A/N: And so at last the story is finished. A short chapter, but anything else would have just been padding it out. Thank you all for your lovely reviews, for following and favoriting, and for sticking with it. Enjoy!


Sherlock studied Molly as she stopped speaking, taking in every nuance as his eyes flicked over her face, down to their joined hands – hers still resting loosely, quietly, comfortably beneath his – then traveling back up. They paused on her shoulders, which looked as comfortable and relaxed as the rest of her body language; there was no tension, no anger, only a calm bordering on serenity in her eyes, the set of her lips, in every part of her. She wasn't smiling, wasn't frowning, no explicit clues as to her answer; indeed, she gave off the very picture of a woman who was certain in her decision, whatever it might be.

And in spite of her last words…he had no idea what her answer was. None. His mind was a complete blank, as if his ability to deduce from the barest hint had been stymied by the neutrality of her current aspect. "I have no idea." Sherlock said the words aloud, wincing internally at the hint of anxiety in his voice as he spoke. Molly's brow knit, confusion and disbelief in her eyes as he rushed to assure her of the truth of his words. "I'm not just saying that, Molly. I really have no idea…and I have no desire to deduce you, either." He took in a gulp of air. "I'd rather you just told me. Please."

It was his turn to fall under her scrutiny, to wait with a show of patience as she studied him, her eyes flitting over his form in a manner very familiar to him, albeit from the other side. Her lips remained unsmiling, her pulse steady beneath his fingers…until suddenly it wasn't. His eyes flew up to meet hers as his fingers tightened on her wrist; was she in physical distress, should he call a nurse, or was it merely an emotional response triggered by whatever it was she read from him?

"Sherlock, the answer is and always will be yes. You know that."

Those two sentences fell on his ears like the sweetest music, and his eyes fluttered shut as a wave of pure relief flowed over him. He curled his fingers around hers and felt an answering squeeze, then suddenly the small distance between them was too much. He pulled his hand away, opening his eyes as he shrugged out of his coat. "Budge over, Mrs. Holmes," he ordered, knowing Molly would see right through this show of high-handedness to the relief and, yes, love, behind the words.

Her answering smile was wide and lovely as she obediently scooted to the far side of the narrow bed. She was no longer attached to the monitoring machinery, no longer wired to an IV, but he still clambered next to her as carefully as if he might dislodge those non-existent wires, as if she were as fragile as others seemed to believe her to be.

But not him. Not now, never again. His Molly was strong, far stronger than he was, truth be told. And yes, she was his, just as he was hers. Not just in a past he'd tried so hard to suppress, but in the here and now, and in the future that no longer looked bleak and lonely.

"I love you, wife," he said, his voice a low rumble against the back of her neck as he nestled his lanky form around hers. His arms encircled her petite body, made even tinier by her recent medical ordeal, but as always hiding an unsuspected strength. Her arms covered his, and she turned her head to brush a soft kiss against his lips, which he returned eagerly.

"I love you too, husband," she replied, then settled her head beneath his chin.

Sherlock had never felt happier, and as they drifted off to sleep, his last thought was that being in Molly's arms was like coming home.