Mycroft Holmes was relieved that the messy business of bringing Sherlock 'back from the dead' was over. Now, if only Doctor Watson would consider remaining as his brother's assistant full time. He had helped with the potential terror strike, but was hesitant for things to be as they once were. Then again, the man was to be married next spring. Reportedly, Molly Hooper had been assisting him in John's place. Mycroft approved. She had a sharp mind and was the only one who could see right through his brother's nonsense. Yes, overall, today was going splendidly.

"Sir?" Anthea poked her head through the open doorway of Mycroft's office. "It's your brother."

Mycroft scrunched his face. "Well, send him in, then."

She bit her lip, hesitant to report her news. "That's the thing, sir. Your brother has run off…with Molly Hooper."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. Was it too much to ask for a stress-free evening?

Three Hours Ago

It had all happened rather quickly. Lestrade had thought it appropriate to throw a small celebratory party at the pub, toasting to Sherlock's return. The detective had been loath to go, as it wasn't his scene, but John and Mary convinced him otherwise. "Only for a couple hours," he had told them. Of course, that all changed when he spotted Molly Hooper across the room, her hair flowing over her shoulders in loose waves. She wore a pair of fitted jeans and a lovely knit jumper in the shade of dusty rose, contrasting well with her dark locks.

Her warm brown eyes met his across the room, a shy smile blooming upon her lips. They hadn't talked about what happened that first day she went out solving crimes with him. It was a thing that felt natural to do, given the circumstances, and all they did was tip-toe around it. He could still remember the softness of her supple lips pressing against his, their tongues caressing in a delicate dance. Not even his mind palace could properly replicate such an intimate moment.

"Molly," he greeted her in hopes of sounding nonchalant. "I hadn't a clue you'd be here. I thought you would be working tonight."

She smiled brightly, finishing off the last bit of her drink. "I've decided to go on holiday."

"I'm impressed," he remarked. "You've not taken time off since—" Sherlock trailed off, remembering the disastrous Christmas party she had taken off work for.

Molly appeared to have realised where his mind had wandered off to, placing her hand upon his shoulder. "It's alright, Sherlock. Don't dwell on the past."

Pulling himself together, the detective decided to make a move, albeit a small one. "Would you like another drink? My treat." The flirty look in her eyes was all the response he needed.

Two hours and one…two…three drinks later, the pair of them were lost in their own little world, ignoring everyone around them. Mary kept eyeing them from across the table they were all sitting around. She watched as Sherlock whispered something in Molly's ear, making her face flush red. The pathologist promptly stood up and wound her way through the crowd towards the loo. Just five minutes later, Sherlock excused himself to smoke, but Mary wasn't fooled so easily. She smiled to herself, glad that those two were having their fun. It did become alarming when two hours had passed and neither of them had returned.

Presently

Their feet hit the plushness of the mattress and duvet beneath them. Sherlock still had on his suit (black trousers and white button up), but Molly had switched out her jeans and jumper for a simple strapless gown of white. Rings of white gold shone brightly on their fingers. Yes, they had gone and eloped, and yes, they were quite tipsy, but even Sherlock had to admit there was no better high. They were happy, jumping up and down on the bed like children, neither of them quite believing what had transpired tonight.

Molly eventually allowed herself to fall back on the bed, and Sherlock followed suit, though careful not to crush her. He moved over her, his lean body pressing her into the mattress. Lips meeting, his hands caressing her curves, hers buried in his curls. Sherlock wasn't one for religion, but he was sure this was his heaven. "I love you," Molly gasped as his nimble fingers managed to locate and unzip the back of her dress. "I love you, Sherlock."

"Molly," he murmured, his face buried against her neck. "My Molly."

Hands pulled at clothes, one piece being tossed off at a time. They took their time exploring one another, finding every crevice of pleasure. His lips, his fingers, and oh, his tongue…Sherlock Holmes knew exactly how to use them. They lost themselves in a fit of unbridled passion that had been steadily building from the moment they met. As she moved with him, Molly silently prayed for it to last forever. He played her beautifully, like a violin, each thrust bringing her closer to a crescendo. They rose together, and God, he was gorgeous as he came undone for her. He kissed her deeply, swallowing her remaining moans. Oh, he loved her in a way no man on earth had ever loved before.

She was giggling, wrapped up in his arms. "Sherlock," she whispered.

"Hm?"

"We ran away and eloped like love-struck teenagers." She laughed in disbelief. "We actually did that." They had even gone off to purchase a last-minute wedding dress all because she had insisted on it.

A short laugh of amusement escaped him. "Yes, darling, we did." He pressed his lips to her shoulder, lingering just a moment or so. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now."

"Mmm," she hummed, snuggling closer against him, "never."

"We should go somewhere," he told her. "We should have a proper sex holiday."

Molly laughed. "It's called a honeymoon."

"I've heard it both ways," he smirked.

His wife shook her head, her eyes full of adoration. "You are a ridiculous man, Sherlock Holmes."

"You love that about me," he stated proudly.

"God, help me, I do."

They soon drifted off to sleep, pressed together as closely as humanly possible. But for now, their hearts beat calmly in tandem as they dreamt. Sherlock had made his feelings known, surprising the hell out of Molly, but in the most pleasant way. Deep down, she had known they had something special and that it wasn't just all in her head as nearly everyone had tried to convince her. As for Sherlock, he never knew he could feel so damn much. He only knew one thing for certain: no man had ever loved anyone as much he loved Molly.

Author's Note: I plan to update this every weekend until it's finished, so y'all will get one chapter a week. I usually write and post quicker than that, but that was before I went back to school lol! I hope y'all are loving this as much as I do! Until next weekend!