The final notes of his composition cried out as Sherlock drew the bow mournfully across the strings. As the music faded, his hands fell to his side, the bow scraping the floor. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, since Molly left. He vaguely recalled John and Mary coming by with baby Charlotte sometime after, but he had not paid them any mind. All he could see were Molly's tears, the heartbreak in her eyes. All he could hear was her sorrow and her disappointment.

He dropped his violin unceremoniously onto the desk and walked slowly across the room to the mantle. Lifting his faithful skull, he swiped the box that he had hidden inside. Wrapped in black velvet, it fit in the palm of his hand. He opened it reverently and stared down at the simple diamond ring nestled inside.

Sorrow and anguish swept over him. He snapped the box shut and clenched it tightly in his fist. This was his fault. He had foolishly entangled himself with the Woman. If he had been in control of his emotions, Molly would not be suffering. He would not be suffering.

He longed to go make things right with Molly, explain what happened.

But he could not bring himself to.

He felt tainted by the Woman's touch. Molly was pure and good, Irene Adler was lust and sin.

And Sherlock had made his choice when he saved the Woman's life.

His thoughts were interrupted by the screech of tires outside, shattering the quiet in the late hour. He was about to look out the window when the downstairs door banged open and two sets of angry feet pounded up the steps.

Thank God Mrs. Hudson took her herbal soothers.

It was the only thing he was able to think before a livid John Watson stormed inside 221B and, in three quick strides, socked him in the face. The pain shot through his head as he heard the distinct sound of cartilage cracking. His hands flew to his face, the box dropping to the ground, forgotten.

An even angrier Mary grabbed him by the lapels, ignoring his flailing hands trying to clutch his cheek, 'You bastard.'

'Ah,' Sherlock mumbled through the pain, 'I see you have spoken with Molly.'

'No, no,' John seethed. 'You do not get to act cavalier about this.'

Mary released him forcefully. Even with the shooting pain in his cheek, Sherlock registered the 'Kill' look on her face and logically took a step back.

'Molly is a wreck, you cock,' John spat, 'and you have no right, none, to feel sorry for yourself, playing that damn violin like a heartbroken sod.'

'On the contrary, John, I have-'

'No!' John hissed, 'You slept with another woman. Not just any woman, the Woman, Irene Adler, whom you neglected to inform me was still alive.'

Sherlock shot him a guilty look, 'It was not something you needed to know.'

Mary huffed at his answer and turned aside, her arms crossed. John breathed heavily and pointed a finger at him, 'Listen here, you bastard. You broke our friend's heart, shattered it in every sense of the word. I am about three seconds away from castrating you, so for the love of everything holy, act like you care.'

'I do care!' Sherlock shouted, unable to maintain his disinterested façade. 'All I want is to have Molly back. But I've destroyed whatever trust she had in me and now she will never believe me.'

John narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth once more, but was interrupted by a shocked Mary.

'Sherlock, what is this?' Mary asked in disbelief. The two men turned to her and Sherlock's heart skipped a beat when he saw the black box in her hand.

His mouth ran dry and his mind blanked.

Mary popped it open and gasped. Eyes wide, John moved beside her and gaped at the contents. He raised his shocked gaze to Sherlock. 'Jesus. Is this… was this… you were going to… propose to Molly?'

Sherlock gulped loudly and hesitated before nodding slowly.

'Before or after the whole…' John waved his hand in the direction of the bedroom.

'Before, of course,' Sherlock snapped. He snatched the box from Mary's hands and reverently touched the precious ring. Gently, he closed the box and placed it back on the mantle.

'I don't understand,' John asked in confusion. 'Why sleep with Irene Adler if you wanted to marry Molly?'

'I didn't sleep with her,' Sherlock replied in resignation. 'Although she has been exiled from England, she slunk back and tried to pick up where she thought we'd left off. I have had no contact with her since I saved her life and was unaware she was intending to 'visit'.'

Mary snorted in disbelief, 'That does not explain why she was naked in your bed, with you.'

Sherlock glared at her, but was saved from responding by John.

'Actually, it does sort of make sense. She likes to make a shocking entrance. It would be like her to sneak in while he was sleeping and try to seduce him.'

''Try' being the operative word, Mary. It is hard to seduce someone who is unconscious,' Sherlock declared. 'I do not sleep often, but when I do, it is deep. Usually after a grueling case, when Molly is unavailable, or after a copious amount of inter-'

'We get it,' John interjected with a blush. 'So, what, you didn't know she was even there until Molly came home?'

Sherlock nodded, 'She was actually aware of the situation before I was.'

'Well, you did a bang up job of explaining,' Mary spat, still righteously angry on behalf of her friend.

'How could I explain it?' Sherlock threw his hands in the air and began pacing. 'There was a naked woman in our bed, a woman I previously indicated having sexual feelings for, and Molly 'caught' us when she came home a day early. Tell me, Mary, if it were John in my position, would you believe him?'

Several moments passed before Mary reluctantly shook her head. 'Probably not.'

'You see my dilemma,' Sherlock sneered.

'So what happened with Irene Adler?' John asked. Sherlock merely shrugged.

'A concerned citizen reported the presence of a criminal, previously thought dead, in a small flat on Baker Street. Certain British Government officials were not pleased with her continued existence and have taken steps to ensure that mistake is rectified.'

John raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Sherlock did not elaborate anymore.

'Well, now what will you do?'

'Accept the consequences of my actions,' Sherlock replied, feigning an air of acceptance, but knew John and Mary could see the sorrow in his eyes.

'Just explain it to Molly. All of it, maybe she'll believe you,' Mary smiled encouragingly and pulled him into a hug. 'It may take some time, but she loves you. She'll come back.'

Sherlock turned away, his eyes falling on the black box. Molly did love him. She said it in a thousand ways. With a kiss, with a smile, when she brushed the hair from his forehead, when she left him to his Mind Palace without complaint. She understood him far better than he understood her. Selfishly, he wanted her to never leave him even though he believed her to be far too good for him. He often lay awake as she slept, holding her close and just reveling in the feeling of having her in his arms.

He loved her. He had never told her, but he did. With everything inside of him. And as cliché as it sounds, as ridiculous as those horrid romance novels made it sound, he knew he wasn't good enough for her. And as selfish as he was, he loved her too much to hold her back from a relationship with someone who was.

His fingers caressed the velvet of the box that once held the promise of a future with Molly.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

'I don't-' he turned around and froze, the words dying on his lips as his eyes caught something behind John and Mary.

'Molly,' he rasped.

Her hair was tangled and her eyes red and swollen. Her clothes were wrinkled and dried tear tracks marked her face.

John and Mary started and whirled about. Molly gave a little finger-wave to the stunned couple, never taking her eyes from Sherlock, and stepped into the room.

'May I speak with you,' she swallowed thickly, 'alone?'

A stunned Sherlock merely nodded. John and Mary shot him looks as they made their way out the door. One look said, 'Hurt her and we will obliterate you.' The other said, 'Tell her and trust that she will believe you.' They made their way down the stairs and left to pick up their daughter from the nanny.

In the tension-filled silence, Molly and Sherlock stood across from each other.

'Why are you here?' Sherlock finally asked.

'I wanted to make sure John and Mary didn't kill you,' she indicated the darkening fist-sized mark on his cheek.

'I see,' he swallowed thickly. 'How much did you hear?'

Molly's gaze flicked to the bedroom and then to the floor, 'Enough to know I should have let you explain.'

Sherlock stepped closer, 'Do you understand what happened now?'

Molly bit her lip and looked up at him. 'I think so.'

He took a deep breath, 'Are… are we over?'

The silence hung between them, heavy and heartbreaking.

When Sherlock could bear it no more, Molly finally moved. Taking a step closer, she wrapped her arms around her middle.

'I'm not sure.'

Sherlock's heart pounded almost painfully. He swallowed thickly, 'What can I say to make you stay?'

Molly closed her eyes and grimaced, 'It's not something you can just say, Sherlock.'

'Then what is it?' He moved a bit closer.

Taking a shaky breath, she bravely admitted, 'I love you. You know that, Sherlock. And I know you are not comfortable with emotions. But I just… I need to be with s-someone who loves me. I need that more than I need to be with you.' She turned her head away and whispered the last part, 'Otherwise, I'll always wonder if I'm enough.'

At her words, Sherlock broke. He lunged across the final steps between them and clutched her tightly to him. He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her temple. She shuddered under his touch and hesitantly wrapped her arms around his torso.

'You are enough. You are more than enough, Molly.'

She swallowed against the rising lump in her throat. Suddenly, her arms were empty as Sherlock pulled away and left her swaying where she stood. He rushed across the room and tossed his skull to the floor.

'Sherlock!' She cried, surprised at his carelessness with his companion.

He ignored her and whirled about, stalking back to her. Suddenly, his determined expression morphed into complete vulnerability. 'I, I wanted to do this right, with dinner and candles and sappy romantic music, but…'

'Do what right?' Molly stepped closer, confused.

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'I love you.'

He opened his eyes hesitantly. Molly stared up at him, completely gobsmacked. 'Wh-what?'

'I, Sherlock Holmes, love you, Molly Hooper,' he reiterated.

'Oh.' She blinked, trying to process his admission.

It wasn't romantic, he stated it like the results of a case, nor was it heartfelt.

But something about his straightforwardness seemed more genuine than whatever romantic gushing Molly had imagined for this moment.

'Just 'oh'?' His vulnerability shook her and she began to smile, reaching up to brush a curl from his face.

'Oh.'

Sherlock reached up and grasped her wrist, bringing it to his lips, never breaking eye contact. When she didn't pull away, he wrapped his other arm around her back and pulled her close. Her face inches from his, he stared into her eyes, finding nothing but the sparkles he loved so dearly. With an answering smile, he crushed his lips to hers.

Molly moaned into the kiss as her body melted to his. The thought that he might never have touched her again, held her close and kissed her, scared him and he gripped her hand tighter.

She giggled at his possessiveness and he growled, deepening the kiss. Molly was getting carried away, her free hand running through the curls she loved so much. So lost in the kiss, she didn't notice when Sherlock let go of her hand to fumble around in his pocket. Suddenly, he pressed a cool metal object into her palm and she broke away. Dazed and flushed, she looked down. Several seconds passed before she realized what she was seeing.

She shrieked as her other hand flew to her mouth. She lifted wide, tear-filled eyes to Sherlock.

He reverently brushed her hair behind her ear, 'Marry me, Molly.' He looked at her with such adoration and vulnerability it nearly made her heart stop. 'Let me spend the rest of my life showing you how much you are worth to me, how much I absolutely love you.'

Tears coursed down her cheeks. Sherlock felt his heart stop at her tears, afraid she was upset and rejecting him. Before he could say anything, Molly pulled him down by the lapels and snogged him mercilessly, the ring gripped tightly in her hand.

'Yes, you idiot,' she murmured against his lips. He smiled in response and slipped the ring from her hand, deftly placing it on her finger as he kissed her. A perfect fit, of course.

Just as Molly was the perfect fit for him.