It had been two months since Sherlock's return in early November. This January was particularly cold, and the relationships in Molly's life seemed to reflect that. Two months since Sherlock's return, and the man she had once thought to regard as her dearest friend had barely spoken a complete sentence to her. John Watson had found out just how large a role she had played in Sherlock's faked suicide. She was almost grateful she and John had never actually taken the obvious next step in their relationship. For the past two years, she and the army doctor had grown close, some would even say 'joined at the hip'. Of all the people from the 'old days' as John called them, Molly was the one he kept in contact with. Their time spent together was regular. She'd been the one to pull him up out of his depression. Why she never went further than friendship, she couldn't say. Too frightened of the outcome of Sherlock's eventual return, or perhaps just afraid of ruining a good thing on her own, Molly left it. John, for his part, never went beyond the boundaries of friendship either, she supposed he was eternally grateful now that he hadn't. She could still see his face the day he'd confronted her about her involvement in the Reichenbach case.

Furious. Hurt. The hurt in his eyes was more than she could bear.

"John, please, let me explain…"

"You knew." He glared, accusatory. Chin up, slowly, Molly nodded.

"I did," she confirmed. "Please, believe me it was for your safety-"

"You never once thought to tell me?"

"Every single day," Molly answered, looking directly at John.

"Even after he was away, after he was safely away-"

"No one could know," she interrupted him, unable to stop herself. "I was kept in the dark, six months after he was gone I had no idea if he was dead or alive."

"You knew he was alive, Mycroft would have kept texting you to confirm it." Fairly shaking, Molly nodded.

"It wasn't done out of spite. Mycroft needed a confidant-" John scoffed, turning a full circle before facing her again. "He's not a machine, whatever you may think."

"Yeah, well neither am I," John shot back. "He's my best friend, and you let me think, you watched me mourn, you watched all of us mourn for him." He approached her, hands in his pockets, glowering at her. "How much of a laugh did we give you? Hope it was worth it,"

"John," Molly sniffed, shaking her head. She never knew him to be cruel. Whatever warmth he once had for her was gone, and there was only ice and fire in his gaze.

"I mean, that had to be a good time, right? Seeing me drink myself almost to death, and Greg, hey, seeing his career put on hold because of his involvement with Sherlock while you went right on with your job because you're shagging the brother of the bloody government-" Molly slapped him then, just as hard as she dared. Before she could lower her hand though, John grabbed her by the wrist, squeezing.

"John," Sherlock spoke up at last. The doctor turned with a start, suddenly remembering the consulting detective was standing there. "Molly was only acting as a friend to me."

"You, shut up," he turned to face Molly again. Suddenly realizing just how tightly he was holding her wrist, he released it, at least having the decency to look ashamed. "And you…" his shoulders sagged. "Don't ever talk to me again."

"John please-" he held up a hand to silence her.

"Don't. There is nothing you can say to make this better." With that he turned on his heel and walked out of the car park.

She cried that night, quite a bit. Sherlock had stayed for a short time and then let her be at her request.

"Let me talk to him," Sherlock offered. "He can't stay away forever."

"He's stubborn," Molly shook her head, sniffling. Sherlock dug through his pockets, handing her a handkerchief. "He won't listen. I've ruined everything."

"You have done nothing of the kind," Sherlock answered sternly. "You saved his life, and Mrs. Hudson's, and Lestrade's, and countless others. He isn't thinking clearly. If you had told him, even a year after my death, the outcome of my mission would have been vastly different, putting everyone's life in danger, and therefore making my faked suicide worthless."

"He think we were sleeping together, he thinks that's the reason why I helped you," wiping her eyes.

"But we weren't, and aren't," Sherlock frowned. "Anyway, why would that upset him so much?" he paused. "Were you two…" he gestured between her and the empty space beside her.

"No," Molly shook her head. "There were times I guess we could have taken things further," she shrugged. "We never did. Too scared I guess."

"He loves you," Sherlock realized, eyes wide. Molly looked back.

"What? Well…maybe he did, not anymore."

"No," Sherlock was adamant. "Why else would he react the way he did?"

"Because he's hurt, I did a stupid thing-"

"Stop saying that, you did not," Sherlock interrupted her. "Yes he's hurt, but why so vehemently, and towards you especially?"

"Because I lied to him for two years, Sherlock!" Molly burst out. She rubbed her throbbing forehead, sighing. "I think you'd better go for now, he already hates us for what he thinks we do together, best not give him more ammunition. Besides, you're back," she attempted a smile. "He can't stay away from Baker Street forever. Eventually, he'll forgive you."

"And you," Sherlock insisted. Molly shook her head.

"No. No I think this time I've well and truly ruined it between us." Sherlock regarded her with a sorrowful expression. John Watson was many things, stubborn being one of them. But he could not be so cruel as to hate Molly Hooper forever.

"A few weeks," Sherlock promised. "Give him a few weeks to come around." Molly attempted a smile, shrugging in response.

A couple weeks became a couple months. She'd seen him once in that whole time. It was at the morgue, Sherlock had a case. It had taken a few weeks for him to come around and forgive Sherlock. Sherlock headed directly towards the body, pulling back the tarp to study it.

"I didn't know you both would be coming in today," Molly said softly. John refused to meet her gaze.

"Yeah, didn't know you were in," he replied crisply and stepped past her.

"I-I heard about what happened on Guy Fawkes day," she turned following him. "I'm so glad you're all right." John stopped at Sherlock's side, pretending to be studying the body. The consulting detective looked from John to Molly, unable to bear the sadness in her eyes.

"John, I believe Molly is expressing relief at your well-being." Slowly, John lifted his head, looked at Sherlock, and finally turned. He gave a half-nod to Molly.

"Thanks," hands shoved into his pockets, he headed for the doors. "I'll be upstairs, whenever you're finished making your deductions."

"John-" Sherlock called, but the doctor wasn't listening, heavy doors slamming behind him. The sadness in her eyes did not go unnoticed by Sherlock, nor her quiet sniffling as he turned back to the body on the slab. That was late December. Now it was the middle of January, and still John refused to even speak to Molly...something had to be done.

221b Baker Street

*thud*

"Sherlock!" John roared, and the consultinig detective raised an eyebrow.

"Oh did that miss you? Pity."

"What?" John was confused, yanking the knife out of the wall. "If you're bored, call up your brother for an argument, or call Barts and see if-" Here John stopped. He slammed the knife down on the coffee table, muttering under his breath.

"What was that?" Sherlock asked, sitting up.

"I said why not call Barts and see if Molly would give you some organs."

"That's not what you were going to say," Sherlock said. He got to his feet. He went to the roll-top desk in the corner and retrieved a parcel. He tossed it in John's direction who caught it, turning it over.

"What the hell is this?"

"A gift from Molly, she sent us each something, seems she went shopping last week and picked us up a little token. I believe it's called a 'just because'." John winced, a memory of Molly tossing him a package a year and a half ago suddenly coming to mind:

"What's this?" he laughed.

"It's a 'just because'," Molly shrugged, sitting down beside him. "My dad always said presents out of the blue were the best kind and I thought you might like to join the Hooper family tradition."

John blinked, turning over the present in his hands.

"Why would she do that?"

"I believe it's what friends do." Sherlock replied, watching his friend carefully.

"Do friends also lie to your face?" John set the package down, unopened.

"Sometimes," Sherlock shrugged. "It never stopped you from being my friend."

"Yeah, well, that's different," John grumbled. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"You can be many things, John, but I never took you for keeping double standards." John looked up with a start.

"What?!"

"Your double standard," Sherlock said. "It's all well and good if I lie to you to protect you, I bloody even drugged you once, but Molly lied once to you to protect you and everyone we both hold dear and suddenly she's the plague to you."

"It's different with you," John insisted.

"Hm. Yes. You keep saying that, but you don't give any explanation, which leads me to believe you never cared for Molly, and were perhaps merely using her to your own advantage, which, if that is the case, you can collect your things and find another place to live." John did a double take, blinking.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

"You, of all people-" John spluttered. "You used her all the time!"

"The past-tense being a very important part of that sentence," Sherlock replied. "And it only worked for a little while. She started saying 'no', and I began to see her as far more than a key to getting body parts and access to the morgue and lab."

"And how do you see her?" John asked.

"As a trusted friend," Sherlock replied, turning to face him. "You must know how exceptional she is."

"Exceptionally good liar," John grumbled.

"Oh come off it!" Sherlock snapped. "For God's sake John, you've forgiven me, and I'm an absolute arse to you! You even forgave Mycroft, and he's twice as bad as me!"

"That's because I didn't love you!" John shouted back. Sherlock was taken aback by his outburst, mostly that John was admitting his affection for Molly Hooper. "You know what I mean," John waved his hand. "You're like a brother to me, of course I'd forgive you, you idiot."

"And Molly is not like family?" Sherlock asked. "She risked her life just as much as I did, even worse, she had to live with the lies she was forced to tell, do you think that was easy for her? She was isolated from you from the start," Sherlock looked at his feet, thoughtful. "I suppose that was my fault, really. I knew her loyalties to me, she helped me because she believed in me, not because she wanted me as a lover, those feelings were long gone, and what was left was a very good, very earnest friendship between us." Sherlock met John's gaze. "She lied to you to save you, to save everyone, including me. She was the only person Moriarty underestimated, he thought she didn't count, as such, she is the one who matters most. Without Molly, I would not be here, and your willful stubbornness, your refusing to see her part of this for what it was is not only ridiculous, it's outright stupid," he approached the doctor, fury and disdain in his tone. "Now tell me, John, once and for all, if you were in her place, if Moriarty had underestimated you and you were the one I needed to lie to everyone you loved for my sake, you would have done the same thing as Molly. Am. I. Wrong?" John would not look at Sherlock. "If you would not have lied, then by all means, continue holding her in utter disdain," Sherlock went on with a shrug. "In which case, I will ask you to vacate the flat. Anyone who refuses to forgive a dear friend of mine for so selfish and stupid a reason does not deserve to live under the good graces of Mrs. Hudson."

"I would have lied, all right?" John finally spoke, voice hoarse. "I would have, because I know…I know it was for the best." Sherlock looked at his friend then. "She…I never knew she could be so brave or that…that you and she were so close. I felt excluded, that you were going behind my back."

"We weren't," Sherlock reassured him.

"I know that now," John answered.

"Don't know why you're telling me this, when you could be telling her," Sherlock said, looking at his watch.

"What, now?"

"You've wasted enough time, don't you think? A woman like Molly Hooper won't stick around forever, unless of course you give her a reason to stay."

"I- I should open her present,"

"It's a scarf," Sherlock said, tossing him the package. "She got one for Mycroft and I as well, but I think yours has a special message." John ripped open the package, finding within a soft green and grey scarf inside, a note fluttered to the floor. He pounced on it, reading it quickly:

'I hope you don't mind my buying one for you too. I remembered you liked the colors that time we went window-shopping but you thought it was stupid to spend twenty on a scarf. – Molly xo'

Snow had been falling all day, and now it was beginning to really come down. John wrapped the scarf around his neck, jacket flapping around him as he ran down the sidewalk, flagging down a cab.

"St. Barts Hospital, step on it,"

"Bout time," the cabbie muttered, moving the car into gear. John frowned at the man, confused. His phone buzzed and he swiped the screen, surprised to see a text from Mycroft

Don't look so shocked, Dr. Watson, he's one of my drivers. And yes, it is about time. I was afraid I'd have to lock the pair of you in a containment room until you worked things out. I trust this will no longer be necessary. M.H.

St. Barts Hospital

"Sure I can't give you a lift home?" Molly turned to see Steven, one of the surgeons from the children's ward holding his keys, nodding towards his car. Molly hesitated, it was snowing, and to be honest, company would not go amiss. Two months of near isolating herself due to her depression was draining. Steven had always been nice. Who knows, maybe-

A car door slamming shut made them both turn, and Molly was shocked to see John Watson standing there, wearing the scarf she'd given him.

"Actually, she's got a ride," John said. Steven glanced between the pair.

"Right, so, I'll see you around then," he hurried through the blustering wind to his car. Molly hadn't moved from where she'd stopped, nor had John.

"I um…" he looked at the scarf around his neck, lifting the ends of it to show her. "I got your 'just because' present." Molly nodded.

"It was on sale not- not that I think you only should have stuff on sale, but I know you liked the scarf, and you wouldn't let me buy it for you the day we saw it and I thought…well anyway…you wouldn't be as upset if you knew I got it on sale."

"You wanted to spend the twenty right there," John remembered, smiling a little. He stepped closer to her, to hear her over the growing snow storm.

"It didn't seem to matter, in the grand scheme of things," Molly shrugged.

"Is there nothing you wouldn't do for the people you care about?" John asked softly. She lifted her eyes up then, full of hope that he just might be saying what she hoped he was.

"I never wanted to hurt you," she spoke at last. "I never-"

"I know," he nodded. "And…Sherlock had it out with me, he reprimanded me," he shook his head. "Him of all people telling me that what I did was more than a bit not good, it's gotta mean I screwed up in the worst possible way." Molly shrugged.

"You had every right to be mad,"

"Maybe, but I was wrong for being so hurtful to you. If I had been in your place," he licked his lips, meeting her gaze again. "I would have done the same thing." He dared take another step closer. "You've done so much for me, including save my life. Molly Hooper you are an exceptional woman, I've known that for some time, and I want to ask your forgiveness for how I've treated you." Molly gave a teary laugh, wiping her eyes.

"Really?"

"Really," he nodded. A gust of wind came up, she shivered and he noticed. He shook his head, realizing snow was gathering on her uncovered head and the shoulders of her coat He brushed off the snow from her coat and sleeves, taking her mittened hands in his. "Come back to Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson is making dinner and…and you could warm up and…"

"And?" Molly prompted when he trailed off. He laughed a little, bowing his head, embarrassed.

"I don't deserve an answer for what I'm about to ask, so if you don't think I do, then tell me to sod off…" he dared to look her in the eyes again. "May I kiss you?" She didn't answer at first. Molly worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a moment, then just as he was about to tell her to forget it, she stepped up, pressing her cold mouth to his. Half a second later, he wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer. As he kissed her, John Watson mentally slapped himself in the head for being such an utter tit the past two months. For almost two years, John had quietly ignoring his feelings for Molly, pretending as if all he felt for her was friendship. He was thrilled to the core now, that she clearly reciprocated his true feelings. They parted at last, breathless and positively glowing.

"I've wanted to do that for so very, very long now," he murmured. "I was an absolute arse and if you never speak to me again I'll understand but I had to-"

"Shut up and kiss me again," she ordered, laughing, and he complied. She broke off the kiss first. "I forgive you, if you forgive me," and he nodded.

"Please come to Baker Street tonight," He pleaded, kissing her quickly. "It's empty there without you."

"I never stayed there before," she frowned.

"I think you should start," he replied with a smile. "I love you, Molly Hooper, and I want you to be as much a part of my life as humanly possible."

"You'll have to take in Toby as well," Molly said. "When the time comes,"

"That cat," John grumbled. She tugged affectionately on the ends of his scarf, grinning.

"You love us and you know it."

The waiting taxi beeped, and the couple lifted their heads, looking. The driver unrolled the window,

"Come on, storm is getting worse, you two!" John took Molly by the hand leading her back to the cab and opening the door for her.

"221b Baker Street please," John said, putting his arm around Molly and drawing her close.

Through the snow-covered streets the cab slowly made its way back to Baker street, and John paid the fare, tipping him generously for his trouble. Climbing out of the cab, Molly huddled in the doorway as John got his keys out and unlocked the door.

"So…what happens now?" She couldn't help but ask. "I mean…between us." John lifted his eyebrows, pulling a face as he pretended to truly ponder her query.

"Well…tonight, I thought we'd make Sherlock play his violin for us, I was hoping to kiss you again…tomorrow the streets will undoubtedly be blocked by the snow, so we'll have to show Sherlock how to enjoy a snow day properly. And then," he sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "I suppose in a few weeks, we'll admit we're going steady, and by spring, maybe I'll have a 'just because' present for you to open."

"That's not how 'just because' presents work," she said, tilting her head up at him, smiling cheekily.

"Who says?"

"I say." They tumbled into the warm front hall, the smell of warm roast dinner from Mrs. Hudson's flat, and the sound of Sherlock playing his violin filled the stairway.

"Oh yeah? Well you know what I say?" he drew her close, hands on her hips

"I couldn't imagine," she shrugged, sidling closer, arms winding around his neck.

"I say that you're probably right, as you so often are." He bent, kissing her gently. "And for that, I love you Molly Hooper." Her eyes softened, roses bloomed in her cheeks, and she smiled up at him, fingers stroking the nape of his neck.

"I love you too, John Watson."

"To be clear," Sherlock called and they turned to see the consulting detective standing at the top of the stairs, violin in hand. "He's going to propose to you in the spring."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson's door opened, and the elderly woman appeared, hands clad in oven-mitts on her hips.

"What?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "We all knew he was going to!"

"Go on," Molly pushed John towards the stairs. "I'll help Mrs. Hudson get the rest of dinner ready-"

"I'll do it," John offered, he smiled at Molly. "Tell Sherlock the good news before he decides to kick me out." He followed Mrs. Hudson inside, offering to carry the heavy roasting pan.

"So?" Sherlock asked as Molly started up towards 221b.

"We made up,"

"Hmm, several times," Sherlock replied, mouth quirking into a mischievous smile. "You'll have a mark on your neck from the good doctor's ministrations," he narrowed his gaze at her in mock-upset. "Hussy!" She punched him in the arm.

"As if you're not secretly pleased. I know you talked to him."

"I did." He confirmed. Her gaze softened, and she hugged him then.

"Thank you." After a moment, he returned the embrace.

"You're welcome." They parted as John and Mrs. Hudson made their way upstairs with the food.

"Promise me something," he said as they sat down to eat.

"What?"

"If John ever royally screws up again,"

"Oi!" John protested, Molly was grinning, squeezing his hand.

"Promise you'll not stop me from hitting him this time." John turned to Molly, surprised.

"You wouldn't let him hit me?" She shrugged, smiling at her plate.

"I couldn't see the point of it, besides, that was nothing compared to what Mycroft wanted to do to you."

"What Mycroft-" John stopped short, quite surprised. "Molly Hooper, you have no shortage of white knights, I don't know why you keep me around."

"Because you look cute in your pajama shorts," she laughed, leaning over to kiss him.

"What?" Mrs. Hudson was giggling, and Sherlock rolled his eyes, getting up from the table. He retrieved his violin, flourishing the bow.

"House rule," he declared. "If there is to be-" he waved his bow between Molly and John. "Anything between you, no sharing bedroom exploits."

"It was not a bedroom exploit," John blustered, somewhat red in the face. "It was summer and it was hot-"

"Please, no more," Sherlock groaned.

"If you'd just-" John was cut off as Sherlock began to play. Mrs. Hudson shook her head, sitting down. Molly began to serve the food.

"Well it wouldn't be home if those two weren't quarreling," the older woman said. She smiled at the couple. "And now it's a proper home now that you two finally sorted yourselves out."

"It is at that," John smiled, he kissed Molly's neck, who ducked, giggling.

"Not at the table!" Sherlock called from his corner.

"Shut up!" the trio called at him. Frowning, Sherlock played his violin louder, much to the amusement of the others. He turned his back so they wouldn't see him smiling. Mrs. Hudson was right, for once. Baker Street finally felt like home, now that John and Molly were together.