Okay... so here's my Christmas story. Not gonna lie, I've been in a slump. Thankfully darnedchild and MizJoely are amazing friends and both told me to go for it when I sent the first half of this story to them. It's pure fluffy (slightly cracky) holiday fun. Miz beta'd it, but the mistakes belong to me.

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

...My True Love Gave To Me...

.

One Pissed off Pathologist

"Molly Hooper!" Sherlock said as he swaggered through the path lab doors. "Don't you look fetching today?"

"Sod off Sherlock!" she replied without looking up from the microscope.

Sherlock froze. What? "Molly...?" he started.

"No, I don't look fetching today." She looked up. "I fell on my way to work, covering myself in sludge, so I had to change into my only extra set of clothes. Then I got a bit of Mr. Fitzmorgan on this outfit first thing. I'll just have to live with that until I get home. Then I spilled coffee on my hand, burning the shit out of myself. I need a haircut, a day off and a good shag. I know for a fact that I do not look fetching, so whatever it is you want today is not the day ask for it!"

I can help with at least one of those things, Sherlock thought, but decided to cut his losses. "My apologies Molly. Hope your day gets better."

"It can't get much worse," she mumbled as he made a hasty retreat.

(two days later) Two Dating Doctors

Sherlock found a much more cheerful Molly on his next trip to St. Barts. Which was good because he was on a mission.

"Hi, Sherlock. Hey, sorry about the other day. Not one of my finer moments," Molly said as she closed the autoclave.

"Think nothing of it, Molly. You've been on the receiving end of my bad moods many times." He looked her over then added, "You got your hair cut."

She smiled. "Yes, just trimmed a bit. I have a date, want to look nice." She brightened even more and turned to go to the supply closet.

Sherlock ground his teeth. Damnit. "Do I know him?" he asked, trying not to sound murderous.

"I doubt it. Dr. Tim Matthews, a podiatrist," she said carrying a box of gloves as she paused. "I hope he doesn't have a foot thing... I'm very ticklish." She shrugged.

Sherlock shuddered. "Well it was nice seeing you, Molly. Glad you're having a better day."

"Didn't you need something?"

"Um, I've forgotten an important... appointment." He was pulling his phone out of his pocket before the door had fully closed.

The British government answered by the second ring. "Really, Sherlock, some of us have actual jobs."

"I can hear you chewing, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft cleared his throat.

"How could we away a podiatrist very quickly?" Sherlock asked.

"Get off on the wrong foot, did you?" Mycroft came back.

Sherlock stopped walking. "Oh my God... that- that was the worst joke I've ever heard. I-I can't believe... you..."

"Okay, Sherlock."

"No, you don't get to say that and... Oh that was horrible." Sherlock laughed. "Mycroft! That was awful."

"Yes, yes fine. They can't all be gems. Now um... what about this podiatrist?"

Sherlock had finally stopped laughing enough to talk about his problem. "Yes, ah Dr. Tim Matthews. He needs to go away."

"Why?"

"He just needs to, isn't that enough?"

"Oh, this is to do with Dr. Hooper. Okay, fine never mention my verbal faux pas again and Dr. Matthews will find himself with an offer he would be an imbecile to turn down. Understand?"

"Yes. But don't tell Mummy."

"Not part of the deal, Sherlock. Anyway, I sent her a text while we were talking."

"Mycroft!"

(the next day) Three Fresh Eyeballs

Sherlock wanted to make sure the 'foot fetishist' had indeed been dealt with so he stopped by to check on his favorite pathologist. He found her in the morgue. She seemed to be taking her frustration out on the rib cage of a sixty-eight year old male. Smoker, lorry driver, father of three. Died of... auto erotic asphyxiation... don't see that every day. Hmmm.

"This wasn't a murder," Molly said as she put the bone saw down and removed her protective head gear. "His wife found him, he was trying something out... apparently. Greg doesn't think it's suspicious. I'm just double checking everything."

"Lestrade's right. He did this to himself, not murder... just very stupid."

Molly smiled. "What's going on today?"

Today he came prepared. "Wondering if you had a spare eyeball or two?"

"Ahh, I believe I can help you out." She motioned for him to follow her to the cold storage. "Slow week?"

He made a non-committal noise.

"It must be, you've been here several times. Big plans for the eyes?"

She wasn't mentioning the date, he had to find a way to ask. "Experiment. You could come over and help. Oh, that's right you have that date. When is that?"

Molly looked down at her sensible shoes. "He, ah, canceled. Weirdest blow off I've ever had."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he said he got a job in Yemen. Who goes to Yemen? Anyway, guess he had to leave right away. So I'm free if you need me."

Sherlock had a momentary rush of guilt but it passed rather quickly. "Tomorrow, after work?"

"Sure, okay." She nodded.

"Good. And Molly, any man that would give you up for Yemen isn't worth your time," he said, then he kissed her cheek and grabbed his eyes and left.

When he got home he realised she had given him three eyes... he couldn't help but smile.

(the next day) Three Calling Watsons (sorry there's only three of them!)

Molly and Sherlock had been working on the 'experiment' for about an hour. Things were going quite nicely. They laughed and talked all the while recording the data that Sherlock really didn't need because he had already done this particular experiment before. He was almost ready to ask Molly the question he'd been trying to get to for almost a week now when he heard footsteps and voices on the stairs.

The Watsons...

"Hi ya!" Mary said coming through the door to the flat carrying Sherlock's goddaughter Rosie. "Oh look, Auntie Molly's here!"

Molly immediately washed her hands and grabbed Rosie from her mother's arms. "Don't worry, Sherlock's been handling all the chemicals. Isn't that right sweetie? Uncle Sherlock wouldn't let me touch anything important. No he wouldn't!" she directed to the infant in a silly voice.

"What are you two up to?" John asked.

"Eyeballs," Sherlock answered. Any other day he would have welcomed a visit from his goddaughter, but he was getting tired of getting of having to put this off. Since he had made up his mind he simply wanted to get it over with.

"Right, of course. Just watch what you drink, Molls," John said with a wink. "So did you tell her about our party?"

Sherlock looked at his friend like he wanted him dead. "I was getting to it," he said through clenched teeth.

John cocked his head trying to figure out what he'd done wrong. "O-kay... umm..."

Mary intervened. "Party our house the twenty-fourth. You have to come," she directed to the young woman who was only paying attention to the baby in her arms. "There'll be food, wine, merriment. You can bring a date!"

Molly looked up. "Oh I, ah, was planning a quiet Christmas this year. And I may have to work anyway, but thanks for the invite."

"Molly, you always work on Christmas and Christmas Eve. You have seniority, surely you can request the days off," Sherlock interjected.

"I know, but I don't have kids or a family so I really don't mind. It's just easier for me to work. But I'll let you know." Turning her attention back to John and Mary, she added, "I really should be going." She carefully handed Rosie to John and started gathering her things.

Mary gave Sherlock a look. A Mary look.

"I'll see you out," he said as she was leaving after hugging the Watsons and kissing her goddaughter.

When they got to the front door Sherlock helped her with her coat. "Molly, I was going to order dinner, to thank you for helping me."

"Oh, you don't have to do that Sherlock. I help because I enjoy it. And also, it's not like I have anything better to do. My social calendar is hardly full at the moment. What are friends for besides helping one another dissolve eyes in acid?" She laughed.

He didn't.

"Sorry." She cleared her throat. "See you later." As she turned to go he stopped her.

"Molly..."

"Yes?"

Okay, here it is... do it, ask her to go with you... this is one of those moments everyone's always talking about... just do it damnit... oh... shit... too much time has passed... now it's awkward... even awkward for you... it's getting weird... yep... you lost it!

"It's cold out there, you should button up," he said as he pointed to her coat.

"Oh..." She sounded a bit deflated. "Right." She buttoned her coat and left.

Wow... that was awful.

(shortly after midnight the night of the eyeballs) Five Golden Texts

Sherlock paced his flat. He was so angry with himself that he hadn't asked Molly to the Watson's party. He'd been trying for days but outside things kept getting in the way. Then when he finally had the opportunity, he blew it. The worst part was how sad Molly looked when she left. It was driving him crazy. He was racing through his mind palace when Molly's text alert pinged on his phone (yes, it's different than everyone else's).

Had fun with the eyeballs tonight, sorry I got weird there at the end. Christmas isn't easy for me-Mxx

Oh good... this is good, he thought. Oh shit... what do I say?

You weren't weird... no

Understandable the loss of your father and absence of any family... no

It's quite all right, but I do wish you'd consider coming to the party. I find these things terribly boring, much less so if you were there-SH

I'll think about it-Mxx

Goodnight Molly, sweet dreams-SH

You too Sherlock-Mxx

(five days later) Six Eggs A Scrambled

Sherlock caught a case that kept him and John out of London for almost a week. They got back at three in the morning on Thursday and Sherlock passed out. He didn't wake up until almost six pm when he heard someone else in the flat. It sounded like they were in the kitchen so he grabbed a walking cane, that was next to his bedroom door, and quietly crept down the hall. As he approached the kitchen he found Molly Hooper cleaning his dishes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, of course scarring Molly half out of her mind. She dropped the dish she had been washing into the sink, splashing water all over her tee-shirt and letting out a startled yelp.

"I didn't hear you get up. You move like a damn cat," she said, drying herself off with a hand towel as best as she could.

"I thought you were an intruder, Molly, certainly didn't want to announce myself."

"Mary sent me a text, said you and John got in very late and that Mrs. Hudson was visiting her sister. She asked me to come over and make sure you had something in to eat." She started gathering eggs out of the fridge.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know," he said as he propped the cane in the corner and leaned against the counter.

"I know that, Sherlock. Would you like me to leave?" she asked, turning to face him for the first time. That's when he noticed that her white tee-shirt was wet from her run in with the the soapy water. Very wet. He couldn't help but let his gaze linger a bit, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the pathologist. "What's wrong?"

"Hmm?" He tore his eyes off her soaked top. "Oh nothing," he said, deciding that if he pointed out her predicament she'd not only be embarrassed but would want to rectify it. "You were going to make eggs?" he asked, seeing a new carton on the counter.

"Yes, how do you want them?"

"Doesn't matter. Food's food," he responded, far too distracted to care about the preparation of eggs.

Molly set about cracking six eggs in a bowl and whisking them. She added a splash of milk and some salt and pepper. "Sherlock do you have any vanilla?" she asked.

"I believe so, what on Earth for?"

"The eggs."

"You put vanilla in eggs?" He walked over and rummaged through a cabinet until he found some vanilla.

Molly's shirt was almost dry by the time they'd started eating, much to Sherlock's dismay. "This is different," he observed.

"Do you like it?" He nodded. "It's how my dad always made them. I have no idea why he did it."

They finished eating and Molly cleaned up the dishes. When she was done she went to get her coat and hat.

"You're leaving?" Sherlock asked.

"It's late. Toby will be having a fit, I came straight here after work," she said as she put on her gloves.

"Right, well thanks for the eggs. And for washing up."

"No problem."

There was a moment of silence where awkwardness threatened, but he wouldn't allow it.

"Have you made a decision about the Watson's party?"

"Oh, um, Mike already scheduled Saunders, the new pathologist, to work both Christmas and Christmas Eve. He said I've worked too many consecutive holidays and needed to sit this one out, I think were his exact words. So I'm free, it seems," she said playing with the ends of her scarf that she had just wrapped herself up in.

"That's good. You know your flat is on my way. I could pick you up, we could go together... to the party... you and I. Together."

Molly cocked her head to the side, looking at Sherlock a bit confused.

"Do you want to go? With me, I mean?" he asked.

"Are you that desperate for conversation that you'd pick me up to make sure I'm there?" she asked with a giggle.

Sherlock sighed. "I guess I am."

"Okay, I'll go. And you can pick me up." She grabbed her bag. "Don't stay up all night, try to get some more rest," she said as she turned to leave.

Why is this so damn hard, he thought as he went to the window and watched her walk down the street.

(two days later) Seven Questions From John

As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, he needed help. That's how he found himself at the Watson's house at 8:45 on a Saturday morning. He had been very reluctant to confide in his best friends. He didn't think John would believe him after the Janine debacle and Mary... Mary would probably just drive him mad until he and Molly were walking down the aisle. It seemed he had no choice; he had finally asked her out and she didn't even realise it. Now what was he supposed to do? He had basically used up what little information he had on romantic relationships to get that far.

"You did what?" John asked, perplexed.

"John, this is not going to go well if you keep asking me to repeat myself. I tried to ask Molly to your Christmas party and she didn't understand that it was a date."

As predicted John Watson sat, mouth agape, and Mary with a wide smile.

"You want to date Molly Hooper? Like date, date? Not Janine date?" John asked.

"I managed that just fine. Would I be here asking for advice if I were trying to trick a mutual friend of ours? Of course date, date. Whatever the hell that means."

That's when Mary intervened. "Sherlock, love... of course you really want to date Molly. It's clear how you feel about her. You can't hide it from me." Both Sherlock and John looked at her like she had grown horns.

"You knew?" her husband asked.

"John dear... open your eyes. He's in love with her."

"I predicted this entire scene." Sherlock mumbled. "You, John not trusting my intentions and you, Mary taking this way too far... I'll be leaving. Good day." He started to get up.

Protests erupted from the Watsons, Mary grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him back to the chair. "Sorry, we want to help. What can we do?"

"Wait, you want to date Molly Hooper?" John asked again with a dumbfounded look on his face.

Sherlock ignored him."How do I fix this?"

Mary spoke up. "She doesn't think you're interested, Sherlock. She thinks that ship has sailed."

"I'm aware." He sighed. "Okay, how do I get that ship back?"

"Like a real date?" John asked once more.

"YES!" Sherlock and Mary both said at the same time.

(the next day) Eight Pretty Flowers

Sherlock, armed with Mary's advice and almost nothing from John, made his way back to Barts to talk to Molly. But this time he had props.

Molly was hunched over her desk looking a bit worse for wear when Sherlock tapped on her office door. "Oh, hi what's up?" she asked.

"I brought you these." He shoved a small bouquet of daisies out to Molly.

"Wow, thanks. What's the occasion? You know I can't give you an entire cadaver right?"

Sherlock smiled. "No, I just wanted to brighten you day." He looked at the disbelief in her eyes. "And your desk; for someone with such an affinity for color, your office is lacking, Molly."

"Well thank you, that was thoughtful," she said as she got up with the flowers. "Anything exciting going on today?"

Remember what Mary said... make this about her, he thought as he followed her into the Path Lab. She was looking for something to put the flowers in. "Nothing on at the moment, I just wanted to see you." He studied her closely.

Molly paused as she found a beaker just the right size for the bouquet, then turned, smiled at Sherlock, and filled it up with water. There was a very awkward silence hovering around them.

"The party," Sherlock said suddenly. "I'll pick you up at seven. Is that okay?"

"Oh, yes of course."

Sherlock started to leave, but Molly called out to him and he turned around.

"How did you know about the daisies, that they were my favourite?" She looked down at the flowers again. "Or was it just a lucky guess?"

Sherlock smiled. "You know I never make guesses, Dr. Hooper. See you soon." Then he winked and walked out the door.

(three days before the party) Nine Words of Wisdom

Mrs. Hudson showed up a few days before the party bearing tea, biscuits, and evidently, a wealth of knowledge. (Damn gossiping John Watson!)

Sherlock endured roughly forty minutes of 'Motherly advice' on the proper way to court a young lady. He listened, surprising even himself, as his landlady talked of opening car doors and pulling out chairs. She told him anecdotes from her youth, some sweet and innocent and some that he'd be deleting when he had the time to dedicate to bleaching his brain. She advised him to give compliments and have patience and not be afraid of what he was feeling. At the end of it all he was exhausted and somewhat disturbed. But at long last she stood up, walked over to him and squeezed his shoulder.

"She loves you, you know. Just love her back," she said with a knowing smile. Then she took her tea tray and left.

(the day before the party) Ten Different Shops

Sherlock's confidence regarding the party was at an all-time high. After the plethora of advice he'd received from Mary and Mrs. Hudson, he finally felt like he was on the right track. Everything would have been perfect if he'd not waited until the last minute to buy Molly's Christmas gift.

But really, how hard could it be?

His first stop was her favourite bookshop. Surely he'd find something meaningful and poignant in the romance section. But no, he found nothing that screamed 'Remember how much you once loved the tall hat guy? Well he's ready for you. Go snog him senseless!'. So he moved on to the medical section. Perhaps something about pathology or crime to emphasize how much he enjoyed spending time with her. Nothing! After nearly an hour he stormed out of the store.

As he left the bookshop he thought for a minute and then headed to a slightly sketchy part of town. After winding through a maze of back streets and alleys he found what he was looking for.

"Hey Boss," said a boy of about sixteen. "Whatcha need?"

"Robbie. I need a gift for my…" He paused realising that he was about to reveal something personal to a member of his homeless network. It wasn't that he didn't trust young Robbie, but it just didn't feel right. Besides, referring to Molly as his significant other seemed a bit presumptuous. "My cousin... M-Madonna."

"You have a cousin named Madonna?"

Sherlock nodded confidently (the key to a good lie is to tell it like you believe it).

"A Christmas present then? I can help you out with that. Step into my shop." He motioned for Sherlock to follow him. When they got to a large locked cabinet, Robbie opened it. "Ah, here we go. Does she like Cashmere? How about this one of a kind jumper."

"I didn't tell you her size."

"Dunnit matter. I have it in different sizes."

Sherlock took a deep breath to keep from snapping the young man's head off. "No. No clothing. I'm not buying her clothes from a skip."

"Don't get uppity. You came to me, remember?"

"It needs to be special, Robbie and preferably not bug ridden. Look," he pointed to the small spider crawling on the sleeve.

Robbie tossed the jumper back into the cabinet. "All right, ah… how about a watch?" He pulled out a box that said Tiffany & Co. on the top, however when he opened it Sherlock saw that there was nothing from the famous store inside. "That's not a Tiffany watch."

"Course it is."

"No, it's not. I'm not sure what metal it's made of but it seems to be corroding the fake leather of the case. Listen, don't you have something completely unique and utterly perfect that says, 'you mean everything to me'?"

"I'm a bit concerned about how close you are to your cousin," Robbie replied with a strange look on his face.

"Ahhh, never mind." Sherlock stormed off trying to remember why the thought that was a good idea.

Next he tried a clothing boutique but left after he'd wandered into the lingerie section and got completely distracted imagining Molly in various states of undress. After that he tried a music store and found nothing whatsoever. Then he wandered into a shoe store. He left the minute a tall blonde sales associate sidled up to him and started batting her eyelashes at him. Starting to feel the pressure, he tried a candle shop and a tech store (where he bought himself a personal spy drone). Then, in a panic driven act of utter desperation he walked into a hardware store and right back out again.

He was failing. He was going to fail! A spa day! he thought. Every woman likes to be pampered, right? Pulling out his mobile he quickly located the nearest salon. It was within walking distance and he used the ten minute walk to convince himself that he'd finally found the right gift. When he got there, however, he started having second thoughts. What if she took it the wrong way? What if she thought he was implying that she needed a new look? (Which, she certainly did not!) He had just asked the sales girl for their spa packages and presumably she'd been explaining them to him, but he'd zoned out, not hearing a word of it. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Sherlock?" a voice said from behind him.

He turned around to find Mycroft's assistant looking at him with a fair amount of pity.

"Not a spa day. No." She thanked the lady at the counter and motioned for Sherlock to follow her. Once on the pavement Anthea turned and graced him with a smug smile. "Are you ready to admit defeat?"

His instinct was to laugh, offer her a glib comeback and walk away. But when he opened his mouth nothing came out. After several minutes of internal debate he finally said, "Yes. Help me." The desperation in his voice made him a little ill.

She shook her head. "You Holmes men are utterly useless when it comes to women, did you know that?"

"Apparently."

She walked over to a waiting car and opened the door. "Get in. This won't take long."

Good Lord was she wrong…

(twenty-three minutes later) Eleven Shiny Things

They all sat there, mocking him. Each one beautiful, each one unique, each one absolutely wrong. Sherlock and Anthea had walked into the jewelry store and she'd preceded to pick out ten of what she called 'his best and probably only shot at convincing a woman as amazing as Molly Hooper to give his pathetic arse a shot'.

"Come on, Sherlock. One of has to be the right gift," Anthea said impatiently. "You've been staring at them for ages."

"No. None of them. They're just not right!"

"Give me strength," she mumbled. "You know I'm not even on the clock anymore. I'm just trying…"

"To help me because you are shagging my brother and you and he plan on telling Mummy on Christmas day and would like my support. Is that about right?"

She swallowed deeply and said, "Take your time."

With an indignant nod, Sherlock started making a slow circuit around the shop. He was on his second pass when he saw it. "Yes!" he shouted, then he turned to the shop owner. "I want this one!"

(it's party time) Twelve People Too Many

God help him! The Watson's small house was filled to bursting and he'd not had a single moment alone with Molly since they'd arrived. The cab ride over had been pleasant enough, and now he was kicking himself for not giving her his gift then, instead of waiting. What was he waiting for?! He took a deep breath and looked around the room.

Greg and his ex-wife (turned new wife) were chatting (and flirting?) in the corner, while Mrs. Hudson and her newest beau were sat in a chair (singular), her on his lap (was that even safe for a woman her age?), whispering and giggling with each other. Someone's going to end up with a broken hip. John's sister Harry and her girlfriend were talking with Mary and fussing with Rosie whilst John, Mike Stamford and his wife (Hilda? Hilary? Helena?) kept Molly's attention as if they were discussing the meaning of life, or something equally boring. Anderson even seemed to be having a good time, chatting with some unsuspecting young woman, presumably his date (poor girl).

Stupid party! This was an awful idea, he thought as he nursed his cheap white wine. Why did he think that this was the way to tell Molly how he felt? Because you're an idiot, that's why. He had no idea how long he spent in the corner arguing with himself in his own mind, but he was suddenly brought out of his musings by a poke to his ribs. It was Harry Watson.

"So, I hear you've got the hots for Miss Hooper," she said, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

"You're brother has a big mouth."

"Yeah, I know. He outed me to our parents before I had a chance to do it myself." She took a drink of her soda.

Sherlock, suddenly interested, gave her a surprised look.

"Oh, he didn't mean to. He just blurted it out at a family dinner." Looking over at the man in question she said, "He's actually gotten better, believe it or not."

"That's scary."

"Hmm." She turned back to him. "So, what's the plan?"

"There's no plan."

"You seem a bit lost over here, Sherlock. I think a plan is definitely in order," she said before wandering off.

"I don't need a plan," he mumbled to himself then looked over to see Molly happily playing with Rosemund and looking like she could spit rainbows. Damnit!

Just then Mike walked up. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked, a little surprised at the older man, Molly's boss, for goodness sake!

"I miss it, if I'm honest. I love 'em at that age."

"Are you aware that your wife is less than fifteen feet away?" Sherlock demanded.

"What?" Mike looked over at Hyacinth (maybe?) and then back to the detective. "Ah, yeah, of course. We were just talking about how much we miss ours being little. The nappies aren't fun, and neither are the midnight feedings, but getting to watch…"

Sherlock interrupted, "Oh, you're talking about the baby. Yes, she's wonderful," he added in a bored tone.

"Who did you think… Right, you're all worked up about talking to Molly tonight. Sorry, I forgot. So has she figured out that this is a date yet?"

"John told you, too?"

"No, no. I knew something was up when I heard about Dr. Matthews getting a job in Yemen. Who moves to Yemen without governmental intervention?" He laughed. "So I phoned Mycroft and he told me that you were attempting to get Molly to come with you to the party. He's been keeping me updated on your progress."

"Bloody hell! My own bro… you know what, never mind that."

"Want some advice, Sherlock?" Mike asked, turning to face the detective.

Sherlock waved his hand. "Go ahead, everyone else has told me what to do, you might as well join the fun."

"Molly has always cared for you. I don't think she ever really stopped. Just be honest and everything will be fine." He stepped closer. "But understand this: that woman is like a daughter to me, and if you hurt her there will be repercussions."

It had never occurred to Sherlock that Mike Stamford could actually be… fierce. He swallowed hard and said, "I have no intention of causing Molly pain, Mike. I… promise."

The older man smiled and patted Sherlock's shoulder. "Well, good luck then."

Once again alone, Sherlock made a decision. Do something, even if it's wrong! his favourite uncle had always said. He'd thought that was one of the stupidest statements he'd ever heard until this very moment.

He sat down his drink as he scanned the room. Molly was nowhere in sight. He started for the kitchen when he was intercepted by Grant.

"Listen, Sherlock…" Lestrade started.

The detective held up his hand, halting the DI. "I don't need anymore advice. And if you were going to warn me to be good to Molly, Mike beat you to it."

"Ah, I was going to ask you about the cold case I gave you the other day. The Thompson murder? But actually this is far more interesting."

Sherlock tried to move past him, but Lestrade grabbed his arm. "I don't have time for this…"

"Calm down, you big drama queen. I know where she went, and if you're nice..."

"Don't screw with me, Lestrade."

"All right, all right. She's putting Rosie to bed. Alone," he said with a wink. Sherlock stared at him for several seconds. "What are you waiting for? Go get your girl."

The song's over, but the story's not!

He found her shutting Rosie's door and tip-toeing out into the hallway.

"Molly!" he called out. "I need to talk to you."

"Shhhh." She put a finger to her lips. "Our goddaughter is sleeping." Motioning him to follow, she went into the John and Mary's bedroom across the hall.

Once inside, she turned and said, "All right, what's up?"

As he opened his mouth to speak it occurred to him that she might have heard, just like everyone else, that he'd planned on… Oh, damn. Harry was right. I need a plan…

He must have been silent for longer than he thought, because he felt Molly touch his arm as she said, "Sherlock? Are you okay? You sorta zoned out on me."

Although he heard her, he was still thinking of what to say. Everyone's advice came rushing back in a jumble of words and phrases. He put his hands on the side of his head and growled, "Shut up, shut up!"

"Oh, ah..."

When Sherlock saw the stricken look on her face he said, "NO! Not you!"

She looked around the room.

He sighed. "Will you sit down for moment? I'm just working something out." She nodded and he led her to the edge of the bed. "Oh, and here…" He reached into his pocket pulling out her gift. "This is for you."

After a several minutes of pacing and thinking he was finally ready to speak. "I...don't want to be alone anymore," he said, then he paused and looked Molly in the eyes. "I want what they have." He motioned to the door. "I want secret looks and flirting and a future and...and waking up next to someone. I want someone to talk to whenever I want or...need. I don't want to have to make up excuses to talk to them. I don't want to have to borrow organs just to see their face. I want touching and holding and kissing. I want...more."

The stunned look on Molly's face was as frightening as it was amusing.

"It's you, Molly. I what all that with you. And since it's Christmas, I… I just thought it might be time to explain myself and stop being complete…"

"Yes!"

Molly launched herself into his arms and he held her tight.

"Yes, Sherlock. Of course, yes. I didn't think…"

"I know. I'm not good at this sort of thing." He pulled back so he could see her beautiful face.

"Well, you're good at hiding it!"

"Not as good as you think," he replied.

She giggled. "I love my necklace, by the way."

He looked down and saw that she was wearing his gift. "When did you open it?"

"While you were pacing. Um, how'd you know?"

"About your love of lapis lazuli?" He gave her a warning look. "Must you even ask?" Then he cupped her face gently. "Happy Christmas, Molly Hooper."

Se beamed up at him. "Happy Christmas, Sherlock."

"You know I'm going to kiss you now."

She nodded and giggled just before he brought his lips to hers. He kissed each corner of her mouth then pulled back. "I've always hated Christmas."

"Hopefully this will change your opinion of the day," she replied with a broad smile.

"I imagine it will." He once again lowered his head. This time Molly had her hands in his hair, holding him close. He kissed her softly, chastely, until she opened her mouth and he felt her tongue dart out and flick at his lips. Deepening the kiss, Sherlock slipped his hands over her shoulders, down her back to cup her bottom. He picked her up and Molly immediately wrapped her legs around his narrow hips.

That's the moment John Watson came charging into the room. "Bloody hell!" he gasped.

Sherlock removed his lips from Molly's with more than a bit of reluctance. "What John? What could you possibly need at this exact moment?" He guided Molly back to the floor.

"Ah… we're opening presents. If- if you want to come down," he said, his face having turned a brilliant shade of red.

Sherlock started to speak but Molly interrupted. "Sorry John. We're leaving. We'll pick up our gifts later." She took Sherlock's hand and started for the door.

"I think you'll want to move, John." Sherlock said, enjoying this very assertive side of his pathologist. "Thank everyone for me," he added.

"For what?" John asked.

"Well, for Molly, of course."

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and have a safe and happy new year (looking forward to 2017!) Thanks so much for reading. All the hugs and kisses ~Lil~