"I won't compete with him Molly."

She looked up from her computer where she was typing up her latest report for a medical journal. She was confused now more than ever.

"I told you there was is no competition, Tom. It's you, it's only you. We went over this already."

"Yeah, well, that was before you said his name again."

"What?"

"Last night. I don't know what happened, but that was the best I've had. Ever. But you said his name in the end and the worst part is, I don't think you would have noticed if I hadn't told now."

Molly kept quiet. She couldn't lie to him. Sure, she still had feelings for Sherlock. However, she knew well what Tom could give her- was giving her- Sherlock wouldn't do. So she settled with Tom.

"You're not going to defend yourself?" He said finally breaking her silence.

"I'm not going to lie to you. I love and respect you too much to do that.

"I love you. You don't love me and you don't respect me."

"Tom, no, I-"

He put his hands up. "No, Molly. Ever since I stepped into this relationship I've been competing for your affections with that man. When he was 'dead' I was battling with a ghost. He rose from the dead and you told me you covered for him. Nobody will do that for just anybody. Now he's here and I just can't win. You've said his name twice now in the middle of sex. I can't win your complete love and devotion when he's not even trying and he's already won the entire war from the beginning."

At this point Molly understood what he was saying. She knew that they had never traveled the same path as she had thought. She looked at the ring on her finger. She had been traveling alone on a path that led her nowhere.

"You can keep the ring." He sighed. "I never was a jealous man, Molly, but you've made jealous."

She told no one about the end of her engagement. She held it in. Each time she saw Sherlock, which was often, it was a slap to the face. She also broke just a little bit in those times. She tried her best to continue as if nothing happened.


The straw that broke her was something that really shouldn't have affected her really. She knew it was coming, but didn't expect it to be so soon.

On her way to work she usually takes the tube. However, the sun was shining that day so she got off a stop early to enjoy a sunny walk to work. When she was two blocks away from Barts, she spotted Tom. That in itself wasn't unusual, but what was, was that she saw him kissing another woman.

She continued walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Two thoughts occurred to her in that moment. The first was that, thankfully he didn't see her, and the second being that he sure had moved on fast.

As the morning progressed she felt worse and worse. She had seen Tom kissing another woman and she had to perform an autopsy on a baby that had died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Life was not fair.

She told Mike that she was in no way to continue her day, so she left a little before she was due for her lunch.

She immediately went to a pub. When she left a little after three, she was already drunk. By the time she arrived at 221B she apologized to cabbie about being a drunken, sobbing mess and sent the cabbie on his way after paying her fare. She stumbled up the steps (stairs really are a drunk person's worst enemy) and went right into Sherlock's flat. The man really should close the door every once in a while.

Sherlock was in his mind palace when he categorized Molly's foot steps. He had not asked her to come, nor had she notified him, and by her steps he knew she was certainly drunk. He was truly confused as to why she would come to him in that state.

"Molly?"

She mumbled something, but Sherlock couldn't understand.

"I said," She slurred her words more slowly, "why don't you love me?"

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth. He finally settled on, "Your drunk." It was by far the most obvious thing and biggest understatement he had ever said.

"Yes. And I will regret this when I'm sober- if I remember it. Otherwise I would never say it."

"I think you should stop."

"No. I won't stop. Why should I? You go on with your life like nothing and you've had me wait seven years! I've gone on countless dates, been in two relationships, and engaged once. I've loved you for years. I've tried to misplace that love on others who won't have me because they know that they will never hold my complete devotion because that is all for you."

For once Sherlock had nothing to say.

"I know you don't like to express affection, but you show it in everything you do. Maybe not in a conventional way, but you do. I know your many flaws Sherlock. There is nothing that I don't know about them. However, your passion for the things you do and the people you consider your friends, that is what makes me love you."

"Something makes me think that you have a high tolerance for alcohol."

"Yes, well, I was a bit of a lush in uni."

"Sherlock?" Molly said hesitantly now.

"Yes?" He looked up from the spot on the floor he was examining.

"You're not a sociopath."

"It's debatable." He said noncommittally.

"Yes, but what made you afraid to feel? I mean, our experiences shape us. What happened to you?"

He said nothing. They stood there facing each other- him holding his breath hoping he wouldn't have to say it and her slightly swaying.

"I generally don't like to speak about my life unless the situation warrants it. I will tell you someday, but not today."

He looked at her with those intense eyes and all she could do was yawn. Before he could stop her, she walked in the general direction of his bedroom and shut the door. It wouldn't be until the next day when she woke up.

Sherlock however, was more bewildered than before. Ever since he returned he knew that things were different- not that that he expected everything and everyone in his life to remain on hold until he could come back. What was striking to him was the fact that now he was more observant of the emotions of others and as a consequence he was made more aware of his own. Particularly, he has been paying more and more attention to Molly. How she acted, her behaviors, her mannerisms, what she said, the way she spoke. He found himself putting all those things into her room in his mind palace, which had grown substantially larger since his return.

He could never seem to delete any information regarding her anymore.


Molly had never given much thought to going on a holiday. All those years of hard work had given her accumulated time. She had enough Spanish language skills left over from her uni days to be able to choose to go to Spain and her paternal grandmother was French so she knew it well from talking to the late Marguerite Hooper exclusively in the language.

She had been to Marseille twice in her life: once on a family holiday and the second to attend her grandmother's funeral. Her father spent his childhood there, then moved to Brighton where her parents met and married. Then she was born and spent her childhood by the sea too until she went to Oxford and since then she had never been back. I miss the sea she thought one day.

So off to Marseille she went.


Sherlock for his part had not noticed she was gone.

There was a case. It lasted two weeks. It involved some undercover work for Mycroft. So while he was off dealing with the a part of the Russian mafia, Sherlock had not been to the morgue in that time.

Upon returning to Baker Street, he texted Molly for a set of hands to experiment on. When he received no answer he texted John.

HAVE YOU SEEN MOLLY? - SH

OH HELLO. HOW ARE YOU? -JW

I REPEAT, HAVE YOU SEEN MOLLY? - SH

I'M FINE THANK YOU. BEEN BUSY LATELY? - JW

I'LL BE THERE IN A FEW MINUTES. - SH

John, for his part, opened and shut his mouth several times before coming to the conclusion that he should've known better than to try force an exchange of pleasantries with Sherlock Holmes.


Flowers have their own language. Some can look completely ugly, yet the message they send is a beautiful one. Others are deceivingly good-looking and send a horrid message. However, the flowers Molly started receiving two days after arriving in Marseille were a perfect mix of pretty with positive messages. She got curious of their meaning after her third day receiving them. Each day they would be left on her door step and each day she would look up their meaning. So far she gotten flowers that meant an apology, friendship, liking someone, a possible romantic tie, loyalty, happiness, fidelity, strength, and admiration.

She was loving the flowers.

Until Sherlock showed up.

"You right git!" She fumed and stomped- yes, stomped- her back inside.

Sherlock closed the door behind him. He had thought she would be pleasantly surprised with his visit.

"A month! The first two weeks you show up even when you have nothing on. You sit at your microscope, some days with no slide- yes, I noticed- so I left you alone. The voices in my head tell me, Molly say something before he says anything, but I ignored it. For sure, I thought, you would've said something about me stealing your room, but nothing. Then I thought, hmm let's go back to Marseille to pick up the pieces that are left of your heart. Get your head back on straight." She took a deep breath. At this point she ran her hands through her now short hair.

"But you couldn't let me do that could you. I know the flowers came from you."

He stood still and looked at her. Their were the obvious differences: tanned skin, shorter hair, and different style due to warm weather. She was wearing a sun dress, was barefoot, no make up. She had never looked lovelier.

"I'm sorry." He began.

"About what?"

"For all the horrible things I've done to you. All the strife you've had in the past years has been caused by me. I'm sorry for what I've said. I'm sorry that I manipulated you. I'm sorry I trusted you to bear part in the burden of my greatest secret. I'm sorry that you thought you could settle for Tom. I'm sorry that your engagement ended."

She stood their opening and closing her mouth several times. His chest heaved with expressing more emotion than was his norm.

"You are right. I am a git. I deserve your harsh words, but I would rather have that than to not see you. That is not an option. Thirteen days ago I realized you had left on an indefinite holiday. I had no way of knowing if you'd be back and it drove me mad." He was holding her shoulders now. "I've been feeling things for you a while now. Every single detail of yours stays in my head. You are voice of my conscience. If I retreat into my mind palace you are the first thing I see leading me to where I need to be."

Molly stood there like a deer in the headlights. She saw the car getting closer and closer.

"I am very selfish. I'm glad that after all this time you could only love me. The last thing I'll ever be sorry for is the fact that it took me this long to get to you because I will make sure for the rest of our lives that you don't regret ever falling in love with me like I have for you."

He reached into his coat pocket and took out the robin's egg blue box and opened it. She slapped both hands over her mouth.

"Molly Hooper, will you do me the most sacred honor of being my wife?"

"Oh g- are you sure? Do you know what you're doing right now?"

"Yes. Everything is perfectly clear to me. So..."

"Yes. Times infinity."

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief.

"Stop acting like I would've said anything different."

"There was still the slightest probability of you saying no."

"Stop lying Sherlock." She said in a sing songy voice. "Besides there was absolutely no way that you could've known that I like Tiffany's."

"Actually, your most prized possession is your mother's wedding ring, which is Tiffany's, and you have a poster of Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's. I think it was pretty obvious."

"In retrospect... yeah." She said as she scrunched her face and nodded her head. "Sherlock, one more thing."

He cocked his head to the left side indicating for her to continue.

"I only say this for my peace of mind. You're not going to regret this in the future? You're not going to resent me for tying you down to a life of a certain degree of domesticity? Because I will tell you now Sherlock, there are things I expect and I won't settle."

Sherlock felt a feeling in his chest just swelling. Seeing her now standing up for herself and her wishes... it only made him love her more.

"Name it and it shall be yours. There is nothing that I regret or resent in wanting to marry you, nor will it happen in the future, because you, Molly Hooper, are the only woman for me. I can not- will not- imagine a future without you in it." His hands were holding her face and those blue eyes were so piercing.

"Thank you Sherlock." She looked at him with eyes wide open.

"No. Thank you Molly."