A huge thank you to you lovely readers and reviewers! Thank you so much for following along on this journey. Enjoy the conclusion :)

Songs That Inspired This Chapter: All I Need by Within Temptation and Clockword (Piano Version) by Sleeping At Last

John Watson looked on as Molly and Sherlock examined the corpse upon the slab. He could not deny that they have always worked incredibly well together, but something was different in their interactions now. Sherlock never chastised her as he used to long before their courtship and eventual marriage. He remembered when his best friend first spoke of courting the petite pathologist.

"I have decided to embark in a courtship with Doctor Hooper," Sherlock informed him.

"I thought you were never venturing down that road, Holmes," John replied in shock.

"It is the only logical decision to help us both out," Sherlock explained. "She will be able to keep her position at the hospital and I won't have to deal with Irene's advances or my parents' complaints ever again."

"Ah, you're a romantic then," John remarked sarcastically.

"Hardly," Sherlock responded. "Besides, if I were to choose a wife, Doctor Hooper is well suited to my tastes. She can hold an intelligent conversation, her career choice intertwines with my own and we get along well enough." John only sighed. There was no chance that Molly would accept this offer without any amount of fondness involved.

"It is in fact poison, dearest husband," Molly informed Sherlock a bit smugly. "Here, you can see the points of entry from the needle. The gruesome mutilation of this man was only to cover up how he truly died."

"There is always one thing," Sherlock muttered to himself in frustration at having overlooked that. He blamed it on his wife, of course, for he could not stop looking at her in awe as she finished up the autopsy. Things he noticed about her in complete concentration was how focused her deep brown eyes were and the way she bit her bottom lip when studying the cadaver closely. During this time, Sherlock was supposed to be scanning the corpse for any clues. Sherlock mentally scolded himself for letting such a thing slip away from him. Which thing he did not know; whether it was that he allowed her presence to be a distraction or the fact that he never truly noticed how lovely his wife is. He decided on both.

"Ready to leave, Sherlock? We must meet Lestrade," John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, shaking the thoughts from his head. He began to follow John out of the morgue, but upon realization, turned around and pressed a kiss upon his wife's cheek. He noticed how his heart beat wildly in his chest, the only conclusion coming to his mind of a truth that has been around for a long time; much longer than he realized. "I will see you at Baker Street, my darling." With that, he swept out of the morgue, leaving Molly in utter surprise.

"You alright, Holmes?" John asked his best friend. It was unlike him to miss such a deduction.

"I have been a fool," Sherlock sighed. John's eyebrows shot up with curiosity.

"Go on," John encouraged.

"I am distracted yes, but not because of her; it is because of me," Sherlock explained.

"How so?" John asked, full well knowing the answer.

"I have always felt the same about her as she does for me," Sherlock admitted. "I am only distracted because I had refused to acknowledge it and now it haunts me."

Molly arrived home to the melancholy melody of the Stradivarius. Something was bothering him, she knew, but did not want to pry. She opted to lay a gentle hand upon his shoulder in concern before turning toward the bedroom. Stripped down only to her corset and chemise, she took the journal out of the nightstand on her side of the bed.

Wednesday, October 16th 1895

I am beginning to feel that things have changed, indeed. As to what caused it, I do not know, but I do know that I have not been happier. I often wonder if he knows the depth of my love for him. If not, I intend to let it be known. No longer will I wait for him to initiate anything; I will give it a try myself to see his response. How I have longed to feel his lips upon mine once more, for I have not felt them since our day of holy matrimony. The melody he is playing on his violin leads me to believe his heart is aching. It is a most saddening song filled with longing and desire. Perhaps he feels what I feel. The wistfulness of his composition leads me to believe so. I no longer want him to feel this way; he must know how I love and cherish him. Wish yourself luck, Margaret Elizabeth Holmes.

Molly prepared a warm meal for the both of them and they ate in companionable silence. Sherlock insisted that he would take care of the dishes, pointing out she had had a trying day at the hospital. She thanked him before returning to the bedroom, nearly ready to turn in for the night, until a letter on the bed caught her eye. It simply said 'Molly' on the envelope. She lifted the candle from her nightstand and opened it up. It was written in her husband's hand.

Molly, my beloved,

I know I have been a less than desirable husband and for that, there is no excuse. I am sorry if I have hurt you in any way. I realize now that I have been a fool. I hope you can forgive me for my cruel ways, for it was not my intention to be the reason you cry yourself to sleep at night. I only wish to hold you close to me and comfort you. I would like to kiss you properly but I fear you will reject me after all of the pain I have put you through. I would not blame you if you were to push me away. My darling, I love you and have always loved you. My heart is yours completely. I am sorry that I never acknowledged this fact, for I did not want to partake in romantic entanglements. The truth is, loving you was only a distraction because I had never told you the truth of my heart; however nonexistent it may be. I pushed and pushed you away from me and I fear you do not quite love me any longer. I yearn for your lips, your gentle touch and the loving words that escape your mouth with that lovely voice of yours. I will say it again and I will say it for the rest of our lives. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please say you love me too.

Always yours,

William S.S. Holmes

Molly's eyes were flooded with tears at the words he had written her. Her head lifted up to find him in the doorway, a look of pure adoration on his face. His brows furrowed with worry but his cerulean eyes shone with a love that Molly had never seen before. She set the candle back down for fear of dropping it on her corset and chemise. He stepped closer until he was able to caress her cheek with his callused hand. Molly leaned into his warm touch as he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Oh, dear Lord," he spoke softly. "I am in love with you, Molly. My darling." She did not wait a second longer before pressing her lips against his fervently. Sherlock savored the taste of her lips as he slid his tongue along the seam of them. Their kiss deepened and their passion grew as he trailed down her jaw toward her neck. She felt him nibbling along her pulse point carefully, sending a wave of pleasure through her.

"I love you," she breathed out, her heart nearly beating out of her chest. The warmth of his lips were suddenly atop her breasts, caressing her tenderly. He kissed her lips once more, moving her to lie against the pillows.

"Forgive me," he whispered in her ear.

"I do, my love. I forgive you," Molly smiled up at him.

As they held one another, Molly's face buried in the crook of his neck, Sherlock felt the completeness that he was once told by his best friend he would feel if he would just let love in. His gaze roamed over the sleeping form of his wife in awe. He pressed his lips in her hair softly, drifting to sleep as they remained tangled with one another. Sherlock knew what it was to yearn and he never wanted to forget the way he felt tonight.