A/N: So, here is the second and final part. The title is taken from the same musical, a beautiful song called "In Whatever Time We Have" - please listen to that one too. I think it's one of the most beautiful love songs written for the stage.

Act II: In Whatever Time We Have

Albert Hooper, Molly's father, had been the head gardener of the Holmes' family; her mother, Margaret, had been the head housemaid. Within a year of their happy marriage, their daughter had been born, and unfortunately, that had brought about Margaret's death. Albert had named his daughter both after his late wife and his favorite flower: Margaret Rose. But she had always been Molly to him and everybody, for the simple fact that the nickname suited her perfectly.

Twenty-one-year-old Molly Rose Hooper – orphan, housemaid, and completely humiliated – now sat close to the rose bushes in the garden. It was quite dark out now, and Molly had no idea how long she'd been sitting out here, nor did she really care. The late spring night was clear and quiet, so her quiet weeping was quite audible, much as she tried to keep it silent. She tried to stop by taking deep breaths, filling her head with the beautiful scent of the roses that her father loved so much. But it only made her miss him more, for if ever there was a time when poor Molly needed her father, the one person she had known who loved her unconditionally and completely, it was right now.

The poor girl couldn't – truly just couldn't – comprehend what had just happened! It must have been Sherlock's idea of a joke, as his mother had stated so furiously. Or, more plausibly, it was Sherlock's way of retaliating against his parents' constant pleadings and suggestions for finding a wife of his own, which had certainly grown exponentially since Mycroft had found Anthea. Well, this was certainly a response that would quiet them for a while: "Fine, you want me to get married? I'll marry the maid and have done with it. And why not? I'm getting married, so what's the problem?"

Molly gasped when she remembered her own behavior, running off like that without taking down the soup things and everything! And after the terrible joke Sherlock had just played, would the Holmes's even want her working here anymore, especially if Lady Holmes really believed that she'd been inappropriate with her son? Am I going to lose job, my home, everything I know and love?

Her sobs came back, and she bent forward so low that her face was nearly touching the grass.

"Molly?"

The voice was so soft, Molly almost didn't hear it. But since it was Sherlock, and her body always seemed to sense whenever he came near her, Molly could hear how nervous and worried his deep voice was. Slowly, Molly straightened herself, wiped her cheeks, and turned her head. It was indeed Sherlock; he was standing a safe distance from her, looking as lost and scared as she felt inside.

But Molly, upon seeing him again, remembered in terrible detail what had just happened, and wanted nothing more than to erase it all. She stood up as quickly as she could, brushing down the front of her black maid's uniform. "Oh, please excuse me, Master Holmes," she said, keeping her eyes on the ground and trying to bring them back to where they were before this evening. "I know you asked me specifically to serve the meal, and it was terribly unprofessional for me to leave like that. I'll just go back inside and, um, make my apologies to everybody else."

She made to walk past him, but he blocked her way; she nearly bumped into him, since she kept her head down. "Molly, wait, there's no need for that. I don't want you to be merely my maid anymore."

Molly shut her eyes tightly, her worst fear coming true. "Oh…of course, Master Holmes. I'll gather my things and be gone by the morning."

She tried to move past him again, but now he stopped her by taking her shoulders in his hands. "No, Molly, don't go!"

"Then what do you want from me?!" cried out Molly in complete anguish, finally having reached her breaking point. Her sobs came back with a new violence, and she tried without success to get away from Sherlock. But he wouldn't let her, and before she knew it, she was crying into his chest, his arms holding her tightly to him. This had a marvelous effect on calming her down eventually, hearing his heart beating and feeling his warmth around her. The words he spoke against her maid's cap helped, too.

"Oh, Molly, I'm sorry…They were right, I've gone about this all wrong…please don't leave, stay here…I never meant to hurt you like this…please let me explain myself…"

He was so warm and he smelled so nice. Now that her sobs had calmed, Molly noticed (and appreciated) those things. However, they also caused her to remember the circumstances of the situation, and she knew that she needed to be strong now. He wanted to talk, so she would listen – but she wouldn't allow herself to fall blindly into his will, whatever that may be.

So, with determination, Molly separated herself from Sherlock and backed away from him. She ignored the pained look on his face, and sat back down beside the rose bushes, and then indicated the empty space before her on the grass. If he wanted to explain himself, he would do it in her comfort zone: on level ground (literally) with her, and beside the flowers that reminded her that her parents' were still with her.

Thankfully, Sherlock raised no objection, and immediately sat down before her on the grass. Molly kept her hands tightly folded on her lap, reminding herself to keep calm now and hear him out; no matter how terrible it might be, the truth would always be better than lies. But Sherlock seemed to be having trouble saying anything, truth or lie. He opened his mouth and closed it in frustration several times, even running his mop of black curls before finally finding words to say.

"Molly…I meant what I said to you," he said, his eyes pleading with her to believe him. "I would say it again now if you would believe me, or keep saying it until you believe me. I want to tell you everything…but I find it difficult to know where to start."

Molly looked down at her hands, his words tugging at her heartstrings. The fact that Sherlock Holmes was admitting to finding something difficult – about as rare an occurrence as snow in August – made her believe that he was not being completely dishonest. It at least gave her the courage to give him a helping hand. "Well…could you please tell me how long I've…been out here?"

"Nearly two hours," Sherlock answered promptly, visibly relaxing at having a place to start. "I tried to run after you right away, but John stopped me while my father said that you would never be so foolish as to leave the manor completely, no matter the state you were in."

Hearing this, Molly couldn't help but feel relieved that Lord Holmes did not think the worst of her after what had just happened. She cared greatly for the dear man, for he had the same personality as her own father.

Sherlock continued. "Anthea then took Mycroft up to bed, since he certainly seemed cranky at me for interrupting dinner before dessert came out." He spoke about his brother with a very sour and furious look on his face, no doubt recalling the words his brother had spoken that had caused Molly to run off. "Mary took my mother to her private parlor, no doubt to calm her down and talk some sense into her. My father and John sat me down at the table again, and helped me to see how I have gone about this entire business tonight all wrong."

Molly slowly nodded at his explanation, feeling brave enough to look him in the eyes again. "And would you repeat back to me…all of those ways now, please?" Of course she knew what those reasons were (at least she thought she did), but she needed to know that he knew.

Nodding, Sherlock rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward a bit. His gaze holding hers was intense, willing her to listen and believe him. "Well, first and most important, it was the element of surprise. I did not foresee the possible negative consequences of my actions. I felt sure that there would only be positive ones. After all, it would please my parents that I would be marrying; John and Mary would know I would not be left alone; and I thought that they would see, once I revealed that you were my intended, they would immediately see that this was the only but perfect solution for all of us!" His tone had become quite frustrated now, but he took a deep breath and continued more calmly. "However, I do realize now that the wiser course would have been to go about this in a more quiet way. I should have spoken to you privately first, and John was clear to emphasize that I should have asked rather than assumed you would agree."

Seeing Sherlock roll his eyes a bit at the end filled Molly with a sharp anger. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap, and she turned her gaze away from Sherlock and to the rose bush. Her tone was quiet but biting when she spoke. "Well, it doesn't surprise me that you could see this as an opportunity to give your family a good shock. I know how you hated it whenever your parents would tell you to find a wife, and I can see how this would be a good way to shut them up for a good while."

There was silence for a moment, and then Molly felt something warm touch her clenched fist. Looking down, she saw a pale, long-fingered, familiar hand touching her own. Immediately, she recoiled from his touch (or she forced herself to, since it felt so very nice and she did not want to distract herself from this situation), but she did meet his gaze again.

"Molly," said Sherlock, rubbing the tips of his fingers together as he brought it back to his lap. "No matter how much my parents like to needle me to find a wife, it is not a necessity for me to get married. Not being the eldest son makes it a choice for me rather than an obligation. And since my brother is happily married with a baby on the way, it only makes it even more of a choice. Yes, it annoyed me when my mother or father would badger me to get a wife, but those were mere insects that buzzed by my ears: easily temporary, unthreatening, and easy to ignore.

"So what good reason would I have to do this merely to shock them into silence? That's not why I did it. Molly, I meant every word I said."

His gaze was pleading, but Molly couldn't believe what he had just said. Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head and looked at the rosebush. "Is that it, then?" she asked very quietly. "There is no other reason you can think of where you went wrong?"

Sherlock hesitated before answering, seeming to think about it before speaking. "Well…no. I believe that everything can be rooted to what I have said. I am sure that you are offended that I did not speak to you in private first, or ask you at all, but I felt sure that, with the way you feel about me, there would be no need to ask."

So he knows, has known how he felt about me, all along…just like everybody else…Her humiliation returned a hundredfold, and her anger reached a boiling point. Quick as a shot, she was up on her feet; Sherlock, in his surprise, remained cross-legged on the ground. Because of their heights, it was usually Sherlock who towered over Molly. Now the tables had turned, and it was the maid who towered over her master.

"How can you be so incredibly stupid, Sherlock?" she nearly shouted.

Under normal circumstances, Molly would never speak to him like this. Being so outspoken to her employer – not to mention calling him by his Christian name – would get her dismissed without notice. But after what Sherlock had done at dinner, and him telling her that he did not want her to be his maid anymore, Molly felt that she had nothing left to lose now – she had already lost everything.

"You really can't think of anything else? It's as obvious as my love for you, which apparently everyone knows of and loves to laugh at! Fine, you really don't know? Here it is: you don't love me. I'm nothing more than your loyal maid, always there to clean up after you and be at the wrong end of your mood swings and cruel deductions. No wonder you just assumed that I would do whatever you wanted! Well, hear this, Sherlock Holmes: I made a promise to my father that if I married, it would be for no reason but love. That I would love him, and he would love me in return. So, in answer to your assumption, my answer is no. I don't care how rich your family is or how smart you are. I will not marry a man who doesn't love me, would never love me, thinks love is a chemical defect to the weak, and to whom I don't count at all!"

With that, Molly turned on her heel and made to walk away from him; she didn't even know where, as long as she could be alone. But, just as she had, Sherlock got up as fast as a shot, and before she could get five steps away from him, Sherlock was in front of her and holding her to him again.

"Let me go!" Molly cried, punching his chest and trying to pull away, hot tears pouring down her face again. "I'm not your slave or your dog that you can order about!"

"No, you're not, you are so much more," Sherlock breathed into her ear, his strong hold around her not breaking though his deep voice was. Molly had never heard that happen before, and it caused her to grow still though she did not yield to the embrace. He continued in that same voice, resting his temple against hers. "You're wrong, you know: you do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you are right, Molly: I am incredibly stupid to have made you believe you don't count to me, that you are not everything to me…"

When she felt something wet fall on her cheek, Molly pulled her head back to look at him; in his embrace she stayed. Her impossible suspicions were confirmed when she saw his face, and her heart, already so battered and bruised, slowly began to fill with hope. "I…Sherlock…I don't…what…" She could think of nothing to say, and rightly so – it was he who needed to explain.

But he didn't explain in response to her. At least, not with words. He lowered his head and kissed her lips.

A split second of shock, and then Molly was lost to it. She was filled with such warmth that she had never known. In romance and poetry books that she had flipped through in the manor's library, a kiss was always described as something earth-moving, sky-shattering, always accompanied with loud trumpets and stars exploding. There was that, too, but it was at a safe distance from this warmth that felt much more true. Lost in the feeling, she responded shyly, her fists on his chest unclenching until they rested over his beating heart.

Eventually, their lips parted for breath and their foreheads fell against each other. When Molly felt one of Sherlock's hands rest on her cheek, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes – feeling quite pleasantly dazed – to meet Sherlock's turquoise gaze again. He'd looked at her like this several times today – when he'd asked her to serve dinner, when he'd told everybody that he wanted her to be his bride – but now, standing this close to him, Molly could finally see what he had been trying to tell her today: "It's you I love best in all the world"…"You are everything to me"…And now he confirmed that with his next words, his voice rich and sincere.

"I know I said that love was a chemical defect to be found on the losing side, that it was nothing more than a weakness that blinded you. For a long time, I believed it. After Redbeard died, it was Mycroft who told me these things. I believed him because it made the pain of losing my closest companion easier to deal with and shut away, and easier to focus on my studies."

Molly nodded, remembering that terrible time. Sherlock had lost Redbeard the same year Molly had lost her father. The both of them had dealt with their grief by throwing themselves into study and work, and their relationship had changed from playmates to employer/employee.

Sherlock continued, his thumb caressing her cheek. "But everything's changed now. Mycroft, who is called 'The Ice Man' by most, is happily married, happy to throw away his old philosophy. It made me see how blessed my parents are to have each other, and watching John find Mary was the final step to opening my eyes to my own heart." He shut his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out that it was always yours, Molly…and I believe it always will be."

Molly's eyes were wide with shock. The hope in her heart was growing at a strong rate, but her mind was firm in keeping her cautious to these words she'd always dreamed of hearing but never believed she would. With a shuddering breath, Molly lowered her eyes to his cravat. "This is…so hard to believe…"

He gently raised her face with the hand still on her cheek. He pleaded now with his eyes and words. "Tell me why, Molly. Ask me anything you need to ask that will quell your doubts."

Molly gulped, knowing that this is what she needed to do. "Are you sure that this isn't because John is shipping out? That you just don't want to be alone?"

"I'm sure, Molly. Even with John overseas, I have my family and my work, and while I may sometimes annoy one and idolize the other, they would keep me more than busy. But isn't one reason for marriage companionship? In that way, I don't want to be alone, but only if it is with you. I think you feel the same, Molly. No one really wants to be alone, not even me."

Molly swallowed to get rid of the lump in her throat. "Why didn't you tell me? You say you knew how I felt, so what did you have to fear?"

Sherlock grimaced, and brought her head to rest on his chest again. He held her to him as if to draw strength from her. Molly's hands and forearms rested below her head, not quite ready to return the embrace until all of her questions were answered.

"I wanted to, Molly, many times…especially last Christmas when I…well, when that happened."

Both grimaced at the memory. Molly had worn her best clothes, had even curled her hair before pinning it up. She'd been about to give him his Christmas present before joining the rest of the staff downstairs for their own Christmas dinner, when he'd embarked on a particularly long and cruel deduction about her present and the appearance. The fact that it had drawn the wrong conclusion – that it had all been for the new footman, Tom, who always tried to flirt with Molly – didn't make it hurt Molly any less. When Sherlock had read the tag of the present, proving that it had all been for him, he'd sincerely apologized (a first for him) and even wished her a happy Christmas with a shy kiss on the cheek.

Sherlock continued: "At first, I thought that I didn't need to say it, that it was obvious how I felt. After all, you have always been the only member of staff that I allow in my rooms or near my things. I even trust you to help with my experiments, even cases when John couldn't be there. I thought that this was more than enough for anyone to see how much you count to me." He sighed into her hair. "But now I realized I was fooling myself. What really silenced me is knowing that I don't deserve you, Molly. You know how many faults I have, and yet you have always been so good to me."

What he said baffled Molly's mind. She closed her eyes and shook her head against his chest. "You don't deserve me? Sherlock…you are the son of a lord, a genius in science and detection…I am nothing at all, just a maid and a plain one at tha-"

Her words were stopped by Sherlock's lips as he kissed her a second time, more fiercely than the first time. When they parted, his large hands were gently cradling her face. The look in his eyes was as fierce as their kiss.

"Molly Hooper, I don't give a damn what your class status or type of employment you have. You could be the lowest, filthiest member of my homeless network and that wouldn't change anything! You are what I want, no matter what labels you have. And if you are still worried about my family, since I know you care for them, there is no need. My father already believes you are perfect for me, and once she has gotten over her little shock, so will my mother. Both Mary and John are thrilled that I have found someone, Anthea seemed to know before any of them how I felt, and I don't give a damn what my brother thinks. But Molly, even if they disowned me for this, I still wouldn't care and it still wouldn't matter. Only one thing does."

He rested his forehead against hers again, turquoise eyes staring deeply into rich brown eyes. Both pupils were fully dilated.

"How could I live in a world without you?"

Molly felt equal parts joyfully hopeful and equal parts terrified. Everything he was telling her now was destroying the doubts she harbored in her mind, but after so many years of unrequited love she was now scared to make that final leap when it was now requited. She closed her eyes to try and calm herself, praying for guidance or a sign for what exactly to do now.

Thankfully, she received it. A soft breeze blew through the garden, and when Molly inhaled, she caught the strong scent of roses. At this, she heard in her heart the voice of her father and what he would always say to her: Be brave, my girl, and never give up hope.

It was more than enough for Molly, but there was still one more thing that Sherlock needed to do for her to take that leap of faith.

When Molly opened her eyes, they were clear. She could see Sherlock in the light of the moon and stars, how nervous, pleading, and sincere he was. She gave him the tiniest of smiles as she said, "Ask me properly, and from the heart, Sherlock."

The young man let out a shaky exhale, and then dropped to one knee, keeping eye contact with her. He took her right hand and wrapped it around his wrist, making sure she could feel his racing pulse; he did the same for her, and hers was racing as well. Covering her right hand with his left, he did as she asked:

"Molly Rose…I can't remember a time in my life when you were not there, always supporting, always loving, always giving me what I need, always trying to make me happy. I know I could make it on my own, but I don't want to. Whatever time we have, I want us to face it as one, together. I am completely in love with you, and I will tell you that if ever you need to hear it and whenever you don't need to. And if you still, if you really do love me as I am – as impossible as that seems to me – will you please accept me as your husband and become my wife?"

Molly's heart, already overflowing with hope, now soared with joy. Her tiny smile grew into a smile as bright as the sun as she answered. "I can't remember a time when I haven't loved you, Sherlock, and I know now that I always will. Yes!"

Sherlock Holmes had never smiled so radiantly. Once her answer came out, he stood up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and joyously spun her around. She laughed with joy right along with him, the toes of her shoes brushing the grass and her hair falling from its bun. Her maid's cap fell to the ground; neither of them noticed.

Once her feet were on the ground again, Sherlock was kissing her, his fingers running through her long hair after so many months of wanting to. Molly returned his kisses, a smile always on her lips. Finally, when both were breathless, they contented themselves with just holding each other in absolute relief and peace, knowing that their nights would never be very black but as beautiful as this one. The only sounds to be heard were the nightingales in the trees, the soft wind blowing through the rose bushes, and the soft words of love the pair were now free to say in whatever time they had left.

Thankfully, it was a good long time, and they would always be together.