The following day, Sherlock felt a sense of nervous anticipation as he waited for Molly to come. He had no doubt that she would do so. Molly always kept her promises. That was why he trusted her implicitly.

He knew if she was working she would wait for her lunch break. He endured morning visits from John and Mary, his parents and Lestrade, all the while thinking internally about how much he needed to see Molly.

His own lunchtime came and went, hospital food that rivalled the almost inedibility of the canteen food, which he forced himself to eat to keep his strength up. When he thought he could bear it no longer, and that he must've been mistaken, and that for the first time, Molly was going to break a promise, he heard a knock at his door and knew instinctively it was her.

His nervousness and excitement betrayed him immediately as the heart monitor suddenly began to beep faster and he waited a few seconds for it to return to a more regular rhythm, before responding with, "Come in, Molly."

She opened the door and stood framed in the doorway for a moment. He drank in the sight of her and that blasted monitor began to beep too fast once again.

Damn, I wish I could mute the volume on that, he thought to himself with chagrin.

"Sherlock, are you okay? Your heartbeat was behaving rather erratically yesterday as well. Do you want me to call for a doctor to examine you?" Molly asked anxiously, stepping towards him and positioning herself by the bed, close enough so he could touch her.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he insisted. "Just a little arrhythmia, that's all," he lied smoothly, not ready to tell her the true reason for his accelerated heartbeat. He patted the space next to him as he had done the day before, and pressed the button to raise the head of the bed upwards, the way it had been the previous day, so he could talk with her more easily.

She accepted his invitation and sat on the bed as she had done the previous day, perching at the edge. "So, how are you feeling, then?" she ventured, with a shy smile at him.

"Quite well, considering I almost died from a bullet wound a couple days ago. It aches like the devil, but it's nothing I can't handle," he assured her, and added, "Won't you get up onto the bed properly and face me?" To his relief, he noticed that his heartbeat had returned to its normal rhythm as he spoke the last words, although he knew there was no guarantee it would stay that way.

"All right then," she agreed, hoisting herself up onto the bed properly and crossing her legs so her left was over her right, angling herself towards him. A she did so, her hand brushed his and the monitor registered a slight acceleration in his heartbeat once again. Damn machine, he thought balefully, tempted to just rip the electrodes off his chest. Of course that wouldn't help, because it would just bring a slew of doctors into the room, thinking he had gone into cardiac arrest. He tried to think of where their conversation had left off the previous day. Oh yes, she had said that she had broken off her engagement right after John's wedding.

"I'm sorry we couldn't finish our conversation yesterday," he told Molly, looking directly into the dark pools of her coffee-coloured eyes. How have I never thought before how utterly beautiful and warm those eyes are? "I was wondering, why did you choose to break off your engagement after the reception? It seems a rather cruel way to end what should have been an enjoyable day for all involved."

Molly's gaze dropped before his and she blushed, fidgeting slightly. Then she looked up again at him and asked, "Do you want the truth?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Of course I want the truth." He formulated his words carefully. "Did he hurt you – abuse you in some way?"

She gave him a shocked look. "Of course he didn't abuse me. Do you think I would've been engaged to him for so long if he had? I would never be somebody's punching bag. No, it was something else." She chewed on her lip nervously, as if contemplating whether to elaborate.

Unthinkingly, he moved his hand to place it over hers, and the blasted monitor did its little beeping game again, but he ignored it. "Tell me why, then," he pressed, admiring the way her face looked when she blushed.

He saw her take a deep breath and blow it out again before she spoke. "I realised that I loved Tom, but that I wasn't in love with him."

He raised an inquiring eyebrow. "And how would you define the difference between loving someone and being in love with them?" He was intrigued by her words and honestly curious about them.

He could see she was thinking, trying to formulate an answer, and he waited patiently for her response. "I don't really know how to explain it. I feel comfortable around Tom, settled, but he didn't excite me, if you know what I mean," she winced at her own words as if they were inadequate, and began again. "I cared about him and was happy to see him, but I didn't anticipate seeing him before we would go out together. I didn't daydream about him when we weren't together the way I do with y-" She stopped suddenly, as if she had been about to say something indiscreet. "…with other things," she finished lamely.

Had she been about to say you? he wondered, with a sudden leap of his heart as the monitor registered another spike in his heart rate.

He saw that her cheeks were still suffused with colour and impulsively stroked his thumb along the back of her hand, watching her chest as she took a quick inhalation of breath. "I was wondering-" he began, now a little nervous himself at what he was about to ask, then bravely pushed on, "if you would do something for me?"

She had been looking down at his thumb as it moved along the back of her hand, but now she looked up into his face questioningly. Without hesitation she responded, "You know I'd do anything for you, Sherlock." There was a softness to her voice which he did not miss.

Sherlock swallowed thickly. "Molly, would you…would you kiss me – on the lips I mean, the way you did two days ago?"

She looked startled at that. "You…you remember that?"

He answered honestly. "Not at first, but I remembered it after you left me yesterday. Will you do this for me?" He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

Her eyes searched his as if she were wondering why he was making this request, but finally she nodded and said, "Alright."

She slid off the bed and walked closer, then bent her head, obviously intending to just give him the briefest of kisses.

As soon as her lips touched his, however, he reached his hand up to clasp it around her neck and prevent her pulling away.

The heart monitor began to make a frantic beeping sound as he kissed her, feeling the wondrous sweetness of her lips on his. She finally responded by opening her mouth and heat flooded his body. He forgot everything, the constant ache of his chest wound, the fear of intimacy that had plagued him all his life, and lost himself to sensation.

At last he released his hold on her head, feeling his chest rapidly rising and falling and noting that hers was doing the same, as she rose to a standing position, even as two nurses rushed into the room with a defibrillator.

They stopped short when they saw the couple separating, and stood there looking a little confused about what to do next.

Sherlock gave them a small smile. "The defibrillator will not be necessary. I'm afraid that this woman," he made a small gesture toward Molly, who was standing awkwardly next to the bed, looking at the nurses, "has a rather interesting effect on my heart."

One of the nurses, the younger one, giggled at that, while the older one remarked rather dryly, "It might be a good idea if you refrain from any activity that would cause that kind of reaction while you are still hooked up to the heart monitor." She gave them both a stern look, then nodded to the other nurse, and they exited the room, pushing the defibrillator trolley ahead of them.

Molly glanced over at Sherlock. "Well, that was awkward."

He reached for her hand, but she stepped a little away from him. She glanced at the monitor which was gradually showing that his heartbeat was beginning to return to normal, just as the constant beep was also slowing down. "Um, probably not a good idea if we don't want those nurses coming back in."

Sherlock frowned. "I suppose you're right. However, I hope this little exercise gives you an idea of what you do to me."

She looked at him uncertainly. "That never happened when you were with Janine?"

He shook his head emphatically. "Never." He gave her an intent look. "Molly, I have loved you as a friend for some time now. Judging by my reaction to your kiss just now, and the fact that I have been spending a lot of time thinking about you when you are not with me, do you think I might be in love with you?"

She moved a little closer and the smile she gave him dazzled him, seeming to fill the room with bright sunlight. "I think it's a definite possibility," she whispered.

His eyes searched her face. "Might I dare to hope that you feel the same way?"

"Yes, Sherlock," she breathed in that same soft voice.

He looked at her longingly, wishing to feel the contact of her lips again. Then he gave her a wry smile. "I'd really like to kiss you again, but I suppose it will have to wait until these-" he indicated the electrodes on his chest, "come off, or I will get in trouble for causing the nurses unnecessary work."

Her look to him was just as longing, as she responded. "I suppose you're right. Perhaps tomorrow. I should get back to work now, anyway." She moved towards him and gave his cheek the briefest of kisses, and then she was gone.

Sherlock sighed. Oh well, tomorrow was another day.

It was a very frustrated Sherlock who was released from hospital ten days later. He supposed he should be grateful that so many people cared about him and wanted to spend time with him. His parents, bless their hearts, came to visit him every day. Mycroft came every other day. What with visits from John and Mary, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, it was impossible to have any time alone with Molly. Every single time she came to see him, there was already someone else there, and his other visitors did not seem in a hurry to leave. So, even after he no longer had to worry about the heart monitor, Sherlock was unable to kiss Molly again in the way he wished. All he got from her were either chaste kisses on the cheek or forehead.

As soon as he got home from the hospital, he texted her.

Please come to Baker Street tonight. I'll provide the dinner.

Her response came through shortly afterward.

How can I refuse such a kind request? I'll be there by five.

Sherlock smiled to himself. He was looking forward to spending some time with her alone at last. He yearned to kiss her again, to explore what he now knew to be the love he felt for her.

At four o'clock, Sherlock walked to his favorite chip shop and purchased chips for himself and Molly. As he did so, he remembered the day he had invited her to go there for chips, the day he had found out she was engaged. He recalled the hurt and disappointment he had felt in finding out she was promised to another man, although he had not understood the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. But that was all in the past now and he was looking forward to a future with her himself.

As soon as he returned home he contemplated where he could put the chips. The kitchen table was out of the question, of course. As usual it was filled with the myriad assortment of beakers and test tubes and other scientific paraphernalia. He supposed he would have to do something about that soon. Finally, he deposited the chips on the coffee table and checked his watch. Four-thirty. His stomach churned with anticipation. She would be here soon.

Sherlock moved to his front window, watching the street, remembering that time several months earlier, when he had done the same, waiting for Molly. This time there was no fiancé to get between them though. He finally spotted her making her way along the street, having obviously come from the train station. Her hair was no longer in its usual ponytail or braid, which meant she had spent some time trying to improve her appearance before heading to Baker Street. No doubt that was why she was a few minutes late. He saw wisps of loose hair flying about her head in a halo as she approached due to a brisk breeze. To his eyes she looked windswept and wonderful.

He bounded down the stairs to get to the outer door and reached it just as the doorbell rang. He opened it to Molly, even as Mrs. Hudson, in her usual manner, opened her front door, ready to welcome the visitor. Upon seeing that Sherlock was already there, she gave a little smile and returned to her flat, closing the door behind her.

Sherlock stood for a moment, drinking in the sight of Molly and her windblown hair, even as she brushed away some strands which had obscured her vision. Even as he moved aside to allow her entrance, he wished he could've swept those wisps away from her face himself. "Go ahead," he invited, gesturing towards the stairs so she would precede him.

He watched as she trailed her hands along the railing on her way up the stairs. Such lovely, frail looking hands, but ones that had such strength in them. The sway of her hips too, he had never noticed before just how womanly she was. The door was open to his flat but she did not go in, instead she waited for him to join her.

"Go ahead," he invited again, and she stepped a little nervously into the flat. He closed the door and stared at her quietly for a moment. He wondered if she was doubting his feelings for her, seeing as they had not really been able to speak properly alone since that conversation after his heartbeat had betrayed his feelings. So he decided the best way to prove he meant it was to show her.

Even as she looked up at him shyly, he placed one hand gently on either side of her face, bent his head and kissed her.

He kissed her with all the longing, the yearning he'd been feeling for her since their last kiss. He could feel his heartbeat accelerating yet again and then felt her arms encircle his neck and her fingers thread through the curls at the nape of it. He exulted in her touch even as, for the first time he noticed his own physical response to her. No other woman had ever made him feel desire. The idea of intimacy with anyone had been repellent and alarming. The thought of sharing one's body so completely with another human being had just seemed uninviting, but strangely, he didn't feel that way anymore. He realised the difference was love. It was not lust or mere physical attraction he felt for Molly, it was something deep, beyond comprehension. It stirred his soul. He wanted to share himself with her, to experience the act of love with the woman he loved beyond all reason.

Even as he continued to kiss Molly passionately, moving his lips sensuously against her own soft ones, delighting in the way she opened herself fully to him, Sherlock moved one hand to touch her shoulder and the other to the small of her back, pressing her closer towards him, closer, ever closer, until she gasped, and he knew she had become aware of his body's rather obvious need. She pulled away from him then and her face was suffused with colour.

And suddenly, she spun on her heel and fled, pulling open the flat door hastily and running down the stairs. Soon afterward there was the sound of a door banging closed. Her sudden departure left Sherlock feeling confused and terrified that he had lost her, that he was moving too fast towards something he realised he wanted, but couldn't be sure was something she wanted as well, at least not yet. He wasn't even certain how far things could have gone between them. He had just wanted to feel the exquisite sensation of her lips against his own. It was his body's unexpected autonomic response to that sensation that had prompted him to continue the kiss as a heretofore unknown fire had begun to build inside himself.

Realistically too, with his need to convalesce further from the gunshot wound, he doubted his body would be ready for the energy required to indulge in any kind of sexual activity. But that didn't make his desire for Molly any less. His pounding heart was definitely ruling his other, more logical faculties.

As he concentrated on trying to steady his breathing, he walked over to his chair, sat in it and put his face in his hands. What had he done?

Author's note: I like the idea of Molly's touch causing Sherlock's heartbeat to accelerate, so I had a bit of fun with that idea. I hope you enjoyed the way the nurses rushed in, thinking something was wrong! I must admit, part of it was inspired by an episode I saw many years ago of Seinfeld. Jerry Seinfeld's father is in hospital and every time his mother comes into the room, his father's heartbeat accelerates. Jerry thinks it is due to stress, but later finds out from his father that it isn't stress at all, but love.

Tiny little note - this AU takes the premise that Sherlock did not skip out of the hospital unexpectedly during his time there because it is not necessary to the plot. This Sherlock was much too concerned about his future with Molly to be thinking of anything else :)

So, Sherlock and Molly have revealed their feelings for one another. Poor Sherlock, he just doesn't know how to deal with these emotions. What do you think is going to happen next? Why do you think Molly ran?