Well, would you look at that: a finished story. I am very sorry to see it end, but it must. Thank you all for reading (and following, favouriting and reviewing). And, of course, I must thank MizJoely for her unending support and assistance.

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

- Epilogue -

Sherlock watched Molly place the flowers on the ground then take a step back. Leaning up against a tree, he settled in, knowing he'd be there for a little while, at least. She had something to tell her parents...

"Hi, mum. Hi, dad. So, big news... I'm pregnant! Yay! We only started trying two months ago and boom!" She giggled. "Let me tell you, when Sherlock Holmes puts his mind to something, he gets it done!"

I most certainly do.

"I'm only five weeks along and he's already working on the nursery. I told him we should wait until we find out the sex, but he doesn't listen! Anyway, work's going well." She flexed her right hand. "I'm at about eighty-five percent with my hand. That's as good as it will ever get. But I'm practically ambidextrous now, so that's good."

That in and of itself is miraculous. She had worked her arse off to get her hand to that condition.

"John and Rosie are amazing. I fixed John up with one of my friends from work, an endocrinologist. It didn't work out. Though she did tell him he needed to get his thyroid checked, so, glass half full..."

He may never date again after that pushy woman. And his thyroid was fine!

"Toby's wonderful, spoilt, but wonderful. The other day he…"

God help us! Once she started talking about that damn cat Sherlock knew he was in for one of those visits. He tuned her out. He'd heard all about the wayward feline's misadventures, had been present for many of them himself.

It had been just over a year since her accident. Twenty-six years since his first trip to Reigate and here he was again… watching Molly from afar. Not too far this time though. Also, she wasn't Molly Hooper anymore. No. She'd taken his name.

There stood Molly Malvolia Holmes, his wife.

Wife.

They'd been married for more than six months and some days he still couldn't believe it. He should probably work on believing it, though, he did knock her up recently. He chuckled to himself. Well done, Holmes.

He had proposed upon returning to Baker Street after that first family lunch. She had been magnificent in her defense of him and her defiance of his family. She was strong, she was brilliant and she was his! The ring that had been burning a hole in his pocket for more than a month refused to stay put any longer. When he sat her on the sofa and took her hand in his, though he felt like he might be sick then and there, he knew it was right.

She said yes and they celebrated by making love on the floor of the front room… and in the hall. Then again in the shower, as they attempted to clean up from the first two rounds. By the time they made it to bed that night they were both giddy and exhausted. Sherlock had never slept better in his life.

Molly, his kind and ever gracious Molly had offered - not given in, not been cajoled, but offered to let his parents host the wedding at their home in Henley-on-Thames. It had been a small affair, twenty-three guests including the his parents and Mycroft', Mike Stamford and his wife, Lestrade and his girl du jour, Angelo and his partner, Mrs. Hudson, Wanda the nurse (who did have a last name, he just had a hard time remembering it) and a few odd people from St. Barts that Sherlock could barely manage to notice. John stood up for him and Meena flew in from Scotland for Molly. Rosie was, in Sherlock's opinion, the most beautiful flower girl who ever walked an aisle.

No one gave Molly away. She said if she couldn't have her dad, she'd go it on her own, that no one could replace him.

She had looked like an actual angel in her cream and white dress, her hair cascading down her back like a bloody goddess. Yes, Sherlock could be very poetic when thinking about his lovely wife, and on that day she had looked ethereal.

Much of the day was a blur except for Molly. Molly smiling brightly at him. Molly laughing with John. Molly dancing with Rosie, with Mike, even with his brother. She ate two pieces of cake and she sang along with the horrid music she had picked out. Sherlock watched her, soaking it all in. He had spent so many years watching her and it was just the beginning.

The day had been absolutely perfect, but the night… well, this wasn't the time or the place to reminisce about their wedding night.

"... then I told him. 'If you can't play nice with Rosie then you shouldn't play with her at all!' Mean old cat!"

Bloody hell, we're still on the cat.

She and Mycroft had developed a strange relationship. Molly was oddly protective of his older brother, though he suspected that she had given him a proper scolding, in private, of course. He knew that they had tea at least twice a month. What they talked about he had no idea, and frankly didn't want to. Myc was most likely spilling state secrets right and left knowing that his sister in law was more secure than the Tower of London. Mycroft seemed… well, happy would be too strong a word, but perhaps content. Similar to how he looked just after eating a large piece of cake or invading a small Principality. Mummy had, apparently, forgiven him just as Sherlock had predicted.

Things were much the same with Eurus. She still didn't speak; no one knew if she ever would. He still visited when he could. His time was limited these days, though.

Mummy… Mummy was coming 'round. Guilt is a funny thing. It didn't hit her right away. Oh, she might have cried when she spoke with Molly after their family dinner, but it took a while longer for the reality of her actions to really hit her where her youngest son was concerned.

He and John were in his old room, waiting for the ceremony to start. It was oddly unchanged. It gave Sherlock the creeps.

"So, this is where it all began, is it?" John asked while Sherlock sat on the small bed and typed on his mobile.

"Mmhmm."

"You really won all these awards?" he asked, standing in front of a wall full of ribbons, medals and certificates.

"No, John. If you ask them really nicely they'll just give them to you."

His friend turned and looked at him. "You're even a tit on your wedding day."

"Especially on my wedding day. Today is all about me, remember?"

"Molly! It's all about Molly!" John shook his head. "Every other day of the year is about you… you arse," he mumbled under his breath.

Sherlock smirked as he finished his (dirty) message to his wife-to-be and hit send. Just then there was a knock on the door. His best man answered it.

"John. Is my son decent?" Mummy asked in a clipped tone.

"No, but he is dressed and frankly driving me a little nuts." He stepped back, letting her into the room. "How can he be this calm?"

Sherlock pocketed his mobile. "I swear I'm nervous on the inside, John."

"Somehow I don't believe that. I'll leave you to it. I assume you're giving him The Talk, Vi?"

"I'm afraid that ship sailed long ago, Doctor. Besides, I had Myc take care of that," his mother said.

"That explains so much," John said as he left.

Mummy sat down at his rolltop desk, giving him an appraising look. "You really aren't nervous, are you?"

"Not in the least. Why would I be?"

"Because it's your wedding day, Sherlock. Most people are. I was."

She was stalling; she wasn't there to talk about wedding day jitters, and he knew it. But he decided to play along. "I'm not nervous, Mother, because asking Molly to be my wife was the hard part. No, scratch that. Nothing was harder than thinking she might die... then telling her the truth. Everything else has been incredibly easy in comparison. But today? No, I'm perfectly calm about this. As a matter of fact, I can't wait."

Mummy nodded and fiddled with the embroidered handkerchief in her hands. "Well," she said as she stood. "I suppose… I just... " She started for the door, then stopped. "I never said that I was sorry."

He rolled his eyes, glad that she couldn't see him. So melodramatic.

She turned and he could actually see the sincerity in her eyes. "I am, you know. Sorry. I didn't know what to do with you. And after losing Eurus- thinking we had lost her… You were such an emotional child, until you weren't. One day you just shut down. And you were gone, Sherlock. Emotionally untouchable." She laughed, wiping the corner of her eye. "Yes, just like your mum. But, that day you came back from Reigate you were so… alive again. It was like I had my little boy back." She paused before adding, "Then I met her."

"You what?"

"I know. It was wrong of me, but I had to. She doesn't remember. I've asked."

She swallowed and tried to compose herself. Sherlock had never in his whole life seen her so emotional. He assumed that the time surrounding Victor's death and his sister's institutionalisation had been very difficult for his mother, but his memories were limited at best. Mummy wasn't among what he had retrieved.

"I went to their shop one day. I just wanted to see this girl who had made such a difference in my son." Tears were suddenly running down her cheeks and she whispered, "And I understood when I saw her. I saw it too. I can't name it anymore than you can but I saw it- still see it."

He rose from the bed and crossed the room to stand in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I was desperate and afraid and she seemed like salvation."

Sherlock nodded; he understood. Molly was his salvation in many ways.

"You should know that I love her," she said. "I love her like she's my own."

It made sense, everything.

"And I love you. And I'm proud of you, of what you've accomplished." She waved her hand at his wall of awards. "Not all that, but fighting your demons and winning. Fighting for Molly, even though we didn't make it easy. I am proud."

"I know, Mummy."

"Do you?"

"Of course," he said as he reached for her, pulling her close and holding her against his chest.

"Oh! I'll crush your boutonniere!"

"It's fine, mum, it's fine."

Sherlock pulled himself out of the memory just in time to hear his wife say, "... and then he took me on a romantic picnic. We had strawberries and sparkling water…"

"Hey!" he interrupted as he walked forward. "You were talking about your damn cat and I…"

"Tuned me out?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Ahh…"

A knowing smirk formed on her lips. "You do that whenever I talk about our cat. So if I want some privacy with my mum and dad, or anyone else for that matter, I start chatting about Tobes then move onto the more interesting bits."

Blasted woman! "You realise that you just gave yourself away, don't you?"

She walked over to him and kissed his cheek. "Oh, my love, you have so many more 'zoning out triggers', I'll never run out," she said with a wink.

"Are we finished?" he asked as he followed, taking her hand to help her along the uneven ground.

"Yes. It was a nice visit."

She seemed happy- truly happy. Most trips back to her hometown left Molly depressed and distant, at least for a couple of days.

"Anywhere else you want to go before we leave town?"

Molly stopped and smiled up at him brightly. "No, I'm good. Take me home, Sherlock."

Home, he thought as he tightened his hand around hers. "Yes, yes, let's go home."

Tears! Please... please give me your final thoughts. I'm dying to hear if this one was a success or not. Thank you all. ~Lil~