Sherlock's muscles tightened across his shoulders. The word's 'shut' and 'up' itched to jump from the tip of his tongue. He inhaled a long breath through his nostrils and let it out again in a silent huff. He tried to refocus on the body of the businessman in front of him, but once again, John's voice cut through his thoughts from where he and Lestrade gabbed at his back.

"That's too bad about your wife, Greg," he chirped, "wait, sorry - ex-wife, but it happens, yeah?"

"Ah, right, I know but I just … I just always thought we'd get back together one day and this is kind of it, ain't it? Like, they're marrying. It can't get more final than that," Greg replied.

"Nothing is ever final, really, but I think you might be waiting around a long time for a chance with her again."

"Pfft, I waited long enough for her. Nope, it's time I moved on."

Sherlock was about to tune them out again but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. For some reason, he had a premonition about what John would say next.

"Well, have you considered asking Molly out? She's single again."

Sherlock's neck stiffened. Suddenly every sound in the room amplified in his ears. At his back, Greg snorted.

"Nah, Molly isn't really for me."

John harrumphed. "What? Why? You don't like her-?"

"No! That's not it."

The two men fell silent behind Sherlock for several moments. He could feel their eyes on the back of his head as he pretended to be oblivious to their conversation. His hands felt as if they were swimming in sweat inside the latex gloves. He flipped over the lapel of the body's suit jacket and glowered at his shaking fingers. Molly and Greg. Their names repeated over and over inside his mind, obliterating every other thought process. Still, he feigned inspection of the dead man as he awaited Greg's response.

Finally, the inspector cleared his throat and sighed. The utterance that fell from his lips next seemed directed right at the hunched detective.

"Bollocks … you know I would ask Molly out if I thought she'd be receptive, but she's got a one track mind when it comes to matters of the heart."

Sherlock swallowed. He curled his fingers in and retracted them.

"One track mind," the words echoed between his ears, "one track mind, one track mind."

Sherlock rose from the floor. He peeled off his gloves and threw them into a nearby waste bag.

"One track mind."

"Oy," Lestrade called, "you sorted that out already, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to face his friends.

"One track mind."

"No," he flipped up his collar and made to leave, "excuse me."

"You … you are never going to stop caring for me, are you?"

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard the deep voice of Sherlock at her back. Her hand slapped to her chest. She wheezed a couple of breaths and then turned slowly. Sherlock stood near the entry of the lab, his usual gorgeous self in his long Belstaff and perfectly coiffed curls. His green-blue eyes regarded her with a wrinkle of concentration between them.

"Wh-What?" She whispered.

Sherlock strode forward slowly yet purposefully. His footsteps were so carefully placed she could not hear his footfalls across the floor.

"You," he rejoined pointedly, "you will … always love me, won't you?"

Molly gulped down a breath. "What? What do you mean? Of course I will, Sherlock. You are my friend-"

His head shook once. Molly stepped back nervously as she found herself in his imposing shadow. They were in the middle of the open floor of the lab, yet she felt hemmed in. What was he on about, she wondered? Did he need something? Was she going to be asked to help him again? She recoiled into herself. Her help was only ever needed when he was in grave danger which meant she was in for some grievous heart pain. He seemed to notice her reticence and frowned.

"No," he muttered, "I mean, you will never cease to have a romantic attachment to me. Ever."

Her face flushed with heat. She struggled to maintain control of her expression. It had been years since he had deduced her crush on him but they had never outright discussed it. In fact, since that fateful Christmas party, she had tried her best to behave as a friend would behave. It was mortifying to discover that he still thought she was enamored with him, even if it was one-hundred percent true.

"Sh-Sherlock," her tongue felt two sizes too large in her mouth, "I-I … oh … y-you, arse!"

Molly covered her flaming face and turned away. She gulped a lump. Large fingers grasped her elbow and she was urged around to face him again. For a moment, his eyes scanned her face. Then, his hands fell on her shoulders as lightly as the settling of feathers. They jittered there a short interlude before coming together at the side of her neck and up to her jaw. His eyes constricted ever so slightly. The machinations of his thoughts were almost audible. She half-expected to hear the shrieking of metal gears grinding like train wheels over tracks. Unexpectedly, he leaned forward, then lurched to a stop.

Her eyes went very round. Was he going to-

He shifted forward again until his lips hovered just above hers.

She started vibrating. Sherlock Holmes was preparing to kiss her!

"Sher-"

Lips fumbled onto hers with a great intake of breath. For a brief period of time, they slanted over her mouth slightly stiff and unyielding until she expelled a sigh against his mouth and kissed him back with a shy tremble. He reacted to that as if he were a block of butter in the microwave that finally reached its melting threshold. He groaned. Then, supple, pliant lips spread, pulled and cajoled her own as if he were drawing out her very soul. Almost too quickly, it was over, though. His face pulled from hers with an almost imperceptible smack of their lips and his head drifted back. Ragged breaths fanned her face.

Sherlock gazed down at her for a spell, his eyes seemed to absorb every detail of her face. His thoughts appeared to be going a mile a minute. She could tell by the fine lines that crinkled at the corner of his eyes that he was working something out. His fingers quivered on her face. Molly reached between the halves of his coat and found that his entire body was shaking.

"Wh-What's wrong?"

He cleared his throat. "Molly, I was supposed to be alone forever."

She held him tightly. "Oh, Sherlock …"

His thumbs stroked her jaw. "But my forever is not alone. In every scenario, in every instance, and in every possible future I envision your love is its companion."

Tears stung Molly's eyes. She squeezed him. She sniffled. Sherlock kissed her forehead, her brow and down over her cheek.

"I asked you if you would love me forever," he murmured, "forgive me, I already knew the answer because I finally recognized the feeling within myself."

Her lips parted in surprise. "You … ?"

Sherlock kissed her again on her slightly open mouth. "I love you. Molly Hooper, I will love you until all that is left of me is but flakes of skin floating around Baker Street. M-My forever is yours, if you'll have it, ahem, have me."

Molly quivered for a few seconds, then launched herself up and hugged him for all she was worth.

"Oh, Hell, yes," she gasped, "and you can have me. I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I love you, I love you, I love you. Always, always."

Strong arms clutched her to his form. "Sorry I took so long to come around."

Molly laughed giddily. "I would have waited-"

"Forever," he chuckled, "this we have established."

"Don't be an-oop!"

Molly couldn't finish her thoughts as his lips swooped down. Sherlock had time to make up.