He pulled his eyes away from the irritating light of the microscope and straightened his back. A few pops sounded out from his spine and he grimaced. He had lost track of the time, wondering how long he had been bent over the microscope, staring at small images. Waiting for them to give him an answer.

He rubbed his eyes with his fists and let out a yawn before hearing the door open. He heard the light footsteps; identifying their owner within a second. "Molly…" he greeted tiredly. Not even turning his back.

The footsteps stopped for a moment, making him smile to himself because he knew that he had thrown her off. He hadn't even seen her today, couldn't even know what she wore and he still recognized her. It almost… Frustrated her.

She, however, pushed that aside and put on a poker face and continued her entrance. "Sherlock. Aren't you going home? Security will want to close down soon and if they catch you-" Sherlock turned himself in his lab stool to glance over his shoulder at her. Was he wearing a smirk? "What?"

"Nothing, Molly," he chuckled before turning back around and looking into his microscope once more. He wasn't even paying attention to what he was looking at. "How many times has security over looked my presence late into the night?"

"A good few…" she replied quickly.

"So, isn't this the same situation?" he sighed.

She rolled her eyes. "Sherlock. I understand but I am aware that you sort of… Reappeared in everybody's lives just four months ago and something like that isn't usually a situation where it makes a lot of people comfortable."

Sherlock didn't even think of his next response. "John was comfortable. Well… After he nearly strangled me, split my bottom lip and broke my nose. But he is comfortable with the thought that I was back…"

Molly was standing next to him now, wearing an expression that he had never really seen on her- she was not amused. "Sherlock… John is your best friend who watched you 'jump' from a good few stories. Of course he was comfortable with you reappearing…"

"And so was Lestrade… You saw his face."

"Lestrade was glad that you were back because he felt like he had caused your death. Sherlock, you cleared his conscious with your presence. You are his friend."

It was a lost cause. Sherlock wasn't going to win. It was best that he stop trying to argue and begin to clean up. The Fall had changed Molly Hooper and without a doubt had made her very confident.

Molly Hooper had learned how to accept Sherlock Holmes for who he was. What he did. Who he included and who he excluded. She was quite discomforted with the thought that he was pushing people away after discovering John and Mary's relationship and the seriousness of it. The secrecy that was there.

She watched as he struggled with the idea of sharing his closest friend and the loneliness he felt. He turned back to drugs ("It was for a case!" he grumbled.) and he went to other extremes to keep his friend around.

"It's time for you to go home, Sherlock…" she said softly as she stared into his eyes. "I will wait for you if I must…"

Sherlock let out a sigh and nodded. "I suppose you're right," and he switched off his microscope, threw out his sample (he could acquire another tomorrow) and jotted down some notes.

Molly gave a slight grin when he looked away and began to place some of the things away. When he looked up, he froze. "Thank you…"

"You're welcome…" she replied. "Save some time because we both know that you are horrible at cleaning up…" He gave her a little smirk and returned to his notes.

She was half way done when he put down the pencil and let out a groan. He straightened once more, distracting her, and he rubbed his eye with his left knuckles. Exposing his palm to her.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?" he grunted as he tucked his notes in his folder.

"What did you do to your palm?" she asked simply as she dried off a petri dish. He gave her a confused look before look at his palm./p
"Other palm, Sherlock…"

He looked.

"It seems that I must have… Cut it on something. Taking into mind the angle the skin was cut, the amount of blood that had been there and the skin's appearance around the skin… I can deduce that it was not metal that I cut myself on. It would have left more a reddish ring. More profound. No… I must have cut myself of some broken glass…"

"You're meaning to tell me that you don't remember when or how you cut your hand?" she asked. He opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head. "No… Why would I ask that when you apparently weren't even aware of the cut?"

Sherlock only frowned and glanced at it. "I will be fine…"

"No… It is a pretty nasty gash. Not one that is in need of stitches but one that needs to be cleaned and covered."

"No necessary…"

"Sherlock Holmes…" she grumbled. "I am right. Now, if you don't mind, I am going to grab some medical supplies and I am going to dress your wound." He had no reply as she walked off to the other side of the lab. Leaving himself to his thoughts for the moments that she was not with him.

Well… He didn't have any thoughts at the moment. What was this? She just left him. Speechless. Again…

When she returned, she placed the supplies down and stood before him. He glanced up at her to see her smiling face (or was that more a smirk?) and an outstretched hand. Carefully, he placed the back of his hand in hers.

"What are you studying?" she asked him without looking at him. Blotting some disinfectant on the wound.

"A case. The victim was poisoned but the body of the criminal was found only two meters to the right. So, they asked me to look into what blood I could get and though I know what the poison was that killed the victim… I am perplexed by the possibilities for the criminal…" he explained.

She glanced up at him and caught his gaze for a second. Long enough to give him a sweet grin. "Exciting…"

"Perplexing…" he mumbled as he used his free hand to prop his head up on.

"The answer will come to you. I know you… You solved the case of my missing point shoe from high school."

Sherlock chuckled. Half because of the outcome and the other half because each time she mentioned herself as a ballerina in school, he couldn't help but imagine her moving gracefully across a stage. It was so… Molly. Light on her feet. Reserved… Disciplined. Graceful. Beauti-

His eyes flew open. What was that?

Molly looked up at him as she butterflied the cut closed in the corners so the cut wouldn't open. Placing some gauze on his palm before reaching for a cloth wrap./p
"Sorry… I was… Drifting to sleep," he lied. She didn't say anything and wrapped his hand.

Sherlock was left to his thoughts with the absence of sound. Did he really just think that to himself? His mind registered something like that? Without him even realizing it? It was new… Something he wasn't sure he had done before.

"There you go…" she said softly as she pulled the small knot taut on top of his hand and patted it habitually. "That should do the trick. I am sure that John can have a look at it when you see him and if he needs to make any tweaks to it…" She trailed off when she realized that Sherlock was staring up at her. His blue-grey eyes staring into her dark chocolate ones.

"Are you alright?" she asked him. He remained still… The only movement came from his searching eyes. Taking in the image of her face. "Sherlock?"

"Molly?" he replied softly.

"Time to finish cleaning up and go home…" she told him as she turned so he could no longer stare into her eyes and was forced to look at her right temple.

Molly Hooper. She was small. She wore a comfortable skirt that came to her knees and a simple blouse. She had removed her black cardigan throughout the day and tied it with the sleeves around her neck loosely. Her long brunette hair was draped over her shoulder, falling in a gentle wavy curl. Her sweet nose littered with freckles that spread lightly on her cheeks.

Without thought, he found himself grabbing her wrist with his good hand and turning her around. She gasped slightly at the touch and glanced at him. "Sherlock?" she asked in confusion. "You alright?"

Sherlock felt a grin tug at his lips as he slowly stood up from his seat. He towered over her but neither one of them broke the gaze. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyebrow quirked in curiosity. "Molly…" he said. His hand around her wrist slowly fell and made its way to rest at the small of her back. His other hand that she had so gently wrapped slowly came to her face. His pointer finger curved under her chin and his thumb holding it. "Molly Hooper…"

Slowly, he leaned down. His lips meeting hers in a perfect motion. It made her almost gasp, but she was able to compose herself a lot quicker than she had expected.

Sherlock Holmes was kissing her… Passionately. Gently. Promising her something… Apologizing. Her soft hands rested on his chest as he dropped his hand to join the other as it wrapped around her waist. Pulling her close to him. As close as they could be. Their lips moving slowly as they took in the essence of the other…

She was sweet… He could taste some traces of chocolate. Smell her perfume. He could feel her relief. Her disbelief. Her longing…

He was lovely. He smelled clean and his lips were soft against hers. She could feel his excitement in the way he kissed her. She could feel his love for her just spill out. It was beautiful.

pWhen they pulled apart, they sucked in the much needed air. They eyes looking at each other as if searching for some signs… Signs of regret? Absolute confusion? No. All they saw were signs of love and bliss as he held her to him

He let out a chuckle and rested his forehead to hers. She smiled. "What is it?" she asked as she let out a giggle.

"It's just that… I've realized that one, I'm a complete idiot…"

"It's about time…" she told him.

He gave a pout but replaced it with his grin again. "Two, I may give John a heart attack with the news."

"He'll embrace it…"

"And three… Well. I believe that Lestrade's case has come to a close."

"What?" she pulled away slightly but allowed him to take her hand. He pulled her towards the coat rack at the door, leaving the table still a mess. He threw his scarf and coat on and they walked out hand in hand.

"Seems like our criminal wasn't aware that her victim was prepared to take revenge on her. Even after he died…" Sherlock grinned. "She should have realized that he would have some poison of his own when she kissed him."

"Are you suggesting that the victim and murderer were romantically involved and they both exchanged poisons when they kissed each other?"

He only gave he a kiss on her temple and a grin before taking her hand in hsi good one. Together, they left St. Bartholomew's.