AN: THIS IS IT! It's been a blast, I love y'all! Just to clarify: there IS a minor spoiler for 3x01. Just so you know. Read at your own risk. ((Just to let y'all know, when I saw that scene by immediate first thought was Hmm… YES PERFECT.))

The "deer thing" explained -it comes from my deep love for this poem called "Whoso List to Hunt" by Sir Thomas Wyatt (which may have been written about Anne Boleyn). I read it in my Brit Lit class and it stuck with me, so I put it in and used it for the epilogue's title. :)

I hope you all like it and enjoy!

EPILOGUE

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

noli me tangere - touch me not

ONE YEAR LATER –set during 3x01

This whole experience has been eye opening –enlightening, even –but she wondered what prompted it. Why now, and why her? "Sherlock?" she asked hesitantly.

"Hmm?" He turned to look at her.

She clasped her hands. "What was today about?"

"Saying thank you," he said, like it was obvious.

She's confused. "For what?"

"Everything you did for me," he said quietly.

She colored up a little, never comfortable receiving thanks or praise. "It's okay. It was my pleasure." She moved past him to the door.

"No, I mean it," Sherlock said, and she turned back around.

"I don't mean 'pleasure'," Molly corrected herself, tucking hair behind her ear. "I mean, I didn't mind. I wanted to."

Sherlock stepped closer to her and spoke quietly, but she could see the seriousness in his eyes. "Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible."

She swallowed, biting her lip. His gratitude was genuine, and she has never been sorry she helped him… but now…

He saw the shift of emotion run over her face, and did what he's good at –deduces. "But you can't do this again, can you?" he asked.

She grinned at him, happy and sad all at once. "I had a lovely day. I'd love to – I just ... um ..." She looked down at her hand, where a small, tasteful diamond rested. Her heart belongs to another officially now, and she can't add another dynamic to their relationship. She knows herself too well for that.

"Oh, congratulations, by the way," Sherlock said, following her eyes to her ring.

"He's not from work, I promise," Molly assured him, and was gifted with one of Sherlock's rare, genuine smiles reserved for very close friends only.

"We met by running into each other, the old-fashioned way. He's nice. We ... he's got a cat ... we –we go to the pub on weekends and he ... he's met my mum and sister and Kath and I've met his family, and I've no idea why I'm telling you this." She closed her mouth before she babbled more and said something she would regret.

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said. "You deserve it." She smiled gratefully, thankful he understood. He added, "After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths."

She let out a breathy laugh. "No?"

He shook his head. "No." He smiled and then leaned in, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath, letting all the dreams from three years ago die a peaceful, easy death. She felt him step past her, and she let him go, waiting until he walked out the door until she opened her eyes.

She stepped out into the cold and looked up at the sky, then at Sherlock's retreating back. Molly smiled wryly. "Maybe it's just my type."

Later, as she walked up the steps to her flat and unlocked the front door, she heard Kath exclaim, "No, no, that's salt! Don't put that in there!"

"Sorry," he apologized. "There aren't labels on these containers, you know."

"That's because it's common sense," Kath said; in the tone that implied don't you know anything? "The biggest container is flour, the next is sugar, and then there's salt."

"So I should add from the big one."

"Yes," Kath said. "Two cups."

Toby wound himself around Molly's ankles in welcome. She hung up her coat and picked him up, wanting a good cuddle. "What smells so good?" she asked, walking into the kitchen with cat in tow.

"Dinner's in the oven," Kath said. "And now we're making cake. Trying to, anyway." She shot Jim a look.

He shrugged, guilty. "Baking's not my strong suit," he admitted freely.

Smiling, Molly walked forward and handed him the cat. "I'll take over from here."

"All right," he agreed, stealing a kiss from her.

Molly smiled against his mouth, and as he walked into the living room with Toby over his shoulder, her smile stayed firmly in place.

She could say with certainty that yes, it was, in fact, 'her type.'