So, I've been out of the game for something like a month. But my dear friend SammyKatz is having a rough time and I'm hoping this will lift her spirits. Love you Sammy! Hope you like it.

The amazing and talented MrsMcrieff beta'd this little story and also added her Britishness. Bless her!

I own nothing... enjoy! ~Lil~

It was late, very late, by anyone's standards expect perhaps Sherlock Holmes. Molly had stayed three hours past the end of her shift to assist him. He'd had it all figured out hours before, now he just needed the proof. He knew that the step-daughter had killed her step-father in retaliation for, well, something tedious and sentimental, but he was waiting for the last of the tests to come back to prove his deductions. Molly was clearly exhausted, he knew this somewhere in the back of his mind; he was just far too caught up in solving the crime to let her leave yet. She had been drifting in and out for the last hour; they were waiting on the results of the tox screen. Sherlock was killing time double checking fibres found on the victim.

Finally Molly sat up and stretched. "I'm going to make some coffee, I'm sure you could use a cup," she said as she shrugged off her lab coat and tossed it onto the counter before rubbing her neck.

Sherlock hummed in response, his eye fixed on the fibres under the microscope.

She was back ten minutes later two cups in hand. "Here you go." She sat his coffee at his station. "Shouldn't be long now. We should have the results within thirty minutes."

He looked up to see her sitting next to him. He finally realised how tired she was, as she was rubbed her temples and stared into her own cup.

They sat in silence for several more minutes before Molly spoke up. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can. Whether or not I'll answer..." he said then saw the look on her face. "Yes, go on."

She took a drink of coffee and straightened in her seat so that she was facing forward, her eyes averted from the detective. "The day I helped you solve crimes, you said something. I've been wondering, well, often wondered, exactly what you meant."

He knew what she was getting at, but even tired and distracted by the case he realised that he should probably allow Molly to finish her thought. He was frankly curious about how she'd actually ask him.

She continued, "You said that I mattered most. Did you mean that I mattered the most in defeating Moriarty? Or that I matter... most?" She never looked over at him, not once.

Sherlock had thought himself quite clever that day, disguising his admission in his thank you to Molly Hooper, but it seemed that once again he'd underestimated her. The jig, so to speak, was up. He'd either have to tell her the truth or once again make this amazing woman feel like she was only important to him when he was at his lowest.

She finally looked over at him when almost a full minute had passed since she'd asked her question. "You know what, it's not important. No big deal really, I think I know what you meant." She got up from the bench and started to walk away.

As she passed Sherlock he took her hand and turned to face her. He looked into her watery eyes; dark circles underneath due their long day. She stood there biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable at being closely observed. She was so strong, so brave, but he couldn't help notice her anxiety. There was no easy answer, though there was a cowardly one. He just didn't think he had it in him to make her feel small and insignificant once again. Decision made.

"Both," he simply said.

"Meaning?" she bravely asked.

Right, now I have to be... sentimental... romantic? Damnit! How do I- what do I say? It won't matter, we can never... he thought. "Molly, I'm not a good man. I'd be a horrible, um... boyfriend. And I care far too much for you to even attempt it. But what I'm saying… is that you matter, to me." He squeezed her hand at the end of his sentence.

"I matter like... you'd be annoyed if I moved to Botswana, because you'd have to find someone else willing to make home deliveries of cadaver parts? Or I matter like... Molly Hooper is lovely and I'd like to take her dinner then make out with her for the rest of the evening?" she said, obviously trying to add some levity to the heavy moment.

He couldn't help but smile at her boldness and cheek. This new version of Molly was certainly an improvement over the stuttering and stammering one (though if he were honest, he did miss the blushing.) All of that just made what he had to say next even more painful. "I've known how important you are since the day you saw me- really saw me, when no one else did. But it's a lost cause- I'm... a lost cause, you see? You'll be better off with someone else, someone who deserves you." He hoped he'd gotten his message across. No matter how much he cared for Molly, no matter how much he longed to hold her and kiss her, this would be a disaster for her. She deserved more.

Molly nodded her head and looked down at their still joined hands. "So you want to, but you won't... for me, because you care too much?"

"Yes, exactly," Sherlock said as a wave of relief washed over him. After a moment he realised that Molly was still looking at their hands and that he hadn't let go of her.

"Isn't it worth..." she started, then took a deep breath and looked up, tears falling down her face. "How could you think you're a lost cause?" She reached up with her free hand and stroked his face. "I've always believed in you. I've always loved you. I know precisely who you are, Sherlock, and I've never once stopped. If you really do... feel whatever you're saying you feel, isn't it worth... trying?"

Will-power... Sherlock Holmes thought himself as a master of his emotions, though resisting temptation had never been his strong suit. Right now, looking at Molly's pleading eyes, eyes that had come to be a source of comfort and solace, he was fighting a losing battle. Heroin was hard, nearly impossible, but he had overcome it and would spend the rest of his life fighting that temptation. Molly Hooper, however, was a different kind of temptation altogether. He suddenly wondered why he was fighting so hard. This wasn't deadly or dangerous... was it? He took a deep breath. For Molly, he thought. Yes, I'd be happy, but I could never make her happy. I don't deserve her.

Pulling on the last bit of his resolve he started to speak, "Molly..." But he couldn't finish because Molly's lips were suddenly pressed firmly to his. His mind went blank for a moment then practically exploded at the sensation. Finally, just as she was starting to pull away and break the kiss (most likely because of the lack of participation from him) Sherlock put both of his hands on her head and slowly started moving his lips against hers. He heard and felt her gasp just as he brushed her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. One of Molly's hands was suddenly on his chest, the other toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. He deepened the kiss, not wanting it to ever actually end, especially since Molly's body was pressed flush up against his. Finally they broke only because they both needed to breathe.

Sherlock rested his forehead on Molly's, trying to regain some control, his eyes shut tight. He didn't want to open them; once he did he'd have to face the consequences of their actions. He felt Molly pull away, he felt her small hand buried in his hair and her other one was gently caressing his cheek. His eyes were still closed as he took deep cleansing breaths, trying to push down the desire to capture Molly's sweet mouth once again.

"Hey, look at me," she said pulling him out of his concentration.

He opened his eyes to the most amazing sight. Molly. She was smiling brightly, lips reddened from his assault, cheeks pink (the blush was back), she was glowing. He'd done that. He'd made her happy.

"Surprise, you kissed me and I'm still here. No damage done."

He couldn't speak. He'd spent the better part of the last three and a half years telling himself that this could never happen. He could never have... her.

"Keeping yourself walled off and out of my reach; that's what hurts me Sherlock. I'm not going to stop loving you, I tried and I failed. Why do we have to be miserable, when we can at least try to be happy?"

He moved his hands down to hold her hips tightly, then pulled her close once again. "I don't know what I'm doing, Molly."

"You were doing a pretty good job a minute ago," she said with a giggle.

He smiled. "I don't know how to be... how to do this."

"As you've pointed out time and time again, I'm not very good at it either. How about we try to figure it out on our own? We can make our own rules. It doesn't have to be done any certain way." She continued to run her fingers through his hair, which he found extremely distracting.

Could it be that simple, he wondered as he watched Molly look at him with fear, hope, and so much love in her eyes. "I just don't want to hurt you. I've hurt you- disappointed you so much. I don't want..." his sentence died as he continued to look at the woman in his arms.

Molly licked her lips looking thoughtful before she spoke. "Sherlock, you won't lose me. No matter what. If that is the only kiss we ever share, know that I will always be here for you. I will always be your friend. If, however, you want..."

Sherlock tightened his hold on Molly and pulled her close, burying his face in her neck. "I want," he said.

She giggled. "I already told you that you could have me, and I meant it." Her hands traveled down his back. He had removed his jacket hours before and the sensation of her small but strong hands pulling him even closer finally broke his resolve.

He couldn't find the right words to tell her what he needed to say- what she needed to hear, so he decided to show her instead. He placed his lips on her throat. At the first touch Molly changed her hold on him from a loving embrace to something else entirely. Her blunt nails were digging into his back and it emboldened him. He knew what he wanted, he knew what she wanted. It was time to stop pretending.

Just then Molly's phone pinged, alerting her to an email. "The case," she said.

Sherlock pulled himself off of the pathologist as she grabbed her phone. He had momentarily forgotten about the case, but Molly, reliable, resourceful Molly, wouldn't allow that even for this moment. "Of course," he said as he released her and she went to print the report.

He took the time to collect himself and make a decision. She returned a couple of minutes later report in hand. "You were right, of course, cyanide. Matches the household pesticide you found at the step-daughters home." She continued looking over the report. "Why don't they ever throw out the murder weapon? It's like they're trying to make your job easy," she said with a smile as she handed him the paper.

"People are idiots, Molly. You should know that by now." He stood up and grabbed his jacket. "I have to take this to the Yard, care to join me? I'll buy you dinner afterwards."

"Sherlock, it's one am. Why don't you just come to mine and I'll make you beans and toast? I know you haven't eaten in a couple of days. You don't have to buy me dinner just because we made out in the lab," she said with a giggle.

He had been gathering his things, but he paused for a moment when he realised that nothing had really changed – that this felt comfortable and easy. Most importantly, Molly seemed completely happy and content. "All right, fine. But tomorrow I insist. I'm taking you on one of those date... things."

Molly gathered up her jacket and bag and followed him to the door. "I think I can handle that," she said as they left.

Sherlock couldn't help feeling hopeful and even excited about what was to come. How ordinary, he thought for just a moment. But that didn't seem to matter next to the grinning pathologist on his arm.

Thanks for reading, hope you all liked it. Please let me know, I do love hearing from you. Come play with me on tumblr... same name. ~Lil~