Honestly, Sherlock had expected no less from John's reaction to him.

Well, perhaps he hadn't expected to be choked. A bloodied nose, maybe, but John was definitely not going to let him get away unscathed.

Despite trying to fight the smaller man off of him, Sherlock couldn't stop the swell of relief that had washed over him at the sight of John.

His Soulmate. His Soulmate was still there. Still okay. Nothing had changed.

He was angry, yes... That was just a sign of how much John had missed him. He still possessed the same fire. Now that they were back together, everything could go back to normal...

For two years he had thought about what his return would be like. It was the only thing that had kept him going. He and John would go out on cases again. He would annoy Mycroft and Lestrade. Mrs Hudson would dote on him. Molly...

Molly was still a question mark, wasn't she?

But there was John. Everything would work out, now that they were back together. Maybe now that he was back with his Soulmate he would forget the nagging feelings of longing for the pathologist's kiss...

"I'll talk him 'round."

Sherlock blinked at Mary Morstan. He'd known she was there through his entire encounter with John, but he'd only really noticed her in that moment.

This was her. This was the woman John was going to marry. The woman his Soulmate was going to marry.

As he looked her over, made the random deductions about her life- Bakes her own bread, liar, secret tattoo, dead Soulmate- It clicked into place.

A Soulmate guided you on your destined path. John's destined path was to this woman, to Mary Morstan. Sherlock's part in that was to die so John could move on... Move to her.

"I think he knew, you know," Mary added. "That you were alive. It might have been deep down, but he still knew. When your Soulmate dies, you feel it." She smiled, looking over at her soon-to-be-fiance. "Maybe that's why he's so mad. Because he ignored that feeling. Ignored the truth."

Oh yes, she would definitely do, wouldn't she?

"But you can't do this again, can you?"

It had been like a date. Even if John hadn't told him to fuck off, Sherlock was sure he would've ended up taking Molly with him. The moment he had seen her in Bart's locker room he'd known. The things that had stirred up within him when he'd kissed her after the fall were still there.

Molly smiled at him, but it was hollow, forced. Tinged with something Sherlock couldn't even describe. "I had a lovely day. I'd love to – I just... Um..."

The moment he'd seen her in the locker room he had been tempted- so very, very tempted- to just take her in his arms and kiss her breathless once again. The need had only increased when she came to 221B. He'd only restrained himself because of all of the new questions it would have opened up. The one before he left was easily dismissed by the high emotions of the moment. Sherlock wasn't sure he was ready for anything more than that.

Now- as he gazed at the diamond solitare on Molly's finger- he cursed himself. He could've returned sooner. He could've given messages to Molly. He could've... He could've...

No, he couldn't.

It was how it was supposed to go, wasn't it? He went away and let Molly's heart go. She was free to be able to find her real Soulmate. Whatever feelings she'd had for him had been a fancy.

"Oh, congratulations, by the way." It took every ounce of his subterfuge skills to sound like he meant it. It was on the tip of his tongue, the urge to tell her that her Soulmate was a waste of her time. That he had been thinking of her since the moment he'd left London. That'd he'd woken up in the night, in shacks across Europe, just wishing she were in bed beside him.

"We met through friends, the old-fashioned way." Sherlock wanted to tell Molly to stop speaking. He didn't need to hear her gush about how wonderful her Soulmate was. How Sherlock paled in comparison to him.

But Molly continued to ramble. "He's nice. We ... he's got a dog ... we-we go to the pub on weekends and he ... I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family. I've no idea why I'm telling you this."

She was truly rambling. This wasn't glowing praise of her Soulmate.

She didn't know why she was telling him about her fiancé, because she knew- deep down- he didn't want to hear it.

Maybe- deep down- she didn't want to say it. How perfect was this match for her?

Could destiny have messed up?

Noble and Sherlock Holmes were not words that typical went together. He was a selfish and demanding man.

But he couldn't make demands of Molly, could he? As he looked into her soft, vulnerable brown eyes, he knew he couldn't tell her. Everything that had been simmering over the past two years needed to be pushed aside.

If Molly Hooper had found her Soulmate, she needed to truly let go of Sherlock. And he needed to let go of her. "I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths."

"No?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No." He smiled at her, praying to the cruel fates he didn't look as wistful as he felt. He leaned in close to her, allowing himself a second of weakness, taking in her scent.

He let his mouth linger for only a moment against her cheek.

It would have been so easy to just slightly tilt his mouth, to properly kiss Molly. He ached to feel her mouth once again.

But no, he wouldn't give in.

He pulled away. While Molly's eyes were still closed he strode out of the hallway and out onto the streets. The farther he got from Molly Hooper, the better. The temptation was too great.

"Are you going to tell me why you're in such a sulk?" John stood over Sherlock, arms crossed over his chest.

Sherlock stretched his legs out, letting his feet dangling over the sofa. He pulled his silk dressing gown tighter around himself. "I'm not in a sulk," Sherlock groused. His jaw jutted out slightly as he ground his teeth. "I'm just bored."

John shook his head. "This is not you bored. You'd be shooting the wall or dissecting a brain if you were."

Sherlock scowled and turned onto his side away from John. Dissecting a brain would require going to Barts. If he went to Barts he would see Molly.

He would see Molly's ring.

"Is this about me and Mary?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow, peering over his shoulder. "You have a high opinion of yourself."

"I know it's a big change." John pulled up the client chair and sat down. "But we're still going to be able to go out. Mary likes us working together. She might even want to come with us some time..."

"This isn't about you and Mary." Sherlock rolled onto his other side. "It's nothing."

"It's obviously not nothing," John sighed. "Come on, Sherlock... Why don't you want to tell me?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I thought you were more British than this, John. So concerned about feelings."

John blinked. "Oh so there are feelings, are there? Sherlock, I'm your Soulmate. I'm the one person you can tell this kind of stuff to."

Sherlock steepled his fingers underneath his chin. Time dragged slowly, silently.

Letting out a noisy sigh, Sherlock leaned back on the sofa. "Do you think she'll be happy?"

"I hope so," John sighed. "I mean, I wouldn't want to marry her if I didn't think I would make her happy."

"I'm not talking about Mary!" Sherlock snapped. "I already told you that!"

"Then who are you talking about?" John asked.

"Molly!" Sherlock sat up. "Molly Hooper! Do you think she's going to be happy with that imitator?"

"Why do you care?" John's frown lines became more pronounced as his mouth curved down. "You've never worried about Molly Hooper before."

Sherlock curled up on himself, keeping himself turned away from John. He muttered into the sofa cushion. "I told her I want her to be happy. I don't want her to be happy. I want her to be with me."

"What was that?" John asked.

"Nothing." Sherlock groused. "It's not important."

"You brought up Molly Hooper." John sighed. "And if she's happy with Tom. If I think she is."

"It doesn't matter." Sherlock pulled himself off the sofa, waving towards the door. "Go home and talk to your fiancée about... China patterns or..." He frowned slightly, thinking about what an engaged couple might discuss. "...Prenuptial Agreements."

"Fine. Be like that." John rose from his chair. "You know, a Soulmate is supposed to help you. But if you don't want my help, I'm not going to twist your arm to get you to talk to me. If you want to talk, you know where I am. Until then, at least get dressed before you have a client come by and see you look so pathetic."

With that, John stormed out of the flat. Sherlock threw himself back down onto the sofa, his mind refusing to move past his current dilemma.

"You shouldn't be here."

Sherlock didn't even look to see who was standing in his doorway. He didn't need to. He knew she was there. He knew she had followed him from the wedding.

"Why not?" Molly challenged. The floorboards creaked under her footsteps. "This can't be easy for you. Your soulmate married someone else. You shouldn't be alone."

Finally, Sherlock turned to Molly. He narrowed his gaze on her, wanting for all the world to hate her from the bottom of her feet all the way up to the stupid yellow bow in her hair. "And what about you, Miss Hooper? Why are you with me rather than your Soulmate? You didn't even think twice about leaving him alone."

Molly frowned, shaking her head. "What are you talking about, Sherlock?"

Sherlock grabbed her wrist. "Tom. You abandoned him at John's reception to come to see me. Not a very nice thing to do to your Soul-"

He turned her wrist up and stopped short. His thumb caressed over the smooth skin, unmarred by a name.

"Where is it?" Sherlock's voice came out a croak. "Where is Tom's name?"

"Not on my arm," Molly replied, extracting her wrist from Sherlock's hold. "I haven't anyone's name on me. I'm meant to be alone."

How could he have missed that? He'd known Molly Hooper for years. Never for a moment did he think she didn't have a match. There was always something, wasn't there?

He wanted to scream that of course she wasn't meant to be alone. No one as good and pure as Molly could have been meant to be alone. Him yes... Even his own Soulmate had a better match... But not Molly. Never Molly. "And Tom? He's..."

Molly shook her head. "Not Unmarked. His fiancée died in a car accident when they were in Uni." She lowered her gaze. "The person he's supposed to be with is gone. But he cares about me. He-" Her voice wavered and she went quiet. Sherlock had taken a hold of her arm again, stroking over the white, unmarred flesh of her arm. She looked up finally, licking her lips. "Do you think it's possible to love someone- really love someone- who is not your Soulmate?"

"Yes." Sherlock's voice was huskier than he meant. He took a step towards Molly. "Look at the Watsons."

Molly visibly gulped. "And you're okay with that? Your Soulmate... Being with someone else?"

"A Soulmate doesn't mean the person you're in love with, Molly Hooper." Sherlock brought her hand up to his chest, pressing it to his heart. "You want what is best for your Soulmate. And Mary is what is best for mine."

Molly bit her lower lip. "And what's best for you?"

What happened was not what was best. It was the worst choice Sherlock could have made. He couldn't stop himself, tugging the small woman to him and taking her mouth passionately.

Molly gasped into his mouth, but did not pull away from him. She brought a leg up to wrap around his waist, rucking her skirt up in the process. Sherlock groaned as he felt her knickers press against him.

It was Sherlock who finally pulled away from the kiss, although he still continued to lead Molly towards his bedroom. "Molly... Are you... Sure?"

"Shut up, Sherlock," Molly murmured. "Just shut up for once."

And for once, he listened. Sherlock stopped talking and gave himself over to the hunger that had been growing within him for over two years. As he peeled off her yellow dress he did his best to ignore the feeling of her engagement ring against his skin.