Very late that night, or very early the next morning, Molly woke up. It wasn't a sound that woke her, but the sensation of her body being moved with infinite gentleness. When she felt a pair of strong arms scoop her up like a baby, she let out a sleepy groan.

"Shh, it's just me, Molly," murmured a deep and very familiar voice as he cradled her to his chest. Relaxing, Molly instinctively snuggled against his warmth, breathing in his natural scent deeply. It wasn't until she felt that he was shaking did she open her eyes. It was very dark in the bedroom, but she didn't need to see him to know why he had woken her and was holding her now.

Slowly, she reached her arms up and wrapped them around his neck. Sherlock's hold around her tightened and he pressed his face against her own neck. When she felt the moisture of tears on her skin, she murmured, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," said Sherlock firmly, his voice muffled against her neck. "I just…need you close."

In response, Molly tightened her embrace around his neck slightly. The trembling of his body was increasing, and his face was hot against her neck. Molly's intuition told her exactly what was going on and what Sherlock needed to do right now.

Carefully, Molly freed herself from his hold, and changed her position close to him by straddling his lap. Under any other circumstances, this would have been a sexual act. This time, it was to ensure that Sherlock could get her as close as he wanted her to be. She could barely see his face in the darkness, but she cupped it gently in her hands. Feeling the tears there, Molly murmured as reassuringly as she could:

"It's ok, Sherlock. Just let go. Let it out. You're safe with me, I promise."

This was exactly the trigger that Sherlock needed, for a moment later, he started to sobs. They were so violent and loud, it was as if the sobs were being torn from his throat and chest by force. Molly didn't flinch or shy away; she pressed herself to him and held him as tightly as she could. He, in turn, held onto Molly like a lifesaver in a turbulent ocean as he finally allowed himself to cry without restraint for the first time in his adult life.

Neither knew or cared how long this lasted. They only knew that they fell back asleep after it was over, with Sherlock nestled safely in Molly's arms.

Working full-time eventually puts one's body on a natural clock in terms of when they go to sleep and when they wake up. One can't stay up late or sleep in late as they were able to when they were younger. So, when Molly woke up the next morning, despite the exhausting day and night she'd had, it wasn't very late in the morning.

8:34 was the time on her bedside clock when she had opened her eyes and cleared them of sleep. She remembered Mycroft telling her on the phone yesterday that he could come to collect Sherlock to meet their parents at 10:00. Molly turned her head to look at Sherlock, who was still fast asleep. He lay close to her, turned towards her, with an arm slung over her middle.

He looked so innocent and peaceful now that Molly couldn't bear to wake him up just yet. She decided that she would wait until she had freshened up and had breakfast ready for the both of them. So, after kissing the tip of his nose very lightly, Molly carefully rolled out of bed. He didn't wake, thankfully, so she grabbed some clothes from her dresser and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

Forty-five minutes later found Molly at her dining table. She was dressed in a pair of blue jeans, and a white blouse embroidered with dark-purple thread along the edges. Her long hair was down, side-parted, and kept away from her face with a plain barrette. As she was spooning scrambled eggs and bacon onto two plates, she heard familiar footsteps coming from the direction of the bedroom and washroom. She smiled to herself, both glad and disappointed that she wouldn't have to wake him up.

Looking up, Molly saw Sherlock. He was dressed in the clothes that he'd worn yesterday, but he looked twenty times better than he had looked when he last wore it. And the way that he was looking at her made every atom of her body warm. She gave him a little smile and said, "Good morning," in a quiet voice.

Sherlock returned her smile, replied with his own "Good morning," and sat down at the table. Molly joined him, and they tucked into their breakfast in companionable silence. Every so often, Sherlock would reach out and touch Molly: her hand, her wrist, her neck, her cheek, her knee, her thigh. It was as if he was reassuring himself that she was there, taking care of him, loving him. And she would always respond by covering his hand, squeezing his hand, and giving him her own gentle touches.

When they had both finished, Molly picked up the plates and took them into the kitchen. As she washed them and then her hands, she felt Sherlock come to stand behind her. As he wrapped his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, he asked, "Molly…did you mean it…when you told Mycroft that I was welcome to stay for as long as I needed? Baker Street may not be completely restored for some time…"

"Yes, Sherlock," she replied sincerely. "I meant it. If you would really like to stay here until your home is ready again, then you're welcome to."

He turned his face and kissed her neck once, twice, three times. Molly felt her cheeks burn and her heart flutter at such an intimate display of affection – the kind that she had never ever expected Sherlock to show her. When he felt her whole body shudder, he ceased and turned her around to face him.

"You cool and soothe my mind just being near me, Molly," he said in awe. "How do you do that?"

His words warming her heart, Molly could only smile and shrug. "I'm just me, Sherlock."

"Then promise me that you'll never stop."

"I promise. After all, I don't know how to be anything else."

Sherlock gave her a warm smile, and pressed his forehead to hers. They stood there like that, foreheads pressed together and arms around each other for quite some time. Then, something in Sherlock's trouser pocket began to vibrate. He sighed, leant back from Molly, and took out his mobile.

"Mycroft," he said, reading the text that he had just received. "He's on his way."

Molly nodded and stepped back from him. "I plan on going to Bart's for a few hours today, just to catch up on some paperwork. So, if I'm not here when you come back, just text me and I'll wrap up whatever I'm doing."

"Thank you," said Sherlock, taking her hands in his as a somber look came over his face. "I already know that I will need you after this…disclosure to my parents is completed."

Her heart going out to him, Molly embraced him tightly, and he held her just as tightly back as if to soak up her strength. Sensing this, Molly murmured: "It's going to be alright, Sherlock."

She felt him take a shuddering breath. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I know you, Sherlock. I know how strong you are, and how big your heart is. Because you love your family, and they love you. And because, now that the truth can be told, everything can at least be settled right."

Sherlock held her tighter to him for a moment, and then he let her go. She caressed his cheek before gently pushing him towards her front door. With one last lingering look, Sherlock left her flat and she was alone again.

But this time, her mind was at peace and her heart was full.

Molly wouldn't hear from Sherlock for a couple of hours. She occupied her time by going to Bart's and finally catching up on that stack of paperwork covering her desk. Her lunch was a sandwich and tea that she had picked up from the cafeteria. When she left Bart's nearly five hours later, she was tired but feeling very proud of herself.

It was just after she had returned to her flat that she got a text from Sherlock:

My parents would really like to meet you. May I bring them over for tea? SH

Molly's eyes widened as she read the message. Goodness, she thought dazedly. In the past twenty-four hours, Sherlock and I have realized our requited love for each other, and now he wants me to meet his parents!

Her heart beginning to pound nervously, Molly texted back:

Oh, of course, if they really want to. I just came home. Molly

She cringed after she'd sent it, wishing that she had just said 'yes' without the hesitant embellishment. It's not that she didn't want to meet Sherlock's parents; it was just that everything was happening so fast and unexpectedly. Plus, there was the normal – and powerful – fear that the parents of the person you loved wouldn't approve of you. That they would think that they were a bit to plain, too odd, too morbid for their child.

Her mobile vibrated with a new text from Sherlock:

We will be there in fifteen minutes. Stop worrying. They will adore you, my Molly. SH

Molly had to smile at this. That man certainly knew her well. Sufficiently – but not completely – calmed, Molly freshened up in the loo and then went to the kitchen to put the kettle on and prepare the tea things.

Right on time, fifteen minutes later, Molly's doorbell rang. Taking a deep breath, Molly went to her front door and opened it. There stood Sherlock and an older couple behind him. He gave her a reassuring smile before she stepped aside. "Please come in," she said, smiling.

Once the door was closed after them, the woman who could only be Sherlock's mother took both of her hands with her own. Her eyes – Sherlock's eyes – were shining with emotion. "Oh, Dr. Hooper, we're so happy to finally meet you!"

"Please, call me Molly," the pathologist said, slightly overwhelmed by the sincerity in Mrs. Holmes' voice and gaze. "And it's lovely to meet you, as well."

"I do hope that this isn't an imposition," said Mr. Holmes, standing at his wife's side with such a kind face. "This was quite at the last minute, after all."

"Oh, it's no trouble, I promise," Molly responded, and she meant it.

Looking at the two of them, she could tell by the weariness and traces of sadness in their eyes that they had certainly not had an easy day. Molly's heart ached for them, not even daring to fathom what they had been through and the hurricane of emotions that they had been put through today. She had to blink back tears from her eyes just thinking about it.

Thankfully, the moment was broken by the sound of the kettle boiling. So, Molly ushered them further into her flat and to her table. "Please sit down, and I'll get everything ready –"

"No need, Molly," Sherlock called from the kitchen. He had lifted the kettle off the stove-top. "I'll get everything prepared, you three sit and chat – that is the expression, isn't it?"

Molly gave a little laugh, smiling warmly at Sherlock's generous gesture. As she sat down at her table, she heard Mrs. Holmes murmur something to her husband, and Mr. Holmes' response:

"You see? I told you she is perfect for him!"

"I never doubted you for a moment, my dear."

Throughout the simple but lovely tea time (the remaining gingernuts were consumed along with the tea), Molly felt as though she were under a spotlight in the best possible way. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes wanted to know everything about her, both so earnest and sincere that Molly never felt truly uncomfortable. She had the feeling that the both of them were doing their best to distract their minds from the day they'd had, so she gladly accepted and answered all of their questions. Sherlock said the least, sitting beside her in supportive and adoring silence. He seemed at peace, and that relieved Molly to no end.

With each minute that passed, Molly came to love Sherlock's parents more and more. Both were intelligent, insightful, good listeners, and clearly devoted to each other. She dearly hoped that she would be able to see more of them in the future, especially considering the paramount shift in her relationship with Sherlock. When they exchanged numbers, addresses, and e-mail accounts, Molly vowed to make sure that she would.

When it came time for them to leave – Sherlock's parents had a train to catch back home, and Sherlock was escorting them to the station – Molly walked the three Holmes's to the door. Before she could open the door, Mrs. Holmes had enveloped her in a tight, warm hug.

"You are the best thing that could ever happen to my boy," she murmured softly. "You've saved him in every possible way. And if he gives you any cheek, you just let me know."

Molly laughed through the tears that had welled in her eyes, hugging her back and nodding. After their hug ended, Mr. Holmes gave her a warm smile and kissed her forehead. "We'll see each other soon, my dear."

Again, Molly nodded, words failing to break through her emotion.

Sherlock opened her front door, and waved his parents through it. Then he turned to Molly with a tender expression on his face. "After I see them off, I'm going to get some more clothes and necessaries for myself, and then I'll come right back," he said.

"Okay," she said, her voice cracking a bit from the butterflies that suddenly started pounding in her stomach. That man certainly had a way of looking at her.

He smiled at her, squeezed her hand, and then followed his parents out.

Left alone in her flat, Molly felt the exhaustion that had been piling up from everything: the paperwork at Bart's, the stress of the phone call, the aftermath with Sherlock. So, after she had cleaned up the tea things, Molly decided to indulge herself a little bit.

After clearing away the tea things, Molly went into her bedroom. She stripped of her clothes, threw them in the laundry hamper by the door, and put on her lilac bathrobe. She then went into her washroom to draw a hot bath for herself. As the water filled the tub, Molly put her hair up in a messy bun atop her head.

She took her time in the tub, indulging in a long soak in the steaming water. It was one of the simple pleasures that she always enjoyed, and that she would indulge herself as often as she was able to. Aside from just lying in the water, Molly took her time washing her skin with her favorite soap and shaving where she was due for shaving.

By the time she was willing to get out of the tub, she was warm and even more drowsy than she had been before. So, Molly walked back into her bedroom and let her hair fall loose again. She curled up on her side of the bed, and was asleep within seconds of closing her eyes.

Molly awoke to something gentle stroking her hair and something soft brushing her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw Sherlock leaning over her, lifting his head after having just kissed her cheek, seated beside her on the bed. He had that tender expression on his face again as one hand stroked her hair. Molly smiled sleepily at him, raising a hand to cup his cheek.

Hunger mixed with the tenderness in Sherlock's expression, and he began to lower his head, his eyes asking permission. In response, Molly moved her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck, welcoming his intent. In the next moment, their lips met for the first, wonderful time.

The couple took their time, savoring the sensations, the closeness, the intimacy. Their first kisses were tender, innocent, with little smiles to each other in between. But gradually, the kisses became hungrier and much less innocent. Molly felt her skin tingling with arousal, and the area between her legs getting hotter and wetter.

What finally broke the heated kisses was Sherlock, who had realized that his fingers had wandered inside of Molly's robe and were nearly resting on her breast. He looked at her again as if to ask if this was alright. And Molly, who had no conflict raging in her mind or heart, moved his hand under her robe so that it cupped her breast. Then she said three words:

"If you're sure."

Sherlock's look became absolutely passionate as he leaned down to brush his lips with hers again.

"More than anything."

Soon, neither could tell where one ended and the other began.

It was some time – well after dark – until the two new lovers left the bedroom to have a very late supper. Sherlock kept Molly on his lap while they ate off the same large plate, not shy at all about where his free hand and his lips went in between bites. Molly had no objections to this whatsoever; being with Sherlock so intimately was something she had only dreamt of for so long.

The fact that he wore nothing but his dark-purple boxer shorts was just a wonderful bonus.

As she washed the plate and glasses at the sink, Sherlock stood behind her, his arms around her waist and his lips on her neck. Molly giggled, finally dropping the dishes in the sink in surrender. "Sherlock, I have to get at least a little sleep tonight. I have to work tomorrow."

Sherlock groaned, resting his forehead on her shoulder. "Can't you take the day off?"

Molly sighed, leaning back against him in his embrace. "I wish I could…but I only have a few days off left this year, and I want to save them for the holidays."

Sadness had crept into her voice that went deeper than wishing she had more vacation time. Sensing this, Sherlock lifted his head and turned her around in his arms. "You used quite a lot of it up after Mary died, didn't you?"

Molly blinked hard, bit her lip, and nodded. "John was so…devastated…and he needed help…and Rosie's my goddaughter…I couldn't just not…"

Sherlock cut off her sad words with his warm lips. "You are so strong," he murmured, rubbing his nose against hers. "And so brave."

Molly shyly hid her face on his shoulder. "I try to be."

He held her for a minute before he led her back into the bedroom, shutting off the lights as he went. Once in the warm bedroom, Sherlock stripped Molly of her robe, himself of his boxers, and tucked her into bed along with him. Holding her close, he asked, "Molly…why were you not having a good day…before that phone call?"

Molly sighed, knowing that he would have asked this eventually. "It was just a bad day…I get them from time to time…ever since my father died. He was all I had growing up, and after he was gone…there was a time when I truly believed that I was all alone in the world. It got better over time, but I still sometimes have bad days like that…especially after Mary…"

For a moment, Sherlock said and did nothing. Then, very gently, he rolled Molly onto her back so that he hovered above her.

"Molly, I want to ensure that you never have a day like that again. I know that I've caused my fair share of them in the past. But I need your help. I've never done any of this before, and I don't want to let you down. I want to be for you what you are and have always been to me."

"And what am I and have always been to you?" asked Molly.

"My rock. My bolt-hole. My right-hand. Someone that I can always turn to for anything I need, be it assistance in the lab or the most crucial role in saving my life. And now, you are my home and my heart. You are the person I could come to and be more vulnerable with than I've ever been with anybody before. You took care of me and still loved me, even though it took me so long to stop denying my heart. I want to be all of that to you, too. Will you help me get there, my Molly?"

Molly smiled a beatific smile. "Oh, my Sherlock…of course I will! You're already closer than you believe."

They shared a deep and passionate kiss before getting lost in each other again. Molly certainly didn't mind; she'd worked plenty of shifts on little to no sleep, anyway.

The End