oOo

Sherlock sat in 221b Baker Street, his fingers absently stroking the strings of his violin. It had been over a month since Molly had passed away, but he found himself thinking one day she would come walking through the door, lugging the shopping up the stairs. Sherlock had started to review in his mind palace everything that was Molly Hooper. At first he wondered how he had allowed to get him to this place. Review of those facts were supremely in order…..

It happened slowly, secretly. Sherlock had not planned on it happening, it just…did. He suddenly realized his caring…his growing sentiment…for the lovely and intelligent Doctor Molly Hooper. Over the years he had used her for his own purposes. He had taken advantage of her affection for him. He was never ashamed of that until the day he was ashamed of it. He could pinpoint the moment the moment when it happened.

Sherlock had made his way to see his friend John upon his arrival back in London. That had not gone over well. But, Mary, John's new love was intriguing, she appeared to even like him, which shocked Sherlock more than anything. After nursing the bloody nose happily bestowed by his friend, John Watson, Sherlock made his way to St. Barts Hospital.

While he was being attended to by the barber in Mycroft's office he had reviewed the thin folder containing information regarding a one Margaret "Molly" Hooper. Sherlock only absently viewed the morgue schedule for the week, noting Molly was on duty later in the evening. He decided that would be the best time for him to visit Dr. Hooper.

As he walked to St. Barts he thought about the enigmatic Dr. Hooper. He had only thought of her a few times in the last three years, mostly triggered by the scents of jasmine and lavender which Molly was want to indulge in a part of her bathing routines. Molly was a loyal and reliable colleague. But since The Fall, she was something more….Sherlock could not quite place it. He knew of her growing crush on him, and after everything she had done for him, he knew her feelings were more than just a passing crush.

So as he had departed London, it was Molly who was the last person of his rapidly growing, odd little collection of friends that saw him off. She had helped in so many ways with his deception, this was the final piece. Sherlock was wearing a disguise, his dark hair now auburn/ginger color, cut short with a newsboy cap and black wide-rimmed glasses. His clothing was casual and lazy, jeans and tee with trainers. He looked nothing like the sophisticated and arrogant Sherlock Holmes everyone knew. Molly stood next to him in airport, looking nervously around.

"Oh do stop that, Molly. No one is going to recognize me. Not now, not like this." Sherlock stated softly but in his direct manner, wagging with distaste the causal tee he was wearing. Still Molly tried to be nonchalant, but the longer they lingered the more concerned she became.

"But someone could be watching me." Molly countered quietly. Sherlock laughed softly.

"Not likely. And if they are, they will just think I am another one of your woefully inadequate boyfriends." Sherlock stated with a bit more anger than he had planned. Sherlock paused, realizing in reality someone may very well be following Molly.

"Perhaps we should do something? Something, that if someone is watching you, would never imagine Sherlock Holmes doing." Sherlock stated as Molly looked up at him curiously.

"Like wha…" Molly started to ask, but was cut off by Sherlock dropping his bag to the floor, cradling Molly's head in his hands, tilting her head back gently and snogging her intensely. Right there, in front of everyone. Sherlock's eyes remained open for a moment to glance around, but then they softly closed in revelation of the passionate sensations rippling through Molly to his body. Her hands came up and gently touched Sherlock's hair just above the ear. Molly's tongue touched tentatively against Sherlock's lower lip, seeking to deepen the kiss. Dare he? Is all the Sherlock thought. The kiss was meant to throw off anyone who might be following them, but now it was taking a wholly different turn. Sherlock softly opened his mouth more fully and responded to Molly tentative entreaty with a more intense one. The kiss continued, much longer and with more passion than even Sherlock Holmes was prepared for. But gently Sherlock pulled away, his lips just barely touching Molly's. Their breaths coming in short, quick pants from the lack of oxygen and their seemingly rapid heart rates. Sherlock gazed into Molly's dilated eyes, so caring, so sweet, so trusting, so believing in him. Little did he realize his pupils were just as dilated, but he would never admit it.

"Take care. Molly. Hooper." Sherlock whispered against Molly's lips, still gazing into her warm brown eyes. Sherlock released his hold of Molly's head, turned, picking up his bag in the same motion, and began to walk down the airport terminal that would take him far from London and her. He never looked back. He did not see the look of pure joy on Molly's face, but nor could she see his look of pure delight on Sherlock Holmes' face either.

As he walked into St. Barts Hospital, his mind had drifted to that last memory, that kiss. He somehow wished she would also remember that moment. Given his recent experience with John Watson, he was not quite sure what to expect. But then he reminded himself that this was Molly…his Molly. She would be happy to see him, ecstatic even. He could always rely on Molly Hooper to service his egotistical soul.

She had not been wearing her engagement ring that first moment, that night when the man of her dreams came roaring back into her life. When Sherlock texted her that he wanted to see her, Molly secretly rejoiced that perhaps this was the moment Sherlock would admit it. Molly would often confide to Sherlock years later that when she got his text she was prepared to call off her engagement right then, and how horrible she felt about thinking it. But Sherlock never revealed the crushing depth of sorrow he felt when he saw the ring for the first time. And just like John's mustache, Sherlock's mind roared "Well, that has just got to go." But as soon as he met Tom, he knew the wedding wouldn't happen. He deduced that man within seconds and knew he was lacking…a poor substitute for his Molly. And she was his….she always was…and she always would be