The final strains of God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman were drawn out with a flourish, the violin bow pulling the last haunting note across the strings. A smattering of applause followed the fading note.

'Oh, that was wonderful, Sherlock,' Mrs. Hudson gushed, her cheeks already rosy with holiday spirits (and perhaps a couple early glasses of wine). Sherlock bowed curtly and set his violin aside as John clapped him on the back and handed him a glass of, what appeared to be, scotch on the rocks.

'Cheers, Sherlock,' John grinned. Sherlock nodded his thanks and sipped the bitter drink quietly. He let his gaze move across the room, taking in the people as they returned to their previous conversations.

Lestrade was involved in a flirtatious conversation with some woman he had invited from the fraud division of NSY, her body language clearly indicating a sexual interest in the older man. Sherlock smirked at Lestrade's ignorance to her interest; the Detective Inspector was clearly trying too hard to make a good impression, too hard for a fourth date, at least.

Molly's friend, Justin, had already come and gone, his arm around a young woman from his office. Sherlock immediately deduced a mutual interest. As annoying as Justin's presence had been to him, he begrudgingly admitted the man was the catalyst for the positive change in his and Molly's relationship. He managed to bid the man a short 'Merry Christmas,' earning a kiss from Molly as reward.

Mycroft sat in Sherlock's leather chair, his brow raised in annoyance, as Anthea, sitting on the couch, giggled over photo books of his and Sherlock's childhood. Mummy and Father flanked her on either side, pointing out specific pictures and adding wholly unnecessary anecdotes about their childhood. Mycroft's left hand bore an impressive red mark from Mummy's hand when he had endeavored to forcefully retrieve the picture album and toss it into the fire.

Mary and Mrs. Hudson were cooing over the latest addition to their circle in the kitchen. At five months, Charlotte Watson was an interesting specimen, in Sherlock's opinion. Unbeknownst to her parents, Sherlock had taken to keeping a secret journal recording the child's growth, both physically and intellectually. He grinned at the thought of sneaking her into a crime scene when she was older.

John stood beside him for a minute, his chest puffed out with pride as he watched his family, before he moved to join his wife and coax his daughter from Mary's embrace back into his arms.

Outside the cold wind blew flakes of bright snow in swirls, making the fire inside seem all the more inviting. A small Christmas tree decorated the corner of the flat, bags of presents surrounding its base, the mantelpiece covered with Christmas cards and greenery. The rest of the flat was no exception from the holiday décor, and was completely covered in fairy lights and faux greenery, courtesy of 221B's newest tenant.

Speaking of whom.

Leaving the lounge area, he sidestepped the Watson party and entered his bedroom.

Our bedroom. He corrected himself. As of three days ago, Molly was now a permanent resident of 221B Baker Street.

He silently shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Standing at the foot of the bed, Molly was finishing up wrapping the presents.

'I shouldn't have waited until the last minute,' she said, not even having to look up to know Sherlock was standing there. He chuckled and pushed away from the door.

She sighed as she finished tying the bow on a small, green-wrapped box. 'There. Finished.'

Sherlock moved to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle. She leaned back into his embrace and let him nuzzle his face into the curve of her neck.

'Missed me already, love?' She reached a hand to caress his curls, turning her head to give him a gentle kiss. He pouted and loosed his arms enough for her to turn into his embrace.

'Molly Hooper, you invited too many people,' he groused. 'Mary, John and the baby would have been tolerable, but Mycroft? And Lestrade? Not to mention Mummy insisted on bringing those God-awful photo albums,' he huffed in annoyance. 'Come back outside, it is intolerable to be out there without you.'

Molly smiled indulgently at her petulant Consulting Detective, 'I've been in here for less than ten minutes, Sherlock. And you were playing your violin for five of those.'

'Nevertheless,' he raised an eyebrow, 'I will not go out there again without you as a buffer.'

'A buffer? Is that what I am to you?' Molly giggled and shook her head in fond exasperation. 'We can go out in a minute. There's something I want you to do first.'

He smirked. 'I'm afraid I can't do that in a minute, my dear,' he growled in her ear.

Molly slapped his arm, gasping with mock incredulity. 'Get your mind out of the bedroom, Sherlock Holmes.'

'But my transport is in the bedroom, thus my mind is in the bedroom,' he retorted. Molly rolled her eyes and stopped herself from replying to his sarcastic logic.

She ducked out of his arms and approached the full-length mirror, adjusting the elbow-length sleeves of her flowing green dress and smoothing out the wrinkles. A pouting Sherlock encircled her in his arms once more, leaning his chin on her shoulder. She smiled at him in the mirror.

'What is it you wanted me to do?' He mumbled into her hair.

Molly giggled and tilted her head back. He followed her gaze and smirked at the small bundle of mistletoe she'd managed to tack to the ceiling. 'Ah, yes. The holiday tradition of expending unnecessary affection under ridiculously sentimental circumstances brought upon by a rather ridiculous idea that mistletoe is a romantic greenery.'

She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh, 'If that's what you think…' she made to break his hold on her, but he held fast, pressing her back firmly against his chest.

'I suppose I could expend a small portion of affection. It is Christmas, after all.'

With a gentle kiss to her temple, he closed his eyes. Molly's love for him had kept him alive more times than she knew. And if loving her was all she needed in return… well, who was he to deny her that reward? She hummed happily and snuggled herself further into his embrace.

No sense waiting any longer.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that had been folded neatly and tucked away for such an occasion as this. With his other arm firmly anchoring his Molly to his chest, he held the paper in front of her. She blinked at it, then lifted her gaze in question, staring at him in the mirror.

'Thank you for my present, Molly,' he nudged her to take the paper, his heart pounding, drowning out the sounds of the party in the next room.

'What?' She asked in confusion, her gaze darting to the reflection of the bag of gifts. Sherlock didn't care which one of those was his (although he knew it was the one wrapped carefully in gold foil with a silver bow, containing a note saying his new microscope was in Mrs Hudson's flat. Honestly, did she still believe she could hide anything from him?). It mattered little in the face of this present. Something she never could have bought him.

Hesitantly, Molly took the plain, white paper and unfolded it, a curious frown on her face.

He swallowed thickly as he watched in the mirror, her eyes darting across the page. In his mind, he recalled with perfect clarity every word written on the page. The two brief sentences that defined the gift were burned into his mind.

Blood Analysis

Human Chorionic Gonadotropin:127 mIU

He knew the moment Molly made the connection, her entire body stiffening as she inhaled sharply. Her eyes widened to almost comical proportions and her face paled. hCG. The pregnancy hormone. The paper trembled in her hands as she slowly raised her eyes to meet Sherlock's reflection. He tightened his hold on her, placing a gentle hand on her abdomen, silently telling her of his happiness.

'Oh,' she whispered in shock. 'How…?'

Sherlock understood her unspoken question, 'At first, you showed no signs, save for a slight increase in appetite.'

'I've been eating the same amount,' Molly mumbled and frowned as she thought back to the past few weeks.

'I wasn't referring to food, Molly,' Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. The blood rushed back to Molly's face as Sherlock smirked proudly.

'But it wasn't until your usually unending patience disappeared and you became somewhat… tetchy… that I suspected anything,' he placed a kiss on her temple as she frowned at his deduction. 'So I swiped some of your blood from when you cut your hand on the broken flask last week in the lab. I ran an analysis and here we are.'

'Here we are, indeed,' she mumbled, placing her trembling hand atop Sherlock's, her eyes wide with the new wonder of a life inside her. They stood together for several minutes, ignoring the raucous laughter from the other room, simply absorbing the news.

'You're okay with this?' Molly finally broke the silence, hesitance and worry plain on her face.

'Of course,' Sherlock said indignantly. 'You will be a marvelous mother and I will be the one he or she comes to when you are the disciplinarian.'

She burst out into laughter, causing Sherlock to smile in response, as the shock wore off and she began to wrap her mind around their new reality.

The noises from outside reminded them that they were not alone in their flat and that their guests needed to be tended to.

'So,' Molly swiped away the tear that fell, unaware that she had even begun crying, and breathed a laugh, 'if this is my gift to you, what can you possibly give me that can even compete?'

'Oh, but my gift to you is on that page, as well,' he replied vaguely, stepping away from her. Molly sniffed, then frowned down at the paper in confusion.

Sherlock left the room and stepped into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. With relief, he noticed that their guests were chatting comfortably, unaware of their hosts brief absence.

He had gone no more than three steps than a muffled shriek reached his ears. He fought against the desire to grin, even as his heart skipped a beat. Everyone's head snapped up as the bedroom door was flung open and a wide-eyed, crying pathologist entered the room, the paper crumpled in her hand. Sherlock placed his hands in his pockets, trying to appear nonchalant, and raised his eyebrows as he turned around.

Molly stared at him, silence falling around them as their guests looked on at the unexpected spectacle. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. Finally, the silence was broken by a gurgling Charlotte Watson, intent on drawing the attention back to herself.

It was enough to break Molly from her shock. She swallowed thickly and breathed deep, searching for something in Sherlock's expression. Whatever he was showing behind his normal, stoic mask must have been what she was searching for.

With a disbelieving smile, she gently laughed, 'Yes.'

Sherlock almost visible sagged in relief and exhaled deeply, unaware he'd been holding his breath. He rushed back to her and swept her into his arms. From the corner of his eye, he saw the paper drop to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering 'I love yous' and 'Yes' into his ear over and over again.

He smiled, proud of the success of his little scheme.

She noticed it much sooner than he had expected, almost twenty seconds sooner, in fact.

The name on the blood analysis.

Margaret Elizabeth Holmes.

Easily overlooked at first, and nearly overlooked entirely.

But worth it, for the feeling of her in his arms and the disbelieving joy on her face as she said 'yes.'

All too soon, he became aware of the others in the room, watching their mostly unspoken interaction, their confusion almost tangible. Sherlock released Molly, placing a tender kiss on her lips, his body shielding the rare public act of affection from prying eyes. He discreetly slipped the ring he'd pulled from his front pocket onto her finger, and was rewarded with a radiant smile from his newly minted fiancé.

'Would you like to tell them now?' He whispered, admiring the way the fairy light twinkled in the reflection of her familiar brown eyes.

Molly beamed up at him, happiness shining in her face. She giggled and reached up to fiddle with the curls at the nape of his neck. 'We could,' she bit her lip as she tried to hold back a wicked smile, 'But wouldn't you rather let them suffer in suspense?'

His eyes darkened at her husky tone and deviousness. Unfortunately, before he could respond, they were harshly reminded that they were currently the center of some very interested attention.

'Sherlock?' Mummy's voice broke over them. 'I do believe I raised you to be more considerate of others, especially when those others are guests in your home. Now, tell us what all this ruckus is about.'

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock straightened and turned around, pulling Molly to his side, temporarily hiding her left hand from view. Everyone was watching with identical expressions of confusion. Except Mycroft, who sat smugly in his chair, his gaze darting to the paper on the floor and then to the two of them. He smirked knowingly, grating on Sherlock's nerves.

He glanced down at Molly. She squeezed his arm encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, he turned to their audience.

The party had been coming to a close before Sherlock and Molly made their announcements. But suddenly, presents and nightcaps were forgotten, as the guests stood in gobsmacked silence before breaking into shouts of congratulations and guffaws of disbelief.

The women pulled Molly into a circle, insisting on seeing the ring and hearing a full explanation of how Sherlock had proposed.

Mummy Holmes was most insistent that he should ask Molly properly, and not, as she put it, 'like some clever idiot. You get down on your knee, young man.' But Molly laughed it off, treasuring the proposal as Sherlock's unique way of claiming her as his. The women hugged her in turn, excited about the expectation of another baby in their circle. Mummy Holmes seemed positively over the moon about becoming a grandmother. Molly sneaked a glance at Anthea and noticed a slight flush on the other woman's face. Living with a Consulting Detective had sharpened her powers of deduction, but it didn't take much effort to connect the glass of water in Anthea's hand and the blush on her face to the conclusion that soon there would be not one, but two Holmes grandchildren running about.

The two women shared a smile as the others chattered about, making plans and calling out baby names.

On the other side of the room, a grimacing Sherlock was nearly pounded into the floorboards by the men as they clapped him on the back, John even pulling him into a hug. Sherlock smirked as the army doctor whispered into his ear a threat about what he would do to the taller man if he didn't treat Molly right.

Molly looked over her shoulder at the group of men, catching Sherlock's eye. He smiled at her, clearly uncomfortable with the jibes and jokes aimed at him, but enduring it nonetheless. The women's voices around her faded as she placed a hand over her abdomen and smiled.

She thought back to where she had been one year before.

Hopelessly in love with a man who had not given her the time of day unless it suited his purpose. A man who, despite his claims to the contrary, had a good heart, but hid it behind sharp words and cruel deductions.

She had grown so much over the course of that year, making new friends, breaking out of her self-imposed, social exile, and winning over the love of her life.

Would I wish for it to be different? For the pain I endured at his words to never have happened?

If it meant missing out on this... no.

Would I have settled for someone else than wait for Sherlock to open his eyes?

Her fingers brushed across her still flat stomach.

No.

Would I trade my happiness now to forget the pain of six years of unrequited love?

The sparkle of the diamond on her ring finger caught her gaze.

She smiled.

Definitely not.