Author's Note: I do not own Sherlock. I am not profiting from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1~Getting On With It

Sherlock entered John's flat with an almost smirk on his face. He was still staying with John while work on 221B was being done. It had been two weeks since the bomb. Two weeks since his sister had tried to scramble Sherlock's brain and murder everyone else. Two weeks since he had told Molly that he loved her.

Sherlock should be miserable. His sister had turned his entire world upside down, but oddly enough, Sherlock wasn't miserable. Even though Euros had ripped his life to pieces, he actually owed her a debt of gratitude. The ridiculousness of that thought made Sherlock's almost grin turn into a soft smile.

Usually something like this would have made Sherlock tense, neurotic even. He didn't like to have his tidy life laid open, exposed, vulnerable. So what was different this time? He leaned back on the doorframe and closed his eyes. Instantly she was there, in his mind palace, smiling at him. Molly Hooper. His Molly. His little pathologist. Because a relationship will complete you as human being. Sherlock had scoffed when John had said those words to him. Sherlock truly didn't know what the hell that was even supposed to mean at the time.

But John had been right. Of course he had picked the wrong woman. It was never Irene Adler. True, she was a puzzle of a woman that had kept Sherlock on his toes, so to speak, but at the end it was Molly. It was always Molly. She was the one that counted.

"Are you going to come inside or stand in the doorway all day?" John asked.

Sherlock looked over to see John standing in the kitchen holding Rosie.

"Oh, I don't know. It is a rather lovely entry way." Sherlock shrugged off his long coat and hung it on the rack.

"So how was it then?" John asked.

"How was what?" Sherlock asked, though he knew precisely what John was inquiring about.

"Don't be daft. How was your lunch date with Molly?" John set Rosie in her highchair so she could eat her lunch.

"It was nice," Sherlock replied. He walked over to Rosie, sat down and began to spoon mashed carrots and peas into her mouth. He was becoming quite the natural at this.

"Nice? Just, nice? Spending time with your grandmother is nice. Playing fetch with a dog is nice. Surely you can do better than that?" John said.

"Oh, all right," Sherlock replied. "If it will shut you up, lunch was very pleasant. It is no secret I enjoy Molly's company. Things have been much less complicated since we talked about, you know, the phone call."

"You were lucky Mycroft was able to show Molly the security feed from Sherrinford. It made explaining much easier I imagine." John sat down at the table with a cup of tea and a ham sandwich for himself. If Sherlock were going to feed Rosie then John would take the opportunity to feed himself.

"Yes, but," Sherlock stopped with a sigh.

"But what?" John asked.

"I regret Molly had to witness that. True, the phone call caused her pain, but seeing the events of that day unfold before her own eyes was equally painful for her, possibly more so. I don't like for her to be…"

"Sad," John supplied, when he realized his intellectual friend was struggling to find a very simple word.

"Sad," Sherlock confirmed with a nod. Before Sherlock could get lost in negative memories Rosie squealed and gave her Uncle Sherlock a big smile, one that Sherlock couldn't help but return.

John was amazed at how easily Sherlock let his guard down with Rosie. No one could break down those walls faster than she could. All she had to do was laugh and Sherlock's darkest of moods was instantly lifted. John swore to himself that he would never take Rosie away from Sherlock ever again.

He still felt guilt when he thought about how he treated his best friend after Mary died. True, John had lost his wife, and her loss was still with him every damn day, but Sherlock had lost Mary too, and then in the same moment he lost John and Rosie. Even Molly had been lost to Sherlock initially because she was watching Rosie so much after losing Mary.

John hadn't just abandoned Sherlock; John had robbed him of all human connection, not to mention he then gave him a broken nose, several large gashes to his face, and three cracked ribs. John was just grateful that in the morgue there had been people there to stop him. He wondered just how close he had come to possibly killing Sherlock that day? No, let him. He's entitled. Sherlock didn't even try to fight back. His best friend was willing to lie there and let John release all the anger that had built inside him, no matter the consequences to his own body or mind.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked. He was looking at John very closely, trying to deduce his sudden change in demeanor.

John shook his head suddenly, trying to dispel the images there. "Yeah, yeah sorry, was just thinking about something." Needing to deflect Sherlock's attention he asked, "So, when are you and Molly going to see each other again?"

"I'm not sure," Sherlock replied. "We did not set a specific time commitment at the end of our lunch date. Should I have done that?" Sherlock wondered if he had done something wrong.

"No, it wasn't necessary," John told him. "This is new territory for you. It is probably best that you two let things happen normally."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and John didn't need to be a consulting detective to know he was thinking of Molly, seeing her face in his mind palace. With his eyes still closed he said, "I do love her. I want to do this right, but honestly, this is me we are talking about. I want to be a better man for her, but I am not sure how to change or even if I can change to be the better man that she deserves."

"Molly loves you for who you are," John told him. "She knows you better than anyone. She knows you can be an ass. She knows you can be self-absorbed. She knows the good and the bad, and she is still here. She doesn't need you to change. Just make sure you remember her is all. Never let the case become so important that you forget she is still there waiting for you. If you take her with you to a case, don't just hop in a taxi and leave her standing there, alone trying to find her own way home."

"Sorry about that," Sherlock replies sheepishly.

"Yes, well, when you become frustrated or depressed, or whatever you are feeling, don't hide it from her." John continued. "Shutting Molly out won't make you stronger and it won't protect her from pain. If you want to make Molly happy, all you have to do is let him in."

Clearly confused, Sherlock repeated, "Let her in?"

"Yes, at first you resisted sharing the thoughts that swirled about in that big brain of yours. You would drag me along but not tell me anything, keeping all the details close to the chest so you could have this big reveal at the end and I would oh and ah. As time passed though, you stopped trying to impress me and began to let me work with you. At some point you stopped treating me as your blogger/fan and actually treated me like a friend, like family. You let me in, and then you let Mary and even Rosie into your life. You were still an ass, but you were a lovable ass."

Sherlock chuckled, "So I need to be a lovable ass to Molly."

"You might want to aim a little higher than that. Just don't view Molly as a weakness. She is smart, quick, and able to see through your bullshit. She has proven her usefulness to you time and time again. Now give her the chance to love you. Let her be there for you not just as a colleague but as something significantly more."

Sherlock nodded his head ever so slightly. "Thank you, John. Really, thank you."

"You're welcome. Oh, and little things, little things matter."

"Such as?" Sherlock inquired.

"Oh you know, the occasional bouquet of flowers for no reason, a small piece of jewelry just because, remembering birthdays and anniversaries. All women care about that, not just Mary or Molly. Women like to know that in the middle of the day, no matter how busy you are, at some point, you think of them, miss them a bit."

Sherlock smiled slightly. It was true, he often thought of Molly, many times through out the day. Of course he had never told anyone that. Why would he? Back then no one knew the true depths of his feelings for his pathologist.