On Monday morning, two weekends and 38 pubs later, Baxter and Molesley wait together outside DCI Crawley's office. At 9:30 am sharp, Baxter knocks on his door and after a shout of approval from inside and a reassuring look from Molesley, they enter.

As previously agreed, Molesley takes the lead in explaining their activities - Baxter had told him that he should take the credit - bravely ploughing on despite the surprised expression on their senior officer's face.

"So eventually, after we'd only covered two-thirds of the places, we got something." Here, Molesley consults his notebook, determined to get all the details correct. "A Mr Salter, proprietor of The Pickerel on King's Street, remembered seeing Mr Bates on the evening in question. Apparently he stayed for over 2 hours, sometime between 6 and 8 pm, so during the window for the murder."

Crawley scrutinises him for a moment, and Molesley is certain that he's about to get a ticking off for not seeking official approval before carrying out this questioning. He can feel Baxter next to him, a reassuring presence, though he dares not look round at her. He shifts awkwardly at the prolonged assessing gaze, and is therefore surprised when Crawley speaks.

"And this Mr Salter is willing to give an official statement?"

Molesley manages to cover his shock at not being reprimanded. "Yes sir," he confirms.

A smile twitches at the corners of Baxter's mouth at his formality, though no else notices. It is a habit so quintessentially him, and one that no amount of teasing from their colleagues will prevent. Baxter admires his respectful nature, and if she is to admit it, it makes her adore him all the more.

Crawley shifts his gaze briefly to Baxter, before settling back on Molesley. "Well I believe thanks are in order: to both of you. Great work." They take in the praise for a brief moment, before responsibility forces its way back in again. "Unfortunately it means the real killer is still out there somewhere, so back to work." Crawley reverts back to his old gruff manner, which his subordinates actually find comforting in its familiarity. "Best let the rest of the team know of the developments."

With that, he strides out of the office, leaving Molesley and Baxter alone in the quiet room.

"Well, at least justice will be served now," Molesley says tentatively. Truth be told, he's not quite sure what happens between them now: they've been closer and spent more time together in these last two weeks than the rest of the year put together. He's loathe to go back to how they used to be, but also scared to take that step into unknown territory.

Baxter turns to him and smiles. "Yes, thanks to you," she says softly, reaching forwards without thinking. As her fingers squeeze his forearm gently, their gazes meet. Baxter isn't certain what she sees in Molesley's eyes - something beyond surprise, something warm and fond that she can't quite dwell on. If only she knew she had the same look in hers.

Molesley murmurs a delayed response. "And you."

In the charged silence that ensues, they can hear Crawley in the main office, updating the team. They begin listening just as their DCI mentions that they carried out this investigation together, out-of-hours.

They both visibly startle, eyes immediately darting to each other. Eventually Baxter gives a wry smile. "...Well, now they know."

Molesley hums in agreement. "No doubt they'll have ideas in their heads now," he says, echoing Baxter's words from their first afternoon together back to her. She's now in no doubt that he understood exactly what she meant.

For the rest of the day they endure side-glances and murmured comments from their colleagues. Molesley knows that they're not being nasty; they just enjoy gossiping. Normally it doesn't bother him, but when it's gossip and speculation about him and Baxter, he finds himself minding. It's none of the team's business, whatever's going on between them, which as of yet is nothing.

He tries to catch Baxter's eye a few times, but every time he looks over she's resolutely staring at her computer screen: to block out the rest of the team, or just him, he's not sure.

Even lunchtime barely grants them a reprieve: just as people are filtering out to grab a sandwich from the cafe down the street, two of their colleagues return with Mr Salter's official statement, having already got lunch on their way back to the office.

Although the comments die down for a bit, Baxter notices in her periphery people looking at her from time to time, perhaps wondering why there's suddenly an atmosphere between her and Molesley: they haven't exchanged a word since they left Crawley's office. Beyond two weeks ago that wouldn't have been very unusual, but recently they haven't gone more than half an hour without speaking to each other.

At the end of the day Baxter leaves a few minutes early, muttering some reason or other under her breath as she leaves. No one else seems to notice her distracted air, but Molesley cannot fail to. He figures that, like him, she was unable to bear the atmosphere any longer.

Baxter has just poured herself a glass of wine and settled on her sofa to relax when there's a knock at the door.

"Who the...?" She grumbles as she gets up and tiredly makes her way to the door.

Pulling it open, she stands frozen in shock for a moment at the unexpected visitor.

"Now don't think I'm stalking you..." Molesley begins, wringing his hands nervously. He's pleased to see her smile a bit at his opening gambit. Naturally he knows where she lives, after she allowed him to walk her home every evening after their investigations, but he'd been hoping it would help to fracture the atmosphere that had seemed to develop between them today.

At her silence, Molesley realises that she's still waiting for him to explain his presence on her doorstep. "I... I just thought I'd pop over and see how you were," he stutters. "You left work a bit early and you... You looked... Distracted." Silently he chastises himself for not being able to string a sentence together. Baxter looks like she's fighting some sort of internal battle. "I know it's probably a bit late, considering work finished over two hours ago, but I've just been walking the streets trying to work out whether I should call round and what I should say, and I lost track of time." He's aware he's babbling now, but it seems the safest way to just say what he needs to say.

It works though, because Baxter finally looks as though she's paying attention to him rather than her own thoughts. His words stir her into action, as she realises that the streets he has been walking are covered in fresh snow, and it is indeed freezing.

Reaching forward she takes his arm and tugs him inside, shutting the door behind them. The movement has brought them closer together, and when Baxter glances upwards she sees a startled look in Molesley's eyes, along with that unnameable warmth.

Stepping back a fraction she hastens to explain her actions. "I'm sorry, I just realised how cold it was outside and keeping the door open was letting a draught in."

"That's quite alright Phyllis."

The use of her name, spoken low and soft, makes her realise with a jolt that yet again they are in unknown territory: outside of work, but this time without an investigation to focus on and give them direction.

Helplessly, she looks to Molesley for direction, hoping for some way out of this deadlock they find themselves in. Unusual that you're seeking support from him, she thinks, but then amends it. In actual fact, though Molesley is the more nervy of them both, he has supported her many times over the last two years, befriending her when no else would. Her help in his mission to prove Mr Bates's innocence had been about trying to repay him for all his kindness, by supporting him when he needed it. That, and spending more time in his company.

Unsurprisingly then, Molesley does help by repeating his earlier statement, when she had been too distracted to understand the full weight of his words.

"I came by to see you because you left early from work and seemed distracted," he says, more eloquently than last time, hoping that if he sounds confident in his convictions, she might open up. It works.

"You were right," she sighs. "I just couldn't handle any more glances or veiled comments. I know they were just gossiping, and to be fair I can understand why... I can see exactly how it looks to them. I know it's silly of me to be upset by it," she confesses. "But I just wanted to tell them all to be quiet and stop speculating about things they don't know to be true."

It's the most she's spoken all day, and although she realises that there's no going back from this, she's glad she said it. It's out now - all her feelings on the line. She looks down at her feet, waiting for Molesley to speak.

Taking a chance, he prompts her to look at him by softly saying, "Phyllis" and waiting until she makes eye contact. "Please do correct me if I'm reading this wrong - I'm so sorry if I am, but..." The warmth in her eyes encourages him to continue. "Would you like to make those rumours true?"

The implication of his words hang between them. Molesley looks terrified, but her expression continues to soften.

"Are you serious?" she manages to murmur, her voice sounding wondrous even to her own ears.

"Yes, absolutely. If you are," he adds nervously.

The first true smile he's seen from her all day breaks onto her face.

"Yes, yes, absolutely," she almost cries. "Oh Joseph..."

He returns her smile. "Let me guess, you thought I'd never ask?"

"Well yes," she admits with a breathy laugh. "But not in the way you're thinking: not because I didn't think you'd have the confidence to, but because I thought you might not feel the same way."

"Well I do," he says, with such an adorably earnest look on his face that Baxter cannot help but smile again. This is what it feels like, she thinks. To finally get what you've been hoping for.

"Good," she replies, for a moment lost as to where they go from here.

Yet again she's saved by Molesley. "May I... Erm, may I kiss you now?" he asks nervously. His eyes shift to her lips and then back up again when he realises.

"Of course you may," she smiles, looking coyly at him. "I was just trying to work out how to initiate it myself," she admits.

Molesley only has time to be briefly surprised and pleased before Baxter is moving closer towards him again. When they are close enough for their chests to almost be touching, Baxter notices for the first time that her eye level is exactly at his lips. She sees them quirk into a small smile as he realises as well, and she cannot prevent hers from doing the same.

She tilts her head upwards just as he dips his down, and their lips meet for the first time in a sweet, chaste kiss. When they pull back just far enough to meet each other's gaze, there are unshed tears in Molesley's eyes, and Baxter raises a hand to stroke his cheek softly. There's no need for words to explain - she understands.

Pressing her advantage, she slips her hand round to the back of his head, tugging him down for another kiss. He readily complies, eyes slipping shut when she deepens the kiss.

They eventually part, breathing heavily into the space between their mouths. Baxter decides to take a leap of faith and pulls away as far as she can with Molesley's arms wrapped around her waist.

"Fancy coming in for a bit Joseph?" she murmurs, awkwardly attempting to gesture to the sitting room. "I can promise wine and kisses before I have to kick you out," she teases.

Molesley grins. "Sounds perfect Phyllis. And tomorrow, I can promise you a proper date."

With that pleasant thought lingering in their minds, they make their way into the adjoining room to spend an enjoyable and companionable evening together, finally reassured in the knowledge that they both want the same thing - each other.

The End.

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