Two weeks later and Sherlock was still pacing around his flat, turning that night with Molly over in his head. What had happened to him? He had been so swept up in his want for her, he hadn't even put a condom on. Of course he was clean (Mycroft made him get tested after John had found him the last time he used drugs) and so was Molly (she dutifully gets a checkup once a year, and he always looks at her medical records two weeks later) and she has an IUD. But that wasn't the point. He had never felt such a longing before and instead of controlling it, he had given in. All in all he had gotten too casual with Molly on every level during this experiment, and had let his guard down. It had just been so ...nice spending time with her. Just sitting next to her on the couch had been pleasant and he found himself yearning for it more and more. But Molly's declaration had been like a splash of cold water to the face.

He was Sherlock Holmes.

He did not do relationships.

He was married to his work.

It was safer for everyone if he was alone.

And as far as Sherlock was concerned, that was that.

And yet...

And yet, this decision was not giving him the comfort and satisfaction as it usually did. In fact he was bloody miserable. He had avoided Bart's since that night and he desperately wanted to go to his mind palace but Molly had taken over every part of it. He had tried locking mind-palace Molly in her room, but apparently she had better locking picking skills than him, because every time he turned a corner there she was. Sometimes she was work-Molly, dressed in a horrid jumper, her eyes lighting up like they use to when he walked into Bart's. Sometimes she was wearing the lace teddy he had gotten for her, looking at him unmasked want. Mostly she appeared wearing the blouse and skirt he last saw her in, tears trickling down her face, looking at him like she knew it would end this way. Sherlock wasn't sure which version was worse, but they all made him feel like he was trying to breathe underwater, so not even his own mind was safe right now.

Just as Sherlock was starting his twentieth attempt to actually play something on his violin besides random notes, he heard the sound of angry footsteps pounding up the stairs.

Despite his short statue, John Watson always sounded like a drunken hippo when he was mad. Sherlock sighed and threw himself on the couch just as John flung the door open and then slammed it shut behind him.

John opened his mouth to let Sherlock have it, but before the words could start tumbling out, he noticed something. Sherlock Holmes looked like hell. John had never seen him looking so bad, not even after he had been shot.

Well shit, that changed everything, John thought.

Closing his mouth with a snap, John sank into his chair and scrubbed his hands across his face.

Bracing his forearms on his thighs, John finally addressed his genius, but idiotic friend.

"I admit I came here to read you the riot act," John said tiredly. "Mary went to surprise Molly and take her for a girl's day and found her drunk, listening to 'Almost Lover' on loop while she binned every romance novel in her flat."

Sherlock winced but said nothing, so John carried on.

"She wouldn't tell Mary why she was upset, but we're not stupid Sherlock, it obvious you called off whatever it was you two were doing, and now she's heartbroken you arse. But honestly I can see you're not in much better shape."

"You're wrong John," interrupted Sherlock. "I'm fine. I just got caught up in our experiment. Molly…Molly will be okay. She just needs a little time and she'll agree things are better this way."

John had to shut his eyes as he swallowed the urge to smack some sense into his friend. "You're fine huh? I don't think so. I heard you on that bloody violin Sherlock, I know what that means. You called this an experiment, so what did the data tell you? I saw you over the last couple of weeks you git. You were happy, you were less stressed out than usual AND you still managed to be as brilliant as you always brag you are. So what I don't understand is why you would give that all up."

"What if I said that being alone keeps her safe?" Asked Sherlock, his tone implying once again John was missing the obvious

"Then I would call bullshit. Maybe she could possibly be a target if you were together. Or maybe you leave her alone and a taxi swerves to avoid a biker, jumps the curb and makes Molly a red smear on the sidewalk while she's walking to Bart's. There are no guarantees in life Sherlock, all you're doing is shutting yourself, and her, out of a lifetime of happiness." Said John in his own "you're missing the facts" voice.

Sherlock had gone stark white when John had painted the picture of Molly dying under a cab's wheels but still he pressed on.

"You know that I feel that sentiment.."

"Caring is not an advantage, sentiment's on the losing side, blah, blah blah," said John cutting him off and pointing an angry finger at him. "You know what that is? The pathetic posturing of someone who's afraid of their own feelings. Everything in this world has pros and cons. As an adult you should know that. Does being in love leave you vulnerable? Yes it does. But with all the shit life throws at you, and for the two of us it's been more than our fair share, knowing that Mary's there to help me carry through it makes me the strongest person in the world. There's nothing I can't do with her at my side. And that far outweighs any potential hurt. You're a lot of things, Sherlock Holmes, but I never would have thought that being a coward would be one of them. But you are."

Sherlock gaped at John for a full minute before sputtering weakly "But love is just a chemical reaction…"

"Oh you arsehole!" Said John jumping to his feet. "Of course it is! That's how the brain works! The same thing happens when you eat, when you breathe. What do you think the feeling of satisfaction from closing a case or chasing a suspect across London comes from? You haven't stopped doing any of that!" Shouted John. "That's a weak excuse and you know it! Not only are you a coward, you're shameful Sherlock. For your sake I hope you realize what you're doing before it's too late."

Giving Sherlock one last murderous glare John turned on his heel and marched out of the flat, leaving his words ringing in the air.

oooOOOooo

It was just after midnight and Sherlock was still on the couch where John left him. He was stunned at how systematically John had kicked all his crutches out from under him. He had always thought he was being smart, being noble, being sensible by avoiding relationships and his feelings, but now he feels like all he's been doing is…hiding. Like the pathetic coward John accused him of being.

Maybe…maybe he had been. But that didn't mean he had to stay that way. He had called his time with Molly an experiment and John was right, he needed to examine the data from it.

Sherlock closed his eyes and entered his mind palace. For once, the specter of Molly left him alone. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Mentally rolling up his sleeves, he began to shift through the data he had been collecting during these weeks with Molly.

There was an alarming amount of it.

Sherlock analyzed how he came to care about her feelings since almost the start of their experiment. How he felt hurt when she left without saying goodbye. How he had kept her cheery little notes. How he gave her a key to his flat. How he missed her when he was gone. How he had liked doing nice things for her. How he disliked it when Molly insisted on the scarf, keeping their experiment…an experiment. How he enjoyed spending time with her. How she could bring serenity to his mind. How she could set his blood on fire.

Here in the deepest part of the mind he saw the real reason why he had approached her with this "experiment" in the first place.

He was in love with Molly Hooper.

"Oh hell," breathed Sherlock.

Now he had to decide what to do about it. Could he step aside and let Molly live a life without him? In his mind palace Sherlock could perfectly picture Molly moving on. A transfer to a new hospital. A few boyfriends until she met a guy (who in his mind looked like a cross between Anderson and her ex-fiance, Tim or Don, whatever his name was) who would recognize how special she was and convince her to marry him, and Molly spending the rest of her life not quite entirely happy while her husband squandered her gifts.

That though made Sherlock clench his hands into fists as he felt a yawning hollowness rip through his core.

Nope, he couldn't let her go. So could he picture a life with her? He asked himself.

Sherlock saw a lifetime of actual experiments, of interesting conversation, comfortable silences, of passionate fights with even more passionate making up. He even saw, very faint and blurry, a picture of the two of them in wedding garb, and an even fuzzier picture of nursery furniture. And while those two thoughts made him temporarily stop breathing, it did not frighten him.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

He needed to find Molly. Immediately.

oooOOOooo

It was 5 am by the time Sherlock finally found a cab that would take him to Molly's flat. As the car pulled up to the curb Sherlock saw the woman he sought about to climb into her own taxi, suitcase and cat carrier in hand.

"No!" Sherlock cried as he threw a handful of bills at the driver and launched himself out the door. In less than a blink of an eye, Molly found herself thrown over Sherlock's shoulder for the second time in her life, her suitcase and carrier in his other hand.

"The lady won't be needing a cab after all," Sherlock told the shocked driver and turned on his heel to head back in the building. Toby hissed at all the jostling and Molly finally found her voice and began to protest.

"Quiet Molly," said Sherlock giving her a squeeze with the arm that was holding her in place. "Or you'll rouse your neighbors and you wouldn't want that would you?"

Molly decided to keep her mouth shut until the currently crazed detective put her down.

At her door, Sherlock used his leg to brace the carrier and the suitcase as he dug in his pocket for his key. Once he got it open he dropped the suitcase just within the doorway with a thud. Then he carefully crossed to the kitchen table and gently deposited the carrier. Without relinquishing his hold on Molly he marched into the kitchen and opened the canister of cat treats, crossed back to the table where he opened the carrier door, thrust a handful at the still hissing feline and swung the door shut again. With Toby calming down, Sherlock carried Molly to her bedroom, gently placing her on the edge of the bed before planting himself directly in front of her.

"Where you just going to leave and not tell me?" Snarled Sherlock.

"What the hell Sherlock!?" Molly snapped right back. "You're the one who left without hardly a word after we had sex two weeks ago! You haven't seen or spoken to me since! You made it quite clear that you want nothing to do with me, so what do you care if I leave or not?"

"I…..you…that's not…arrgh!" Sherlock gave a frustrated cry and began to pace the length of the room.

"I'm sorry for my behavior the last time we were together," Sherlock finally ground out, coming to a halt in front of her. "It was inexcusable. All I can say for myself is that….is that…"

"Is what?" Molly cried exasperated.

"Is that you scared me!" Said Sherlock savagely as he dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his head in her chest.

"I love you! And you're so damn tiny, anything could happen to you! How am I supposed to deal with that? What if you finally realize that I'm not worthy of you and you cast me away? What would I do then? Molly, don't leave. Please. I want to be with you. Please tell me I'm not too late."

Molly's head was spinning. "You love me?" She asked, convinced she had misheard him.

Sherlock gripped her even tighter and nodded, his curls tickling her collarbone. "God help you, I do. I love you Molly Hooper."

Surely the world tilted on its axis. She was convinced of it. Sherlock Holmes loved her. With hands that trembled only a little bit, she reached down to soothingly rub his back while her other hand ran through his curls that were sticking out wildly.

"You already know that I love you," Molly said, her voice low but steady. "I always will, you're an amazing man and I don't want to hear any nonsense about you not being "worthy" of me. The question is what do you want to do about it?" She knew that just because he loved her it didn't mean that they would automatically have a relationship. Sherlock was dedicated to his work, and he might not see a way to fit her into his life long term.

"I want to you take self-defense classes, I'm thinking judo and krav maga to start with," said Sherlock from where he still kneeled on the floor, leaning into her touch. "I also want John to teach you how to shoot."

That was not the answer Molly was expecting. "O…okay," she said perplexed.

"I want you to be as safe as possible," he said continuing. He couldn't seem to stop the words from pouring out of him. "I also want you to move into 221B with me. You can bring Toby. We can turn John's old room into a study for you, so you can have a place to escape to when I'm driving you crazy."

Oh. Oh, oh, oh, was all Molly could think.

Suddenly Sherlock leaned back on his heels and captured her face in his hands.

"Molly, I know I'm probably going to be rubbish at this, but I promise I will always love and take care of you to the best of my ability," he said staring into her eyes. The last time Molly heard him sound so serious was when he gave his toast at John's wedding.

"I'm never going to use the terms "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" but I want to be yours and you to be mine," he said. "I want you with me always. I'm still not sure about mortgages, marriage or having a family just yet, but I find that those thoughts aren't daunting, they sound more like…adventures. Adventures I would only do with you by my side."

Sherlock held his breath as he looked into Molly's stunned face, waiting for her answer.

"Can…can we get a separate fridge just for body parts and not for food?" Asked Molly tentatively.

Sherlock blinked. And then he started to laugh. Rising to his feet he pulled Molly up to stand in his embrace. Still chuckling he leaned down to kiss her, happier than he had ever been in his life.

"Of course my dear. I can live with that," he said against her lips.

"Then I'm all yours," Molly whispered as she wrapped her arms around him.

Sherlock hummed his approval as he slid his hands under her shirt to rub little circles on her lower back. He nuzzled her cheek with the tip of his nose.

"Say it again," he whispered, nipped at her ear lobe.

"I love you and I'll always be yours," Molly said huskily, as she began to undo the buttons on his shirt.

Sherlock groaned as he held her closer. Molly's hands still and for a moment they simply enjoyed being in each other's embrace.

Then Sherlock began kissing under her ear. He couldn't help himself, he had to get his lips on as much of her silky skin as possible. Now it was Molly's turn to groan as she finished unbuttoning his tight grey shirt. Once it the garment hung free, she ran her fingertips from his waist all the way into his curls and back down again before she gave him a gentle push so he could shrug out of his coat and shirt.

Once the garments were on the floor, Sherlock leaned forward to nibble on Molly's clavicle while he worked her free from her own shirt and coat. Once again her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as she toed off her shoes.

Without warning Sherlock's hands closed around her waist and lifted her so she was lying in the middle of the bed. Without taking his eyes away from her, Sherlock kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt. Molly licked her lips and mirrored his actions with her own trousers. Molly's bra was next to go and she sent it flying across the room.

Sherlock stood before, naked, save for the blue scarf around his neck. He should have looked foolish, but to Molly he looked damn delicious.

With a small smile, Sherlock slowly unwound the scarf and handed it to her. Molly's eyes flicked across the strip of fabric once before she sent it the same way as her bra before grabbing his shoulders and pulling him on top of her on the bed.

Molly expected him to be rough and urgent now that they were both naked but Sherlock was gently running the tips of his fingers down her body, his lips following their path. He was touching her like this was his first time seeing her naked. Like this was the first time he was seeing any woman naked. It made her feel beautiful and sexy and cherished at the same time. She felt her love for Sherlock wash over her like a tidal wave.

Sherlock continued to work his way down her body until his fingers swept through the sparse curls at the junction of her legs. Lightly he ran his fingers across her seam, gathering the moisture there before rubbing tight circles on her clit. Molly couldn't stop the moan from leaving her mouth. God he loved making her feel this good, Sherlock thought to himself as he lowered his head to replace his fingers with his tongue.

Molly's hands fisted in the sheets as Sherlock tried to see how long he could keep her on the edge. Every time she was sure she was seconds away from coming Sherlock would slow his ministrations until she cried out in frustration.

"Please Sherlock! I need you to make me come! Please!" Her cries were like a siren's call and Sherlock was only too happy to be swept along.

Lapping at her clit, Sherlock slowly pumped two fingers in and out of her, and just as he felt her inner muscles starting to tighten, he curled his fingers and lightly pressed down on her pubic bone with his other hand. Molly came so hard she would later tell Mary (after many glasses of alcohol) that she thought she levitated off the bed.

Grinning, Sherlock crawled back up to kiss Molly before grabbing her hips and turning her on her side facing away from him.

"Umm, Molly?" Sherlock asked, suddenly sounding unsure of himself. "Is it alright if I don't use a condom? I know we're both clean and you've got your implant, and I didn't ask last time but…..I wanted to make sure it was okay."

Molly turned so she was facing him and gave him a kiss. "It's okay if you don't want to use them anymore," she said. "Thank you for asking me."

Relieved Sherlock was happy to kiss her for a little longer before he rolled her on her side once again. With a hand on her hip and the other playing with her breast as he held her against him, he slowly eased his cock into her. This position didn't allowed for a lot of movement, but he rocked her with deep-seated nudges, while he moaned praises for her body (and her mind) into her ear.

Molly planted her hands against the headboard and used it to push back against him, meeting each of his thrusts. Sherlock felt his orgasm building.

"Oh god, yes, just like that Molly!" Sherlock panted in her ear. "Come with me, Molly. Please. Christ you feel good. Come with me."

With Sherlock's urgings in her ear, Molly could feel herself getting close to orgasming again. Just then Sherlock moved his hand from her hip to tease her clit and she was gone. Clenching around him, she moaned his name. Hearing her pleasure was all Sherlock needed to give him that last little push into his own orgasm. He clutched Molly to him tightly as his pleasure over took him.

Finally, sweaty and spent, Sherlock rolled onto his back and wrapped his arms around Molly so her head laid on his chest as he idly combed his fingers through her hair.

"I love you Molly," Sherlock said, kissing the top of her head.

"I love you too," she replied, giving him a squeeze.

"Molly, I know you were leaving," Sherlock said haltingly. "And if you gave up your lease that actually would be beneficial as the sooner you can move into 221B Baker Street, the better. But did you quit your job at St. Bart's too? I can call Mycroft and have him get your job back, I doubt they would have found anyone with your level of expertise to take the position…"

"Sherlock!" Molly cried with exasperation and amusement. "I wasn't leaving town permanently! I just took a week's holiday. I was going to visit my Mum."

"Oh! I saw your suitcase and I…I guess I panicked," Sherlock muttered, embarrassed.

"Happens to even the best of us," Molly said comfortingly, as she stroked his chest.

After a moment of silence, Sherlock spoke again. "A week is about how long it should take us to get you packed up and moved in at my flat…do you want to ring your mum and see if she wants to come help one day?"

Molly gave Sherlock another squeeze. "Sounds perfect."

oooOOOooo

Six months later Sherlock smiled to himself as he heard Molly's dainty yet surprising firm footsteps on the stairs of 221B Baker Street. He hurried to put the finishing touches on the dinner he'd prepared (well the food was Angelo's take away, but he head set the table with candles, flowers and actual plates).

Molly finally bustled into the flat, her eyes shone with excitement as she locked the door behind her, kicked off her shoes and dumped her keys and purse in one ungraceful movement. Toby came over to rub against her ankles before returning to John's chair to finish his nap.

"I hit all ten targets!" Molly exclaimed as she turned towards Sherlock. "John says I've really improved. Oh! Did he already text you? Are we celebrating?" She asked as she saw the table.

"John did text me, he was very glowing in his accounting of your practice session, but that's not what we're celebrating." Sherlock said as he moved behind her and placed his hand at the small of her back to guide her to a place at the table.

"What's the occasion then?" Molly asked as she sat down.

"We're celebrating that tonight's the night you agree to become my wife." Sherlock said as he settled into his own seat.

Molly almost choked on the sip of wine she was taking. "Oh I am, am I?" She asked, proud of herself for only mildly sputtering.

"Yes," said Sherlock as he began dishing the shrimp scampi onto their plates. "We love each other, we've enjoyed living together so I see no reason to wait."

Molly said nothing and just stared at the vexing man across from her.

Sherlock finally felt Molly's gaze and looked up. He stared back for a moment before his features softened. "Molly," he said warmly, reaching for her hands, smoothing this thumbs across her knuckles. "I love you. I love sharing my life with you. You're the one I want for the rest of my days. I want everyone to know that this amazing woman is my mine and mine alone. Say you'll marry me. Please."

Molly looked at him, watching the way the candlelight played on his pale skin. God she loved him. Even with all the flaws, she could the good man he was underneath; the one he saved for the select few in his life. How could she no to such a heartfelt offer? And he had said "please" after all.

She gave him a dazzling smile. "Nothing would make me happier. Yes, I'll be your wife."

Sherlock returned his smile with a wide one of his own. "Good! Now you have these," he said as he reached into his inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a blue velvet ring box and a small, flat, black box and set them next to her plate.

With fingers that only shook a little bit, Molly opened the ring box to find an emerald Victorian style engagement ring.

"Sherlock," she gasped, stunned. "It's gorgeous."

"No it's not," Sherlock said, taking it from the box and sliding it onto her finger. "Its owner is gorgeous. This ring is a pale second. But it has been in the Holmes' family for generations. I hope you like it."

"Like it?" Molly gaped at him. "I love it!" She jumped up from her seat and raced around the table to settle herself if his lap and giving him a blazing kiss.

Sherlock held her to his chest. He'd never admit it to anyone but it pleased him to no end that Molly loved the ring. He had been a little nervous about it.

"You haven't finished opening your other gifts," he said as he reached across the table to grab the other box and handed it to her.

"God, Sherlock, I don't know what else you could have possibly gotten me. The ring is the most amazing thing I've even been given," Molly said as she opened the box. Inside was a sturdy gold chain necklace on top of blue floral silk. With a confused look, Molly held up the necklace.

"I know you can't wear your ring when you work, so I thought you could wear it on this chain, which would keep it safe and out of the way, and you'd still have it with you," said Sherlock as he took the necklace from her to put it around her neck

"That's really thoughtful and clever solution, thanks Sherlock!" Molly said, leaning in to give him another kiss when she noticed the silk in the box. Changing directions, she reached down to tug the silk from where it was tucked in the cardboard.

"Is…..is this a scarf?" Molly asked bewildered as she held the fabric in her hands.

With a dark chuckle Sherlock leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I have this idea for some…experiments. I thought you could wear the scarf this time around."

With wide eyes and a face flushed with pleasure, Molly looked at Sherlock. She could only describe his expression as loving, and very aroused.

"Please." Sherlock asked, his eyes on her lips.

"Deal." Molly said, laughing as Sherlock immediately straighten and carried her to their bedroom

oooOOOooo

In the years to come, during the rough patches when she felt like strangling Sherlock with his scarf, Molly would close her eyes, count to ten and think about the magic of that night when they got engaged. By the time she opened her eyes, her ire would be forgotten and it would only take a few key phrases whispered in Sherlock's ear (and maybe a nip or two at his pulse point) and he would forget why he was angry too and they would quickly head back to their bedroom (or an out of the way storage closet if they were at Bart's) and make up.

They both took turns wearing the scarf.

The end!

Author's note: I hope you enjoyed the story! I want to give a big thank you to everyone who read, followed, favorited or reviewed my writing. You have no idea how happy that made me. I have two or three more story ideas I want to work on, so keep an eye out!