This is for my dear sweet SammyKatz. I hope this helps love. Thanks for all your support and kindness!

Thank you to my beta, the amazing MizJoely for looking this over, bless her. Also MrsMCrieff for her BritTips! I LOVE this fandom and all the wonderful people I've met! Enjoy

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Almost every ordinary, work-a-day, Joe-average on the planet did it; so there was no reason to think that Sherlock Holmes genius, consulting detective, and all around massive brain could not.

He hadn't expected that this social ritual, so beloved by the masses, would be this daunting. He had assumed it would be easy. He was brilliant, how difficult could it be?

When he tried to reference past relationships, he found he was indeed, lacking. Could he count the, admittedly exhilarating, flirtation with the Woman as experience? There wasn't that much to go on. He had been intrigued, yes, but beyond saving her life and once again, turning down her advances, nothing more had happened. So, that left his fake relationship with the bridesmaid. Janine. He rolled his eyes internally. That probably didn't count either. Nothing about this situation could be faked.

No, Molly Hooper was completely real in every sense of the word. She was real and kind and warm and quite beautiful, since he was finally being honest with himself. So, no, nothing in his past was going to get him through this date.

He had observed John throughout the years. He had watched him date a half dozen hapless woman. Although, watching failure after failure might not be the best example for this particular task. Unless... unless he took what John did and simply did the opposite. Hmmm. If only he had been around to watch how the doctor had successfully courted the current Mrs. Watson, that would have been helpful.

Why was he so nervous anyway? This was Molly, for God's sake. Molly, with whom he had spent countless hours already. Molly, who not only had seen him solve the crimes of century, but had also seen him strung out on heroin and smelling of sick. Molly, who had saved him and his friends from James Moriarty and become more confident because of it. Molly, with her sweet disposition and perhaps even stronger stomach than himself. Molly, with steady hands and warm smile that made his insides flip every time he saw it. Molly, who when she wore that gray skirt and pink, low cut top, made his trousers a little less comfortable. Molly, who seemed to know exactly what he needed, when he needed it. Molly.

Oh, dear God. What's happening to me, he wondered. How did I allow this to happen? She's just a girl - well woman, obviously a woman. When she bends over... NO! I mustn't think about... I'm bigger than this and not to mention, I'm a sociopath. I don't want this... Oh, but I do, don't I?

He pondered on this feeling. Urgh! Feelings. He had been denying this feeling for a very long time, and now, now he had no choice but to at the very least try to figure out what it was, exactly.

She's very important, he thought. I care for her. Okay... nothing wrong with that. She's my friend and... well I asked her to have dinner. You know what Irene would have to say about that. He cringed, thinking about Molly and Irene in similar context.

Right, starting over. Caring, in this case, definitely an advantage. I care - wait, no... care doesn't fit. That word... is that it? Again, he had no frame of reference, no practical experience. But it seemed to fit.

He wanted to be with her as much as possible. He enjoyed doing the most mundane tasks with her. He liked watching her light up when she had finally figured something out. Or how she worried her bottom lip when the answer was just out of her grasp. He thought about her when she wasn't with him, but not completely to the point of distraction (though very nearly). He wanted to touch her and kiss her and hold her and taste her. He wanted so much...

So there was only one question left. What did all this mean? Was this love? All evidence suggested...

Yes! I... I... I... "YES! I love Molly Hooper!"

"Oh, well, I-I wasn't expecting t-that," Molly said as a bright pink blush covered her cheeks and neck. "Um, but the waiter still needs your drink order."

Oh... well that was interesting. As Sherlock looked at Molly, he saw shock and embarrassment, but he also saw something else. "Ahh, Talisker please. Make it a double," he said to the smirking man.

The waiter turned to Molly. "So a ginger ale for the lady and Talisker..."

"Perhaps," Molly interrupted. "I'll take a glass of white, instead." She giggled nervously.

"Of course," the young man nodded, then scurried off to collect their drinks.

Molly and Sherlock sat in uncomfortable silence for about two minutes before Molly finally spoke up. "So, you... love... me."

Sherlock cleared his throat then took a drink of water. He didn't make eye contact with her when he replied. "It appears I do, yes." He looked all around before finally meeting Molly's eyes. "Is that... I mean... I know this is just our first..."

"I love you too, you know. In case you were wondering." She didn't look away. Quite the contrary, it felt as if she was staring straight into his nonexistent soul.

He swallowed. "Um, how long do these date things usually last?"

"Depends."

"On what?" he asked.

"Lots of things," Molly replied.

"Like?"

Molly just smiled.

Sherlock nodded, though he wasn't sure why. It just felt right. "We could skip dinner, then?"

Molly raised an eyebrow. "We could."

Just then the waiter arrived. Neither of them seemed to notice the man, though they both took up their drinks as soon as he sat then down.

"Perhaps we just enjoy these and then..." Sherlock started.

"Then Baker Street?" she said just before taking a sip.

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