoke softly into the open breeze.

"I do mean it, Sherlock. I promised you I wouldn't believe it…and I swear I don't, no matter how much all this hurts. I promise I won't stop believing that I'll see you again, no matter how long it takes. And I meant what I said too. I'll never be sorry about that kiss. If it was our last kiss, maybe it would make me sad, but it doesn't, and I'm not sad..."

She smiled a little before turning to leave. "Because I believe it was just our first."

Chapter Text

"You see, it's obvious!"

"Anderson," Molly sighed, shaking her head. "You've got to give it up! You have to know this is the guilt talking."

The scruffy looking face clouded over a bit.

"Thank you," she went on to say, in a gentler tone, "I really appreciate what you're trying to do and but no matter how sorry you feel, it doesn't do any good to keep coming up with these ridiculous theories and spending all this time searching the globe for places you imagine he's been." Molly laid a kind hand on his shoulder. "Eventually you've got to accept the fact that Sherlock is dead."

Anderson looked at her with dead seriousness. "I believe in Sherlock Holmes."

Molly couldn't help smiling. "Yeah. Yeah, so did I. But I still had to let him go." She got up from her seat and picked up the small box that had been sitting on the table. "Look, I've got to go. Going to see an old friend. I'll see if I can put in a good word and maybe they'll be willing to look at your case again ok?"

He smiled a little but then glanced back at the marked map he had laid out. "Do you know, Inspector, it isn't just about what he's been doing…it's the pattern of where he's been. Just look! He's getting closer." He grinned at Molly. "He's coming back!"

All Molly could do was give him one more kind smile before exiting the pub. There was only so much of that sort of conversation she could manage. She ran the risk of either laughing hysterically…or excitedly agreeing with the desperate man.

She supposed she could have told him of her work, what had been keeping her occupied in the bowels of Scotland Yard for the better part of a year. It was all due to come to a head soon anyway, her investigation and exposure of Jim Moriarty as the evil mastermind that he was. Nearly a year ago to the day, Mycroft had approached her, just as Sherlock had told her he would...

"Inspector Hooper," Mycroft called from the window of his limo just as she came out of the market with her shopping bag.

"Mycroft," Molly responded, her heart pounding at what the sight of this man could mean.

"I trust you remember a particular favor that my late brother had asked of you almost a year ago?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes of course I do."

"Excellent…well then, I suggest you begin as soon as possible. You will find arrangements have been made at New Scotland Yard to accommodate your needs, ones no one will question. Not a moment to lose."

She could barely contain the grin that wanted to erupt on her face, but managed some more nodding and babbling of agreement to do as he asked. She even could have sworn that Mycroft gave her a sort of knowing smirk as he rolled the window up.

That little minute long interlude revived her. It gave her life and pushed her forward. And it gave her the most solid bit of hope that she'd had since she heard words coming out of the very lips of the man she longed to see. She marched quickly down the street toward her flat. Mycroft was right, there wasn't a moment to lose.

Time to get to work!

…She was close, so very close to having all the proof she needed in order to present the truth of the events surrounding Sherlock and Moriarty to her superiors and enough for the chief prosecution. She was going to prove once and for all that Richard Brook was the fantasy, and that Sherlock Holmes was the real hero, however tragic his end might have been. She'd managed with Mycroft's help to be able to maintain her respectability in the ranks of the Yard, even without being a Detective Inspector. Her evidence was solid, but not quite airtight just yet. She'd have to continue to be patient, continue to have hope, wild and perhaps as delusional as Anderson's perhaps, but she wouldn't give up.

After all, she'd promised.

It was an awfully good feeling, bringing the truth to light. The knowledge that she'd been the one to make sure the world knew the reality of Jim Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes meant everything to her. Even if he never returned, and she never got to see him alive again, it was still enough to help her sleep a little better at night.

And it certainly didn't hurt that bringing the evidence for this case to light had ironically been what was needed to convince the Yard that she truly was an indispensable member of their team. They were impressed enough to offer her old position of Detective Inspector to her. Of course, it did make things a bit complicated, seeing as she was also offered an even better job position outside of London.

A few days after the official story broke having to do with Sherlock and Moriarty, another division contacted her and offered her not just any position, but the position of Chief! It was quite an offer, but it would definitely require a move, and a whole lot of adjustment. She didn't want to rush that sort of decision. She was incredibly flattered, but told them that she'd need some time to think about it. Though, she had to admit that sort of life change might not be a bad thing.

Molly was unsure if it was wise to remain here in London. Perhaps closing this case was a perfect way to close the book on her life here in this city. There was nothing wrong with moving on. She told herself that even if Sherlock did return, perhaps it was best to have a fresh new start. At least, that's how part of her felt.

As Molly arrived home that evening from some work at the station, she strolled in and made her way directly to the kitchen in order to examine her very few dinner options. She really did need to carve out some more time for regular grocery shopping. Seeing little in the fridge, she began searching in the cupboard and found a lone can of vegetable soup shoved far in the back. Who knows how long it had been forgotten in there.

She dug the can opener from the drawer as she grimaced at the two year past expiration date on the top of the can. After cracking open the top, she leaned over and gingerly took a sniff or two. Toby wound around her legs and so she looked down and addressed him on the matter.

"Inconclusive, I'd say," she said to the fuzzy little face. "Here, what do you think?"

Molly held the can at Toby's level and let him have a sniff. He instantly pulled his head back and made his way toward his regular cat food bowl. She admitted that wasn't the best sign.

She set the can back on the counter and considered the options. She absolutely did not feel like having to venture out of her flat tonight. Canned goods surely lasted even longer than their expiration dates…those dates were probably just a formality. It was a can of soup. What was the worst it could do?

She let out a resigned sigh and turned to open the silverware drawer. And that's when she heard it.

"Careful…that stuff could kill you."

Molly's heart caught in her throat and she instantly spun around, staring wide eyed as the form to match the voice came around the corner and into the light.

"Or at the very least, make for a rather uncomfortable night," Sherlock said in his all too wonderfully familiar low voice as he stepped forward. "It was time to come back. Had to make sure you weren't letting things slide."

Molly's jaw hung slack and she was still trying to regulate her breathing, let alone come up with some sort of response. She tried for a moment to say something…anything! But when no words came out, her instincts- and heart- kicked in.

She flung herself toward him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and shoulders and burying her face in the warmth of his neck and scarf, breathing him in as deep as she could. She felt the expected hesitation in his body as she did this, but she didn't care. In that moment, she acted for herself alone, to prove to herself that he was real and alive and truly standing before her. She needed the palpable comfort and reassurance, and it was oh so delicious to finally have it in her arms.

And he did finally comply. Sherlock's arms encircled her slowly and his hold tightened. He even lowered his face just a bit, and she could feel his breath in the crook of her neck.

Molly finally set her feet flat on the floor again and slowly released her hold on him. She took a small step back, staring up at him and drinking in his sorely missed features.

"Hi," she finally breathed out.

"Hi," he echoed, making her smile.

"Here we are again," Molly said, glancing around and making reference to the last time she'd seen him…in almost that exact spot.

"And yet so very much has happened. You've certainly been busy."

"I have, yes," she agreed with a smile. "In fact, I actually have so much to tell you! If you'd like to-"

"I can't stay long at the moment."

Her elation was instantly deflated just a bit. His tone wasn't unkind, but this certainly wasn't turning into the warm and affectionate reunion that she'd so often dreamed of.

"Oh right, I'm sure you've got lots to do right now." Molly hesitated to express any disappointment, not wanting to become instantly clingy the moment he appeared in London again.

"But I wanted you to know I'm back…" His lips lifted in a smile that warmed her heart back up again. "And I'm staying."

Molly let out a happy little sigh. "Can't think of better news," she said softly, hoping that her tone was unmistakable.

He turned to head for the door and Molly was suddenly struck with the painful memory of watching him walk away the last time. She had to remind herself that it wasn't the same now, and he wasn't disappearing again. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that it was as if the words were forced out of her throat.

"I kept believing," she blurted out, which made him look back at her. "I believed in…this moment."

He looked down for a moment, almost as if he didn't know whether to speak or not. But finally he looked back at her and gave her a half smile.

"So did I."

Have dinner?

Molly rolled her eyes at herself for the umpteenth time as she stood waiting in the stairwell while he spent some time in his mind palace. She kept replaying that morning's scene over and over and felt like a bigger idiot each and every time. Jumping to the assumption of a dinner invitation was probably one of the worst ways to play it cool, despite the fact that she had vowed to do just that.

It had been a lovely day of course, regardless of how awkwardly it started. Of course she'd been pleased to help Sherlock with some crime solving. She was happy to spend any time at all with him, firstly since she'd been deprived of his company for an entire two years, and secondly because their relationship was now in a strange and undefined limbo.

Molly had no idea what she and Sherlock were now, and she could only hope that it would become clearer once they began seeing each other more frequently. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised at his lack of action on his part. It would be a bit unlike him to come skipping back to London and instantly sweep her into a whirlwind romance. In fact, she was beginning to consider the possibility that he may be thinking of the entire interlude on the night before his "death" as nothing more than a lapse in judgement. It was certainly possible. He didn't do relationships. Why should one passionate kiss from two years ago change all that?

And yet, there were moments during that day of solving crimes together that didn't only feel like the good old days…it felt like something brand new. The way he'd give her a sideways glance or a little secret smile made her feel a bit like there was something hidden between the lines. And if it wasn't all in her head, she wished to God that he would just open that perfect mouth of his and say so.

"Fancy some chips?"

"What?" Molly questioned in disbelief as they made their way down the stairwell.

"I know a fantastic fish shop off Marylebone road. The owner always gives me extra portions."

"You get him off on murder charge?"

"Nope, helped him put up some shelves," he said with a smirk, making her laugh.

Molly admittedly almost jumped at accepting this offer instantly, but something made her stop and want to dig a bit further. She wanted to hear more from him, and hopefully get some sort of indication of how he was actually feeling in this moment.

"Sherlock, what was today about?"

"Saying thank you."

"For what?" Though, she couldn't help secretly thinking, good man finally learning to say thank you.

"What you did for me. I'm well aware that you made sure the truth came out about myself and Moriarty," he said in a low rumble.

Molly shrugged. "Well, you did ask me, and I told you I'd do it so-"

"But you didn't have to. You'd already risked a good deal, and it would have made sense to keep away from the case altogether from there forward."

She nodded, but looked at him and smiled. "It's fine. Besides, what I did doesn't really matter all that much," she answered humbly.

"You made it possible for me to return with London opening its arms to me. You smoothed the way, and what you did was not insignificant. No, on the contrary...in my return home, it is you that mattered the most…and I am well aware that I don't deserve it."

"Don't be silly," she said with a short laugh and accompanying blush at the praise. "Everybody deserves lo- loyal friends." The words felt awkward in her mouth. Was that still all she was? A loyal friend?

Sherlock didn't argue, but looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking again. "But you may not be able to do this again it seems," he stated.

Molly's eyes snapped directly to his. "What?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together and locked his hands behind his back. "Congratulations, by the way. The job offer…outside of London I believe."

She stared with lips parted and eyes wide as she realized that she probably should have seen this coming. Naturally he'd have somehow figured out her current professional indecision.

"And in the position of Chief?" He smiled a little, in what looked like a bit of pride. "Rather impressive."

"Yeah, thanks," she said as casually as she could manage. "I'm just um, you know, weighing the options and thinking about um…everything and…I suppose there's something to be said in being able to hire my own staff and make sure they're not complete idiots or anything. At least, they might be able to keep up..." Her words trailed off and she prayed that he'd pick up and take the reins from here. She'd need little more than one word from him if he wanted her to stay. That's all it would take.

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper," he said, his words as painful as they were beautiful. "You deserve it. After all, not all your consultants can turn out to be sociopaths."

"No," she breathed out while dying inside. Good God, was he cutting her loose? Was he actually encouraging her to leave London?

Sherlock stepped forward, still staring into her eyes. He gave her a very slight smile before leaning down and pressing his lips to her cheek. She closed her eyes and savored the moment, even wondering if she should turn her head in much the same way he did two years ago. But she didn't. He pulled back and stepped away to instantly make his way for the door, the dinner invitation having apparently vanished into thin air, drowned out by the weight of other topics. It could have been inadvertent or very much by design. She couldn't be sure.

Molly wiped at her eyes a little as she hung back. "Maybe that's just my type of consulting detective," she whispered to herself, smiling at her own little comeback.

She didn't chase after him that day, or call to him to come back and talk some more. She was left in the same undefined spot that she'd been in at the start of the day. Molly realized for sure now that she had a decision to make that was hers and hers alone. Apparently that was how Sherlock wanted it. What she still wasn't sure of was why he wanted it that way. And eventually she decided that it could only be for one of two reasons.

Either Sherlock simply didn't care one way or the other whether she stayed in London…

Or he'd just done one of the most selfless things she'd ever had the privilege of witnessing.

Molly rushed through the tube tunnel as fast as she could, while also being cautious and watchful of her surroundings. This was a bomb threat after all, and there was no telling what they'd find…other than Sherlock and John of course.

"Come on, they're in here!" Molly called to the other two officers as they approached the carriage and she saw the two men inside. She climbed up and slowly opened the door, leaning in and seeing Sherlock's rather surprised looking expression at her presence.

"Thank God you're here, Inspector," John said, looking a bit shaken. "I was just about to kill a man."

"Oh dear, let's not add that to the list of crimes for today," Molly said with a little laugh. Though, when she started looking around at all the exposed explosives in the train seats, she was no longer laughing. "My God…ok, let's get you two out of here. The explosives team will be here any second."

None of the three of them said another word till they'd got out of the tunnel completely. Molly certainly couldn't relax till she'd got both Sherlock and John as far from the danger zone as possible. They passed a slew of officers and special teams that had been called to the scene, and they finally came to a stop on the top of the tube steps where some of the officers were the area was being taped off to the public.

"I'm actually a bit surprised to see you," John commented as they caught their breath and Molly put her gun back in its place on her hip. "Didn't think Chiefs took on this sort of legwork. Sherlock told me you were probably taking on a new position."

Molly caught Sherlock giving John a slightly nervous glance and she smiled to herself before answering John.

"Yeah well, you're right; Chiefs don't usually do this sort of thing…Detective Inspectors do though, so I suppose I'm stuck with this sort of legwork indefinitely."

Sherlock's eyes snapped to hers, looking like beacons in the dark of the London night.

"Oh, you're staying on then!" John said with a grin. "Well that's brilliant, I'm sure we'll all feel better being able to keep you around." He glanced at Sherlock, clearly hoping that his friend would take the hint and join in the friendly congratulations at her decision.

There was a funny sort of moment as John looked back and forth between his silent friend and Molly. She could tell that he was a little confused at the weighty silence hanging in the air as she and Sherlock stared at each other.

"Yes," he finally murmured softly. "We all feel much better."

Molly's lips lifted slowly, in time with Sherlock's, and soon they were both grinning at each other. Neither could be bothered by the fact that John was now standing by in obvious confusion.

"Ok I'll just um…maybe I'll give Mary a call. Yeah I'll…do that now," John said hesitantly, stepping away with his mobile, his eyes still narrowed at his two friends' body language.

"Another case closed," Molly said a bit playfully once they were alone. "Back to being Sherlock Holmes eh?"

"Finally," he said, giving her a sideways smile as they both turned to face the activity down the steps in the tube.

"Oh and I almost forgot," she added. "I have a favor to ask you, for a friend."

"What's what?"

"Well, I told a friend that I'd get you to give him an exclusive interview about your faked suicide." When Sherlock emitted a dramatic sigh so Molly hastened to clarify. "Mind you, I'm not saying exactly what you have to tell him! You can give whatever vague or convoluted version of the events you'd like. But honestly, I really think you should agree to this. You have to understand, I don't think anyone else held out more hope than him that you'd turn up alive…besides me of course. If you gave him just a few minutes it would mean quite a lot."

Sherlock looked at her carefully. "To whom?"

Molly chewed her lip for a moment. "To me?" She gave him a sweet little smile for good measure.

"Who is this anyway?"

Molly waved her hand dismissively at his question. "Oh that's not really that important. Won't you just say yes? Please?"

One more small eye roll later and Sherlock finally caved. "Alright fine, I'll do it. Five minutes! That's all he gets!" he stated firmly. "So who is it?"

Molly grinned as she gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Someone who believes in you."

Sherlock frowned. "A fan?"

"Oh yes, I'd say so. And awfully eager to make up for any past damage he might have caused too." She almost burst out laughing right then at the shift in his expression

"Oh please don't tell me-"

"Anderson will be so excited when he hears you've agreed!"

"Oh for God's sake!"

Chapter Text

"Molly! Hi!" Mary ushered her into the flat with a brilliant grin. "It's great that we've finally be able to have some girl time! I know that His Nibs seems to always be eating up our time."

"Oh well, you know," Molly said with a nervous laugh. "When he's not planning a wedding, he sometimes he needs an actual police officer to help solve crimes, as much as he must hate to admit it."

Mary told her to take a seat and make herself at home while she popped in the kitchen to get the tea. Molly fidgeted with her hands while alone in the sitting room. It felt like an awfully long time since she'd just had a leisurely afternoon with a girlfriend, drinking tea and chatting…it was almost too normal for Molly to feel at ease. But she was glad when she got Mary's invitation. She could use one or two new friends that didn't have any sort of connection to her professional life.

"There," Mary said as she set the tea down with a smile. She gave Molly her cup, adding a one of the lemon slices at her request, and then she sat down next to her on the couch. "Well, here we are!"

Molly smiled over the edge of her cup, moving her lips to take a careful sup. She swallowed the comforting liquid and then smiled at Mary again. "So this is a nice place," she said casually, taking a glance around the flat.

"Oh let's not bother with that sort of small talk," Mary shot back with a little laugh. She leaned forward, her eyes smiling brightly at Molly. "So…how long has this thing with you and Sherlock been going on?"

Color flooded Molly's face and her jaw hung slack for a moment. She cleared her throat and tried to set her tea cup back down in its saucer without making a mess. "Oh um, well, we're just- you know…it's not…not really like that with us," she said as evenly as possible. But one look from Mary told her that hadn't been as convincing as she'd hoped.

"Molly," Mary said gently, with an amused little smile. "I think that was one of the worst lies I've ever heard anyone attempt."

Molly released a shaky laugh, tucking some hair behind her ear. "Well, it's not exactly a lie."

"But you are in love with him," she said. It was definitely a statement, not a question.

"Oh wow," Molly laughed again. "Figures John would find you…you're basically Sherlock, aren't you?"

Mary shrugged, looking pleased with herself. "I have a few skills, yes, not that I really need them with you two, it's fairly obvious. No getting off topic though! You can't tell me that nothing has ever happened between the two of you."

"Well, no," Molly admitted, surrendering to the fact that this woman clearly could not be fooled. "I can't tell you that."

"But I'd be willing to bet the idiot hasn't really made anything official," Mary said with a sigh.

Now it was Molly's turn to shrug. "Yeah well, it was a long time ago. More than two years ago actually. And it was only one kiss." She paused and then allowed herself to exchange a little smile with her new friend, feeling lighter at finally being able to tell someone about what happened. "A really…really good kiss."

Mary let out a slightly maniacal giggle. "Well then I'd say it's about time you get another one!"

"If only it were that easy," Molly said before taking another sip of her tea.

"Well, I can tell you that at the very least Sherlock is going to need quite a bit of support and companionship after this wedding. John denies it, but I can see that that Sherlock's going to have a pretty tough time. He thinks he's losing his best friend after all, even if he wouldn't admit that out loud."

"Yeah I know," Molly agreed seriously. "I agree. He'll need help to get through it. He's not the type to admit he needs that sort of support thought."

"He's not the type to quickly admit much of what he needs," Mary stated pointedly. "With someone like that, sometimes they just have to be hit over the head with it."

"I'm worried enough about the wedding itself," Molly said with a laugh. "I mean, he's going to have to make a speech- a real speech with people listening!" Her eyes got wide in fright.

Mary smiled and nudged Molly. "Well he's fortunate to have someone who knows him so well and loves him so much. I imagine you can help him through pretty much anything he's facing."

Molly smiled just a little and nodded. "Yeah I think I could," she answered softly. "I guess I can only hope he'll let me."

"Oh dear, can't you arrest him?" Mrs. Hudson leaned over and whispered to Molly as Sherlock continued his speech that was getting stranger and more disturbing by the minute. "Couldn't this fall under breaching the peace?"

"I'd say it could, yeah," Molly agreed with a sigh. Goodness, he was doing so very well for a while there. And then suddenly things went downhill fast. Of course she wished she could say her only concern was for the atmosphere of this reception, but it wasn't. With each passing moment, her concerns were growing more serious. Something was most definitely wrong.

"Geoff, the gents," Sherlock suddenly said to Lestrade. "The loos now please."

"It's Greg," he stated in annoyance.

"The loos please."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's your turn."

Greg looked at his mobile and suddenly hopped to it. "Oh yeah, now that you mention it…" He nudged Molly. "Come on, we've gotta lock this place down," he whispered.

Molly got up and hurried through the doors with Greg. "Please tell me you know more about what's going on than I do right now."

"Nope, I don't know what that lunatic is on about at the moment. But you and I both know one important thing." He smiled at her. "Sherlock's usually right."

Molly smiled in agreement. "Ok, I'll take the women's loo and meet you back here."

A few minutes later, the loos and surrounding doors having been checked, Molly met Greg back in the main hallway. Just as they'd met up and agreed everything seemed secure, Sherlock and John were seen rushing past them toward the stairway, followed by Mary only moments later.

Greg and Molly looked at each other with concern.

"I'll stand by the stairs," Greg offered. "You stay by the dining hall."

"Got it," she agreed and hurried off. She certainly wished she'd thought to bring another pair of shoes for this festive occasion.

Ten long minutes later and Molly finally saw Sherlock come down the stairs toward her.

"What's happened?"

"It's almost all sorted, Inspector," Sherlock said with a sigh of relief. "I believe this reception will be able to carry on undisturbed now. Just one more little favor I'll need of you and Gill."

"Yeah, I'm here," Greg spoke up wearily, walking over to them.

"I need you both to drive after the photographer. Probably best to go separately, each in a different direction to maximize the chance of catching him. His business address is out of the city, but that's not to say he wouldn't head in a different direction in order to make an escape."

Both Molly and Greg frowned.

"Wait, did he do something wrong?" Molly questioned.

"Oh yes," Sherlock drawled. "I should say so. You'll want to make sure he doesn't suspect anything though. Tell him the bride and groom want to have a peek at the pictures before the end of the night. Just to make sure they've got their money's worth."

Greg gave an exasperated sigh. "Sherlock, I'm not moving until you tell us what's actually going on."

"Attempted murder, Inspector. Surely that's enough to detain the suspect that's hurrying to places unknown as we speak," Sherlock replied with barely contained excitement.

Greg shook his head. "Blimey, it would be with you attending a wedding, wouldn't it?" He looked at Molly and shrugged. "I'll go back toward the city."

"Ok then, I'll head further into the countryside on the main road," Molly agreed.

Greg walked off and Molly laid a hand on Sherlock's arm before he could walk away as well. "Hey, are you doing ok?"

"I'm fine. Just solved an attempted murder, why wouldn't I be?"

She nodded. "Right. Ok well I'm glad. I'll just text you if and when I find him."

"Godspeed, Inspector" he said gently.

Molly quickly left then, wondering why she'd fussed so much about her dress and hair and shoes. It seemed tonight was not a night off after all.

Molly strolled slowly down the dimly lit walkway, holding the straps of her heels in one hand and actually questioning if she should have bothered coming back at all. She tried not to shiver in the rapidly cooling night air as the sounds of seventies dance music floated mutedly through the air. The reception was only supposed to go on another hour and a half. And by this time she could have made it back to her flat and been in her pajamas.

She'd driven a half hour out before getting a text from Greg that he'd found the guy and was bringing him back to the party. Soon after she got an update that an arrest had been made. Obviously that was a chance she knew she'd take by helping. She knew she may just end up leaving the party and driving away for nothing. But that was ok, especially since the whole thing had turned out right in the end. Tonight wasn't about her. It was about the Watsons, and things should be made right for their sake.

As she neared one of the doors, she was surprised to see Sherlock exit with his coat in hand. He looked a little instantly sheepish, as if he'd been caught in the act.

"Ah, I see you're back. Sorry for the trouble," he said with a quick smile.

"Oh no, it's fine," she said with a dismissive wave.

After a brief silence, he spoke up again. "I imagine you're on your way back inside now, to join the party."

"Um," she hesitated. "I was maybe going to."

"Well if that's your plan, you should be quick about it. The dancing has already begun and you wouldn't want to miss it I'm sure."

Molly eyed him suspiciously. "And where are you rushing to then?"

Sherlock's expression became a complex sea of repressed emotions. "My part in the event has already been played well enough I'd say."

Molly regarded him sadly and was trying to formulate a response when he spoke again. This time, he did so while opening the door for her.

"I can tell you there's plenty of single male dancing partners to be had in there. Granted, Janine has already picked through a good deal of them and weeded out the less worthy, admittedly with my help. But I imagine there's at least a few that would make for an enjoyable evening of dancing even if not a lifetime of happiness."

She smiled, looking down at her bare feet for a moment. "Oh I don't know if it's worth it for me. I'm actually a rubbish dancer."

Sherlock huffed. "I highly doubt you could be all that terrible."

"You don't know, you haven't seen me," Molly said with a laugh.

There was a pause. A moment where Sherlock stared at her, then glanced back to the door he held open, then looked at her again. And finally, he let go of the handle, allowing the door to swing shut again.

"I am never wrong," he said with a challenging little smirk, and then he extended his hand toward her.

Molly looked at his hand and laughed, making her cheeks warm up in the cool night air. "You actually are wrong all the time, you know." But she placed her hand in his.

Sherlock flung his coat on a nearby branch. "Balance of probability, Molly."

He guided her over to a clear area on the lawn and Molly stopped for a moment, making the move to put her shoes back on.

"Don't bother with that," Sherlock scoffed. "You're more comfortable without them and although your dancing abilities still hang in the balance, mine are more than adequate. Your feet will not be stepped on, I can promise you."

"Maybe you're protecting your own feet," she teased as they took position. "In case I'm the one doing the trampling!"

"I'll let you know if I notice," he said with a small smile.

Molly fell easily into the swaying motion, surrounded by Sherlock's arms. It was comforting and quiet and she didn't want to stop. She wasn't even terribly aware of how well she was or wasn't doing in actual dancing performance. All she knew was that this felt great, really great, and she could only hope that this song that could be heard from outside the hall was a lengthy one.

"Sherlock," she whispered, barely planning what she was about to say. "This is wonderful."

"I told you your dancing couldn't be that much of a mess," he said with a chuckle.

"No, I mean…this," she said, looking up at him and making him realize that this meant them.

He looked instantly nervous, but answered her softly after drawing a breath. "I agree."

"Do you though?" Molly challenged gently. "I just- I don't know sometimes. I can't always tell what you think and feel…about me."

There was a long and painful silence after that, and Molly almost wanted to melt right out of his arms, right into the ground and under the grass, hopefully never to be seen again. Realizing that was impossible, she was just about to step away from the dance and rapidly take her leave when he finally opened his mouth.

"I only ever think and feel one way about you, Molly."

Her eyes shot up to his again and she was met with a very steady gaze in return.

"And what way is that?"

He looked a touch sadder as he answered. "A way that's a bit difficult for me to know what to do with. And for that I apologize, because you certainly do deserve a man who actually knows what to do…with the affection he feels."

Her lips lifted a little and she felt her eyes get a bit clouded. She wasn't sure what to say, and clearly he wasn't completely sure what to do. So she simply leaned forward to rest her cheek against his chest, enjoying the rhythmic thumping through his clothing.

"I can't promise…" he started slowly, Molly feeling the vibrations of his words on her cheek. "I can't say I know exactly how to try and- do this."

"You're doing it," Molly responded simply, closing her eyes as their swaying slowed a bit more. "You're doing just beautifully right now."

"Yes, but I'm not completely certain that-"

Molly's head shot up and she looked him straight in the eyes. "Do you want this? I don't care whether you think you can do it right. I'm just asking what you want, plain and simple. If the problem is that you're not sure if you want to be with me then I'd really rather you say it now!"

He hesitated for just a moment, examining her serious expression, and then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips.

It was brief enough, but Molly's eyes shut and she suddenly felt a bit more at home.

"Yes, of course I want this." He let out a heavy sigh and then gave her a half smile. "But yes, what I mean is that I'm completely unsure if I can do anything involving this as successfully as it should be done."

Molly let go of his hand and slid hers up around his neck to meet her other one, prompting both his hands to settle around her waist.

"But if I tell you I'm willing to try?" she offered. "Would you be as well?"

A smile began blooming slowly on his lips. "Am I allowed to answer you with another kiss?"

Molly returned his grin and tugged him downward, more than happy to have that sort of answer from him. He stayed there longer this time, seeming comfortably at home with his mouth connected to hers.

"Look at you, being the romantic boyfriend already!" Molly giggled, wiping a bit of lipstick off of him after he pulled away.

He rolled his eyes. "God, I despise that term! Boyfriend!" He let out a little huff of disapproval. "Let's not be one of those typical dating couples."

Molly threw her head back in laughter. "We're not! I don't think we could be a typical dating couple even if we wanted to be. I doubt very much will even change! I'll ask for you help with cases, you'll call me to make an arrest, I'll make excuses when you're being rude to everyone around us, you'll break into my flat…it'll be a unique relationship," she teased.

He chuckled, tilting his head as he mulled over her words. "I can't say I agree that nothing will really change though, despite those things remaining constant."

"Oh? What'll be different?" she prompted, smiling as she hoped she knew where this was going.

"Well, after I help you solve a case, I'll do this…" He kissed her very slowly. "And after you make an arrest, I'll look forward to doing this…" He kissed her again, tilting his head the opposite way. "And when you cover for my rudeness I'll very gratefully do this…" Another kiss. "And I honestly don't think it would be appropriate to show you right here what would happen when I break into your flat," he murmured, touching his forehead to hers before leaning in again and tasting her lips in a way that was deliciously expressive of what he apparently couldn't quite demonstrate right then and there.

Molly laughed lightly, biting her lip and closing her eyes while just enjoying the sound and feel of his words. "I suppose I'll look forward to those sorts of changes." Then she lifted her head again. "By the way, would you ever have said anything if I hadn't just brought it up tonight?"

Sherlock chuckled, low and deep. "Perhaps this would be a good time to mention that when I left the reception just now, I was not in fact planning a direct destination to Baker Street," he said softly, reaching up and smoothing a curled tendril to the side of her face.

Molly's jaw fell for a moment. "B-but, you tried to get me to go inside and you were going to leave."

Sherlock shrugged. "Perhaps I wasn't entirely sure where you wanted to be at the moment. But when you hung back from the reception…well I took that as positive evidence."

They had long stopped actually dancing and Molly slipped her arms around his middle and smiled. "Well I'd say the evidence is pretty conclusive now, detective. But that does lead me to question, if you went off to find me just now…what would you have done then? There wouldn't have been any dancing."

"Maybe you'll still get to find out," he said, stooping to pick up her shoes, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and leading her back to the walkway. "You see, I was wondering if you were hungry.

Molly looked up at him with a laugh. "We were just at a wedding dinner!"

"Oh let's be honest, wedding venue food is rarely all it's cracked up to be," he stated while grabbing his coat from where he left it. "You can admit it wasn't good enough to really stuff yourself."

Molly pursed her lips. "Well…don't tell the Watsons."

"No argument there. So! May I ask again, are you hungry?"

"Well, yeah. Yeah I guess I am, a bit," she admitted with a smile as she noticed that he was walking them toward her car.

"I'm very pleased to hear it," he said turning to her with a grin, his eyes shining a bit from the light coming off the reception hall. "We didn't really get to do this before, and it did seem a shame."

"Didn't get to do what?"

Sherlock reached down and cradled her face, staring at her in enamored awe as if it had suddenly dawned on him that she was his, and the feeling was just as overwhelmingly moving for Molly. The actual moment they were living in wasn't anything special, but their mutual feelings certainly were. He smiled and then spoke again.

"Fancy some chips?"

As time ticked rapidly on after that memorable night, Molly ended up being correct in her guess that not much would really change for them: Sherlock continued to be a consulting detective, and Molly went on to be one of the most successful DIs the Met had had for the next ten years. There was still murder, mayhem, danger, and quite a bit of trouble. Maybe even more than either of them could have anticipated.

But then Sherlock ended up being correct as well. Because in addition to all of that, there was also late night dinners, sweet surprises, rings, many many kisses and quite a lot of sex.

They couldn't have been happier.

THE END