Molly Hooper made her way to her locker, taking a deep breath as she approached it. It had been a very long day, and she was glad to have it over and done with.

As she stopped in front of the locker door, she paused to gaze down at her left hand, now sporting a diamond. She smiled at it as she reached up with her right hand to open the door, thinking to herself how very much she was looking forward to a quiet evening at home with Greg.

She looked up suddenly as her peripheral vision caught movement in the mirror mounted to the inside of her locker door. She gasped then smiled as a familiar chiseled face with familiar unruly black curls and distinctive tri-coloured eyes appeared to her. Spinning around, she looked at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Sherlock smiled at her as her left hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, SHERLOCK!" she cried, as she threw herself at him. Expecting the reaction, he opened his arms, embracing her tightly.

"That's a much more polite greeting than I got from Lestrade," he commented lightly.

"Called you a bastard, didn't he?" Molly laughed, giving him a final tight squeeze before pulling back to look at him at arm's length.

"Yes. But as my appearance was a bit impromptu, he reacted quite well, I must say, all things considered."

"Well, Greg is nothing if not patient with certain fools," Molly said, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed. And that is a very fortunate thing for me," Sherlock retorted lightly.

"Oh, let me LOOK at you," she said happily, bringing her hands up to hold her friend's face. "Oh, I've MISSED you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

"The feeling is mutual, Molly Hooper. My time away was… difficult. At times I merely judged myself lucky to get out alive. But for as focused as I was on my mission, always, I missed London, missed you, and Mrs. Hudson, and John, and Greg."

"Some of these scars are from barely healed wounds," Molly observed, quietly, as she touched some of the angrier marks on his face. "I see a blackened eye that has just now finished healing as well. And one arm isn't as strong as the other. It was broken at one point, perhaps as recently as a couple of months ago, wasn't it, and you lost muscle tone as it healed."

"Mycroft found me and pulled me out with not a moment to spare," Sherlock said quietly. He cleared his throat, pausing several moments. "My mission had been accomplished, but that final operation was a little too close for comfort. As always my brother had my back, even if I don't' always think so, in truth, I suppose he does."

"I had your back as well, Sherlock. Of those who knew when you left what had really happened the day you died, only Greg found out later on. I couldn't keep it from him. Oh Sherlock I'm so sorry… I just couldn't bear to keep it from him…"

"A wise decision, Molly," Sherlock observed, taking her left hand. "I see the two of you have reached a new level in your relationship. I'm glad for it. No doubt it's benefitted the both of you greatly."

"How did you know this was from Greg?" Molly asked, glancing down at her engagement ring with a wistful expression she couldn't help.

"Obvious, really. You don't wear perfume on the job, but you do have a scent about your neck and shoulders, which I detected when I hugged you. It's Lestrade's signature cologne, the scent of which I was reminded of less than an hour ago when he hugged me in the car park. After he called me a bastard, of course."

"Of course," Molly laughed softly. "Welcome back, Sherlock. Be prepared to duck when you reveal yourself to Mrs. Hudson. But with John, I suggest you brace yourself to take what's coming to you, because he isn't likely to welcome you back as warmly as Greg and I have."

"I would expect no less of John," Sherlock said. "He's a soldier, and a doctor. He can break every bone in my body whilst naming them, or so he's pointed out in the past. I've no doubt he'll have a strong impulse to do just that."

"Well, no time like the present then, you silly sod," Molly commented lightly, slapping his arm gently. "Go on now, go take what's coming to you."

"I see Lestrade is already wearing off on you," Sherlock said. "Sod indeed…" he said, as he turned to kiss Molly's cheek before leaving her. Already, he was preparing himself to reveal himself to the two other people he loved enough to put his life on hold for two years for.

"Mrs. Hudson is right handed, therefore, if I were to duck to my own right, the impact of her Cuisinart saucepan may inflict minimal damage," he was already mentally analyzing the speed and trajectory of her cookware being swung at his body.

As Molly approached the door to leave the building to meet Greg, her mobile toned with a text.

Well? ~G

Been and gone. He's off to see Mrs. Hudson now. ~M

Let's hope she hasn't been cooking with her cast iron skillet today then, shall we? ~G

Molly giggled at this. In a short minute or two, she would meet Greg outside, and from there, they would head home to a restful evening, knowing that their prodigal consulting detective was home, and at long last, all would be right with their world.