The grime of London was particularly evident that late September day when the news broke that Sherlock Holmes was back from the dead. Molly Hooper blew her nose and regarded the dirt on the tissue – the residue of a city that got under one's skin. She wasn't ashamed to have shed a tear of happiness for his resurrection.

She had not yet seen him. He'd chosen to visit others first. But then, the others had not known, like she did, that he was alive. They had not assisted him in the great cover-up. Molly had not stayed in contact with Sherlock during the three long years. Though she didn't ever know officially whether he was still alive – there was always a feeling that somehow she would know it if he weren't. She didn't know what he'd been doing all that time. But she did know he would come to her when he was ready.

That time was later the same day, as Molly walked towards the tube and home. He silently fell into step with her, taking her bag of groceries. She acknowledged him with a nod. They walked to Farringdon Tube station. He stood back to let her through the turnstile first, before swiping his own Oyster card. Molly was surprised that Sherlock knew about London's underground train network, never mind that he was back a mere day and already had an Oyster card. Perhaps he'd learned thrift in his time away. The silence continued on the train ride underground, and the walk over ground and all the way to Molly's building. To break it now would break the spell. She opened her flat door, he followed and she leaned back across him to lock the door. Suddenly Sherlock pressed her against the door. He'd set the groceries on the floor and carefully removed her shoulder bag. Here it was. The moment they had both been moving inexorably towards since he'd said he needed her. Three years ago now, but even then, by the end of the night when they'd worked out the plan, she'd known someday he would come back and need her in a more elementary way. So she was ready.

Their first kiss was hard and filled with years of unspoken words, fights not had and great conversations that had never happened. She stood on her toes to reach him – it was uncomfortable but she was way past caring.

After a time, they broke the kiss. Sherlock eyed her carefully and spoke his first words to her.

"What are you thinking?"

Molly exhaled out a laugh – that now, of all times, he couldn't tell, that he would ask a question millions of lovers asked each other.

"I'm thinking two things. First, that I've never wanted to sleep with anyone as much as I want you right now," she paused to trace the line of an actual blush on his stubble-roughened cheek.

"But I don't know if this is just for now – the adrenalin rush of your home-coming and resurrection – or is it something more? Because if it is, I'd rather get some dinner, have a chat and then take you to bed repeatedly for the rest of my life."

It was Sherlock's turn to laugh and, for a moment, she misread it.

"Do you have any idea how attractive you are? Not just now, but always – long before you were my assisting angel. I would not be here right now without you, and I do not give up a decade of celibacy lightly. I do so intentionally," he explained.

"You mean you'll come back after tonight?"

"I will keep coming and coming, as long as you allow it."

"Will you bring a bag of innuendo every time?" she replied with a smile.