WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SERIES 4! DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED! TRUST ME, IT'S BETTER WHEN WATCHED FIRST.

Well, I know I said I wouldn't be writing again until the summer, but after watching series 4, I just had to write a Molly/Sherlock reconciliation story. This one will probably be my last until summer.

It was virtually impossible to find a timeline for series 4, so I had to guess. It seemed like a reasonable amount of time to have passed in between the episodes.

The One Woman Who Matters

Sherlock held the pistol in both hands and had lowered his forehead onto the top of it. He lifted his head to look at the screens showing footage of Molly in her flat as the line finally connected.

"Hello, Sherlock," came Molly's voice over the speakers. "Is this urgent, 'cause I'm not having a good day."

"Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me and not ask why," said Sherlock rapidly.

Molly sighed in exasperation. "Oh, God. Is this one of your stupid games?"

"No, it's not a game," said Sherlock. "I…need you to help me."

"Look, I'm not at the lab," said Molly.

"It's not about that," said Sherlock.

Molly fiddled with the stuff on the counter. "Well, quickly, then."

Sherlock blinked rapidly and bit his lips.

"Sherlock?" said Molly in exasperation. "What is it? What do you want?"

The lights turned red, and Moriarty's face appeared on the screen. "Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick."

The lights turned white again as the footage switched back to Molly's flat.

"Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words," said Sherlock.

Molly smiled a little. "What words?"

"I love you," said Sherlock clearly.

Molly's smile dropped, and she took the phone from her ear. She looked down at the screen and moved her thumb towards it, ready to terminate the call. "Leave me alone."

Sherlock gestured frantically towards the screen, raising his voice. "Molly, no, please, no, don't hang up! Do not hang up!"

"Calmly, Sherlock, or I will finish her right now," said Eurus over the speakers.

The countdown clock ticked down to 01:08.

Molly raised the phone to her ear again. "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?"

"Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me," said Sherlock quietly.

"Softer, Sherlock!" said Eurus.

Sherlock glanced towards the speaker and then looked at the screen again. He raised his tone to sound a little more friendly. "Molly, this is for a case. It's…it's a sort of experiment."

"I'm not an experiment, Sherlock," said Molly.

Sherlock's eyes widened in panic. "No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend. We're friends. But…please. Just…say those words for me."

"Please don't do this," said Molly. "Just…just…don't do it."

Sherlock forced a smile into his voice. "It's very important. I can't say why, but I promise you it is."

"I can't say that," said Molly. "I can't…I can't say that to you."

Sherlock still smiled to make his voice sound friendly. "Of course you can. Why can't you?"

"You know why."

Sherlock's smile dropped in his puzzlement. "No, I don't know why."

Molly sighed heavily, sniffed and wiped a hand across her nose. "Of course you do."

The lights turned red, and the red-lit Moriarty appeared on the screen. Sherlock screwed up his eyes and lowered his head.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tick…"

Sherlock raised his head and closed his eyes again for a brief moment. "Please, just say it." He blinked rapidly.

"I can't," said Molly with a sigh in her voice. "Not to you."

"Why?"

Molly's voice broke. "Because…" she looked down, "because it's true." Her voice became an almost silent whisper. "Because…it's…" she took a breath and started to cry, "true, Sherlock."

Sherlock stared at the screen, wide-eyed.

Molly wept, her voice dropping to a whisper by the end. "It's always been true."

Sherlock's face straightened, and he looked at the screen emotionlessly. "Well, if it's true, just say it anyway."

Molly laughed in disbelief and heaved a heavy sigh. "You bastard."

"Say it anyway," said Sherlock firmly. He stared intensely at the screen, but his face turned to shock when she spoke.

"You say it," said Molly. "Go on. You say it first."

Sherlock almost turned to look at John for an explanation but turned back to the screen, frowning, blinking and squinting in confusion. "What?"

"Say it," said Molly flatly, her voice softening. "Say it like you mean it."

Startled, Sherlock looked up towards the nearby camera.

"Final thirty seconds," said Eurus.

Sherlock faced the screen, his eyes closed. He took a breath, summoning the strength to say the words. "I-I…" He lowered his head.

Molly brought up her free hand to the side of her face, where she was holding the phone.

Sherlock raised his head again. "I love you." He opened his eyes and looked towards the screen.

Molly sighed softly and smiled a little.

Sherlock stared at the screen, his voice softening. "I love you."

Molly closed her eyes again and then brought the phone round to look at its screen.

Sherlock looked at the screen anxiously as the clock reached thirteen seconds. "Molly?"

Molly brought her hand round towards the screen, about to hung up, and then brought the phone towards her mouth.

Sherlock stepped closer to the screen, his expression frantic. "Molly, please."

Molly took in a breath, speaking softly. "I love you."

Sherlock gasped and reared back from the screen as the countdown clock beeped several times and stopped. He sighed and buried his head in both hands, bending forward.

Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes, the memory haunting him for about the two hundredth time that week. It had been exactly that long since the incident involving his secret, criminally insane sister Eurus. And that phone call to Dr. Molly Hooper was, without a doubt, the worst thing about the whole ordeal, even worse than when he had almost killed himself to end the whole thing. It wasn't so much the anxiety that he had possibly been about to watch her die—although, that in and of itself was torturous enough—but it was the fact that he had had to tell her he loved her.

He hadn't yet had a chance to contact her to explain what had happened, what with rebuilding his burned-out flat at 221B Baker Street and his daily visits to Sherrinford with his new Stradivarius to rebuild his relationship with Eurus. He'd had to trust Mycroft to tell her. But now that the flat was coming together and the aftermath of Sherrinford was beginning to die down, Sherlock knew that in order to salvage his relationship with Molly, he needed to talk to her about the whole thing.

Sherlock picked up his mobile phone and began typing out his text.

Dr. John Watson eased the front door of 221 Baker Street open, juggling the diaper bag hanging from his shoulder, the set of keys in his hand and his infant daughter Rosie. Closing the door behind him, he moved through the inner door into the foyer. "Mrs. Hudson!" He moved towards the flat at the end of the hallway as his daughter cooed in his arms.

The door opened, and Mrs. Hudson emerged, her face lighting up at the sight of her goddaughter.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, meeting John halfway. "Hello, darling!"

Rosie's face lit up as she giggled a little.

"Who is that?" John asked his daughter in a slightly higher-pitched tone. "Is that Nana?" He smiled as Rosie let out an adorable baby laugh.

"Come here, sweetheart!" said Mrs. Hudson, pulling Rosie into her arms and bouncing her slightly in her arms.

John leaned down to smile at his daughter, brushing his finger over her cheek. After a moment, he straightened up and looked at his former landlady. "She's starting to go through that separation anxiety phase. It's not too terrible yet, but she will cry a bit when I head up. Molly told me, though, that her little stuffed bee works wonders." He unzipped a pocket on the diaper bag, pulling the bee out and handing it to Mrs. Hudson. "She just loves that thing."

Mrs. Hudson smiled down at the bee. "Reminds her of her godfather." She waved Sherlock's present from the baby arrival party in front of Rosie.

"Speaking of, how's he doing this morning?" asked John.

"Same as the rest of this week," Mrs. Hudson answered. "He's practically back to his usual self."

John nodded. "Good." He held the diaper bag out, and Mrs. Hudson looped her arm through the strap. He placed the strap on her shoulder. "She just had her breakfast, so she should be fine until lunch. I packed some snacks, just in case. She'll probably go down for a nap before lunch."

"Not to worry, dear," Mrs. Hudson told him. "The two of us are going to have fun."

John smiled. "See you in a few." He turned and headed towards the staircase as Rosie's cries started.

"Oh, it's all right," Mrs. Hudson cooed. "Daddy'll be back. Look here! You, me and Mr. Bee are going to have lots of fun!"

John stopped on the stairs just before Mrs. Hudson's flat's door disappeared from sight. He leaned on the railing to watch as Mrs. Hudson waved the bee in front of Rosie. Rosie's cries quieted as she latched onto the toy, clutching it close and staring at it. A smile appeared on her face as she proceeded to stick one of its fluffy wings into her mouth.

John smiled at the sight. How did Sherlock know she would love that thing so much?

He turned and headed back up the stairs towards his friend's flat. They were set to begin putting up the new wallpaper and painting today. They had had a carpenter out earlier in the week to inspect and repair the damage done to the walls and floor, and ever since, Sherlock had been scouring London for the exact same decorations and fixtures that had been in the flat before the bomb went off. And, of course, he'd found the exact wallpapers, probably through his many connections.

John pushed through the door that led directly into the kitchen, taking off his coat and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs at the table. "Tell me you laid out the drop cloths, because we need all the time we can get."

There was no response, so John stepped through the sliding doors and into the sitting room. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, staring at his mobile, which rested on the arm of the chair.

"Sherlock?" asked John.

Sherlock made no move to show he was even aware of John's presence. John waved a hand, but Sherlock still didn't move.

John sighed as his eyes found the cloths strewn on the floor against the walls. "At least you got the room ready." He started to turn away.

"Damn, why is she not responding?" exclaimed Sherlock suddenly.

John turned back to his friend. "Who?"

"Molly, of course," said Sherlock, glancing up and blinking at him. "Oh, John. Time to decorate already?"

"Yeah," said John. "Why are you trying to contact Molly?"

"I haven't been able to talk to her since Sherrinford," Sherlock explained. "Mycroft explained what happened, but she should hear it from me."

John stared at him in surprise. "That's exactly what you should do. Well done."

Sherlock looked up at him with a frown. "You don't have to look so shocked." He grabbed his phone from the rest.

John chuckled. "It's true. You have grown as a person…a little."

"Sometimes, a little is enough," muttered Sherlock, staring at his phone.

"She might be busy," John told him, rolling the left sleeve of his jumper and shirt up past his elbow. "How long since you texted?"

"This last one, fifteen minutes," Sherlock replied. "I began texting her yesterday afternoon."

John paused in rolling his other sleeve up. "How many?"

"This would make thirty," said Sherlock softly.

"Have you tried calling?"

"Once this morning. No answer."

John stared at him, coming to a horrendous conclusion. "Are you sure she's—"

"Already texted Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted. "She's safe."

John shrugged as he turned to the corner that had the rolls of wallpaper standing there. "Sounds like she's still upset with you, mate."

"Why would she be upset—" Sherlock's sentence broke off, causing John to look back at him. Sherlock was staring into the kitchen with his "I've just figured it out" face. "Of course. You bloody wanker."

"Excuse me?" asked John, turning more towards him.

"Not you; Mycroft," Sherlock told him. "He must not have told her the whole story. He left something out, something that led Molly to believe I was manipulating her."

John frowned. "Why?"

"No idea," said Sherlock, tapping away at his phone. "But it's time I mended some burnt bridges." He lifted the phone to his ear and waited for several moments. "Molly, it's me. I don't know what Mycroft told you, but I don't think he explained everything. Please call me anytime, day or night." He took the phone from his ear and disconnected the call.

John gave him an amused smirk. "Sherlock Holmes saying 'please.' Don't hear that every day."

"Oh, shut up," grumbled Sherlock, setting his phone back on the armrest. "Let's get to work." He stood and took his camel-colored dressing gown off, tossing it onto his chair.

"Oh, before we do, I, erm…picked something up on my way here." John moved into the kitchen and pulled the item from the pocket of his coat. He moved to the sitting room entryway and held it up for his friend to see.

Sherlock paused in the middle of rolling his own sleeves up.

John glanced at the can of yellow spray paint. "I figured if you were serious about restoring the flat exactly as it was…" He looked back at Sherlock with a smile.

Sherlock smiled as he stepped towards the stack of wallpaper rolls.

Mrs. Hudson stepped into the flat, smiling at the sight of familiar walls. "Oh, it looks wonderful, boys." She set the tray of tea onto the table in the middle of the room.

"Yes, it'll do," said Sherlock, picking up a cup of tea from the tray.

Mrs. Hudson turned towards John, lifting Rosie out of the carrier attached to her front. "Here's Daddy!"

John smiled as he pulled his daughter into his arms. "Hi! Did you have fun with your godmother?"

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Hudson, placing a cup of tea into John's free hand. "We had tremendous fun!" She turned back to the tea tray, her eyes falling on the yellow smiley face on the wall with two brand new bullet holes in it. "Sherlock! Did you have to recreate the wall perfectly?"

Sherlock settled into his chair. "It was John's idea." He took a sip of his tea.

John looked at him. "You had the gun loaded and ready. You knew perfectly well I'd be bringing the spray paint."

"Of course I did," said Sherlock, placing the tea precariously on the armrest and picking up his phone.

John looked back at Mrs. Hudson, cocking his head a little as he raised his brows.

"Well, the room looks magnificent," said Mrs. Hudson, picking up her own tea. "You got it done very quickly."

"It was a miracle we got anything done with how often Sherlock was checking his phone," John told her.

"Dammit!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Case in point," John muttered before looking at him. "Still no response?"

"None," said Sherlock. "Thirty-three texts and five voicemails, and she still won't call or text." He placed his phone once again on the armrest. "I may have to up my game."

"What are you going to do, ambush her?" John muttered. He then pointed his finger sternly at him. "Don't ambush her!"

Sherlock, whose face had brightened at the idea, slouched into his seat in defeat. "Yes, you're right. An ambush is not likely to get her to listen to me."

"Need advice?" asked John.

"No, no, I can manage."

John raised his brows. "You sure?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I thought we established this morning that I've 'grown as a person.'"

"Yes, a little, remember? You still have a lot to learn."

Mrs. Hudson placed her hand on John's arm. "It's okay, John. Sherlock will work it out. He always finds a way."

John stared at her for a moment and then shrugged. "If you say so." He looked at the detective. "Call me if you need help, though." He leaned down to set his tea on the tray. "So, dinner?"

"Starving," said Sherlock. "Chinese?"

"Chinese," said John, pulling his phone out. "The usual?"

"Yes," said Sherlock as he got to his feet, grabbed his phone and strode towards his bedroom, closing the door.

John looked towards the chair, where Sherlock's tea sat precariously balanced on the arm. Rolling his eyes, he picked the cup and saucer up and placed it on the tray.

And Mrs. Hudson thinks he can handle the Molly situation on his own?

John walked down the hall of Bart's Hospital with Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.

"You sure we don't need Sherlock for this one?" asked Lestrade.

"Well, we'll see after we take a look," John told him. "You said it didn't look too difficult. I don't want to bother him right now. He's trying to sort through something."

"What is it?" asked Lestrade.

"Oh, just more aftermath of Sherrinford," John told him. "Nothing too serious."

They walked through the doors of the lab to find Molly at a microscope.

She looked up at them, tensing when she spotted John, but then relaxing after a moment. "Taking this solo, John?"

"For now," he told her.

Molly nodded, the last of the tension disappearing.

Relieved to not work with Sherlock? John wondered. Or nervous to face him after listening to his voicemails?

"What have you found?" Lestrade asked.

Molly flipped a switch on a nearby screen, which displayed what was on the microscope's slide. "Turns out, the powder found on the victim's fingers is swainsona greyana."

Both John and Lestrade looked to her for an explanation.

"Darling pea," Molly explained. "It's a poisonous plant that causes the shutdown of the central nervous system."

"So, he was murdered?" asked Lestrade.

"Definitely," Molly told him. "The problem is, I can't figure out how he could have been exposed to it. It's a plant that only grows in certain parts of Australia. Humans become poisoned by it when they ingest animals that have fed on the plant, but England is not likely to ship in meat all the way from Australia."

John nodded, looking at Lestrade. "Yeah, we might need Sherlock."

Molly's jaw clenched as she turned away from them. It looked like she was still angry at Sherlock after all, which meant she hadn't listened to any of his voicemails or called him.

Maybe I should tell her, John thought. She should hear it from Sherlock, but since she's not letting him explain—

The door burst open, and they all glanced over to see Sherlock in the doorway.

"Don't tell me you were waiting at the doors so you could make a dramatic entrance," said Lestrade.

But John had glanced immediately at Molly, who turned away, grabbed some files from the lab bench and strode around it.

Sherlock moved away from the doors towards her. "Molly, if I could just explain—"

Molly stepped into her office and slammed the door.

Sherlock came to a stop in front of it, staring at it for several moments before turning and leaning against the wall next to it, crossing his arms. He looked up at John and Lestrade, who were staring at him. "What?"

"You're really in the doghouse, mate," Lestrade said with a smirk.

"The what?" asked Sherlock with a frown.

"What'd you do?" asked Lestrade.

Sherlock gave an impatient sigh. "Long story short, Eurus threatened to blow Molly up if I didn't get her to say, 'I love you,' without telling her why. Mycroft was supposed to tell her what really happened, but I fear he has not."

Lestrade let out a low whistle. "That is bad. Texted?"

"Thirty-eight of them," Sherlock replied.

"Called?" he asked.

"Eight voicemails. Never an answer."

"You know, maybe you should just explain what happened in a text," John suggested.

Sherlock gave him a "you're an idiot" look. "Even I know this isn't something you explain in a text." He grimaced in distaste.

John nodded with a shrug. The door of the office swung open, and Molly emerged with her lab coat gone, her own coat on, and her bag hanging from her shoulder. She was striding straight past them all, her eyes glued to the doors.

Sherlock had immediately jumped away from the wall, following her. "Molly, I really think we should talk—"

"Shove off, Sherlock," Molly snapped without breaking stride.

"Mycroft didn't tell you everything—" Sherlock tried again, starting to reach for her.

"He told me plenty," snarled Molly as she spun around at the doors, leveling a hard glare at him.

Sherlock came to a stunned stop, his hand frozen in the air in front of him.

"How you were working a case, and you needed to manipulate me into saying 'I love you,'" Molly spat out.

"No, it—" began Sherlock.

"No," said Molly, putting her hand up in front of her. "I don't want to hear it." She dropped her hand after a moment with a tired shake of her head. "Find yourself a different pathologist to work with." She turned and strode through the door and out into the corridor.

John watched as Sherlock's hand dropped to his side and the door swung closed in front of him. His head lowered so that his gaze fell to the bottom of the door. After a moment, his head lifted, and he strode forward, pulling the door open and disappearing through it.

John glanced at Lestrade with raised brows, asking a silent question. The next second, they both hurried towards the doors and out into the hall, where Sherlock was just catching up to Molly.

"There's something about that phone call that day you don't know," Sherlock said in an urgent tone.

"I said go away, Sherlock," Molly muttered.

"Molly, I really need you to—" began Sherlock.

Molly suddenly spun around, reared her arm back and punched Sherlock squarely on the nose. Sherlock took a shocked step back, tripped over his feet and fell backwards to the floor. Propping himself up on one elbow, Sherlock looked up at Molly, staring at her.

Molly took a step towards him, her voice rising in fury. "It's always about what you need! Never anyone else! You never give a thought to anyone else! It's always you!"

John glanced over at Lestrade, who shared a sympathetic look with him.

Molly glared down at the detective. "I am done." Her jaw clenched. "Done." She turned and marched down the hall.

Sherlock slowly sat up, rubbing his hand under his nose and bringing it away stained in a smear of blood. He looked back up at the hall, where Molly was turning into another hallway. Sherlock pulled himself to his feet, his eyes still on where Molly had disappeared.

After several moments, he turned, and John could see his face fallen in what could only be despair. He had only seen that look on Sherlock's face twice before: the night he had returned from the dead and the day Culverton Smith had almost killed him. Each of those times, John had attacked him, both verbally and physically. Sherlock had believed John's friendship to be lost, and now, he was facing the same with Molly.

John took a few steps towards him. "Maybe, it's time to just put it in a voicemail or text."

Sherlock slowly looked up at him, his eyes sad and his voice quiet. "Pretty sure she deletes them without ever opening them." He turned and began walking away.

"You need to do something drastic," John told him.

Sherlock stopped and looked back at him with a frown. "Drastic?"

"She's not letting you get a word in, right?" said John.

Sherlock turned more towards him.

"So, do something drastic, something that shocks her so much that she's speechless, and then you can have your say," John continued.

Sherlock stared at him a moment, blinking several times before speaking. "That's brilliant, John." His eyes moved to the floor, moving rapidly as he thought.

"Need ideas?" asked Lestrade.

Sherlock thought for another moment before a smirk appeared on his face. "No, I think I have just the thing." He turned and began heading down the hall, now with a purpose in his stride.

"Hey, don't do anything crazy," John called.

"Sorry, John," Sherlock called back without turning around. "Can't make that promise!" He disappeared through a door at the end of the hall.

John sighed and looked over at Lestrade. "What are the chances I'm not gonna regret that advice?"

"Slim to none," Lestrade muttered, looking at him. "Either way, this case isn't getting solved tonight." He gestured back towards the lab doors.

Cheery Christmas music rang through the banquet hall as the partygoers milled around the dining tables, talking amongst each other and introducing friends to other friends. It was the annual Scotland Yard Christmas party, where all Yarders and consultants were invited for an evening of wining, dining and Christmas cheer. And this year, John had finally managed to convince Sherlock to attend. Sherlock had always found some excuse to not attend the party, but for some reason, had agreed the first time John had asked. John did not have a good feeling about his sudden change of heart.

It was only a few days since the incident at Bart's between Molly and Sherlock, and John was nervous due to the fact that Molly and several other Bart's staff were at the party as well. Would Sherlock avoid Molly to prevent making a scene? Would he try to speak to her and, thus, cause a scene? Would they accidentally bump into each other and ruin each other's night? There were far too many "if's" for John's liking, which was why he was keeping a regular eye on his friend.

Speaking of…

John headed back through the party, his eyes scanning the room for Sherlock. But, strangely, Sherlock wasn't anywhere in sight. John had seen him arrive and had seen him occasionally wandering around the outskirts of the room, but could no longer find him.

Oh, no, Sherlock, John thought. Don't tell me you got into trouble already.

As though summoned, John suddenly spotted Sherlock standing in a dark doorway to a room that led off of the hall, his hands locked behind his back. John imagined the room was supposed to have been locked, but it looked like Sherlock had picked it just to have somewhere dark to stand.

Shaking his head, John stepped over towards the doorway, leaning against the wall next to it. "Tell me you haven't been standing here most of the night."

"I haven't been standing here most of the night," Sherlock muttered, his eyes never once straying from whatever he was staring at in the small crowd.

John rolled his eyes and took a drink of his champagne. "What are you doing?"

"Preparing for battle," Sherlock answered.

John stared at him before his eyes began moving over the room. "Here?"

"Yes," said Sherlock.

So, that's why he agreed to come, John thought. He's on a case. He lowered his voice confidentially. "Is it serious?"

"Very," Sherlock replied. "Probably the most serious of my life."

"Do we need to alert Lestrade?"

"I imagine he'll find out soon enough."

"Where do you need me?"

"Right here will do just fine," Sherlock told him.

John gave a nod, his hand tensing around the champagne flute in preparation for an attack.

Lestrade stepped up next to John, his own champagne in hand. "You boys look too serious for a Christmas party. At least you do, John."

"Sherlock's spotted a case," John muttered in a low voice. "Something's about to happen."

Sherlock finally looked over at him with a frown. "What are you talking about?"

John looked at him, confused by the look on his friend's face. "What you said about battle, and 'the most serious in your life.' What we've been talking about the past two minutes."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, shaking his head. "That wasn't a case, John."

John stared at him, the tension easing out of him to be replaced with annoyance. "It wasn't?"

"Of course not," said Sherlock, looking back into the crowd.

John glanced at Lestrade, who shook his head, and then looked back at Sherlock. "Then what was it?"

Sherlock's eyes brightened suddenly. "Ah, perfect!" He took a deep breath. "Wish me luck." He snatched John's champagne from him, raising his brows at them as he lifted the glass slightly. "To battle." He took a huge gulp of the champagne and handed it back to John, who was too stunned to say anything.

Sherlock marched into the room, weaving through several people on his way to something.

John watched him a moment before turning to Lestrade. "Something tells me tonight's about to get a whole lot more interesting." He looked back towards his friend.

Sherlock was reaching inside his suit jacket for something as he approached a couple of women three tables away, one of whom was Molly. John's brows rose as he realized Sherlock was about to implement his plan to talk to Molly. Just as Sherlock started to reach them, Molly spotted him and immediately turned away, starting to head in the other direction.

Sherlock quickened his pace as he held out whatever he had pulled from his jacket, pushing it forward into her line of sight. "Marry me."

Molly came to a sharp stop when her eyes fell on whatever Sherlock was holding.

John frowned. "Marry me"? Did he just say "marry me"?

Sherlock took advantage of Molly's shock by moving around in front of her. John's eyes widened as he finally saw what was in Sherlock's hand: a small, black, velvet box that was open and revealing a silver diamond ring inside. Molly's gaze moved up to stare at him, her jaw slack.

"Molly, marry me," said Sherlock.

John's own jaw dropped at that sentence. Oh, no, Sherlock. Bad plan.

Seeing that Molly was rendered speechless, Sherlock plowed right in. "Because what I did that day was not to manipulate you."

Starting to recover, Molly rolled her eyes in annoyance and started to open her mouth.

Sherlock had not stopped talking, but he now raised his voice slightly to stop her from speaking. "It was to save you."

By now, the people nearest the two of them had spotted the supposed engagement ring and had stopped to watch. A hush began to spread through the room, and pretty soon, everyone at the party was watching the conversation unfold.

Molly stared at him a moment, looking down at the floor before closing her eyes and shaking her head, as though already regretting her decision. "Save me?"

Heartened by Molly's, albeit reluctant, willingness to listen, Sherlock's eyes brightened as the hand holding the ring fell to his side. "Eurus led us into a room with a coffin in it, your coffin."

Molly frowned a little.

"She said that if I didn't get you to say those words within three minutes, she was going to set off the explosives in your flat," Sherlock went on.

Molly's jaw dropped a bit as her eyes widened in shock.

"After I did, she revealed that you never were in any danger," Sherlock continued, his eyes turning sad. "It was only a game designed to hurt me…by hurting you."

Any trace of anger Molly had been feeling towards him seemed to evaporate in an instant, and her eyes looked up at him in sympathy.

"You see, she saw what I had managed to keep hidden from everyone," said Sherlock. "I always viewed sentiment as a weakness, something to distract me, something…someone…for my enemies to use against me."

John glanced over at Lestrade, who looked at him as well, both remembering when Moriarty had tried to use the two of them and Mrs. Hudson to get Sherlock to kill himself.

"Which is why I push people away."

John looked back at Sherlock.

"It's the reason behind all the sarcastic remarks, the scathing comments…" Sherlock now fixed Molly with a strong look, holding her gaze, "deducing you to pieces in front of everyone…"

John's brows rose again in surprise.

"…chasing away your boyfriends…" Sherlock went on.

John exchanged his shocked look with Lestrade before snapping his eyes back to Sherlock and Molly.

"By the time I figured out how I felt, I couldn't do anything about it," said Sherlock.

John couldn't tear his gaze away now. He couldn't be saying what I think he's saying, could he?

"There was Moriarty, my two year exile, Tom, Magnussen, Moriarty again—" Sherlock told her as she stared at him, overwhelmed. "I just didn't want anyone hurting you to get to me."

Oh, my God, he is… John thought.

"But, recently, John told me that this chance does not last forever," Sherlock told her. "That it is gone before you know it."

John smiled a little through his shock, surprised that his advice had gotten through to him. Although, he had thought Sherlock was thinking of Irene Adler, not Molly Hooper.

Sherlock shook his head a couple times as his voice softened. "I don't want to miss that chance."

As Molly stared, speechless, at him, he reached down with his free hand and took hers in it. She looked down at it, as though unable to believe it.

"I am so sorry for everything I have done to you," said Sherlock, his voice breaking a little, and John was surprised to see tears starting to fill his eyes. "For all the hurt and the pain and the tears that I have caused you."

Molly looked up at him, tears filling her eyes as well.

"I don't deserve you…" began Sherlock, his voice almost a whisper now, "but, Molly…I love you."

Molly's chest hitched as she tried to breathe through her obvious shock. The room was completely silent; you could have heard a pin drop.

"And I will spend every day making it up to you," Sherlock told her. He stared at her another long moment before he raised the ring box in between them. "Will you marry me?"

Molly stared at him for a moment before looking down at the ring, staring at it for a long moment. John was practically holding his breath as he waited for Molly's answer. In fact, everyone in the room probably was.

Molly finally took a deep breath before raising her free hand and placing it on top of the box, and she slowly began moving Sherlock's hand down. Sherlock's eyes had moved to her hand, and his face now fell as he looked back at Molly, crestfallen. As Molly moved Sherlock's hand back to his side, she snapped the box closed, and the dull, hollow POP! seemed to echo in the room. Sherlock's eyes closed as his head lowered, and he stared at the floor, blinking, trying to keep the pain from his face.

"Later," said Molly.

Sherlock stopped and looked up at her, frowning in confusion.

Molly was still staring down at the velvet box, her face unreadable. "But first…" she moved her gaze up to his, "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment before a smile slowly broke out upon his face. Molly responded by smiling back at him.

"I would love to have coffee," Sherlock told her.

"Black, two sugars?" she responded with a tilt of her head.

Obviously, this was some sort of inside joke with them, because Sherlock closed his eyes in an almost embarrassed way, his smile widening. Molly laughed as Sherlock began chuckling as well, stuffing the box back into his jacket.

After a moment, Molly spoke again. "Just one more question."

Sherlock tilted his head, indicating he was listening.

"You did know everyone else was in the room, right," she asked, "and not just me?"

Sherlock gave her a shrug. "How else was I to convince you I was serious if I didn't make a complete fool of myself?" He gave her a fond smirk.

Molly's smile widened before Sherlock placed his hand on the side of her face, his long fingers wrapping around the back of her neck, and he swooped down, capturing her lips in a kiss.

The spell that seemed to have fallen over the room finally broke, and everyone began that clichéd applause from the movies where the background characters clap when the two protagonists finally get together. Even so, John couldn't help joining in, cheering on his friend. Sherlock moved his other hand to the other side of her face as Molly's hands went up to either side of Sherlock's neck, moving up so her arms were locked behind his neck. John's brows rose at the passion contained in that kiss, and there were a few catcalls. Finally, the two of them broke apart, staring at each other with smile on their faces.

"Everyone's staring," said Molly.

Sherlock's smile widened as he moved his hands to her shoulders. "Yes, they are."

Molly took a breath. "Time for the hard part."

Sherlock pulled his head back a little, his brows drawing together. "Oh, no. Hart part's over."

Molly smiled and leaned up to give him another kiss before Sherlock took her hand and turned towards the room with her. Molly blushed as her friends stepped forward to congratulate them. John was impressed: Sherlock seemed to be keeping his rude remarks to himself. Finally coming to the end of the crowd, they reached John and Lestrade.

"Well…" said Lestrade, "it's about time, you two."

John frowned as he looked at him. "You knew?"

"You kidding?" said Lestrade. "The number of times I've seen him show off how he got his deductions as soon as Molly came into the room?"

Sherlock looked down to the floor in discomfort, avoiding Molly's teasing and amused smile.

"I've never seen him do that," said John.

"Well, once you came along, he had someone else to show off for," explained Lestrade. "Not in the same way, but…"

"I miss you showing off for me," said Molly. "It was the highlight of my day."

Sherlock smiled as he wrapped an arm around her and placed a kiss on her head. He looked back at the other two men. "If you'll excuse us, we have a long overdue coffee date."

He and Molly moved past them and to the coat rack, where Sherlock helped Molly put her coat on before getting his own. As the two of them strode down the hall towards the exit, their hands found each other and clasped together.

"Thank God he finally did something," said Lestrade. "I was afraid he was gonna end up retiring alone. Buy some cottage in the middle of nowhere."

John nodded. "Harassing the local shopkeepers, building a secret lab out back…"

"Catalogue the three hundred and fifty-two different types of dirt," muttered Lestrade.

John began laughing. "At least we don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Yeah, good thing," said Lestrade. "Come on, time to rejoin the party. I'm sure the gossip mill is running amuck." He turned and headed back into the crowd.

John smiled as he turned to join him.

"Yes, Dr. Watson? How can I help you?"

John stepped further into Mycroft's Diogenes office, stopping in front of the desk. "You knew, didn't you?"

"You'll have to be more specific," said Mycroft as he looked up, smiling smugly at John as he leaned back in his chair. "I know a lot of things."

"You knew that it would play out like this, that if Molly was angry enough, it would goad Sherlock into doing whatever he could to keep her," John went on. "You only told Molly part of the story on purpose."

"Of course I did," said Mycroft. "I may believe feelings to be a chemical defect, but my brother is another matter entirely. He is an emotional being who finds his greatest strength in those he loves. A romantic relationship could only benefit him."

"You're not a person that understands emotions," said John, crossing his arms. "How did you know?"

Mycroft smirked a little. "As my brother would say, 'you see but do not observe.'"

"Observe what?"

"The brass plate."

John frowned, thinking back to the coffin at Sherrinford with the brass plate on the lid saying, "I LOVE YOU." "What about it?"

Mycroft lowered his head, leveling his gaze at the doctor. "Name plates are placed on coffins, not by the deceased, but by their loved one."

John stared at him in shock. My God, he's right. He smiled and shook his head as he laughed.

"Better start drafting your speech," Mycroft told him. "I don't imagine it'll be long before Dr. Hooper accepts my brother's proposal." He bent back over his desk, going back to work.

John smiled as he turned and headed back out the door, thinking back four years to his meeting in a café with Mycroft.

"The Woman…"

"Is that loathing, or a salute? One of a kind, the one woman who matters…"

John smiled. Right idea. Wrong woman.

THE END