Sherlock was at a loss for the first time in his life. He had been wracking his brain for months. Nothing seemed good enough. Molly's birthday was in three days and he still hadn't figured out the perfect gift for her. He should know what to get for her; after all, they were the best of friends. Sherlock felt lucky in that after Sherrinford, their friendship grew stronger rather than dwindled. They knew of each other's feelings, but never got around to acting on them.

Maybe she'd like a chemistry set of her own? Or perhaps some extensively researched medical journals? He groaned in frustration, his head falling into his hands.

"You alright, mate?" John asked.

"It's useless, John," Sherlock sighed. "I can't figure out what to get for Molly and I've been trying for months. Everything I've thought of seems too materialistic."

"Well, if these past few months have taught me anything, it's that you have a heart, Sherlock. So, for the first time in your bloody life, use it," John told him.

"Brilliant," Sherlock muttered.

"Excuse me, what?" John questioned with surprise. Sherlock said nothing and walked out the door and into the street to hail a cab.

Molly groggily woke to a phone call on the morning of her birthday. Mike Stamford had informed her that she had been given the day off. Not willing to argue with that, Molly fell back asleep surrounded in the comfort of her pillows and duvet.

A couple of hours later, her arm was tingling in the best way, and eventually, so was her cheek. She opened her eyes to the sight of Sherlock sitting beside her, brushing her hair back from her face.

"I should've known you had something to do with my sudden off day," she said with amusement.

"You're not mad, are you?" he asked.

"Not one bit; it was a nice birthday gift," she smiled. "Thank you."

"That, my darling Molly, is only the first step of my plan," Sherlock teased. Darling? Molly asked herself. That's a first. She took the hand he offered and followed him into the kitchen where, on the counter, a full English breakfast was displayed.

"Oh, Sherlock, you didn't have to do all of this," Molly told him. "I didn't realize you could cook."

"Practically chemistry," he replied.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asked. "You made more than enough."

"Well, I—"

"Make yourself a plate, sit down," Molly convinced him. They reminisced about past cases and inside jokes as they ate, carefully avoiding any mention of Sherrinford. Their laughter filled her flat, only quieting when Molly heard a noise from the sitting room.

"What—" Sherlock began.

"Shhh, did you hear that?" she questioned.

"Hear wha—"

Meow.

"Is that a cat?" Molly inquired with wonderment. She slipped off of her stool to investigate. Sherlock happily followed behind, awaiting her discovery. Molly lifted the small grey Scottish fold kitten into her arms as it mewed. Its fur was soft and interspersed with black. Its eyes were an icy blue, almost similar to Sherlock's. "Oh, aren't you adorable," she cooed.

"You like her, then?" he asked. Molly turned towards him.

"You got me a kitten?" she laughed in disbelief.

"I just thought that after Toby passed, you'd like another companion," Sherlock explained. "Perhaps, even, two companions." Molly furrowed her brows in confusion. "It is no secret how I feel about you or how you feel about me. Today, I am choosing to act upon it as I feel ready to give it a try. I am choosing you, Molly. Would you consider choosing me?"

"Get over here, you silly clot," she smiled, tugging on the lapels of his jacket with her free hand and bringing him down for a kiss. There was no denying their love as their lips connected, sliding perfectly over one another.

"Happy Birthday, Molly Hooper," he whispered in her ear after their kiss was broken. "I love you." The words, being the first time he's said them since that phone call, brought tears to her eyes.

"And I love you," Molly spoke breathlessly. It was a very happy birthday, indeed, and one she would never forget.