This was supposed to be a short epilogue but kinda ran away from me. Its more of a complete chapter now...the concluding chapter.
Beta read by Emma_Lynch. All mistakes are mine because I live in my own personal 'are we there yet' moment.

She was free early and decided to visit Rosie, having not seen her in some time. The moment John opened the door, she knew it had been a good decision; John looked dreadful, he had aged years in few days. Raising his finger to his lips, he gestured her wordlessly to come inside.

The house was a tip, but with one corner relatively clean; the floor here was clear of clothes and toys and the table dusted. So he either gave up on cleaning or had just started it.

As she cleared a chair and sat, he went to the kitchen area, and begin cleaning up what looked like vomit off the floor. She followed him, the sticky mess giving her an idea of what must've happened.

"Cold?" She quietly asked.

"Horrible one. She's a mucous factory right now. Hasn't slept at all."

Leaving him in the kitchen, she stood viewing the living room and started tackling the mess. Between the both of them, the living room and the the kitchen were quickly cleared up and cleaned, also the sink was emptied and the dishwasher loaded.

"Tea?" she asked. "While it's still quiet and before we clear the rest?" He gratefully accepted, excusing himself to make his bed while she switched on the kettle, both hoping the child would continue resting.

But just as they were about to have the first sip, Rosie woke up with a cry. John's shoulders visibly sagged as he rose and went to his wailing baby; she sympathised with him but stayed at the table, knowing better than to come between a sick child and its parent.

But the incessant crying continued, the rising pitch met with increase in John's voice, attempting to soothe her. She heard it then, the broken, whispered begging to stop. "Hussh sweetie, I know. I know! I miss her too...so much. Please. I don't know - Rosie. Husssh. I - just..."

She immediately ran in and gently took Rosie from her now openly crying father. Covering his face, John just collapsed on the floor in a heap, tears streaming down his face as he curled up with Rosie's blanket. Molly brought the child to the living room, leaving him to grieve in privacy.

She then ran a hot shower, and sat with Rosie on the toilet seat, inhaling the steam and hoping it would provide some relief. It worked a little and as Rosie slowly hiccuped to silence, Molly brought her out to the kitchen and fed her a little. Back again to the bathroom and steam. A couple of times of this and fresh nappies, Rosie nodded off, food and open airway having done the trick. Molly then slowly put her to bed, ensuring the toddler stayed on her side. It had taken almost two hours of feeding and soothing and changing and trying her best to calm the child. It would be a mountainous task if one was also having a low episode at the same time, as John obviously was.

Said man had gathered himself by then, and had continued his clean up duties. Molly's offer to cook dinner was accepted without any protest, and the house was blissfully silent as the adults quietly did their work.

That was when Sherlock arrived.

Molly had seen him intermittently since she had left him sleeping in her bed that morning. He had popped into Bart's a few days later and she had visited Baker Street once. Both times he had been in the middle of a case and there hadn't been much conversation. There had been a few texts, but nothing of consequence.

He'd looked surprised to see her but one look at John and she could almost see all other thoughts flying out of his head.

Eyes red, unshaven face and looking absolutely done in, John was a sight that would've worried anyone. None to indulge in small talk, the three of them sat down for a quiet dinner, their silent company soothing the grieving man.

Molly insisted that he take a nap while she watched over a still sleeping Rosie, an offer that John gratefully accepted. The look of forced smile on his face broke Molly's heart.

"He's having one of those days," Sherlock quietly observed as his best friend retired to his bedroom.

"He'll have loads of them. He will break down so that someday, maybe he can start afresh."

He looked at her quizzically, then nodded.

"Ah, your father."

She sighed. It was going to be a long and arduous journey for John. But they were all going to rally around him for that duration and beyond.

The next two hours were spent in silence, with Molly doing some clearing up and then surfing her phone. Sherlock helped out until he received a text about some case, after which he was on his phone.

Rosie woke up with a cry but this time she was soothed by her father, who looked tired but marginally better after that brief rest. Molly's offer to stay back and look after Rosie was refused.

"I got this, I- I got this. I need to do this alone."

It was only after John promised to call her if needed, that she finally left.

She was halfway towards the tube station when she heard her name being called, turning around to see Sherlock running towards her. She had left him deeply engrossed in his phone, with him just nodding at her when she left.

"Take you home?"

She pressed down on her impulsive response to refuse and instead said what she really wanted, "I'd like that."

The crowd was sparse at that hour but it didn't stop people from staring at him: he was an almost celebrity, on top of being a very good looking man. He would usually get irritated at the attention but was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the journey. She assumed the case must be interesting and was glad that there was something to keep him interested and distracted from the drama in his personal life.

They were at her door in no time, and he accepted her silent invitation to come in. As she removed her coat and shoes and moved towards the living room, she realised Sherlock was still by the door, still wearing his coat and his hand resting on the coat peg.

"Sherlock?"

He remained where he was, his eyes blinking but nothing passed those pursed lips. She slowly approached, not wanting to disturb his line of thought.

Up close she saw he was breathing shallow, his grip on the peg was tight and his mouth was hard. He was tensed, trying to calm down but wasn't being successful. Hesitantly, she lay a hand on his shoulder, at which he shut his eyes and rasped out.

"I - I was afraid you wouldn't say it….those were the longest seconds of my life."

"Sherlock."

"John is much stronger, Molly. If something -," he paused as his voice cracked, and took a deep breath. "I would've lost everything."

His voice quivered during those last words, making her pull him in for a hug, kissing his hair as he drew in a ragged breath.

"I'm here, Sherlock. I'm here," she whispered as he hugged her tightly. She took half a step back, made him look right at her and said in a quiet but strong voice. "I am here."

Sherlock hugged her back, holding her in an almost painful grip. Nose in her hair, he tried to take deep breaths to calm down, eventually succeeding and slowly releasing her. Gently cradling her face, he uttered a harsh "everything" before crashing his lips onto her's.

He kissed her thoroughly, starting slowly but turning up the heat - It was the kiss of a man who finally had what he'd coveted and couldn't believe it.

He backed her against the wall as he moved with surety, his lips leaving a burning trail down her neck. When she pulled his head up and kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, it was as if the last thread holding him back snapped.

He was unhesitant in his demands and she was equally enthusiastic in her response.

The excitement of his new discoveries was matched by the joy of her redemption. It was passionate, honest, fearless joining of two souls who had been circling each other in what had seemed like parallel orbits. But the orbits had overlapped and now there was no holding back.

Later lying in bed wondrously spent and Molly resting her head on his chest, Sherlock slowly started narrating in detail what had happened at Sherrinford. His voice broke as he mentioned his best friend Victor Trevor, showing a better understanding towards loss and grief. He spoke about his new found admiration and increased respect for his older brother. Of his determination to keep John safe, and of the moment of realisation along with the sudden, desperate need to acknowledge what he felt for Molly.

He then turned on his side, facing her with an honest gaze.

"I know those words are tainted for you, but I - I love you. I love you, Molly Hooper. And you are everything."

Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked through them. She wanted to see his face, to sear it to her memory, to always remember what she saw when he said those words the first time- with all his heart, and not with a proverbial gun to his head.

And he reminded her of it regularly, in his own special way.

When she smelt her favourite brand of coffee one morning - he'd arrived sometime when she was asleep, brewed her favourite brew and simply left.

When at the end of a long day, she saw him waiting for her near the Barts exit, giving her a slow, toe-curling smile as she approached him. (Sandra said she's almost had an orgasm right there!)

When she happily surveyed a Baker Street that was almost back to its previous glory - he'd stood near the fireplace and held his hand out, pulling her near as he ignored John and looked about his home with a proud and relieved smile.

When he spent the whole day with her, playing his violin and recounting tales of his childhood, finally telling her in detail about Eurus and how he was communicating with her using music.

He was letting her in, showing her his heart and holding nothing back, reminding her frequently of what he felt for her, without expecting her to say it back. It was assumed and acknowledged; sounds didn't make a difference.

She did try, make an attempt to respond but the words always got stuck. She knew it, he knew it, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Not out aloud.

It was a few weeks later, at Baker Street, when they'd been in the middle of dinner; he'd been making observations about the clearly new vendor of chopsticks from 'the way the sticks tapered' and she'd suddenly felt overwhelmed. He was clever, kind, generous and a lovely, lovely human who put others before him. He was unique and wonderful and brilliant and gorgeous and he loved her. He loved her - and didn't shy away from admitting it.

She felt she would burst if she didn't let out her feelings, if she didn't tell him how precious he was, how dear he was to her.

"Sherlock," she'd interrupted his observations, a little breathless. At his quizzical look, she'd tried once. And then again.

"I love you," she whispered.

He'd stared at her for a moment, then placed his chopsticks aside and kissed her thoroughly.

She felt weightless yet tethered. Her secret was out in the air.

She no longer felt the words were tainted, because they were about him. And he was all she could ever want, and then some more.

He was her everything, and she wasn't ever going to stop telling him that.