Sherlock was utterly thankful that his exile only lasted four minutes. After the briefing with the literal British government, the first thing he needed to do was check on Molly after the Moriarty takeover. Obviously, it was impossible for the napoleon of crime to be alive, but surely, Molly had been shaken up by the sudden appearance of him.

She was working today, his home away from home. He found her in her office with stacks of paperwork covering her desk. Molly was in distress to say the least; Sherlock was gone, possibly for good, and Moriarty shows his face again. When she turned to see the consulting detective standing in the doorway, Molly threw all caution to the wind and snogged him. She showered him with kisses from his lips to his cheeks, nose and forehead.

"How dare you!?" she shouted, pushing against his shoulder. Sherlock was confused by her contradicting actions. "All you left me was a bloody letter, only confessing your 'undying love' for me when you knew you wouldn't be coming back from that mission! How could you!?" Tears sprang from her eyes out of frustration.

"I'm a total git," was all he said, finally realizing why she was so upset. "I am so sorry I didn't tell you before, Molly."

"How are you even here right now?" her voice softened, tears still streaming down her flushed cheeks. Sherlock stepped closer to her and wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs before hugging her to him.

"It seems I have Moriarty to thank," he told her. "Were you frightened?"

"A bit, yeah," Molly admitted. Sherlock pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"There's nothing to worry about; he can't hurt you. Even if he could, I wouldn't let him," Sherlock assured her.

"I know," Molly spoke quietly.

"Are you still cross with me?" he asked.

"A bit," she sniffed. "But I'll get over it. I'm just happy you're alive."

"Me too, Molly," he told her. And he most definitely was.