Special author's note: You may be confused about why this is listed as part one of my Realizations of Love Dreams series, when I have already published several of them. This is because I only had the idea to write this story recently, yet the dream occurs chronologically as the first one prompted as a result of Sherlock, from my Journey series, reading Molly's diary. These dreams are deliberately designed to work as stand-alone stories, in case you are not familiar with my wider, single Sherlolly premise universe. However, at times they do contain elements that have been revealed as my personal interpretation for Sherlock and Molly's history, most of which is found in my initial story A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage. The most important of these aspects which will always be consistent in these dream stories is that the Molly of my personal Sherlolly universe is a Christian, with the values that are taught in the Bible, making her a virgin (despite her statement to Sherlock about her and Tom in S3:02). My own head canon says that Sherlock, due to what he went through as a child, is also a virgin. If you like to see sexually liberated stories for them, rather than realistically written and emotionally charged ones that may or may not lead to them being intimate for the first time, my stories are definitely not going to be of interest.

In addition, my unique way of writing this particular series as dreams allows me to portray Sherlock and Molly in a softer light as their "real" counterparts are happily married. This also allows me to manipulate timelines and canon conversations because in the "real" post Sherrinford world, the series canon has already occurred and can be incorporated into the dream, so there is method to my madness.

So, you have been forewarned. If you wish to continue, proceed at your own risk. I am aware that my readership is already very limited because of the unusual premise of my stories and the fact that I will not compromise my writing to cater to the masses who merely read for entertainment and escape. It would be lovely to hear regularly from those of you who actually like the way I portray my characters. To the loyal few of you who have already shown your support for me in the past with your follows/favourites and reviews, thank you! I hope you will continue to do so, because it really does keep me going when I find myself questioning whether my efforts are actually of value here.

Update 4/4/19: New cover image by the talented Elizabeth Robello, thank you!

Sherlock glanced at the door as Molly entered, bundled up against the cold and holding two bags of gifts. Why had he allowed Mrs. Hudson to convince him to hold a little Christmas party? He didn't even like Christmas. He turned away to sit at his desk.

He glanced up again briefly when he heard John expostulate, "Holy Mary."

Bloody hell, Molly had on some slinky black number that showed off every curve. He swallowed and turned his attention away. He had never seen her dressed like that before, he'd never noticed her figure either, it was always covered by her lab coat or she wore shapeless, unfashionable clothes. Interestingly enough, he could almost picture what she'd look like underneath, because he was certain she had the same measurements as Irene Adler: 32-24-34.

He was a little irritated, because Molly was obviously dressed to impress someone. He remembered that conversation when he had invited her to come over, upon Mrs. Hudson's request. She had acted casual about the invitation, saying she didn't have any plans – yet. Apparently she had them now.

Even as Sherlock talked with John and listened to the buzz of conversation, his mind was churning. Sexy black dress with gold trim, matching bracelet. Elaborate gold earrings. Festive bow in her softly curled hair. More makeup than usual and bright red lipstick which matched her nail varnish and the little red package he had glimpsed at the top of the one gift bag. Sherlock couldn't say why, but he did not like it one bit that Molly was dropping in here, before heading out to see some new boyfriend or potential one she had apparently found.

He tried to not say anything, really he did, but in the end his pique about it all won out. He blurted out a handful of deductions, designed to embarrass her. That will teach her to come here dressed to the nines, just to show off her delicately proportioned little body, before heading off to wow some new paramour, he thought savagely, even as Molly looked satisfyingly horrified at his behaviour.

He finished his rude and completely untruthful statement about her trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts, and flipped the card over on the present as he said the last word. Then the maliciously teasing smile died on his lips as he saw the words:

Dearest Sherlock

Love Molly xxx

Oh, God. The gift was for him, not some phantom boyfriend. Guilt washed over him and a lump formed in his throat as Molly gave him a totally justified tongue lashing, in her quiet way.

Sherlock was not one to request forgiveness from anyone, but he knew he had crossed the line badly on this occasion. Shame washed over him as he said, "I am sorry. Forgive me."

She looked at him with those darkened eyelashes around deep coffee coloured orbs and for the first time he realised that Molly Hooper was a lot more attractive than he had ever noticed before. Also, her mouth was definitely not small, the curve of her lips was actually full and made for kissing.

Where did that thought come from? he asked himself, even as he gave her an embarrassed peck on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

He would have said something else, but he got a text alert from Irene and was distracted. Damn, I need to change that bloody text alert noise sometime, he thought, even as he went to the mantelpiece as instructed by the text and found a small wrapped present. Ironic that she had chosen wrapping paper that matched the shade of her own lipstick from the day she had boldly presented herself to him naked.

Sherlock excused himself and went to his bedroom. As he suspected, the present was her cameraphone, so apparently "The Woman" felt her life was in danger, fearing death. He called Mycroft then sat in his room for awhile.

But, despite John's obvious worry that he was harbouring some secret crush on the dominatrix, Sherlock wasn't thinking about her and her situation. He was thinking about Molly.

He thought about his words to her, what an absolute arse he had been. And he thought about his deductions that she was giving the gift to someone special, that she was dressed up for him. He had thought she had moved on from her apparent infatuation ages ago. But perhaps her feelings ran deeper than that?

One way or another, Sherlock knew he needed to speak with Molly. He decided to pull her aside and ask for a quiet word, and left his bedroom.

Unfortunately, when he re-entered the sitting room, it was to discover that Molly wasn't anywhere to be seen.

He looked around the room devoid of her presence and spoke to John, who was sitting next to his girlfriend, the boring teacher, Jeanette. "Where did Molly go?"

John cocked an eyebrow at him. "Did you really expect her to hang around after the way you behaved with her tonight? She went home almost as soon as you left the room - said she had a headache, not that I believed her for an instant."

Sherlock saw the censure in the teacher's face and felt embarrassed. Oh well, she wouldn't be around much longer anyway. John's girlfriends never lasted long. He predicted this relationship was already almost at an end - she obviously didn't like the fact that John spent a lot of time working on cases with Sherlock.

"Well, I think I'll be heading off now too," ventured Lestrade. "Getting up early tomorrow after all."

"Best call your wife first to make sure she knows you're on your way. You wouldn't want to find a nasty surprise when you get home," remarked Sherlock, glancing at his phone, rather than at the detective inspector. God, the man was such an idiot being shackled to a compulsive cheater like that woman. He needed to find someone loyal and devoted, like Molly - but not Molly herself, of course. Molly was much too intelligent for the likes of him.

John broke into his thoughts with a, "Can't you ever keep your comments to yourself, Sherlock?" and Sherlock looked at him, then to Lestrade whose lips were pressed together. Sherlock merely shrugged. He wasn't going to apologise to Gavin for something that was quite possibly true. Sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.

Lestrade, obviously realising Sherlock had no intention of apologising, rolled his eyes and departed.

Sherlock's eyes swept over the room to encompass John, his girlfriend and Mrs. Hudson. No need for any more festivities, he decided. "I'll be in my room."

He returned to his bedroom to await the inevitable call from Mycroft, which came through just over an hour later. A body that had been identified as Irene's was in the morgue at St. Bart's.

Mycroft picked him up so they could view the body and make sure it was really her.

When they headed into the mortuary, Sherlock was a little surprised to see Molly there. Her hair was still down, but brushed out, and the red nail varnish remained. However, she had removed that bright red lipstick, as well as the distractingly clingy black dress she had been wearing, in order to put on a festive Christmas jumper. He rather thought he preferred the dress and the way it hugged her curves, unlike the clothing she usually wore. Then he wondered what had brought on that errant thought, even as he told her she hadn't needed to come in.

Fortunately, Molly seemed her usual self, not giving any indication that she had a headache or resented him for his earlier behaviour.

After leaving the morgue, having identified the woman as best he could (the face was unrecognisable but the measurements seemed correct), Mycroft offered him a cigarette. Sherlock wasn't going to turn down the chance for a rare puff, even if Mycroft seemed to think his interest in Irene had been of a more personal than intellectual nature. His brother could think what he wanted.

Even as he returned to Baker Street by taxi, Sherlock thought again of Molly. He couldn't help making comparisons between the two women who shared the same measurements.

Irene flaunted her body, using it as a weapon in order toto entice and enthrall men (and women apparently). Molly dressed for comfort, not to impress anyone, with the notable exception being this evening.

Irene wore carefully applied makeup to enhance her beauty, once again, to seduce those with whom she came in contact. Molly's makeup was usually minimal. She didn't need makeup to be attractive, Sherlock thought, and again, found himself wondering why these types of thoughts were all of a sudden popping into his mind. Although he had to admit, that red lipstick had been rather inviting looking. Would kissing Molly's lips when they were reddened that way leave his own lips red?

Stop it, Sherlock, he told himself sternly. But his mind palace continued to make comparisons. Irene had that "woman of the world" hardened look. She used sex as a tool to have power over others. He didn't know about Molly, but he suspected that sex for her would need to involve love. She would never use it to get her own way, although she was not completely above the idea of using her own feminine assets to evoke a reaction in the man she had dressed for this evening - the man she was attracted to - Sherlock himself, apparently.

He sighed. No, the two women were nothing alike, and to be completely honest, if there were a choice to be made, it would be Molly every time.

But I am not interested in Molly as more than a friend, am I? he wondered, and couldn't seem to come up with a definitive answer.

Over the next few days Sherlock found himself composing a piece of violin music to distract himself from thoughts of Molly.

He drew the bow over the strings in a haunting melody that bespoke of a longing within himself, a longing for something he couldn't understand himself.

He was almost certain that John believed he was composing it to distract himself from thoughts of "The Woman". John was really good at missing the forest for the trees. Why would he be missing someone he barely knew, when there was someone he knew so much better, whom he had hurt, and who he now knew still harboured romantic feelings for him?

To be fair to John though, he supposed he could not fault his friend for the erroneous assumption as he was still actively trying to figure out the code to unlock Irene's cameraphone.

When Sherlock discovered on New Year's Eve that Irene had faked her death, he silently applauded her for her ingenuity, took care of a problem with an American who was also after the cameraphone and had temporarily held Mrs. Hudson hostage, then sent The Woman a single text, wishing her a happy new year.

Sherlock next saw Molly a couple days later, when he decided to use the lab to x-ray that cameraphone. He noticed immediately that her hair was styled slightly differently than usual, and it was in a rather attractive side braid. Her quite obvious attempt to discover whether he had a girlfriend was slightly amusing, especially considering she had to know he had no interest in romantic entanglement. Then he looked at her more closely, feeling a strange fluttering sensation in the vicinity of where his heart would be, if he had one.

His analysis of the phone complete - yes there were indeed tiny bombs set to detonate in the case of tampering, Sherlock drew a deep breath, swivelled in his seat and addressed Molly, who was still watching him.

"Why did you ask if the cameraphone belonged to my girlfriend?" He raised an inquiring brow at her.

Molly shifted uncomfortably and looked down. "You didn't give me a direct answer anyway. I was just curious."

His lips quirked. "I should have thought you know me better by now than to think that. I'm married to my work, after all."

She looked up then and stepped a little closer. Suddenly Sherlock caught a whiff of fragrance coming from her, a rather sweet combination of her usual strawberry scented shampoo and the flowery sent she obviously used on her skin. The effect was rather – intoxicating. His mind drifted back to the exotic, spicy scent he had detected on Irene when they had met. That perfume had been designed to tantalise the senses, overpower them. Molly just smells fresh, pleasingly so, he thought, through a suddenly dry mouth.

She twirled the end of her braid and gave him a rather shy smile, showing her lovely teeth through the pretty shade of lipstick she was wearing, and Sherlock's hands clenched beneath the lab table. Why was she affecting him this way now, after so long?

Molly's voice when she spoke was very soft. "Why do you suppose you fill your life with work rather than allow yourself to feel emotions the way most people do? I know you have a heart somewhere, or you wouldn't have apologised to me after those things you said."

Sherlock pressed his lips together. "Merely a conscience, not a heart."

Molly came even closer to him, and his non-existent heart began to suddenly thump in a far more rapid manner than he was accustomed to, unless he happened to be chasing down a criminal. "Do you want to know what I think about those deductions you made of me?"

His lips twisted. "Not really, but I suspect you are going to tell me anyway." He wished he were standing, rather than sitting. He didn't like it when he and Molly were eye to eye. She had this uncanny knack of being able to see him for the man he was, rather than the detective, and it was rather uncomfortable. He much preferred when he had that height advantage and could act superior.

"I think you were jealous, Sherlock. I think you don't want me with anyone else, because you want me for yourself." And with those words, she turned and exited the lab, leaving him still sitting there, his senses suddenly reeling.

He stared in the direction she had gone for a full five minutes before he slowly pocketed the cameraphone and left the lab himself.

Author's note: Well, there you have it. If you are a follower of my Diary story, you will know that this one is a dream Sherlock has after reading about that fateful Christmas party in Molly's diary. As a result, he ponders how things could have been for them earlier. So, unlike a regular AU, this dream is dictated by a very much in-love-with-his-new-wife Sherlock, so please bear with me if you think his sudden emotional connection to her is OOC. Perhaps it would have been in a regular AU, but not for the post TFP Sherlock who is in touch with his emotional side.

That being said, what do you think so far? When do you head canon that Sherlock started to have feelings for Molly? My head canon is that it was at this point, even if unacknowledged. I'd like to know what you, as the reader, think as well.