Mary watched them closely, observing their interactions; their body language. She had only heard Molly's name come up when Sherlock revealed to them that she had aided in helping him fake his death. Upon seeing the two of them in the same room together, Mary saw that it was as if they were magnets, consistently drawn to one another. Her fiancé was practically a cheap knockoff of Sherlock Holmes, but the puzzle pieces didn't click until Molly claimed to Greg that she had 'moved on.'

She knew Sherlock had seemed a bit agitated before Molly's arrival, and she figured it was because he truly didn't want to set eyes on the man who had her heart; the man that now made her happy. Yet, upon seeing Tom, he seemed surprised, but then relieved. Either Molly had a type or she truly wasn't over Sherlock. Mary assumed the latter. Only a couple weeks later did she get the confirmation she was looking for—at least on Sherlock's part.

Mary, I think you better come 'round here.

Upon entering 221B, the sight before her amused her greatly. John, attempting to concentrate on the case file Greg had dropped off for them, kept glaring daggers at Sherlock, who was pacing madly around the flat ranting about some person or other.

"They don't even live together for God's sakes!" Sherlock complained. "The man puts a ring on my pathologist, and suddenly, I lose my favourite bolthole!"

"I don't think it's the bolthole you're angry about losing," Mary piped up, a knowing smile on her face.

"Mary, thank God." John sighed in relief. "Please tell him that he can't just break into Molly's place when he wants to. She wasn't there, and Tom had him sent back here; paid for the cab fare and everything."

"He doesn't even live there!" Sherlock snapped. "And I didn't break in—I used the key she gave me before I left London for two years. I have her permission to come and go as I please."

"Yes, you did; but that was before she got herself engaged," John argued. "Now, stop being a git, and leave it alone!"

"She won't"— he threw his phone at the sofa—"she hasn't even answered my texts."

"You're in love with her." Mary's words made both men stop in their tracks.

"No, he's not—"

"Yes, I am." Sherlock's voice softened then.

John scoffed in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that Sherlock Holmes is in love!?" He laughed, amused by the idea, but upon seeing his best friend's face, he realised that he wasn't joking. "Christ, Sherlock, when did this happen?"

"A little over two years ago," he admitted. "I had already been quite fond of her, but the fact that she was willing to put everything on the line to save my life—even if I had been a fraud—that was when I knew."

"Why didn't you ever tell her?" Mary asked.

"I thought it a bit rude to tell her before I had to leave, not knowing when I'd be back," Sherlock explained. "I could never be so selfish to ask her to put her life on hold for me. A part of my hoped time would stand still whilst I was away, but it didn't, and I'm paying the price for it."

"She's not married yet, mate," John pointed out. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he replied forlornly. "I really hate not knowing."

The subject wasn't broached again until a couple of days later whilst Sherlock was in the lab working on an experiment. John was present as well, but was being ignored in favor of the microscope Sherlock was currently looking through.

"Why don't you try a gift?" John suggested. "Something posh to woo her."

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "Really, John? Something posh?" He lifted his head away from the microscope to look at him. "Molly isn't materialistic, she's—well, more of a sentimentalist, a romantic."

"Two departments you've no knowledge in," John pointed out.

"Au contraire, I may not be familiar with expressing myself in such ways, but that does not mean I can't," Sherlock defended himself. "By the time I'm done, she'll be swept off—oof!" Upon seeing Molly enter the room, Sherlock had slipped off the stool in his effort to stand up.

"Oh my goodness!" Molly exclaimed. "Are you alright?"

Stifling a laugh, John kneeled down beside his friend, speaking quietly. "I think you're the one swept off your feet, mate."

Author's Note: A bumpy beginning, but I think Sherlock will find his feet eventually :p