Chapter Twelve

"Why don't you try phosphorous pentasulfide?" suggested Sherlock. "That'll take care of the hemolytic dissociation."

Walter's eyes widened as his voice rose in excitement. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" He dashed off towards the fridge to grab the necessary ingredient.

John darted out of Walter's way as he hurried past, watching him hurry back to the lab table where Sherlock sat. He shook his head and continued towards another table, where everyone else sat. "Are the kids behaving?" He gave a head tilt towards the two experimenting geniuses.

Molly smiled. "Oh, they're having a blast."

"I haven't seen Walter this excited since the diner on Madison brought back their root beer floats," said Peter, watching his father contentedly.

"Really?" asked Greg. "Fond of food, is he?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Astrid told him with a smile.

An explosion suddenly rent the air, causing all of them to jump and John to then close his eyes and wince. A plume of smoke had enveloped the other side of the lab, obscuring the figures of Sherlock and Walter. Before the others could break out of their shock to rush over and determine whether the two had just killed themselves, John gave a tired sigh.

"You okay?" John asked with what sounded like a bored, annoyed tone, his eyes still closed.

Peter, Olivia and Astrid all looked at John in disbelief and probably shock at his disinterest before a strained, choked voice emerged from the smoke.

"Yeah…" Sherlock coughed, "we're fine…"

John nodded. "Okay." He opened his eyes to find the three Americans all staring at him.

"Well, you took that in stride," said Peter, sounding equal parts impressed and disturbed.

"Well, I'm used to it," John brushed off.

"Used to it?" asked Olivia.

John leaned forward to explain. "When we were flatmates, there was once a week-long dry spell—case-wise—and Sherlock dove into his experiments to stave off the boredom. At one point, there was an explosion going off in the kitchen at least once an hour."

"Wow, and I thought living with Walter was bad," Peter muttered.

"Yeah, that's the frailty of genius: it doesn't come with an off switch," said John.

Peter laughed at that. "Ain't that the truth."

Walter stumbled out of the smoke as it began to spread, approaching the table where they sat and giving them all a wide-eyed look. "What a blunder. I mistakenly used the magnesium gluconate container to store the hydrogen peroxide—" he looked over at Peter, smiling merrily, "which, of course, does not react well to phosphorous pentasulfide—"

"What?" exclaimed Molly, jumping up from the table and backing away from the spreading cloud of noxious fumes. "Sherlock! Stop breathing and get out!"

Following Molly's example, John ushered everyone away from the spreading smoke.

"What is it?" asked Greg, hurrying backwards with the rest of them.

"Phosphorous pentasulfide and hydrogen peroxide should never be mixed," Molly quickly told them. "They react explosively, and the fumes are toxic when breathed or if they come into contact with skin. Sherlock!"

"Already ahead of you!" Sherlock called back, giving a few coughs at the end of his declaration among the sound of water splashing against the lab floor. "And if you are easily offended by nudity, I would leave now before the smoke clears!"

"Oh, for—" grumbled John as he headed out of the lab with everyone else.

Walter hit a big red button on the wall as they left, and ventilation fans in the ceiling of the lab immediately turned on and began cycling the poisonous fumes elsewhere.

"Sherlock—" Molly began, caught between staying to make sure he was okay and giving him some privacy in the emergency shower.

"Molly, go," Sherlock told her. "I know that we're dating now, but I would prefer to save this for an intimate occasion."

Molly blushed furiously at the statement.

"Molly, please," Sherlock pleaded. "I don't want you to be exposed anymore than you already have been."

Molly nodded, realizing it was for the best. After all, Sherlock was a graduate chemist. He knew very well how to deal with a chemical exposure. She would leave him with his dignity (although how a man who admittedly walked naked around his flat, even while John was still living there, could be worried about dignity was a complete mystery).

"All right," Molly told him, turning and hurrying out of the lab. She found the others in the hallway outside. "How long does it take to clear the lab out?"

"About twenty minutes," Astrid answered.

"Not to worry, dear," Walter told Molly. "Mr. Holmes only had a minor splash on his shirt. He would have been fine, but we thought it best to be safe."

Molly nodded, feeling much better about it. "What about you?"

"Oh, I only inhaled a little bit," Walter told her. "I'll be fine."

"That's for me to decide," said John, stepping forward and ushering Walter to the side to look him over.

Molly hurried back into the lab as soon as Walter declared it safe again. She rounded the corner, searching the lab but not finding anything except a slightly dripping emergency shower in the corner. A door opened to her left, and she turned to see Sherlock emerging from one of the back offices, wrapped in one of their dressing gowns.

"Sherlock…" said Molly, rushing forward towards him.

Sherlock enveloped her in his arms, holding her tight. "I'm okay. Didn't even get any on me." His voice had strained near the end, and a cough emitted from his throat. "Apart from the irritated throat, I should be fine by tomorrow."

"I suppose I should get used to it," muttered Molly.

"I'm sorry?" asked Sherlock, frowning into her hair.

"The experiments," said Molly. "Both good and…bad."

"Well, technically, this one wasn't my fault," Sherlock told her.

Molly laughed as she eased back from his chest and looked up at him, giving him a kiss.

"Yeah, he's decent," said John from behind her, stepping into the lab in front of the others. "For once."

Sherlock looked up at John with an affronted expression. "I can be decent."

Molly turned in Sherlock's arms to look at John.

"Name once," John threw back at him with a smirk.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

"And the best man's speech does not count," John interrupted. "Mary had to threaten you into behaving."

Sherlock stared at him, at a loss for an answer.

"New Years' party 2014," Molly told John.

John looked over at her in surprise as Sherlock paused for a moment and then smiled smugly at John. John rolled his eyes at the two of them before stalking off to join the others in the main lab.

Sherlock looked down at Molly, giving her a smile. "You are the perfect woman." He pulled her into a kiss.

Molly hummed into the kiss and then pulled away. "I don't know about that, but thanks for saying so."

"You know me, Molly," said Sherlock, giving her another kiss. "Do I ever say things I don't mean?"

"True," said Molly, smiling as he kissed her again.

"Oi!" called Greg. "Do you two mind? We need to work out the rest of this case before heading to the airport."

Molly giggled as Sherlock almost silently growled his displeasure at being interrupted, and they headed over to join everyone else.

"Of all the things we've had to pull him away from for a case…" John muttered to Greg.

"Honestly, Greg, it's obvious where you will find the other conspirators," Sherlock told them as he reached them.

"It is?" asked Greg.

"The Royal Garden Hotel and The Grange Tower Bridge Hotel," Sherlock told them.

"And how exactly did you figure that one out?" asked John.

Sherlock frowned at them like they were idiots. "The tapes."

The others all stared at him with blank faces.

Sherlock's frown deepened into a confused one. "Didn't you get my note?"

"What note?" asked Greg.

Sherlock looked at John. "You said you got my note."

"Yeah, all it said was 'Bomb set for Friday,'" John told him.

"What?" asked Sherlock. "I wrote everything on there."

"Sherlock, you suffered a head injury and fell into a coma," said John. "I'm pretty sure you passed out before you could finish."

"Oh," said Sherlock, giving a slight shrug.

Greg shook his head before pulling out his mobile to call his office.

"So, back to England, then," said Molly as she and Sherlock settled into their seats on the private plane.

"Mm, yes," said Sherlock, perusing his phone for a moment before stowing it inside his coat.

"Got any new cases yet?" asked Molly.

Sherlock turned his upper body towards her a little more. "Not yet. But it shouldn't be long. I've been wildly popular lately."

"I've noticed," Molly told him. "I just hope you're not too popular. We don't need another attempt on your life."

"Well, now I have you," Sherlock told her. "Maybe you can save my life a fourth time."

Molly frowned in confusion, counting the number of times she had been there to help him. "Fourth? Don't you mean third?"

Sherlock frowned at her. "You didn't see that memory?"

Molly shook her head at him.

Sherlock brightened slightly in realization. "You must have arrived after I'd viewed it already. The first time you saved my life was when you helped fake my death. The third was when you traipsed into my mind to pull me out of a coma. The second…was when I was shot."

Molly's frown deepened, but it now showed a hint of concern for him. "But I didn't save your life that night, Sherlock. I wasn't even there."

Sherlock's brows rose. "Oh, but you were." At her confused look, he explained. "When I was shot, I delved into my mind palace, looking for something or someone to help me survive. Do you know the first person I saw?"

Molly shook her head once again.

"You," said Sherlock. "You were right there with me the whole time, reminding me of ways to prolong my death until we had arrived at the hospital. You saved me."

Molly had tears in her eyes by the time he had finished.

"It's probably also very telling that, in the moment I believed I was going to die…you were the first person I thought of," Sherlock told her, staring intensely into her eyes. "I have heard mentioned several times that what you see before you die are the things you will miss most." He then looked down and reached for her hand, clasping onto it. "I know that there isn't much of a future or a life that I could offer you, but…"

Molly's jaw dropped slightly in surprise. He's not…is he?

As much as Molly loved Sherlock and the thought of spending the rest of her life with him, she knew that they were not ready for such a big step; Sherlock was not ready for such a big step.

Sherlock looked up at her. "Molly Hooper, would you be my girlfriend?"

Molly let out a relieved breath, laughing a little. "I thought we were already…you know, boyfriend, girlfriend."

Sherlock nodded once. "Technically, yes, but, uh…I…"

Molly smiled at him. "Wanted to make it official?"

Sherlock smiled and gazed at her in admiration. "How is it that you know me so well, Molly?"

Molly smiled as she leaned towards him. "Years of practice." She placed a kiss on his lips.

Sherlock wrapped an arm around her as he continued kissing her. Their touching (no pun intended) snog was interrupted when someone thumped their hand on the headrest of Molly's seat.

"So…" said John.

Sherlock and Molly pulled back, Sherlock with a bracing grit of his teeth, to watch John sitting in the seats across from them.

"The case is solved, then," continued John.

"Yes, John," said Sherlock. "Is that all you interrupted us for? We already knew that."

Molly gave Sherlock a light shove in the ribs with her elbow. "Behave."

Sherlock looked down at her before smiling slightly and looking back at John. "Do go on."

John looked over at Molly. "Wow, you're even better at that than me."

"Molly had to be better than you at something," Sherlock told him.

"Just one thing, huh?" said Molly, smiling up at him.

"Well…" Sherlock smiled down at her, "maybe more than one." He leaned his head down and kissed her.

"So, when are you two going to be out of this honeymoon phase?" asked John.

Sherlock looked at him. "Sorry, John. Have to make up for lost time." He took a deep breath. "So…what are you titling this one?"

"Mm…I was thinking 'The Detective, the Bomb and the Coma,'" John told them.

Sherlock winced at that. "Oh, dull."

"I like it," said Molly, shrugging.

Sherlock looked at her, struggling with himself for a moment before closing his eyes in surrender and then looking at John with a vague shrug. "You've had worse."

John smiled, looking between the two of them. "I think I like this new Sherlock. He's thoughtful."

"Might as well get used to it," Sherlock muttered. He looked down at Molly, smiling at her. "I have a feeling he'll be around for a while."

John looked at Molly. "Promise me you will never break up with him."

Molly was still smiling at Sherlock. "Don't plan to." She leaned forward as Sherlock did as well.

John stared at the kissing couple for a moment, smiling, before lightly slapping the armrests of his seat. He pulled himself to his feet and headed towards the back of the cabin where Greg sat.

"The lovebirds still at it?" asked Greg with a smirk.

John smiled as he sat across from the inspector. "Yeah. Never seen him like this."

"Well, can you blame him?" said Greg. "The guy has pushed away anything close to emotions for practically his entire life."

"Guess he likes sentiment better than he thought he would," said John, chuckling a little.

"Yeah, who knew," laughed Greg.

John glanced back at where Sherlock and Molly were wrapped in each other's arms, speaking quietly and occasionally kissing. "Glad he finally got it."

"Got what?" asked Greg.

John looked back at him. "I've been waiting for something to happen between those two for four years."

Greg's brows rose. "Four years? You knew that long ago?"

"Of course," John told him. He gave the inspector a smirk. "It was obvious."

Greg smiled at the familiar statement. "Obvious, huh?"

John shrugged. "Why else would he have kept shooting down all of Molly's boyfriends?"

Greg stared at him for a moment, thinking back, before smiling at John and looking back at Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled away from Molly and leaned back in his seat. Molly turned to rest her back against his chest, lacing her fingers through those of the arm he still had wrapped around her. Sherlock planted a kiss to the top of her head, resting his cheek against it.

Soon, Molly was dosing off, her head resting perfectly against his collarbone. Sherlock wrapped his arm tighter around her, holding her as close as he could. He was so glad to finally have her with him. He never thought he would enjoy domesticity this much; after all, look what Mary had done to John.

But with Molly…Molly understood him. She knew how to pacify him, how to put up with him, when he needed a case to occupy his mind, when he needed a moment (or a few hours) to sort things out in his mind palace. She was the perfect complement to him; the light to his dark, the yin to his yang, the heart to his mind.

The only reason he had put it off all these years was because he was afraid he would only end up hurting her.

Sherlock glanced down at Molly, placing yet another kiss to her forehead, vowing that he would never ever let that happen.

THE END