Author's Note: Since this is originally a songfic, I highly suggest reading this on ao3 where lyrics are allowed, cause the inspiration for this story probably won't make since unless you have the lyrics or at least listen to the song. How About You by Bethany Joy Lenz and Andrew Walker.

It was her birthday in mid-October when Molly Hooper sat alone at Angelo's waiting for her boyfriend of two months. From across the room, Sherlock Holmes strolled in through the doors and immediately deduced that her beloved would not be showing up. In fact, it seemed she had just received a text from him.

I have to be honest, Molls, I met someone else and I'd rather be with her. I won't be there tonight.

She felt the tears sting her eyes, mad at her ex and herself for ever seeing anything good in him. Molly was getting up to just leave when she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Excuse me, I apologize for being so forward, but I have come to understand you have been stood up and was wondering if you wouldn't mind having dinner with me?" he asked, the words coming out rather quickly. She felt herself go in a daze at how gorgeous this man was; dark curls that begged her fingers to slide through them, piercing cerulean eyes she could drown in, gorgeous high cheekbones, and the most kissable lips she had ever seen, not to mention the deep baritone of his velvety voice. "I will be more than happy to pay of course."

"I—" she had trouble forming words in that moment. "Yes. Um, thank you so much."

"No need to thank me," he smiled, pulling out her chair for her. "Thank you for accepting my offer." Sherlock was never one for romantic entanglements, something his friends and family knew so well, they gave up on any prospects of him settling down. But, yet, there was something about this woman that drew him to her. "Happy birthday, by the way."

"How did you—" she began, surprised by his statement.

"I have a knack for observing what most people fail to see," he explained. "It was quite disrespectful of your boyfriend to stand you up like that."

"Ex-boyfriend," she corrected. Then something came to her mind, making her defensive. "You're not just doing this out of pity, are you? Cause I don't want your pity, nor do I need it." The words came out harsher than expected and she immediately felt bad for the tone of her voice.

"I assure you, I am not doing this out of pity, Miss…" he trailed off.

"Hooper," she provided. "Molly Hooper."

"Molly Hooper," he repeated. "I know that name. You're a pathologist, are you not? I've read your essays before; every one of them. They're brilliant!" This surprised her, due to the fact her own boyfriend—now ex-boyfriend—had not ever bothered to even read one.

"R—really?" she asked. "I didn't think anyone liked them all too much."

"They're wonderful," he assured her. "You have a brilliant mind, Miss—my apologies—Doctor Hooper."

"Thank you," she smiled. "And you can call me Molly." Then, something occurred to her. "I don't even know your name."

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes is the whole of it, but rather a mouthful."

"Sounds a bit posh," she teased.

"Yes, I suppose it does," he chuckled. "I'm a consulting detective. I help the police when they're out of their depth, which is almost always."

"A bit arrogant too," she continued.

"Guilty as charged," he replied, mentally kicking himself for being such an arse. It was a hard habit to get out of. Noticing his discomfort with how the conversation turned, Molly spoke up.

"It's quite alright, you know," she told him. "If you're honestly good at what you do, there is a reason for it. I can even be a bit cocky at times, though it's mostly because the chief pathologist at Bart's isn't very good at his job."

"Oh, I know that very well. He is difficult to work my cases with," Sherlock replied. "How come I've never seen you before?"

"Probably because I'm stuck in an office my entire shift doing paperwork," she told him with a sigh. Sherlock knew he'd have to get Mycroft to do something about getting her promoted. They ordered dinner and had a lovely night of conversation, despite the fact they disagreed on a few things.

Afterwards, he offered to pay for the cab fare and walked her to the doorstep of her flat. Sherlock was shocked when she rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek before retreating into her home. Long after the door was closed, he stood there, dumbfounded. He had been his terribly cocky self the entire dinner, so why did she find him deserving of such affection? Whatever the reason, it hit him that he never asked for her number. Perhaps, he'd be able to find her at Bart's whilst on a case. It wouldn't be until mid-November when they saw each other again.

"Mister Holmes, this is Doctor Hooper," Mike Stamford told him. "She's our new chief pathologist. I have a feeling you two will work better together than you did with the previous one."

"Yes, I,"—he cleared his throat—"I believe so." So, Mycroft had come through after all. When Mike left, Sherlock couldn't help himself and slowly leaned in, aiming for her cheek.

"What are you doing?" she asked, backing away.

"My apologies," he blushed. "I'm not usually like this. I just—I wanted to return the same affection you gave me after our date."

"You never tried to contact me," she told him, sounding hurt.

"I had forgotten to ask for your number," he replied.

"You could have found another way to see me or call me," she told him. "You knew my place of work and where I lived. Never thought of dropping by for a visit?" Her tone resounded with the emotional pain she felt.

"I am sorry, Molly," he apologized. "I'd like to make it up to you."

"Alright," her face softened. "Let's get this autopsy done."

Sherlock found that they truly did work well together. She was just as brilliant in her deductions as he was. They had coffee in the canteen afterwards, and they both laughed about how terrible it tasted.

"I promise we'll go out for better coffee some other time," he told her.

"It's a date," she agreed. They continued to talk all throughout her break, learning of each other's families or lack thereof.

"My dad passed away whilst I was still in uni and my mum died in childbirth. I've got no siblings, aunts or uncles. I'm kind of the last of the Hoopers," she explained.

"I'm so sorry, Molly," he told her with sincerity. It made him realize he probably shouldn't take his large family for granted like he usually did.

"Tell me about your family," she encouraged him.

"Well, my mum was a mathematician before settling down and choosing to put her children before her career," Sherlock provided. "My father says he's the ordinary one of our family, but he is intelligent in other ways; emotionally intelligent and very wise. My older brother, Mycroft, and my little sister, Eurus, are also quite brilliant, though I like to argue and say I'm smarter."

Molly laughed at that.

"I am the most emotional of my siblings," he explained. "Though, for my work, I bury said emotions away, as they are a disadvantage to my investigations."

"How so? If you don't mind me asking. It just seems to me that emotions would be helpful in crimes of passion," Molly pointed out. "If you don't understand the victim's or murderer's emotions of the situation, it may be hard to deduce their motive."

"I never thought of it that way," he admitted. "It seems I have much more to learn." His arrogance was shattered by her words, as he finally realized there was always room for improvement, even in unexpected ways. He was intrigued by her at Angelo's last month, but now he felt himself falling for her quite quickly. Little did he know, Molly was falling just as hard.

The first Saturday in December found them both at Molly's favourite bookstore. He had said he would make it up to her for not contacting her sooner, and so she was calling the shots of their day and evening together. Books were something they both enjoyed immensely, so this portion of their day was going well.

"I never expected a brilliant woman such as yourself to be enamored by fictional stories," he told her as he browsed through the non-fiction.

"And what is that supposed to mean? Just because I'm intelligent doesn't mean I don't enjoy fictional worlds," she argued. "And it doesn't mean I should be such a stick in the mud." He winced at her tone. "Didn't you ever like fiction?"

"Oh I did when I was younger," he told her. "I loved pirate stories and mysteries, but soon found it more interesting to read books on real pirates and real crimes."

"Here, why don't you try this one? My treat," she told him, holding a book out to him. It was titled Stalking Jack the Ripper. "It's a fictional take on a real serial killer and quite an enjoyable read. In fact, I'm sure the two main characters are our Victorian counterparts." Molly laughed at this and Sherlock felt he would never get enough of hearing it.

"Alright," he smiled. "I'll give it a try."

Later that evening, they were off to see an old classic movie, replaying in theatres, called It's a Wonderful Life. It was Molly's favourite Christmas movie, and though Sherlock never saw it nor enjoyed outings to see movies, he complied because it made her happy. She was so excited for him to see the movie for the first time.

The part in the movie when George's wife doesn't recognize him and he truly begins to see how terrible Bedford Falls would have been without his existence, Sherlock subconsciously laced his fingers with hers. He held her hand tightly, giving her affectionate squeezes up until the movie's end. As the lights came up in the theatre, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss right above her knuckles.

"Shall we?" he asked. Molly nodded, still a bit dazed from his intimate gesture. They caught a cab together and ended up outside her door once more. At least Sherlock had her number now.

"Would you, uh, like to come in?" she asked him, her fingers gently tugging on the lapels of his coat as she nudged the door open. His reply was cut short when she pulled him down for a fervent kiss whilst leading him inside. When their lips parted, he found himself sitting on the sofa in a bit of a daze from her affections. "I'll make us some tea. Two sugars, right?"

"Yes," he replied. "Thank you." He looked around, noticing her boxes of Christmas decorations set out by the small tree she had by the window. "Do you spend Christmas alone?"

"Usually, yeah, except for the time my friend, Meena, invited me to her family's Christmas party," Molly elaborated. "Most of the time, I work Christmases in the morgue since everyone else has family to spend time with."

"Sounds rather lonely," he remarked.

"I suppose it is," she smiled sadly, handing him his cuppa. "So, what do you do for Christmas?"

"Well, after I left home to live in London, I never really celebrated it but then mummy has insisted on all of us gathering for the holiday," he told her. "I wouldn't mind so much if Mycroft was a bit more tolerable. I think you would love it, though. In fact, why don't you spend Christmas with me and my family this year? They'll be sure to adore you."

"Are you sure? Isn't that a little fast? We've only been together for a few weeks," she pointed out, attempting to hide the fact it had felt like she'd known him her whole life.

"Molly, I've never been more sure," he smiled sweetly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was gorgeous. "As a matter of fact, I must admit that though our time together has been short, I have fallen quite hard for you. Just the thought of seeing you makes my day a little brighter. The very fact that you exist makes me happy beyond reason. I am not an unfeeling man, though I pretend to be. I can tell you that I have never felt this way about anyone before. You are the woman I want to take home to meet my family; to one day become part of my family."

"Oh, Sherlock," she smiled, tears of joy spilling from her eyes. "I feel the same way. I was so upset when I had never received a call or visit from you after our date because you had already made me feel so loved and appreciated just with that one evening. I'm sorry for being cross with you about it. I suppose it was a bit irrational to be angry over it, as I had forgotten to give you my number. I would love nothing more than to go home with you for Christmas. You are such a good man and I don't know what I did to be blessed with crossing paths with you, but I am so very happy I did."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, pressing a kiss into her hair. Whoever that idiot was that stood Molly up on her birthday nearly two months ago, Sherlock was thankful for it. Otherwise, he would never have introduced himself to her. Hell, she might have even married the moron had he not come around. He knew he was getting dangerously attached to her, but Sherlock just didn't give a damn about Mycroft's anti-sentiment philosophy anymore. There was nothing he wanted more than to make the woman in his arms happy, which made him incredibly happy in return.

On Christmas Eve, they arrived at his hometown. Molly was amazed by how festively decorated the village was. Sherlock's mum had asked him to pick up a few things before coming home, and Molly hadn't minded one bit. He enjoyed seeing her filled with so much Christmas spirit, even though he usually cared less about the holiday. At one point, Sherlock found himself wishing he could be a bit more like her. Why on earth would she want to spend Christmas with a Grinch like himself?

His parents greeted them when they arrived, his mum pulling Molly in for a hug as if she were her own daughter.

"Come in, you'll catch your death out there!" Mrs. Holmes told them.

"So, there's hope for Sherlock, after all," Eurus smirked, catching Molly off guard.

"My little sister, Eurus," Sherlock explained. "Just ignore her, I do."

"Real mature, brother mine," Mycroft remarked.

"I ignore him too," Sherlock added, eliciting a small laugh from Molly. Typical siblings, she thought.

"So, tell me," Eurus began, "How in the hell did you capture Doctor Hooper's fancy?"

"Yes, do tell," Mycroft encouraged. Their parents were listening as well, wanting to know how they met.

"Actually, I had just been stood up by my boyfriend at the time when Sherlock walked in. He deduced it and offered to have dinner with me," Molly explained. "He was very kind to me." This surprised Eurus and Mycroft, as 'kind' was not the usual word used to describe their brother.

"Hey, I look at it this way," Eurus smiled, "I get a sister, and the estrogen level in this house is finally balanced." This made Molly laugh, and made Sherlock roll his eyes, but he stopped as soon as heard her sweet laughter. Everyone was witness to how he brightened up when Molly was visibly happy.

Evening came around, and everyone was gathered in the sitting room listening to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes rehash old memories from Christmases long ago. Sherlock was lounging on the floor by the fire, whilst Molly, Eurus, and Mycroft sat on the sofa.

"Our first Christmas together, we couldn't afford a thing," Mrs. Holmes reminisced. "But Edmund surprised me with cooking dinner for the two of us, and having bought Mycroft's first toy. I was only a couple of months pregnant at the time. But anyways, the point is, it doesn't matter what you have or where you live…it's about who you're with. The construct of 'home' is only about who is beside you."

Sherlock and Molly locked eyes, a smile given only to each other. He looked so relaxed, the glow from the fire illuminating his most prominent features. He gave her a wink, making her blush.

"I think he likes you," Eurus whispered to her.

"He really does, you know," Mycroft added. "I've never seen him so smitten." Molly couldn't help but smile. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she had a family again. Sherlock was her home—there was no doubt in her mind now. Little did she know, he felt the same about her. He knew there was no use fighting it anymore. He loved her completely. In fact, the words slipped out of his mouth when they were snuggled in bed that night.

"I am so in love with you, Molly Hooper," he whispered to her. He hadn't planned to say it so suddenly, but it was like he couldn't resist it anymore.

"And I'm very much in love with you, Sherlock Holmes," she replied, softly, pressing her lips to his. They both felt a kind of comfort and peace that neither had ever felt before as they drifted off to sleep. This was home; where they both belonged.