A/N: Apologies for the late update! You may smack me if you want. This is the last chapter (sobs!), and I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you all for your lovely reviews. They really keep me going whenever I hit a road block.

Disclaimer: Sherlock is not owned by me.

Recap: In short, Sherlock screwed up big time.

TUMBLING WALLS

It had been three weeks since Molly packed her things and left Baker Street.

It had been three weeks since Sherlock had seen her.

And he was not coping well. Not that he'd ever admit it.

Granted, he had managed to solve eleven cases during her absence, which was definitely a new record for him. But unlike the past, he was now drowning himself in work in a frenzied manner. He would hound Lestrade daily for cases, so much so that the Detective Inspector had to throw him out of his office, ordering him to only come back to New Scotland Yard when he was called upon. Instead of letting that deter him, Sherlock had taken to roaming around the streets of London, hoping to discover something amiss. He had taken every single case that clients had offered him, including one which involved the disappearance of a young girl's dog. While John was glad to see Sherlock helping the child, he was secretly worried about his friend's mental state.

He had also started to smoke again, much to the chagrin of John, who hated waking up to a flat reeking of nicotine. Sherlock had calmly ignored his friend's protests every time, choosing to concentrate on composing tunes on his violin instead.

Molly had told John and Mrs Hudson that the reason for her shifting back was because she wished to be alone. She had claimed that the quiet would help her. But Sherlock knew the real reason she had left.

It was because of the kiss. That stupid kiss he had given her in the spur of the moment. He had not been thinking straight then, allowing his emotions to cloud his usually clear mind. He had given her a cause for hope, only to shatter it completely with a few words.

"You want me to heal faster so that I can go back to work?"

His chest tightened whenever he replayed Molly's words in his head. What was he thinking when he had told her he wanted her to recover faster so that she could return to work for him? He'd been a complete idiot. The dejected look on her tired face had been haunting him endlessly at night, and he'd not had a proper night's rest since Molly left.

This was exactly why he hated dealing with emotions – they were volatile and unpredictable. He seemed unable to grasp them well, and even when he tried, he always ended up hurting people.

But he wasn't going to do that anymore. Giving in to his desires had been a distraction and a detriment. He needed to revert back to his former self – the one that refused to allow any notion of romance enter his mind at all.

Brain work was undoubtedly the best. It had always been the best. It was the only thing that should keep him going, not something silly and unpredictable like love. He should only devote his attention to his cases.

And that was why he was back at Bart's, working on yet another case that Lestrade had thankfully requested his help for just this morning. Apart from lapsing back to some of his old habits, Sherlock had also made an effort to commit Molly's work schedule to his memory.

He could not go back to the time when he had purposefully avoided Bart's by declining difficult cases. If he was going to maintain a sense of normalcy, he would have to occupy himself with challenging work – work that definitely required the use of more elaborate lab equipment.

He huffed out a long breath of air as he continued studying the evidence of footprint under the microscope. The lab door opened suddenly but he barely looked up, too engrossed with the sample in front of him.

However, a short intake of breath, the sound all too familiar to his ears, forced him to pause.

His heart skipped a beat when he felt Molly staring at him from the doorway. He continued staring into the microscope lenses and his mouth went dry. What was she doing here? He had made sure that he knew her every shift just so that he could avoid her.

"Hi, Sherlock," she said, making her way into the lab.

"Molly." He greeted her tersely without even looking at her. His voice sounded too formal and tense for his liking. He cleared his throat. "Here on your day off?"

She did not give any indication of surprise that he knew her shift. He surmised that she was intelligent enough to know that he had memorised her schedule. "I'm filling in for my colleague. Her dad just passed away."

He didn't reply and she moved over to the computer beside him. His entire body involuntarily tensed up and his pulse started to race slightly. He had not been this close to her for three whole weeks. He could smell her strawberry-scented shampoo and images of her brown hair flitted into his mind. He swallowed hard and attempted to focus his attention back to his soil sample, but found that it was completely futile. Every part of his body was screaming at him to look at her. He wanted to know how she was coping.

He knew that he shouldn't look. The sound of her voice alone had almost nearly broken his resolve to ignore her. But he had the misfortune of having an insatiable curiosity. Once something piqued his interest, he never stopped until he acquired all the information he possibly could.

So he looked.

Sherlock did a double take when his eyes took in her form. Molly looked worse than she had been before she left Baker Street. The dark shadows under her eyes were much more pronounced on her pale face and she somehow managed to lose more weight (four pounds) despite her now worryingly thin frame. She had applied some light make-up, but he was still able to see the lines of worry on her face. Her shoulders were slightly hunched and she seemed fatigued. Her once bright eyes were dull and drained.

And that was the moment when he felt something in him break. His composure and façade of indifference for the past three weeks tumbled down.

He had blamed Richard for tormenting her, but here he was, cruelly pushing her away and hurting her. If anything, he might be even worse than Richard. At least Molly didn't trust or like that revolting man. But him? He knew long ago that he meant a lot to Molly, more so than many people did.

He suddenly felt very warm and couldn't be so close to her right now. He had to get away before he did something stupid like kiss her again.

Sherlock stood up from the lab stool abruptly and grabbed his coat, walking briskly out of the lab without a second glance at Molly. He needed to sort out his jumbled thoughts and come up with a strategic plan to repair their relationship. He couldn't ignore it anymore – not when it was destroying her (and him, if he was being completely honest) slowly from within. No, he had to do something about it.

But he was going to need some help.

"Ok, pretend I'm Molly."

"What?"

"Pretend I'm Molly," John repeated. "Just tell me what you would tell her."

Sherlock hesitated before realising that he probably needed the practice. He felt extremely uncomfortable doing this in front of John, but there was no one else who would help him.

"Go on," John encouraged.

Sherlock took a deep breath to compose his nerves before starting. "Molly, I think it's time we became a couple."

"Why?" John asked in his best imitation of Molly's voice, which was frankly, horrendous.

"Because both of us are compatible. We get along well enough and I recently discovered that I have feelings for you, and you have been in love with me since you met me four years ago. You have an above average intelligence and a curiosity for chemistry, which are two traits I admire. Although your intelligence is nowhere near the level of mine, it is still much higher than most people's, which makes us able to communicate fairly well. Also, since you are usually painfully awkward around others, my confidence will be complementary to your personality. I can – what?" Sherlock noticed a look of horror on John's face.

"Is that your speech to get her to be your girlfriend?" John asked with wide eyes. He bit back a smile when he saw Sherlock grimace at the word 'girlfriend'.

"Yes."

"Well then," John said, stepping closer to him. For a split second, Sherlock thought that his friend was going to display some form of affection and was ready to push him away. He didn't want him to literally think that he was Molly. "John –"

His sentence was unceremoniously cut short by John's open palm connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap.

"What was that for?" Sherlock snapped, bringing his hand to his cheek.

"For being a git!" John yelled, waving his arms furiously in the air. "Molly will definitely slap you if you tell her this! And I'm acting as her now, am I not?"

"Why will she slap me?" Sherlock was confused. He thought he had been very clear about his intentions in his speech.

"Why?" John laughed. "Because you just made her sound like she was your science project. Like something you're trying to improve. And you called her 'painfully awkward'. Don't say that, for god's sake."

Sherlock frowned. "But she is painfully awkward."

"Yeah, most people don't actually like to be reminded that they are."

"But I like that she's painfully awkward!" Sherlock pointed out defiantly.

John paused and stared at his friend. "Bloody hell. You really like her, don't you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do you think I'm doing this to torture myself? I am not a masochist."

John sighed and clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Just try not to sound so logical in your speech. She's quite sensitive so you have to be more sentimental. Tell her how you really feel." He felt a bit sorry for him. It was obvious that he was trying but this was definitely new territory for him.

Sherlock nodded stiffly and sat back down on his chair. He picked up his violin again and started to play, needing to disconnect from his surroundings and concentrate.

Incorporate more feelings and be more sensitive. I can do that.

Molly was just clearing up the lab when he walked in. She froze momentarily before continuing to clear the test tubes, hoping that he wouldn't start talking to her and turning her into a flustered mess.

No such luck.

"Molly, I was wondering if you'd like to go for some coffee."

She swallowed hard. This was it. He was going to tell her as gently as he could that there could never be a future for them. He was Sherlock Holmes and he would never consider romance. She knew for a while that this was coming. After all, haven't she left Baker Street just to distance herself from him and prepare herself for the harsh truth once and for all? And yet, she didn't think that she could hear it from him now. She still needed more time.

"No, thank you. I have to be somewhere," she said shakily, giving him the lamest excuse off the top of her head. She quickly dumped the remaining test tubes into the box and grabbed her bag, making a beeline for the exit. She could feel Sherlock's eyes trained on her as she hastily pushed open the lab doors and disappeared down the corridor.

Molly felt bad for turning him down. She noticed his dejected look when she just about ran out of the lab. But she couldn't be so close to him right now. Seeing him in her lab this morning was already painful enough. She knew that even if she succeeded in supressing her feelings for him, she would never stop loving him. Her heart, once given, rarely came back to her.

She continued walking absently and found herself approaching the nearby park. She saw an empty bench and sat down, letting out a deep sigh as she did so. The cool night air had already descended upon London and the chill was starting to clear her head. She removed her pair of gloves from her bag and slipped her freezing hands into them. She decided that she was going to stay out a bit later tonight since she had no work tomorrow. The thought of going back home now and being alone was dull and unappealing. And she couldn't sleep even if she tried. She hadn't been sleeping well at all for the past three weeks – part of it was due to her nightmares, but most of it was her thinking about Sherlock. She was beginning to wonder if thinking about Sherlock so often was actually driving her nightmares away.

Molly silently watched the people around her come and go. Some were walking quickly through the park, probably only using it as a short cut to the houses at the other end. There were a few couples strolling about, enjoying each other's company in the peace that the park offered this late at night. Nearby, a young couple were apparently locked in a fierce embrace. Molly blushed and quickly averted her gaze. There were a few other loners like her as well, lost in their own world.

Her thoughts inevitably started to stray back to him when nothing else could command her attention. She had tried so hard to forget, but seeing him again today had made her realise that she just wasn't going to be able to. He had become a significant part of her life and she didn't want him completely gone. It was futile to hope for a relationship now, even if he had been much more caring to her than she could've ever hoped for. And it was unfair of her to wish for him to change. He was who he was, and as his friend, she should accept that.

She wished that he hadn't kissed her. It just made forgetting him that much harder. She could still remember how soft and warm his lips were, and how tenderly they had pressed against hers. Why did he have to do that, and then crush her heart with his words after?

She suddenly realised that her cheeks were wet.

Oh.

She leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes tightly, willing her tears to stop flowing.

It was past midnight when Molly finally made her way back to her flat, completely exhausted. She yawned and rubbed her eyes tiredly, turning on her lights.

A scream lodged itself in her throat and her hands flew to her mouth in shock.

Sitting in the middle of her living room was none other than Sherlock, who was staring back at her calmly, as if breaking into someone's house at night was a common occurrence for him.

"What are you doing here?" She managed to ask after her heart had finally stopped thumping heavily against her chest.

"It was too cold to wait outside," he shrugged nonchalantly.

It was a reasonable explanation, but it still didn't directly answer her question. It was clear that he was here to discuss about them. She hadn't realised that he was so desperate to tell her to get over him. She felt her stomach sink at that thought.

They stared at each other for what seemed like a long time, and Molly got more uncomfortable as the seconds passed. The silence had started to weigh down upon them when he finally spoke.

"I lied, you know," he said.

Her chest tightened. Sherlock's voice was rough and quiet, very much like the day he had told her that she counted.

"Lied about what?"

"About why I kissed you that night." He stood up from the sofa and walked across the room to her, his blue eyes boring intensely into her brown ones. He stopped when he was a few metres away from her, as if he was afraid of coming any closer.

"Molly, I kissed you because I wanted to."

"W-what?" she stammered. He could not have just said that. She must be hallucinating. She must have breathed in something dangerous at the lab. Or maybe he was here for a favour. Yes, definitely a favour. He was lying to her so that he could get something.

"I don't understand," Molly said, shaking her head slowly, like she was in a daze.

"What don't you understand? Is it not clear enough?" His voice broke on the last word and she lost her already wavering composure.

"No, it's not clear!" she cried. "I don't know what's happening between us! One moment you're so sweet to me, and the next you act like nothing happened. Sometimes I catch you staring at me fondly as if you like me! But the look will disappear as fast as it appeared! And why did you have to kiss me? It just makes this so much harder!"

She was sobbing now, releasing all the emotions that she had bottled up for the past three weeks. "I really don't know what's going through your mind, Sherlock." She wiped her tears away furiously. "Help me understand, because I have no idea. Why are you really here? What do you need this time?"

"You."

Molly choked back another sob, remembering the conversation they had in her lab more than two years ago. "Please don't lie. I rather you told me the truth so that we can both move on. Or at least I can. There were never any feelings on your part, were there?"

She saw a rare look of desperation and hurt cross his face. He closed the remaining space between them and to her surprise, cupped her cheeks with his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.

"I am not lying, Molly."

She stared into his eyes in shock. He actually looked vulnerable and scared. This could not be happening, could it? She had been so certain that he didn't like her that way.

"I need you." he said softly. "There is an empty feeling in me after you left. I've been trying to get rid of it by working constantly, but nothing is happening. I thought it would go away soon, but it hasn't. The emptiness just keeps growing bigger."

"Sherlock–"

He cut her off. If he didn't say this now, he would never find the courage to do it again. "I have certain feelings for you, Molly. Feelings that are quite different from friendship," he said quietly. He looked away from her shocked gaze, as if he was ashamed of succumbing to such emotions.

"Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?" she whispered. She had no idea why she was whispering, except that this felt like a very delicate moment.

"Yes, it is highly likely."

Oh god, is he actually in love with me? But how?

She was having some difficulty breathing. The idea of Sherlock having feelings for her was surreal. She looked at him and saw the sincerity etched on his face. It suddenly occurred to her that it must have been so trying for him to accept and acknowledge his feelings for her. He had struggled with himself and stepped away from the security that rationality provided. It wasn't easy for the average person to confess his feelings, and this was Sherlock Holmes. The man who stated that he would never experience romantic feelings.

And yet here he was, attempting to show her the exact opposite despite his obvious discomfort.

It was all for her.

That was when she felt a cry rising up her throat again. This was all too much to handle. She tried a feeble attempt to stop the dreaded sound but knew that it was futile. She put her head in her hands and started to sob violently, not caring if she looked like a wreck in front of Sherlock.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked worriedly.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up at his concerned gaze. "No. God no."

"Then why are you crying?"

She choked out another sob and shook her head before placing it back in her hands.

Sherlock didn't know what to do when he encountered crying women. He was rarely around women and he couldn't bother himself with them when they started to cry. It had always irritated him. But the sight of Molly sobbing was different. It stirred up something deeply protective in him. So instead of admonishing her for crying, he pulled her to his chest awkwardly and ran his hand soothingly down her back as she sobbed.

Finally, she managed to calm down. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"It's fine. Better?"

She nodded and wiped the moisture away from her cheeks. She realised that she was a complete mess and was starting to feel embarrassed. She glanced up at Sherlock and saw him looking at her with that fond expression again. She missed that look. Something in her snapped and she tiptoed and touched her lips to his.

She would be lying if she said that it was a passionate kiss – it wasn't. Instead, it was sweet and exploratory.

His lips were dry but soft, and they moulded perfectly against hers, fitting with hers like the last puzzle piece. He tasted mildly of coffee and something spicy, and she could smell his lime-scented aftershave. His lips parted under her pressure and she gently slipped her tongue in, eager to explore the contours of his mouth. She heard him let out a soft moan and dear lord, it was one of the most beautiful sounds she had ever heard. She could taste a slight hint of sweet cinnamon, and it was so contrasting with the whole idea of Sherlock that she smiled. Her fingers buried themselves in his mop of dark curls and she felt his arms encircle around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

The myriad of sensations that surfaced due to his smell and touch were so intoxicating and addictive that she would've kissed him forever if she could.

Unfortunately, the biological need for air eventually called and they had to break apart, both breathing heavily. She noticed that his pupils were blown black and only a thin ring of blue could be seen. She took a chance and leaned her head on his chest, hugging his waist tightly.

To her amazement, he didn't push her away. "I am sorry that I hurt you that night," he murmured.

"It was hurtful, what you said. You made me feel like I was just a tool."

"I know. But you should know that I didn't mean it that way. You really are a great pathologist, better than the other imbeciles at the morgue."

"Thank you." She paused. "They're not imbeciles."

"Yes they are."

She hummed in response, too tired to argue. He suddenly kissed the top of her head, making her toes curl. She had not really encountered this affectionate side of him yet and it was making her heart flutter.

"We need to talk about us, you know. It's all still very confusing," she told him.

"Not now."

"Why not?"

He sighed, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Because you look like you can hardly stand on your feet any longer, much less have an intelligent conversation."

Molly opened her mouth to protest, but realised that he was right. She was going to make a fool of herself if she attempted to make sense of their relationship now (were they in a relationship? Oh god she didn't know). She could feel the exhaustion from the past few weeks taking their toll on her.

He tilted her chin up so that he could look into her eyes properly. "The nightmares have been keeping you up."

"Partly, but they're not as bad anymore. You were the one keeping me up most of the time actually."

"Oh?" he arched an eyebrow. "That's only fair, isn't it? You've been keeping me up at night too."

"You hardly ever sleep anyway, so why are you complaining?" She saw his eyes widen in surprise at her retort before he laughed, the sound rumbling deep within his chest.

"True," he agreed.

Sherlock took her hand and led her to the bedroom. Once there, he promptly started to raid her cupboard with no sense of decorum.

"What are you doing?" she asked in alarm.

"I am searching for a shirt I can wear, Molly. I don't fancy sleeping in my dress shirt."

"You're going to er…spend the night here?"

"Yes. Problem?"

"But there's only one bed."

He rolled his eyes slightly when he saw her stationary by the door. "Molly, don't be absurd. It's far too late to get a cab back to Baker Street and I am actually tired for once. I'll just take your lumpy sofa. Slept on it before anyway."

Well, that did make sense. Her mind was really getting cloudy. She went over to help him find one of her dad's old shirts. He then proceeded to unbutton his shirt without any sense of self-consciousness and changed right in front of her. She could've sworn that he actually smirked slightly when he caught her staring at his chest. Then in another act of surprise, he leaned over and kissed her lightly before promptly settling himself on her sofa.

Molly changed into her pyjamas before slipping under the duvet tiredly. She let out a small sigh when her head touched her soft pillow. Given her current state of exhaustion, her bed felt like heaven. She was still confused as to what Sherlock and she were right now, but that would just have to wait till tomorrow.

Sherlock lay awake for many hours after Molly had fallen asleep, reflecting on their conversation.

He still couldn't tell her directly that he loved her yet, and he wondered if he would ever be able to. It was still something foreign and he felt uncomfortable with the term. No one had actually told him that they loved him before. Even his own mother never bothered to tell him that.

And the closest he ever got to "love" was when he had encountered The Woman, which did not count since he was pretty sure that it was merely an infatuation on his part. He was attracted to her intelligence and the easy way she had used sex to her advantage, but that was it. With The Woman, it was more about the sparks and thrills – she was like a burning flame. It was entertaining while it lasted, but he certainly didn't feel empty after he had left her in Karachi.

But his feelings for Molly ran deeper than sparks and thrills. If Irene was an open fire, then Molly could be likened to embers – something that was less flamboyant but definitely more constant and long-lasting.

She had quietly snuck into his heart and planted herself firmly there. Take her away, and there would be a hole that would never quite cover up.

He couldn't run now even he wanted to.

A sudden moan caused him to stiffen and he broke out of his reverie, rushing into the bedroom.

Molly was restlessly shifting in her sleep, a deep frown on her face. He walked over to her and took her hand in his, hoping that it might calm her down. But it didn't help much. Another soft moan escaped her lips and Sherlock shook her awake gently. She woke up with a start, her eyes wide with fear.

"It's just a dream, Molly," he said.

She nodded and looked away with a resigned expression. "It was actually not as bad as the ones I had before, so I guess that's a good thing. But why won't they go away?"

"It takes time. I should know."

Molly looked at him questioningly and it felt like the most natural thing in the world then to tell her about his nightmares of Moriarty after the fall. He hadn't told anyone about them before, not wanting to appear vulnerable. But somehow, he didn't mind recounting that experience to Molly. After all, he had let his walls tumble down for her more than once. He predicted that it would happen more often in the future too.

She squeezed his hand affectionately and gave him small smile after he finished talking. "Thank you for telling me that."

He noticed that she was still slightly shaken and felt that deep rush of protectiveness again. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

She paused for a while. "Yes, please."

He slipped under the duvet with her and she turned towards him, wrapping an arm around his waist. When he didn't protest, she shifted closer and leaned her head on his chest.

Normally, such intimacy with someone would have disgusted him. He knew that he was supposed to hate it, that such closeness to someone else was going to be detrimental. And yet, when he felt the warmth of her body pressed close to his, the supposed detriments didn't seem so detrimental after all.

"I thought you didn't like physical intimacy," she murmured sleepily when she felt him burying his nose in her hair.

"Wrong. It is usually the people, and not the intimacy, that bothers me." He kissed her forehead. "Go back to sleep."

She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes again. Sherlock thought that he saw the barest hint of a smile just before she slipped back into darkness.

Molly straightened her blouse nervously as she climbed up the stairs of 221B. This was her first time seeing Sherlock in a week – she had not seen him at all after that day in her flat as he had accepted a case in Manchester immediately upon going back to Baker Street.

This was going to be their first proper date since they'd agreed to be in a relationship one week ago.

Yes, she was well and truly in an actual relationship with Sherlock Holmes.

"So am I your –"

"Don't you dare," Sherlock said warningly.

Molly sighed. "Then what do you propose I call myself?"

"Partner."

"Partner?" Molly winkled her nose. It sounded extremely formal.

"Yes. It does not sound as silly as 'girlfriend', but it has similar connotations."

"Fine," she relented. "You can call me that, but I'm still going to call you my boyfriend."

"Why?" he demanded.

Molly shrugged. "It's cute."

"Cute?" He looked ready to rip her head off.

Molly merely laughed at the appalled look on Sherlock's face and gave him a small peck on his lips, pleased when he didn't push her away. "Yes it's cute. Deal with it, Sherlock. Compromise, remember?"

Sherlock scowled, looking ever like a petulant child.

Molly smiled as she remembered their conversation the morning after. Sherlock was still adapting to being someone's boyfriend. But overall, she thought that he was doing a rather admirable job. He made the effort to text her every day while he was at Manchester. Molly had missed him terribly while he was away and had wanted to phone him, but she knew that he needed to concentrate on his work. So she settled on being satisfied with knowing that he was safe. It was better than nothing, and they had agreed to compromise.

The fluttery sensation in her stomach intensified as she climbed up the last few steps. She wondered what Sherlock had planned.

Molly froze when she reached the door.

221B was completely unrecognisable. It was clean and neat, devoid of all the usual clutter that were a product of Sherlock's messiness. There were candles placed all around the living room, and she noticed a bunch of daisies on the coffee table. She stepped into the house tentatively, marvelling at the transformation.

"Sherlock?" she called. She heard a rustle behind her and turned around, only to see a disgruntled looking Sherlock appearing from the kitchen, his dark curls in a mess.

"I burnt dinner," he said, looking slightly ashamed. "It would seem that cooking is more difficult than I presumed it would be."

"Sherlock, were you trying to cook for me?" She felt a lump forming in her throat.

"Obviously. Who else will I be cooking for?"

Her nervousness dissipated and she flung her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his. She felt him stiffen for a split second before relaxing into her hold and returning the kiss.

"You shouldn't have," she whispered. She was touched that he went to the trouble to make their first date special. The flat really was beautiful and she could see that a lot of thought was put into its transformation. She was overjoyed, but she couldn't keep one nagging suspicion out of her head.

"Was it John who asked you to do this?" she finally asked him.

Sherlock averted his gaze. "Yes. He said that boyfriends usually arrange this sort of things to make their partners happy. He said that you would enjoy this, although I'm not too sure about that. You do not seem like the flamboyant kind. But John is more experienced in this area than I am, so I followed his advice."

"You did all this to make me happy?"

He rolled his eyes at her question. "Molly, please don't ask me ridiculous questions that you know the answer to." He paused. "Do you like it?"

"Yes I do. It's lovely. It really is. But Sherlock, you're uncomfortable."

He sighed inwardly, realising that he just couldn't hide his emotions well from Molly. "I'm not fond of such settings. Too superfluous. I don't understand why people can't just eat dinner normally. Why in the world must there be flowers and candles? What's the use of them? They just get thrown away afterwards. It's stupid."

She giggled at his look of disdain as he stared at the candles around the living room. Personally, she never felt comfortable in such settings either. It always felt too proper and formal. She usually preferred more laid-back dates.

"Sherlock," she said, turning his face to her. "I love you for you, not who John thinks you should be for me."

She saw a look of relief cross his face and smiled. "What would you like to do to spend time with me?"

He gave this some thought. "I don't know, I just like being with you. Your company alone is rather enjoyable."

Molly's heart swelled at his words. God, he could be so sweet when he wanted to be. "How about we order some Chinese and talk? You can tell me about your case. Maybe we can watch telly after."

His face brightened considerably at her words. He did enjoy telling people about his cases. He was also secretly tired (having not slept for the past two days due to his case), and would love to just lounge around his flat. Watching the telly with Molly seemed like a suitable activity.

"A brilliant plan, Doctor Hooper," he grinned, bending his head to brush his lips against hers.

Two hours later, both Sherlock and Molly were curled up on the sofa in the dark watching telly.

Or at least, Molly was attempting to.

Sherlock was busy giving her a never-ending commentary.

"What in the world is this? Why is everybody so stupid? Even Anderson would be able to see that Hannibal Lector is the mastermind! And what sort of name is Hannibal? Is it supposed to be some kind of joke regarding his cannibalistic diet? Will Graham needs to have better control over his emotions. He is compromising himself! What an idiot. Such a waste of his intelligence."

Molly sighed and thought that as much as she loved the sound of his deep baritone, she had enough of his ramblings. Before he could utter another word about Hannibal, she pulled him down swiftly and kissed him.

It didn't take long for him to start returning her gesture eagerly. It would seem that Sherlock was actually more affectionate in the dark.

As his tongue ran over her lower lip lightly, Molly decided that this was actually a bloody good first date, all things considered.

She smiled against his lips and pulled him closer, feeling the happiest she'd ever been in a long time.

That's it folks! I hope you all enjoyed reading my work as much as I loved writing it!

Leave a review for the last time? :)