Molly's heart raced and she felt that desperate little thing called hope start to claw its way free of the box she banished it to long ago.

"What was the point of the third trial?" she asked.

His mouth quirked up, "Like I said, clever." He sat back in his chair, hands going back to the armrest. "She wanted to show me the destructive power of sentiment, remind me of why I rejected it in the first place. To save you, I would have to crush your dignity under my heel and do so with the knowledge that it could be my last interaction ever with you. Caring about you would not save your life, it would only hinder my ability to achieve the objective." He shifted in his chair, his gaze going to the fireplace while his fingers played with the edges of his armrests. "But when faced with your death, I was forced to confront some long held misconceptions about myself. Eurus was counting on that, that I would realize the truth and conclude that it had brought only the pain you and I found ourselves in."

"And the misconceptions?"

His head turned to look at her and he was quiet for a moment, his eyes seeming to flick over her hair and facial features.

"That romantic love is folly and that I did not want you."

She ran his words over and over in her head, certain she had misheard, certain she had misunderstood.

He sighed, a rare self deprecating smile on his face. "You're not the only one who has trouble saying things that are true."

The silence seemed to stretch out forever with Molly just staring at him wide eyed and Sherlock's face slowly morphed into one of alarm.

"Molly, I know I use to discourage you from speaking but I would really appreciate it now if you would say something."

She blinked, her face screwing up into a look of confusion, "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure?" he replied back, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Have you ever known me to flit about making declarations of love willy-nilly? Yes, I am sure."

"That you love me?"

"Yes."

"That you're in love with me?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

He frowned at her continued silence, "This wasn't really the reaction I expected."

Molly's shoulder's started to shake, a great peel of laughter escaping as her eyes watered. She was half convinced she had cerebral edema from altitude sickness and this was all the insane last gasps of her dying brain. Sherlock's frown just set deeper.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, its just a stress reaction," she said, swiping at her eyes as her laughter died down. He stood and quickly strode over to her, dropping down so that they were on eye level. She jumped, surprised at the sudden nearness of him.

"I cannot guarantee entering into a relationship with me would be traditional or pleasant and I understand if you have no desire to do so. " He paused, looking uncomfortable again. "My affection is not created lightly and your importance to me will not be diminished if you decline my offer. I would still wish to work with you and see you with Rosie and John. But I, for one, would like to try."

She let out a shaky breath, finding it difficult to hold his gaze. "Me too," she said just above a whisper. He smiled, relief washing over his features like sunlight on a newly crested horizon.

"Good," he said, "That's good."

He rose and shifted as if unsure of what to do next and despite the excitement of the moment, Molly found herself unable to suppress a yawn.

"I'm sorry, I have kept you up far too late. I should go and let you rest."

Molly looked out the window at the now heavily falling snow before she too stood.

"You can't go out in that. Wait here, there were extra blankets in the linen closet. You can kip on the sofa, it is pretty comfortable."

He raised an eyebrow as she stepped passed him toward the hall.

"The sofa?" he asked.

She stopped and half-turned, "It's probably best to start with you back on the sofa, Sherlock."

Her heart leapt at the almost-shy smile he returned, "Yes, you're probably right."

She opened the linen closet and internally cursed at the extra pillows that had been tucked on the highest shelf. She rolled up on her toes and braced her hand on the frame to reach, her pajama top sliding upward with her precarious stretch. A warm hand suddenly rested at the curve of her waist over her bare skin, as potent as electricity, and she felt the warmth of his presence at her back as he reached over her, easily pulling down the desired items. She turned and with such little space between them her lifted hands hovered over his chest, her fingertips brushing the crisp white of his shirt. He must have removed his jacket at some point as she traversed the hall. She stared forward, nervously waiting for him to step back, her eyes slowing tracking upward as he did not. She was rarely this close to him with the exception of a few times he had hogged her bed and she had woken with a heavy arm draped across her face. She often forgot how large of a man he was, his lithe movements and the proportion of his build suggesting that he was wiry. But this close, with one had sliding around her waist and the other resting somewhere behind her head, he was broad and practically surrounded her.

Her gazed passed over the hallow of his throat and Adam's apple before meeting his eyes. They were soft and kind but so dilated only the rim of the celestial blue green was visible. They shuttered closed as he leaned down, his lips pressing to hers with firm but gentle pressure. She vaguely realized her palms had splayed out over the hard lines of his chest and his hand under her shirt now pressed her to him but she was distracted by the molten heat traveling down her body. The hand at her back spasmed against her skin and she heard the soft 'whump' of a pillow hitting the floor before his fingers threaded into her hair to deepen the kiss. A far away corner of her mind congratulated herself on being absolutely fucking right about what kissing Sherlock Holmes would feel like. After a few more moments, he pulled away, his fingers sliding from her hair. She glanced down to see that her hands had fisted in his shirt, wrinkling the fabric.

"Oh sorry!" she exclaimed and tried to smooth them out. He reached up, covering her hands with his to still their movements, a small smile she'd almost describe as fond playing on his lips.

He leaned down again, this time pressing a kiss to her cheek

"Good night, Molly Hooper," he said, and after grabbing his pillow, returned down the hall to the sofa.

Molly took a few steadying breaths before walking as calmly she could manage to the bedroom. She quietly closed the door behind her before running to throw herself on the bed with glee.

Whomever this Eurus person was, for all her genius, had been wrong. Love might be painful, even terrible at times but nothing could rival its joy and beauty. And for that it would always be worth the wait.

Fin.