A/N: So, this story was inspired by two moments that I noticed in terms of John and what he thought of Molly's involvement in the Fall. Remember in "The Empty Hearse" when Sherlock mentions that Molly knew, and John is pretty shocked and angry, to the point where Mary tries to calm him down by saying his name. And most recently, in "The Abominable Bride," when Sherlock begins to talk of how Molly helped him fake his death, John clears his throat and gives him a clear and angry look to shut up about it. Sadly, Molly and John don't have much interaction one-on-one on the show, so I wanted to explore the possibility that John never quite forgave her for being the one that Sherlock chose to trust in the Fall. I hope you enjoy this long one-shot. Leave me your thoughts in the review box, please!

"Glad that you didn't have to work the late shift, Molly?" asked John, always a reliable one for starting up the conversation on a polite note.

Molly could practically feel Sherlock rolling his eyes at John's question, which didn't surprise her in the slightest. Of the many things that annoyed Sherlock Holmes, it was polite conversation – or, as he preferred to call it, pointless conversation. But Molly ignored him and answered John. "Oh, I'm always glad not to work the late shift."

"Obviously," she barely heard Sherlock mutter under his breath. So, as she took a sip of red wine, Molly discreetly kicked him under the table and ignored his sidelong glare. She was nervous enough about this evening as it was.

"Well, I'm sure even if you'd been scheduled, you'd have been able to get out of it," said Mary, coming in from the kitchen with a bowl of salad. Her thirty-eight-weeks-pregnant belly could not be disguised under the well-cut maternity dress. John immediately got up, pulled out her chair and took the bowl from her hands. "Oh, John, there's no need to fuss!"

"That's my job, love," John replied amiably, kissing her cheek as he helped her lower down into her chair, then took his own seat again.

Molly had to smile at the sight of them; both were practically glowing in anticipation of their upcoming delivery. This little dinner party for the four of them was for a number of reasons, really. The Moriarty imposter/devoted follower had been captured and locked away just a few days ago. Sherlock had been granted an irrevocable pardon and was staying in London for good. The Watsons' daughter was due to arrive very soon, with everything looking good medically thus far. And Molly's thirty-fourth birthday was tomorrow.

Mary Watson had seen this last fact as a wonderful coincidence and promptly organized an intimate and celebratory dinner, complete with a double-chocolate birthday cake for Molly. Sherlock had groused at the prospect, never a fan of such gatherings, but since it was for Molly, he kept his grousing to a very bare minimum (for it to cease completely was completely wishful thinking). After all, Sherlock could only make it through social gatherings successfully for very few reasons; celebrating the fact that Molly Hooper was alive and a part of his life was definitely one of them.

More than that, Molly had seen this small gathering with the Watsons as the perfect opportunity to reveal to them how the relationship between her and Sherlock had changed, and it was certainly a significant change for the better. Sherlock wasn't at all worried, but Molly couldn't help but be. The Watsons had always been more Sherlock's friends than her own, and she hoped that the news she and Sherlock would share would help her be as much their friend as Sherlock was.

"Seriously though, Molly," said Mary, addressing the pathologist again. "I'm sure you have a lot of vacation days saved up. Use them, that's what they're for!"

"Yeah, I do have more than a few, it's a bit pathetic," said Molly with an almost forced laugh in an attempt to calm her nerves. Thankfully, Sherlock helped to do that by taking her hand under the table. She didn't look at him, but she squeezed it in gratitude before letting it go. She continued in her normal voice: "It's irrational, but I always feel guilty whenever I take time off, even when it's for a perfectly understandable and legitimate reason."

"Oh, come on, Molly, you never played hooky at least once in your life?" asked Mary, smiling.

Molly didn't answer right away, causing Sherlock to look up from picking at his food and give her a curious look. Her cheeks reddening a bit, Molly looked down at her plate and said, "Well…I did once…in my tenth year at school and just for one day. I called the school and pretended to be my father, if you can imagine that, saying that I had the flu and was staying home. To this day, I'm still shocked that they believed me!"

Then, as John spooned some mashed potatoes onto his plate, he said in a quiet tone that did nothing to disguise the ugliness his words were born from:

"Well, if there is one thing that you are, Molly, it's one hell of a good liar."

As the entire room stilled in a shocked silence, John's own actions froze. For a moment, he watched his potatoes slowly spread onto his plate. He could feel three pairs of eyes on him like laser beams, even though the air in the room suddenly felt quite chilly. Gulping, John looked up at the three people staring at him.

Mary looked unpleasantly surprised. Sherlock looked absolutely furious. And Molly looked as though he had just slapped her across the face.

In the next moment, tears filled Molly's large brown eyes. And in the moment after that, she was out of her chair and rushing out of the dining room.

John seemed to unfreeze as he realized what he had just done. He rose from his seat, calling out, "Wait, Molly, I didn't –"

But too late. His speech was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and closing. John's body sank back down onto his seat with a dull thunk. Mary still looked shocked, her hands covering her large belly unconsciously. But his full attention was brought to Sherlock by the sound of his chair violently being shoved back as the consulting detective stood up from the table.

In the years that John had known Sherlock, the doctor had given the detective plenty of glares, even furious ones. In this moment now, John was sure that none of them were as furious or murderous as the glare that Sherlock was giving him now.

Sherlock then raised a shaking hand, making a pointing gesture. John thought he would aim the gesture at him, but then he aimed it at Mary.

"Let me see if I understand this properly."

Sherlock's voice was low and shaking, his fury just barely controlled.

"Your wife lies to you from the moment you meet her and then shoots me with almost fatal results, yet you forgive her completely." He moved his pointed hand to the direction of the front door that Molly had just fled through. "But the woman who matters the most to me saves my life and your own sorry arse by risking everything, including her own life…and you still insist to believe the worst of her?"

Neither John nor Mary could say anything to this…What could they possibly say?

Sherlock brought his shaking, pointing hand around so it was aimed at John now. "Don't come anywhere near her, or me, until you take that double standard and burn it like the shit and rubbish it is."

And with that, Sherlock marched from the dining room, grabbed his coat, and exited the Watsons' house with a second, and even more violent, door slam.

Instead of hailing a cab, as he normally would, Sherlock walked back to Baker Street. The rage that had flamed into an inferno inside of him at John's comment was still burning like a steady bonfire, and he wanted it to subdue and cool before being with Molly. She didn't need to witness his anger right now, for he knew that she would be feeling more than angry when he saw her again. She would be upset and hurt, two emotions that Sherlock had much less confidence in coming face-to-face with.

But Molly was worth the effort. She was worth everything to him. And he could only be grateful that he'd finally accepted that fact before it was too late.

Molly had moved into 221B Baker Street the day after his four-minute exile. The official reason was because the only way Mycroft would allow him to stay in Baker Street rather than a rehab facility or hospital was if a doctor stayed with him. And since John had both a pregnant wife to look after and a marriage to rebuild, this left Molly as his only other option. She had only agreed to it after both Holmes brothers convinced her she needed the protection that being near Sherlock could offer her. Though Jim Moriarty was dead, someone was going to great lengths to carry out his plans, and Molly was very likely to become a target.

Now that the person behind the Moriarty scare was securely locked away, Molly had no logical reason to continue to live in 221B Baker Street. But that didn't matter. The reason that she was still living there had nothing whatsoever to do with logic – and Sherlock Holmes could not have been happier about that.

The consulting detective arrived at his home feeling relatively calmer; he had clapped his anger in strong irons, the kind that could spontaneously melt the next time he set eyes on John Watson. He went up the stairs to their flat three at a time, and opened the front door a bit loudly to let her know that he was home.

"Molly?" he called out as he removed his coat and scarf.

He heard her clear her throat before calling out, "In the kitchen!" Her tone was too bright, as it always was when she tried to disguise what she was really feeling. But Sherlock knew better, and he wouldn't tolerate her trying to hide anything from him.

Entering the kitchen, Sherlock found Molly listlessly stirring sugar into a fresh cup of tea. Though her back was to him, the defeated slump of her shoulders told him perfectly well how low she felt. For a moment, Sherlock could only stand frozen in the doorway because he had no idea what to do now. This was Molly's area, not his.

Then, Sherlock remembered what Molly would do for him those few nights when his sleep was plagued with nightmares, and he had his answer.

Carefully, Sherlock walked up to Molly, turned her around, and held her to him. It took only three seconds for her floodgates to open, and she cried into his chest. Sherlock said nothing; he just held her, stroked her hair, pressed his lips to her crown and temples. But his jaw was set tight, and he couldn't help but dream up scenarios in which he could best John in a fight.

His full attention returned to Molly when he felt her shaking body calm down and her sobs fade into deep breaths. Gently, he lifted her face from his chest and wiped away the remaining hot tears on her cheeks.

She didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't have run out like that…I just couldn't…"

Her voice faded, and Sherlock's heart broke for her.

"Look at me, Molly," he commanded as gently as he could.

Slowly, Molly managed to lift her two large, brown and bloodshot eyes up to meet his own.

Touching his forehead to hers, Sherlock said, "There is nothing – nothing – that you should be sorry for. Not tonight, and not four years ago." Molly opened her mouth as if to protest but Sherlock kept speaking, his eyes never letting her own break the gaze. "No, Molly, nothing. It is John who should be sorry. In fact, he should be at our door and on his knees, begging for your forgiveness. Which is why I've told him not to come near either of us until he is ready and willing to do that."

Molly quietly gave a groan and lowered her eyes again. "Oh, and now you two are fighting…I hate when that happens, I hate that this happened!"

"I know, my Molly," Sherlock whispered. "But that will happen if my best friend hurts the one who matters the most to me…the woman I love."

Molly's eyes met his again, wide with surprise and he couldn't blame her. This was the first time that he had used that all-important word in terms of his feelings for her. It wasn't that he hadn't been sure until now – in fact, he'd been completely sure of his feelings since he had been condemned to fatal exile in Eastern Europe. But words of sentiment had never come easily to him, so he had done his very best to express those feelings with his actions. This must have been successful, or else Molly would not still be living with him, or in a romantic relationship with him. But in this moment now, those right and truthful words slipped from him as easily as the tears that had fallen from her eyes.

It took Molly less than five seconds to respond to his declaration. Her trembling lips smiled and her once downcast eyes filled with warmth that was just for him. Raising herself on her tiptoes (as she often had to do with the nearly one-foot height difference between them), Molly kissed him. Sherlock kissed her right back, and soon they were kissing as though each could be their last.

When Molly vulnerably pleaded to Sherlock between kisses, "Make love to me, Sherlock, please," the man wasted no time in picking her up and carrying her to their bedroom. Then the rest of the world disappeared to the couple for a while…

Molly's tea remained forgotten on the counter until a few hours later when the two reemerged to make themselves a very late dinner (since they had understandably walked away from the one they had planned to have). Both wore one of Sherlock's dressing gowns, and both eagerly consumed the reheated but still delicious leftovers of the Shepherd's Pie Molly had made for lunch.

They were in the middle of an amiable discussion about livers when Sherlock suddenly interrupted her by raising a hand. But before Molly could work up an indignant huff, he pointed over her shoulder with a smile. Turning her head, she caught sight of the microwave's clock.

Two minutes past midnight. It was now officially her birthday.

When she felt Sherlock taking her hand in his own, Molly turned her head back around to see him smiling adoringly at her as he lifted her hand to his lips.

Suddenly, a tidal wave of emotion swept over Molly, and she had to lower her head and bite her lip to keep a huge sob from escaping.

Alarmed, Sherlock dropped her hand as he got up from his chair. Kneeling right in front of her, Sherlock again cupped her face with his hands so that their eyes could meet. "Molly? What's the matter? Please don't cry again. Why would you possibly cry right now?"

Molly laughed and met his eyes. Though she had no tears in her eyes, the brown orbs were bright. "I won't, Sherlock, I promise. It's just…I think it finally and truly hit me."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "What's…hit you?"

"That you really do love me as much as I love you."

The detective's eyes widened, full of surprise and a touch of hurt. "Molly…I know that it's not been easy for me to verbally express myself, but I had hoped that over the past three weeks my behavior and actions have been –"

"Shhh," Molly interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. "You have. It's not you, Sherlock, it's me. I've been happier these past three weeks than I've been in my whole life, and it's felt like a wonderful dream. So…I suppose there was always a part of my mind that was scared…trying to be ready for the other shoe to drop, to be ready to wake up because no dream can last forever."

The hurt in the detective's eyes melted into shame as he slowly nodded, taking her hand from his face. "Considering our history…I certainly can't blame you, Molly."

Molly nodded, but she was smiling. "What just happened now…felt like waking up and realizing that it's not at all a dream but my new reality…and I'm so relieved."

Sherlock smiled back. "So am I, Molly…we're not alone anymore."

Seeing and hearing the vulnerability that Sherlock had revealed, Molly kissed him with all of the passion that she had within her. By the time the two of them parted for breath, more than one hand had sneaked beneath a dressing gown.

"Can we please return to bed?" Sherlock growled against her neck.

Releasing a breathless laugh, Molly said, "Well, since you asked so politely, yes we can. The dishes can wait for a while." But then she stood up from the chair and walked backwards out of the kitchen with a truly wicked smirk on her face. "Just remember, Mr. Holmes: that's your job. It's my birthday, after all."

With another growl, Sherlock practically chased the giggling birthday girl to their bedroom.

After making love again, Sherlock had asked Molly what she would like to do on her birthday. She had smiled sweetly and asked that she just spend the day with him at home – preferably in bed. He certainly had no objections to that.

Which is why hours after the sun had risen in London found the two lovers lying together in bed, naked and sated (for now). In the last twelve hours, the two of them had gotten up a few times to use the bathroom or grab a quick bite to eat, but the bed was never left vacant for long. Sherlock had dozed off, but Molly was still awake. Smiling to herself, her fingers gently played with his curls as she thought of everything and nothing.

After some time, Sherlock woke up but his eyes didn't open. All that gave away the fact that he had woken up were the corners of his lips turning upward in a sleepy smile. This sight always made her heart fill with warmth. Things like this sleepy smile were things that only she was privileged to see.

Giggling a bit, Molly sank her fingers into his curly hair, making sure to scratch his scalp just the way he liked. He moaned, and she felt his arm snake around her waist. But before he could pull her closer to him, the tranquil air of the room was broken by a very chipper but extremely annoying series of beeps.

Molly's mobile had just received a text message.

Sherlock's aroused moan became a very annoyed groan. His eyes popped open, and he growled, "Please turn that damn thing off."

Molly, who had winced at the sound coming from her offending device, appeased him with a kiss and nodded. "Right after I see what it is."

"Hurry up."

She giggled again as she rolled away from his reach and then sat up. Grabbing her mobile, she opened the device…and she suddenly felt the air very cold on her bare skin.

The text was from John, and it read: I am downstairs in Speedy's. Please let me buy you lunch. You deserve a long-overdue apology and explanation.

After a few minutes passed and Molly had not laid back down on the bed, Sherlock opened his eyes to see that Molly was sitting up and looking at her mobile in her hand. Her expression was tight and her lips were pressed together. Frowning, Sherlock sat up and scooched closer to her.

"Molly, what is it?" he asked as he brought an arm around her. He kept his eyes on her face rather than looking down at her mobile. He had learned the hard way (some very angry words and a sharp smack to the back of his head) since she'd moved in not to nose around her mobile or laptop.

In response, Molly wordlessly raised the mobile closer to his face so that he could read John's text.

"Hm," he grunted, a contemplative frown coming to his face. "Knew it wouldn't take him long. When he believes he's right, he can be as stubborn as Anderson when he thinks up a particularly moronic theory. But he is a man of true conscience and infallible integrity, so when he is in the wrong, he will go to any lengths to make it right."

Molly didn't respond; she just brought the mobile down to her lap. The pinched expression on her face hadn't gone away. When Sherlock pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, it softened somewhat, and she let her head fall onto his shoulder.

Pulling her closer against his side, Sherlock said, "What are you thinking?"

Molly gave a sharp sigh. "Yesterday, when and right after it happened, all I could feel was shock and hurt. Now, after you've very successfully built me up again, the anger is really catching up to me."

"Well, you have every right to be furious," said Sherlock firmly. "And if you don't want to see him, or you feel that you are not ready to forgive him, then you have every right to refuse. Especially today."

"I know," Molly whispered, and she snuggled a bit closer to him. Sherlock kissed her head and just held her, waiting for her to make a decision. After a few minutes, she did.

Taking a deep breath, Molly sat back up and texted a reply to John on her mobile:

I'll be down there in ten minutes.

Turning her head to look at Sherlock, Molly said, "My need to hear his reasons is stronger than my anger. I won't know if I can forgive him until I hear him out…I hope I can, though. I hate it when people are angry with each other."

As he did at least a few times each day, Sherlock fell in love with Molly all over again. And this time, he was able to express that in words. "I love you."

Molly smiled. "And I love you. I'm so lucky to have you."

Overwhelmed by her praise (which he knew he would never really feel he deserved), Sherlock pulled her close and kissed her very thoroughly. But Molly soon pulled away with a smirk. "That's enough of that. John is waiting."

With that, she got off the bed and set about getting dressed and groomed. Sherlock watched her unashamedly from the bed. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Molly considered for a moment, and then shook her head. "No. He texted me, not the both of us. But I promise I'll let you know if I need you."

Sherlock nodded. "I doubt you will. You're stronger than the both of us combined."

Molly gave a humble laugh as she brushed her hair. "I wouldn't go that far…but it does give me strength that you'll be close by." She walked back to the bed and gave Sherlock a kiss. "I'll bring you back a sandwich. Any preference?"

"Since John is paying, the most expensive on the menu, please."

Molly rolled her eyes even as she smiled, managing to escape Sherlock's wandering hands before he could pull her back down the bed for a goodbye that would have made her late.

Any playfulness and joy that Molly felt upon her interactions with her lover melted away as she made her way down the stairs of the 221 Baker Street building. The day outside was as pleasant as a late March day in London could be: minimal drizzle and the sun occasionally peeping out from behind the clouds. She hoped that this was a good omen.

Entering the restaurant, Molly immediately spotted John sitting alone at a small, corner table. His favorite cap and a white cake box rested on the window-sill beside him, and he was nursing a cup of tea. As she approached him, Molly saw the clear physical signs that John hadn't gotten a good night's sleep: dark circles, pale complexion, slumped posture, bloodshot eyes, unkempt hair, and a half-assed shave job. When she sat down in the vacant chair, his eyes lifted from the menu he hadn't really been reading and his posture immediately straightened.

"Molly, hey," he said, his voice a bit hoarse so he cleared it before continuing. "Thanks for coming, especially on your birthday."

Molly nodded. "Well, it wasn't a lot of trouble to just come downstairs, and the fact that you came here…well, we're both doctors. We know that it's best to treat the wound as quickly as possible rather than leave it alone and increasing the risk of infection or permanent damage."

John could only nod solemnly in reply as a waiter came over to take their orders. After three sandwiches were ordered – the most expensive one to be wrapped up to go – John asked, "For Sherlock?"

Molly nodded.

"So…" John continued after an awkward and tense moment of silence. "You and him?"

Molly nodded again, knowing what he meant.

"How long?"

"About three weeks."

John nodded. "Ah. Since the Moriarty imposter was finally captured."

"Mm-hm," she said. Her eyes drifting out the window, a tiny smile coming to her face as she remembered when everything had shifted…

…For over two months, the two of them had learned to live with each other to the point where neither could quite imagine living without the other. At least half of their time each day focused on the imposter and bringing him down. But the rest of their time was by no means uneventful. Sherlock was determined to become worthy of Molly, now that he had finally come to terms with his feelings. Not only did he hold nothing back in terms of explaining all of his past actions and behavior, but through his everyday actions he tried his best to show her his remorse and respect. Molly, for her part, put her efforts into trying to rebuild her trust in him. She had been hurt, very deeply, by this man she just couldn't seem to fall out of love with. Both of them knew that it would take time and a lot of proof to convince her that he fully requited her feelings.

So time passed, and living together not only ensured that Sherlock was able to provide plenty of proof, but that he was also genuine. Aside from the fact that Molly could truly see him, no one can live with another person for weeks and not be who they really are.

Then, the call came from Mycroft that his forces had finally tracked down the imposter, and that Sherlock was needed to help bring him in. Before he left 221B, Sherlock had kissed Molly for the first time. It was a kiss that held absolutely nothing back in either of them. Only Lestrade calling from the floor below had finally caused it to end, and Sherlock had parted from her with a look of longing on his face that she reflected right back.

For three days, he was gone. She only knew he was still alive by the daily and brief text that Mycroft would send her. To her, it was just like those two years Sherlock had been gone and she'd held the secret of his death. Then, those texts from Mycroft came just once a month. And those three days had felt just as long as those two years had. Finally, though, he had called her: the imposter had been caught, was now in secure custody, and Sherlock was on his way home.

When he had come home, without a word, he had gone to Molly and held her to him as though she could disappear at any moment. Molly had held him right back, trying to say the most soothing words that she could. He could just repeat her name reverently until their eyes met and, with a kiss that grew to much more, they became lovers and so much more…

…She came back to the present day when John said her name. She shook her head a bit and said, "Sorry, spaced out for a second."

"That's ok," said John, nodding, his posture upright and tense.

Molly was reminded of the purpose of this lunch meeting, and her own posture tensed a bit. "So…" She gulped. "You wanted to talk, John, and we both know why. So talk."

John gulped, too. He looked down at his hands, which he was wringing on the table. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it several times, each giving him a more frustrated look.

Taking pity, Molly sighed and said, "Look…this obviously all goes back to the Fall. That was a terrible thing you went through, John, and you had every right to be absolutely furious and truly hurt when everything came to light after two years. But…it's been over a year now, and you've forgiven Sherlock completely. We've explained to you why things happened the way that they did, and I thought that you understood why he asked me for help as opposed to you."

"I do, Molly," said John, still not looking up at her but looking quite ashamed of himself. "And I have ever since I learned the whole story." He put a forefinger to his temple. "At least, up here I did. I didn't truly realize until last night…how angry I still was about it in my heart."

Their conversation was briefly interrupted by the waiter's return with their orders. Both suddenly found that they didn't have much of an appetite, so the sandwiches remained untouched on their plates as Molly resumed the conversation.

"Well…I hope that you have some idea as to why, John, or else this conversation won't do either of us any good."

John finally managed to look Molly in the eye. "It was something Sherlock said last night, after you left and right before he did. He asked me how I could forgive Mary after everything that she had done, and yet at the same time remain unfairly angry at you."

Molly gulped and looked down for a moment. "Ah…well, that's a fair question."

Because Sherlock had proven himself to her partly by being completely honest with her in the past months, she knew everything that the two men knew about Mary and what she had done. When she had first learned that it had been Mary who had shot Sherlock and very nearly killed him, it had been all Sherlock could do to keep Molly from storming down to the Watsons' home and confront the woman. He had talked her down and convinced Molly of Mary's reasons, the horrible trap she had been in, and how she was absolutely no danger to him, John, her or anybody else they cared about. However, it wasn't until the next day, when Mary had come at Sherlock's invitation to talk one-on-one with Molly, that Molly was able to be completely at ease with her. Her strong intuition and empathy – so essential in her history and relationship with Sherlock – told her as Mary talked to her that this woman was indeed no danger to them, and that she had the potential of becoming a wonderful friend someday. Molly had been dearly hoping last night could have accomplished the start of that, among other things…

John nodded solemnly. "Yes, it was. A very fair question, and one that I needed to be asked because I have no right answer for it. There is none, I know that…but I did figure out what my wrong reason was."

Molly looked back up at him, her anger not forgotten and nudging her a bit as she asked, "And what's that?"

She saw John gulp, the apology in his eyes crystal clear as he spoke; it was plain in his expression that he knew what he was going to say would hurt her.

"It's the same reason I forgave Sherlock not long after he came back. Because I loved him. I forgave Mary not just because she was pregnant with our child, or because Sherlock told me to, but because I loved her. The two of them were the ones I love the most in this world."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and angry with himself. Molly remained bravely silent.

"But I just couldn't forget those two years I spent believing I had watched my best friend commit suicide. Yeah, it got better after I met Mary, but…I still missed my best friend all the time. If my time in Afghanistan showed me anything, it was how wasteful and unfair war and suffering were, in all forms imaginable, especially grief. When Sherlock came back, and I realized that my grief had all been for nothing…I guess I just pushed it away rather than bury it completely…and I made you a scapegoat for that."

She nodded, understanding everything now. "Because you had believed I didn't count to him at all," she said in a hollow voice. "We barely knew each other anyway, and to you, I was just the pathologist who had a crush on Sherlock that he treated unfairly in order to get his way. So when you found out that he had confided in me as opposed to you…it really pissed you off."

"I'm sorry," John breathed, truly contrite now. Molly wondered if it was the lighting or if he had a real tear in his eye now. "I know it was wrong and so unfair to you. I held onto my anger instead of acknowledging the truth: it's because of you that Sherlock is alive. You did what you had to do to save him, and I'd have done no differently in your place. I won't forget that again, and I swear to you, Molly, I'm done being angry. I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you, because I want us to truly be friends. I can only hope now that you'd want that after this…and that someday you can forgive me."

Molly just looked at him for a few minutes, processing everything that she had heard and learned from him. She knew that he was being honest; John was by nature an honest and upfront man. More than that, he was an intelligent man as well. That intelligence was frequently overshadowed by his best friend's genius and his wife's cleverness, but Molly had always noticed that about him. But most of all, John had a truly good heart and an integrity that couldn't be matched.

So, when those few moments were over, Molly took a breath and held out a hand to John. He immediately put his hand in hers, bravely facing whatever his sentence would be. Safe to say that when she gave him a soft smile, he was shocked.

"I forgive you, John, and I would like nothing more than for us to start fresh and become true friends. Now, let's eat these sandwiches before they become too cold."

She then let go of his hand and proceeded to eat her lunch. After a moment of pure shock, John's face melted into a relieved and grateful smile. He then followed Molly's advice and, having gotten his appetite back, worked on his own lunch.

From there, conversation came quite easily and pleasantly. They discussed the impending baby, and how much he and Mary had prepared for it. Then the talk turned to Sherlock and her new relationship with him, and that's when John surprised her.

"Oh, I've known you two were together for quite some time now," he said with a smile. "Since it started, actually. You just confirmed it for me earlier when I asked."

Molly had to shut her mouth and finish the bite of food that she'd been working on before speaking. "How did you know?"

"I may be clueless when it comes to logical deduction, but I like to think I'm more observant about certain things than Sherlock gives me credit for. That night, right after the imposter had been taken into custody, Sherlock told me to go home. When I asked if he would go with the Yard to interrogate the prisoner, he told me, 'No, I must go home to Molly right away. Enough time has been wasted.' He spoke more to himself than to me, and then he was off like a shot."

Molly had never heard about this before, and of course it made her love Sherlock even more than she already did. Her cheeks flushed and she looked out the window again. She was brought back to reality when John took her hand again. Looking back at him, his gaze was very kind.

"I'm happy for you, the both of you, truly," said John. "I can't deny that I've worried about Sherlock since he came back, especially with me being married and about to have a family. But it's not just that he won't be alone anymore. You're good for him, and I think he'll be good for you now that he's finally come to terms with his heart."

"Thank you, John," said Molly, and she meant it.

When both of them had finished their sandwiches, John paid the waiter and gathered up both the bag that held the sandwich meant for Sherlock and the white cake box he had placed on the windowsill. He asked if he could walk with Molly up to 221B, because he wanted to have a word with Sherlock. Completely understanding, Molly agreed.

They hadn't made it all the way up the stairs when the door to 221B opened to reveal Sherlock. He wore his typical casual clothing: grey t-shirt, tracksuit bottoms, and an open dressing gown. His eyes immediately focused on Molly, taking in every aspect of her expression and searching for any sign of sadness. But he found none in her soft smile, and his own posture loosened considerably. He stepped forward, cupped her face, and they shared a short, soft kiss, conscious of John's company.

Pulling away, Molly smiled, "John wants to talk to you. You two do that while I bring the food inside."

She took the food parcels from John and walked past Sherlock into the flat, giving him a reassuring look as she did so. Once she had shut the door behind her, and the two men were alone, Sherlock shoved his hands into his dressing gown pockets. "I'm surprised you don't look completely perturbed after viewing me kiss Molly. You certainly did when you saw me with Janine."

John shrugged his shoulders. "Well…with Janine, I think I always knew that something was off, that this couldn't be completely genuine, which of course it wasn't. But you and Molly are in love, and seeing you together like that…seemed natural."

"It is," said Sherlock softly. "And now aren't you going to give me a stern warning lecture about behaving myself and not being a prick?"

"No," said John. "You seem to be doing a good job so far, Molly understands you better than anybody, and after what happened last night…" He hung his head for a moment. "Well…I'm certainly in no position to lecture you on treating Molly badly."

"A very good point," Sherlock replied curtly.

A moment of silence followed that was not without tension. Finally, Sherlock took a step towards John and spoke in a low voice that left no room for doubt.

"You made her cry last night, John. I can promise you that if you ever do that again, at the very least you'll have a limp that will be very much real."

"I'd expect and accept even worse than that," John replied immediately, locking eyes with his best friend so that he would be left in no doubt that he regretted the choices he had made about his anger.

Sherlock then took a deep breath, his hard gaze never wavering but his tone softening somewhat. "But she's forgiven you, and is willing to let you two make a new start. She wouldn't have let you follow her up here if she hadn't. I knew she would, because she has the greatest capacity of forgiveness that I have ever known. I know that better than anybody, and I know just how lucky I am that I wasn't too late."

Sherlock then looked down at his feet for a moment before locking John's gaze again.

"I also know...that the anger you held on to was really for what I put you through. Nothing can change the past, John, but I do hope you know that I will never deceive you like that again, or put you through that kind of suffering again. I tried to show that when I refused to keep the truth about Mary from you."

"I know that now, Sherlock," said John. "I trust you completely, and you've proven that you'll do anything for those you love. That includes my family, and I'm very glad that includes Molly now."

Sherlock let out a breath, and then held out a hand to John.

"Her forgiveness is more than enough for me."

With a grateful smile, John gladly took his hand, and the best friends shook in their own promise to forgive and move on.

As they both dropped their hands to their sides, the door opened and Molly poked her head out. "Am I interrupting?" she asked.

Sherlock smiled and held out his hand to her. "No, Molly, all is well now."

She let out a relieved sigh and she stepped out of the flat and onto the landing, taking Sherlock's hand in her own. Looking at John, she said, "Mary just called me, wanting to make sure I was okay. She asked if we could all try to get together again soon, and I think it's a good idea. Something to signify our new start before the new addition arrives."

John smiled. "That would be wonderful," said the good doctor. "How about tomorrow night? We'll go out somewhere, though; I want to give Mary a nice night out before the baby comes."

"I'll have Angelo save us his best table," said Sherlock. Molly beamed him a smile, kissing his cheek in gratitude that he had not griped at the suggestion of another social gathering.

"Excellent," said John. "Well, I'll leave you two now and get back to Mary. Did she by any chance mention anything that she wants me to get on the way home?"

"Ah, yes," said Molly, a slightly apologetic look coming to her face. "Peanut butter and tacos."

John grimaced and Sherlock muttered, "Fascinating…"

Sherlock had been keeping track of all of Mary's truly bizarre pregnancy cravings as an experiment (really the only experiment he had been allowed to perform on the pregnant woman, and he was lucky to have anything at all).

After chuckling at both reactions, Molly stepped away from Sherlock and towards John. "We'll see you tomorrow then, my friend."

Her clear words destroyed the last shreds of fear and doubt, and John finally felt himself absolved. Then he pulled her in for a tight hug, and then muttered, "Thank you, Molly."

"All right! Three seconds is plenty, that's enough now. Kindly stop that pawing, John!"

The two doctors broke apart laughing quite hard. Molly gladly walked into Sherlock's open arms, and John stepped towards the stairs. "See you tomorrow then," said John, still grinning. "And a very happy birthday, Molly."

Molly's face lit up, having forgotten about that since getting John's text. "Yes, it is indeed! Come on, Sherlock, let's go eat my birthday cake. Bye, John."

Smiling at how happy his Molly now was, Sherlock nodded his farewell to John and followed her inside 221B as John made his way down the stairs with a new spring in his step.

The following evening during their delightful dinner, and two weeks later when Emma Margaret Watson was born, the group of friends truly became something even better: a family.