A/N: To celebrate having over 200 followers on Tumblr. Thank you, lovely followers!
What does it mean to need something? I mean truly need. John says he needs his overpriced American coffee in the morning, but that's something he can live without, despite his protests.
I need the Work. I will crack up without it, as John can confirm. But is there something I need more than the Work?
Sherlock was so lost in thought that he didn't notice his feet had taken him to Bart's. He blinked in surprise when he found himself outside the front doors. Well, since I'm here…
The morgue was full of people, living and dead, but empty of girlfriend, so he went to the path lab. He found her sitting in a chair against a wall, asleep. Sherlock couldn't help grinning. She works herself just as hard as I do, but she can't go nearly as long without rest. He crossed the room then knelt in front of her. "Molly?" he asked softly.
She woke up with a start then looked at him with wide eyes. "Sherlock? What time is it? Were we planning to meet today?"
He smiled a bit. "In order, yes, hello, almost time for lunch, and no, but here I am anyway."
"Is there a body?" Molly asked as she stood and stretched.
Sherlock chuckled as he stood up. "Plenty of them in the morgue but none of them are with me."
"What do you need?" she asked, echoing the question she asked him during his darkest hour, apparently unwittingly.
He couldn't help smiling at the parallel. "You." And it's true, Molly Hooper is the one thing I need more than the Work.
Molly blushed. "Not at work, Sherlock."
She must think I mean sexually. I do, of course, but that's not what I meant. "Molly, I-"
She started walking to her favorite microscope. "Can we talk about this later? I'll come over to Baker Street after my shift, okay? I need to get back to work, I shouldn't have dozed off."
Sherlock knew a brush-off when he heard it. It stung, but he knew her work was important. "Alright. Have a good day, Molly." He kissed her cheek then left.
Being between cases, Sherlock had plenty of time to clean the flat. And to think.
It's amazing how much I've come to rely on Molly. Even more than on John and Mary. The Watsons keep me from getting lost in my head. Molly reminds me that I have a heart. My life would be so … empty without her.
When asked later, he would say that his next actions were strictly an impulse, but Sherlock knew that wasn't true – the idea had been germinating in the back of his mind since he met Molly.
He dropped the feather duster he was using on the mantle then raced downstairs, grabbing his Belstaff and putting it on before he bounded down the front steps and hailed a cab.
Sherlock was just straightening the chairs when he heard Molly come into the sitting room. He turned to her, smiling happily. "Hello, sweetheart." Sherlock walked over to her and kissed her softly. "How was your day?"
She smiled at him tiredly. "Hi, Sherlock. Long but…" Molly took a good look around the sitting room. "Sherlock … did you clean? And polish? And … are those flowers?" There was indeed a bouquet of roses in a crystal vase on the coffee table. Finally, she turned to him. "You're wearing my favorite shirt." Molly looked at him suspiciously. "Sherlock … what's going on? Whose death do you need me to fake now?"
He chuckled. "Nothing like that, I promise. After a long day, I thought you'd enjoy something nice."
She relaxed a bit but then caught a whiff of the scents coming from the kitchen. "Is that pasta I smell?"
"Yes," Sherlock said, beaming. "I made dinner for us."
"In that biohazard?" She gestured towards the kitchen, smiling a bit.
"I cleaned first. Hungry?"
"Starving."
"Have a seat." He gestured towards the table, which was set with a white linen tablecloth, fine silver, and bone china.
Molly smirked at him. "Mrs. Hudson's, I presume."
Sherlock smiled a bit. "She knows I don't have anything this nice and was kind enough to offer."
Once they were both seated, Molly ate like she hadn't eaten all day while Sherlock merely picked at his food, too nervous to actually eat.
She looked up at him, confused. "Aren't you eating, Sherlock?"
"I would, but the butterflies in my stomach won't let me."
"Butterflies?"
"Yes, my dear Molly, butterflies. The kind you get when you're very nervous about something."
"What do you have to-" She stopped mid-sentence when Sherlock stood then got down on one knee beside her chair, holding up a black velvet box. Molly's eyes were huge as she took in the box and the man before her.
Sherlock smiled a bit. "Molly Hooper, I've come to realize that of all the things I need, I need you the most. You remind me that the heart is as vital as the brain. I want … need to spend the rest of my life with you and I hope you feel the same." He opened the box, revealing a light blue asscher cut diamond on a platinum band. "Will you marry me?"
Molly gasped then covered her mouth with both hands. "Sherlock ... you ... you're serious?"
"Completely, my love."
She flung her arms around his neck. "Yes!"
Sherlock knew there would be nothing else he'd ever need, except for maybe one thing. "How do you feel about children, Molly?"