When Mary saw her arm shooting forward toward the window of the cab, time was in flux, everything moving about her in languid, lazy motions; however, it wasn't until she was climbing into the taxi with John Watson that she truly realized what she was doing. It was all a hasty blur, her following him out of the store, their heated words filling street corners from blocks away. Mary's shrill tone turned the heads of onlookers, making many flush scarlet or pull out their camera phones, eager to record an argument between a woman and the now famous Dr. Watson.

"What do you mean?" She remembered asking, craning her neck to the side as her hand reached forward, grasping the window trying to force it down. She could hear the glass bending, each crystal threatening to collapse onto itself as the soft whir of the motor hummed from within, pushing upward with maximal momentum. Her fingers neared the top, the gap between window and frame becoming less and less, her chances to stop him waning with each moment, until finally it ceased, moving downward once more to reveal John Watson glaring at her with immeasurable disdain.

"Mary, let go of the window. I have to go do this." He reached down to press on the switch again, stopping short as Mary countered.

"Do what? Go pummel your best friend while his pregnant girlfriend and YOUR friend is standing there watching? How do you even know he's there? I mean, honestly, John, I would think you would know better tha-"

"I don't know if he's there and he's not my best friend!" John snapped, his words slicing through the air like knives, cutting her short. "I mean, he's not... Anymore. If he was my best friend he should have told me. I could have helped... But right now this is my only shot at getting some sodding answers"

"Well maybe he was trying to protect you," Mary interjected.

"I think I'm bloody well capable of taking care of myself. I don't need "Daddy Sherlock" taking care of me, now do I?" John leaned his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his forehead slightly, sighing in exasperation. "Mary, he jumped off of a fucking building and let me believe that he was dead. For two months. I can't forgive that." He looked up at Mary, his eyes full with unreleased emotions that had been eating away at his heart for far too long. She could see it, every last bit of clouded heartache that washed out the man he once was and replaced it with someone different, someone she knew shouldn't even exist. He was bitter, yes, but even in the short time she had known him, she knew that there was a piece inside of him that, if awakened, would let go of the wrongs done to him by Sherlock Holmes. Mary leaned inside the window, placing a hand on John's shoulder tenderly.

"John," she said, looking him directly in the eyes, "Sherlock practically died for you. He leapt to his death, though fake it may be, for you. His best friend. He was willing to leave this world for the one person who could never be replaced. And sure, he loves Molly, but there is only one John Hamish Watson. Don't you think that should count for something?" They stared at each other in silence, the air thickening as they both breathed, not moving, just simply looking at one another in complete and utter stillness. John tilted his head slightly, his expression softening.

"I swear to God it seems like I've known you my whole life, Mary Morstan," he said, smirking gently, his eyes filling with a glinting sparkle. He moved his hand, reaching for the handle to open the door, and finally pushing it open, moving over for her to get inside.

"Get in." He told her, motioning toward the inside of the cab, and she slid inside, closing the door with a solid click. They both sat staring forward, waiting for the car to lurch forward.

"Where do you want to go?" The cabbie asked, turning around to face them both. John looked at Mary, nodding his head once forward and then smiling slightly, he looked back toward the cab driver, straightening himself in his seat.

"187 North Gower Street," he said, "and could you take the fastest route possible? There's someone I've been waiting to see for a very long time."

As Molly's eyelids fluttered open in the morning sunlight, she could not help but smile as her eyes came to rest on her sleeping Sherlock, his curls gently sweeping across his forehead in the shape of an S. He was wrapped around her, his arms draped across her body as she lay relaxed against his firm chest, her fingertips dancing languid circles in the smattering of chest hair that decorated his alabaster skin at the top of his now unbuttoned shirt. His legs were entwined with hers, like jungle vines. She was completely trapped within his embrace, safe and warm in the arms of her detective, and oh how she was utterly smitten as she stared up at his dreaming form, her hands moving up to gently caress his handsome face. He was finally hers. Glasz eyes drifted open to meet her gaze, a warm smile painting itself across sleepy features.

"Good morning," Molly said, leaning up on one arm as her other hand continued playing with the soft curls at the top of his sternum. "Sleep well?" Sherlock pulled her in closer, snuggling into her breasts as he breathed her in, taking in the smell of her perfume and making her giggle slightly. She was his drug. His addiction. His own personal brand of heroine. His eyes crept up to meet hers, almost hungry for her touch.

"Quite well, but..." he replied, his voice muffled by the fabric of her t shirt and face still buried in her chest. She stared down at him, eyebrows furrowed as she wriggled beneath his grasp, moving her body until they were face to face. She moved her hand into his hair, her fingers lacing themselves in the softness of his locks.

"But what?" Her tone was playful as they looked at each other, their eyes both filled with want as Molly felt his hand traveling down her torso and coming to rest at her behind, squeezing her gently. She gasped at his touch, closing her eyes at the unfamiliar sensation. It had been months since they had been together, since their one unforgettable night when they conceived their child, and oh how she craved to feel his fingers drift across her skin, to feel the cool fire that melted every nerve ending at his caress. She had waited for what felt like eons to run her hands along his Adonis form again, and now was her chance. Suddenly, her hands shot forward, grasping his face as her mouth captured his in a kiss. Their tongues fought each other for dominance, only ending their brawl as Sherlock flipped them both over quickly, pinning her the bed with his strong hands. Molly smiled, playfully wiggling beneath him as he grinned eagerly down at her, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"I don't think I ever gave you a proper apology." Molly closed her eyes, her hips bucking upward as he pushed down onto her, holding her in place in blissful agony. She pouted up at him with hungry eyes, his throat letting out a deep, almost guttural laugh.

Molly's eyes closed as she felt his hands drifting down her body, his hands tugging at the hem of her night shirt and pulling it over the top of her head as he leaned down to kiss her neck, her hands wrapping around his back as he pushed her down onto the bed, trailing kisses down her body. Around her neck. Across her collarbone. His strong, yet gentle hand came up to her left breast, kneading it with grace as he teased her to hardness, his mouth finding its way to her other as he suckled her, his tongue circling her taught nipple as it elongated for him while she moaned. Her hands came to find his hair, fisting it properly.

Sherlock looked up at her, his eyes filled with need as he moved down her body, his delicate fingers curling around the hem of her panties as he pulled them away, tossing them to the side as he spread her legs wider. She could feel him kissing his way to the apex of her thighs, his tongue teasing her clitoris as she bucked upward, her body wanting more. His hands came up to hold her down while his tongue darted in and out of her, making her moan out his name.

"Sherlock... Please..." She gasped, holding onto him while he moved two long fingers inside her, curling them upward as his thumb continued circling while she wiggled on the bed, her eyes squeezed closed as he abruptly pulled his fingers out. She could vaguely hear the sound of his zipper, listening as he discarded his clothes onto the floor, and she felt as he leaned onto her body, kissing her as she tasted herself, salty and sweet. She could feel his erection pressing into her thigh, making her want him even more.

"This is me saying 'I'm sorry," he breathed out positioning himself over her as she spread her legs wide, waiting for him, begging him to enter her. He leaned forward, teasing her entrance as he bent down to whisper to her once more. "This is me saying 'I love you'."

Suddenly, Sherlock leaned back, forcefully plunging into her as she screamed out his name, his length filling her to the hilt as he pulled out of her once more, slamming into her flesh again and again.

"Sherlock!" She screamed, grabbing onto the sheets as he found a rhythm, her hips bucking to match as they moved together in one motion, his hands reaching up to grab her hips as he held her steady, slowing down suddenly and tortuously. Molly could feel herself at the brink, threatening to come undone. He moved slowly inside her, pulsing gently as she wrapped her arms around him, feeling his muscles, each sinew convulsing as he filled every inch of her. She could feel herself building, her muscles tightening as he suddenly pulled out of her, jamming into her one last time before she clenched around him, exploding into a puddle of sensation.

"SHERLOCK!" She called out incoherently, her mouth unable to form words as he plunged into her a final time, yelling out her name as he collapsed onto her chest, spent as exhausted. He breathed heavily, looking up at her as he lay on top of her, still inside. This was bliss.

"Molly," he said, his tone punctuated by breathing, "I love you so much." He reached up to touch her face, gently sliding out of her as he moved upward, his lips placing a kiss on her forehead. She nuzzled herself into his chest, breathing in his musk as she closed her eyes.

"And I love you." She reached her arms around him, holding him close as they lie there silently, taking in each other in the morning sunlight glinted off their naked forms, sweat glistening in the golden rays as they held each other, not wanting to move. Sherlock's hand rubbed her slightly bulging belly softly as they looked at one another, brilliant blue-green to golden-brown.

"You're going to make a wonderful mother," he said, leaning in to kiss her, and she couldn't help but smile brilliantly. The thought of being a mother made her so happy, and being a parent with Sherlock Holmes, well, she was delighted. Molly leaned up on her arm, caressing his face with her free hand as she leaned into him, her forehead touching his as she breathed out a whisper.

"And you're going to make an excellent fa-" Suddenly, she was cut off by the sound of the front door slinging open, a familiar voice calling out her name as she bolted upright in her bed, cursing to herself wide-eyed as they lie there together, naked. Molly looked down at Sherlock who wore the same equally terrified expression, his hands quickly moving to grab the sheet and throw it over the both of them just in time for the door to her bedroom to come flying open. They both lay stock still, staring in shock, disbelief, and embarrassment.

There in the doorway stood a very angry, very hurt, John Watson. He stared at Sherlock with burning eyes, his gaze boring holes into the other man's skull as he looked at him, anger and disgust radiating from his being. He sighed.

"You, sir," he said, "have got a HELL of a lot of explaining to do."