They spend a little more time at his office at Baker Street, where they first lived together and loved together. Sherlock never says it, but he shows her that he loves her in his own special way, and Molly feels that that's how it's always been. Forever taking care of each other and what the other one needs.

They stay for a month, and then Sherlock heads off for a case, so Molly returns back to the little flat. With all their books and clothes, their pictures and memories that she hasn't quite gotten back yet. Released from the cat carrier, Toby rushed back into the flat with a less than elegant trot as he slid on a hall rug and scrambled for purchase.

Her laughter faded in the echoing rooms as she removed her coat and hung it on the hooks, smoothing the fabric down, unsure of what to do next. Her footsteps sound like thunder to her ears as she treads down the little entryway and into the living room. She can see where Sherlock's little touches are and where she's added things too. The skull on the mantel with flowers in it's eye sockets makes her giggle, and she wonders how long he whined and complained about that until he let it go. The glass frame housing pinned bees and their classifications underneath them in Sherlock's handwriting, she wonders if that's maybe something they'd done together.

Her eyes misted over at the sight of them dancing together at what looks like their wedding. I like to dance, always have. You don't get to use it much as a detective. It echoed faintly in her mind, like the static grain leaking over the airwaves of her thoughts. She almost feels his hands on her hip as they swayed to the music, and she holds the picture to her chest.

"Oh Toby, this is so much hard than they told me it was going to be." Molly moaned, flopping backwards on to the couch. Toby barely paused from licking his paw to give a curious look to his owner. "What am I supposed to do?" The cat only gave a small meow in response before stretching out and going to sleep. "Sleep it is, I suppose."

She wouldn't say that the sleep she was getting was exactly restful, but the hurrid clicking of her front door lock jerked her awake. She grabbed the nearest item as she got out of the bed and was ready to swing when Sherlock tumbled through the door.

"Sherlock? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Her hands immediately went searching for bullet wounds or stabs to fix, but his large hands swept her forward and crushed her into his chest.

"You." His voice held the slightest tremor has he rested his head on top of hers and inhaled deeply. "You weren't at Baker Street. I thought-" He didn't finish but held her tighter, if that was possible. Molly listened to his heart hammering in his chest and circle her arms around him.

"I'm here, I'm here."

"When Donovan fou- foun-" He cleared his throat and goes to try again. But she stops him.

"Sherlock, you don't have to say anything. It's okay."

"No, no it isn't. When Donovan found you, when they didn't contact me, everything that was set in place to protect you fell apart. I fell apart. They wouldn't let me see you, wouldn't let me through…" He paused, drew in another breath. "Donovan should have never had a reason to find you. You would have been safe if I hadn't-"

"No, no. Stop it right there, I chose you. I know that I did. I don't know much anymore, I don't know if I'll ever remember everything, but I know that I chose you. And I don't think I'll ever regret that."

They stay up the rest of the night, until the hazy skies of London bleed from blue into the rosy hues of the morning.

"I want to know." Molly whispered into his neck, curled into him on the sofa. "I want to know all the things you know about me." Her small nose brushed under his Adam's apple and she placed a small kiss on his jaw before nestling back into his warmth.

Instantly the doors of his Mind Palace burst open and flood down the stairs with memories of Molly, and he sifted through them, trying to figure out where to start. Where to begin?

"We met on the 29th of August in 2007, you had just started at St. Bart's and the youngest pathologist to ever complete and pass the entry exam. Your work is fantastic, always has been. You've published more than previous works at Bart's. That's why you have the best lab equipment."

"So that's why you like my lab." She poked his side a little with a grin and a chuckle that he returns.

"It was much more convenient than I first presumed."

"Well, what else? What about the small things?"

The small things? What did she consider small exactly? Sentiment.

"You like to buy nail polish, even though you never wear it. You like haircuts. You dislike the smell of roses from the flower shop."

"You remember all of that?" She looked startled, gazing up at him with clouded chocolate eyes. "You're not just making that up?"

"Of course I'm not, my Mind Palace stores a great amount of information."

"But you haven't -what did you say? Deleted some of that? Any of it?"

Sherlock slowly shook his head, as if it's a realization to himself.
"No, I've never deleted our time together. It comforts me, Molly. You comfort me."

Small tears fell from her eyes as she took his face in her trembling hands. "Okay." She whispered, kissing his cheek softly as he held her close. His eyes fluttered close as she gently kissed both of his eyelids and then the top of his head. Her thumb grazed over his bottom lip and he kissed it softly. "Okay."

"Sherlock Holmes, I love you."