Author's Note: I wrote this originally for the Sherlock birthday celebration, but I actually hated this fic at the time for some reason. Now, I love it, and so, I decided to post it.

Freshly baked ginger nuts? Check. Birthday gift? Check. Fireplace lit? Check. Molly Hooper used her key to 221B to set up everything. It was Sherlock's birthday and he had been away on a case for nearly a week. She hated that it took her this long to get to this point, but they had both needed time after the events that transpired at Sherrinford. Well, her more than him, surprisingly. She hated how it had hurt him that she wasn't as enthusiastic about a relationship as he was. It wasn't that she didn't want to be with him, but she was terrified. Molly never thought there was a chance, and once it was possible, she had no idea what to do with it…

The first few months after the phone call, Sherlock and Molly had both agreed to work on their friendship, rebuilding it from the ground up. They became closer than ever. They were best friends and completely inseparable. They both knew the truth of each other's hearts, resulting in cheek kisses that lingered a bit longer than usual. Sherlock had decided to go back to rehab to clean himself up for good and he continued to communicate with Eurus through music. He spent time with his family, all of them slowly, but surely healing together properly.

Molly took some time for herself, spending time with Meena and doing new different things. She joined a book club, took a couple dance classes, and picked up extra shifts at Bart's to save up for a shopping trip with Meena. She felt like adding some new things to her wardrobe as well as look for a couple of new jumpers. She could hardly look at her favourite striped one without feeling sick. Funny how that old striped jumper had good and bad memories attached to it, from her day of solving crimes with Sherlock to that damn heartbreaking phone call.

Despite their very separate lives, weekends were reserved for each other. Late nights filled with take away or the occasional home-cooked meal, along with murder documentaries, classic films and board games. They'd sleep in the same bed. They'd cuddle. But nothing more transpired. It was a comfortable routine. There was a moment one weekend when Sherlock came out of her bathroom, freshly showered and in his pajamas, when he caught her dancing to an old Sinatra song. He had surprised her by taking her hand in his and pulled her into his arms. They danced for a long while, taking comfort in each other's arms.

When July rolled around, there was an awful heatwave. Molly had been wearing a pair of jean shorts and a bikini top with her hair up in a bun on top of her head. Sherlock had let himself in with the key she gave him.

"Molly, there's something I need to say and—" he stopped short, his brain feeling as if it had short-circuited. He was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, an unusual choice for him, but the sight of Molly Hooper not covering her curves up for once sent him into buffering mode.

"Sherlock?" she asked in concern. Following his gaze, she noticed his eyes wander over her in entirety. Feeling self-conscious, she had attempted to cover up her chest with a dish towel.

"Don't," he spoke suddenly. "I apologize. What I meant was that you shouldn't feel insecure."

Before really thinking, she spoke out, "I'm not compensating for size then?" It came out harsher than she wanted it to. Bad memories tended to do that to you.

"Molly, surely by now you know I was being a jealous git. That's not an excuse for my behaviour, merely in explanation. I never meant what I said that Christmas. You have lovely breasts," he blushed at having said that out loud as he spoke quickly.

"You said there was something you needed to say?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Molly, I—well, would you like to—"

"Solve crimes?"

"Have Dinner?" They spoke in unison, the roles reversed.

"As much as I would like to, I just don't think I'm ready, Sherlock," Molly told him softly. "I need more time." She watched his face fall as she unintentionally broke his heart. "Please, understand that this doesn't change the way I feel."

"I understand," he replied. He then laughed in disbelief. "Who would've guessed I'd be ready before you were?" A look of panic crossed his face. "I didn't muck up our friendship, did I?"

"No," she assured him. "Never. You're my best friend, no matter what." Despite it being sticky and hot, Molly wrapped her arms around him. "I promise I'll be ready eventually. My heart is and always will be yours, Sherlock."

Snapping out of her memories, Molly hoped he would be surprised for once. It took her almost a year to be ready for this...whatever it was they had. Her hair was up in a bouncy ponytail, as she had loose curls in her hair, and she wore a pair of jeans with one of her newer jumpers which was a cable knit in bubblegum pink. The key turned in the door, and she braced herself for the moment at hand.

"Molly?" his tone was gentle, curiosity shown plainly in his eyes.

"Happy Birthday, Sherlock," she smiled shyly. He stepped closer to her, slowly, as if he was afraid of frightening her. Molly closed the gap between them, hugging him to her. Sherlock allowed his hands to touch her—one on the small of her back, and the other in her hair.

"I've missed you so much," he finally spoke.

"I missed you too," Molly replied. "I'm so sorry it took this long. I was scared and completely lost, and—"

"I understand," he said softly. Acting on instinct, he pressed a kiss to her temple, unwilling to let go of her. It seemed that Molly was content with staying in his arms, for she showed no signs of wanting to end it. "You made gingernuts." She could hear his smile in his voice.

"I also got you a gift," Molly added, stepping out of his embrace to retrieve it. She felt so cold without him, already. "Please try not to deduce it and open the bloody thing." She laughed nervously, as if she were having second thoughts.

"I promise," he smiled. Sherlock carefully unwrapped it, revealing a lovely black moleskin journal. There was an engraving in gold on the cover.

For Sherlock.

I hope this will be a reminder that you are loved, and more importantly, worthy of that love.

Love, Molly xxx

"Open it," she encouraged him, feeling braver. He did as he was told, his lips parting slightly in surprise. Every page was filled with photos and mementos from all the years they knew each other. There were even photos of them with John, Mary, Rosie, Mrs. Hudson and Greg. His family was featured in a couple as well. There were little notes, written in Molly's hand, about what she loved about him. He found a photo from that awful Christmas party where he practically deduced her to tears. It was a picture of himself with Molly and John. The message she wrote beneath it had him finally forgiving himself for his cruel words.

Who you are is not what you've said or done. I realise now that it was jealousy that caused you to react the way you did. I forgive you, my love. It's okay.

"Molly, this is…" he trailed off, unable to find the words. "Thank you." The last page was empty, but was obviously laid out in pencil. "What photo goes here?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," she smirked.

Six months later, Sherlock was holding Molly close to him in bed. Their hands were laced together, two beautiful rings on Molly's finger glittering in the moonlight, as well as his own ring. Though Molly was sound asleep, he was wide awake, wondering how he ended up here, with the love of his life. His eyes gazed upon the photo on his nightstand from their wedding last month. It was taken the moment they had kissed, sealing their marriage vows. Both of them were smiling, eyes crinkling on both of their faces.

This was real. He was Molly's husband, and she was his wife. He moved his free hand to settle over her belly. She wasn't showing yet, but in eight months, there would be another Holmes in the world…and he couldn't be happier. There were no more regrets of having waited so long—Molly had convinced him to just let it go and start living in the present. And it wasn't so hard to do just that when she took his hand in hers. Sherlock Holmes was truly happy for the first time in his adult life. Meeting Molly Hooper, now Holmes, was the best thing that ever happened to him, of that he was sure.