A/N: Please excuse any grammar or punctuation errors as this story is not beta read.

Disclaimer: Characters of Sherlock do not belong to me.

It was late in the evening when Sherlock, John, and Lestrade returned to John's flat.

Molly was watching over Rosie while the men were out investigating a case.

"Thanks again for doing this Molly." Watson told her.

"No problem." The pathologist said as she picked a tired Rosie up in her arms.

Lestrade moved closer to get a good look at the sleeping girl. She was curled up in Molly's arms, with her head laying against Molly's shoulder.

"Aww. Look at her. You're so good with kids Molly. I bet you would be a great mum when you have your own." He commented.

"Again your capacity for stating the obvious astounds us Lestrade." Sherlock replied, stretched out in his mind palace pose on the couch, with his feet on John's coffee table. "Though he is correct Molly, you're not getting any younger you know. If you do intend to have children you had best start soon."

"Shut up Sherlock." John admonished his friend.

The statement stung. Although Molly was used to his ways, she simply turned her back and fixed Rosie's head, which was about to loll dangerously off her shoulder.

Lestrade tried to save the situation in his own awkward way. "Don't you pay him any mind Molly. Before you know it, he'll be playing godfather at your child's christening."

Sherlock scoffed. "I am afraid that will be impossible. I would never be the godfather to Molly's child."

Molly froze for a moment before she resumed fussing over Rosie. Ever since the phone call from Sherrinford, things seemed different between her and the consulting detective. John and Mycroft had visited Molly and explained the context of the phone call while Mycroft's team did a sweep of her apartment, removing all the cameras and listening bugs. She felt horrified, embarrassed, and exposed as her most vulnerable and private feelings were revealed to the men. In her mind it was as if her feelings were revealed to the world.

Things were awkward when she saw Sherlock again at St. Barts. The detective moved more carefully around her and was much more reserved. They didn't talk about the elephant in the room. It took a few weeks for the pair to once again find their rhythm around each other again, or so Molly thought.

The statement that Sherlock wasn't willing to protect her child in the event of her death, hurt her immensely. Again, she was jarringly re-corrected in her understanding of her place and importance in Sherlock's life.

John, noticing her distress, went over to her. "Here, let me take her." He said while lifting his daughter into his arms.

"Thanks." Molly said, her eyes never lifting from the floor. "I have got to go. I got swing shift tonight and I need to go get ready for work."

Even Greg could sense Molly was hurt. He offered to give Molly a lift, since it would probably be more difficult to find a cab in the area at this time of night. The DI and the pathologist left shortly thereafter.

Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot on the couch.

John, still holding Rosie, went over to his friend and promptly kicked the detective's legs off the coffee table.

"OW! What the hell was that for?!" Sherlock exclaimed as he reared his legs back.

"You may not be in love with Molly, but that is no way to treat her—"

"Who says I'm not in love with her?" Sherlock rubbed his aching calf and interrupted Watson as he was beginning to go into a tirade.

"You—You love her?" John sputtered.

"Do pay attention John! We had already established this at Sherrinford!" Sherlock sniffed condescendingly.

"And you told her this…after you returned?" The doctor pressed.

"I didn't have to. Molly always sees me, she naturally understood." A small knowing smile crept on the detective's face as he thought of the ease at which Molly always knew how to read him.

John sighed and sat down on the sofa next to his emotionally-stunted friend.

He had a lot of explaining to do.

Molly's keys rattled as she turned the lock to get into her apartment. She was dead tired, as it was little past 8 in the evening the next day. She had to pull an emergency double shift as the pathologist on duty after her, had a family emergency. When she arrived at the morgue, she buried herself in autopsies and paperwork, all the while trying not to think about Sherlock. She had to move on, she thought to herself. She briefly considered whether or not it would be worth moving to another hospital. She had to find a way to get away from the near-escapable magnetic pull that was Sherlock Holmes.

In the darkness of her flat, Molly automatically dropped her keys into the catch-all bowl by the door. She didn't bother immediately turning on her light, as her body instinctively knew where everything was. She had done it a million times before, as it was just simply muscle memory. Molly tried to stretch out the kinks in her shoulders as she made her way to the kitchen.

As she passed her living room, she heard the soft click of her lamp going off. There, sitting on her chair was Sherlock Holmes.

"Jesus Sherlock!" She grasped at her heart in surprise. She was not expecting the consulting detective to be there.

Sherlock stood up, still clad in his Belstaff, and slowly moved forward towards the pathologist. The expression on his face reminded her so much of the night he asked for her help with the Reichenbach Fall.

"What do you want Sherlock?" Molly's body language seemed a bit defensive. As the detective moved forward she took a half-step back.

Sherlock looked slightly saddened at Molly's retreat, but still he pressed forward closer until he was in front of her, with barely a few inches between them.

"It has come to my attention that perhaps I was not clear before. I can never be the godfather to your child Molly." He stated.

"You have made yourself perfectly clear on that, Sherlock." She replied stiffly, looking anywhere but him. She tried so hard to conceal the hurt she was feeling.

"No, you don't seem to understand at all." Seeing Molly in pain caused his words to hesitate. He tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes. "I can never be godfather and father to our baby at the same time."

Molly gasped in surprise.

Sherlock smirked. "I cannot be in two places at once, even if you wish it." His fingers slid up her jaw in a tender gesture. "I, personally, would much prefer to be the actual father our child, than simply the godfather."

He leaned his head closer to hers. Molly forgot to breathe. It seemed like she didn't want to exhale as if it may blow away the fantasy Sherlock that was before her. Sherlock could see she was becoming intoxicated by his presence, her pupils were almost fully dilated. Just as he was about to bridge the gap between their mouths, Molly's hand had came up and pushed him back.

"I'm not a game Sherlock, I am not some toy for you to pick up when you are bored." Her back eventually hit the wall.

Sherlock's palms came to rest on the wall just over her shoulders, effectively trapping her.

"No…" He concurred. "You're much more. You're the one who matters the most. You're the woman I love. You're the woman, I want with me by my side, always."

"Sherlock…" Molly's voice was tired.

"No Molly." He commanded. "You said If I ever needed anything, that I could have you. Well Dr. Hooper, I intend to have you for the rest of our lives."

He kisses her fiercely and possessively, pouring out every emotion that he has repressed and denied over the years. Sherlock rests his forehead against hers as they catch their breath, both of their minds trying to recover themselves after being overwhelmed into blankness.

"You. Are. Mine." Sherlock states these words lowly, between kisses.

Molly shivers. She knows it's true. It's always been true. She is his.

The detective trails kisses along her jawline.

"I'm a selfish and greedy man. I intend to have all of you. The only children you will have, will be mine. I will not share you."

When he reaches her ear, he whispers "Don't run from me, Molly. I've wasted so much time before, It will take more than lifetime to catch up." His eyes have an unsure quality, they almost seem like they are pleading to her to accept him.

Molly does something she had always wanted to do. She sinks her hand into the curls on the back of his head and pulls him down for another passionate kiss.

Sherlock breaks their connection this time, breathlessly stating, "I did mean the other thing too you know. If you do want to have children, we had better start soon. I would like not being on a walker when he graduates from uni."

Judging from the delicious way that Sherlock's body is pressed against hers, she had to agree.

They should not wait.