A/N: this is a little short, but it was the right place to end it. One more chapter of happy, fluffy sexiness to go for the story. Thanks to all who read, review and favorite!

There it was.

Sherlock Holmes, telling her he wanted her. Just as she was. The thing she'd been wanting, hoping for, dreaming of, despairing over, for the past three years.

She stared at him, and the insane random thought ran through her head: how can I ever ask for anything for Christmas again?

Because he was it, wasn't he. The one thing she'd wanted more than anything. And here he was, standing in front of her, holding her hands, asking her to give him a chance.

She almost asked him to slap her to make sure she hadn't actually just come home from work and passed out asleep.

She blinked a few time to hold back her tears. From anyone else, Sherlock's words might have seemed a bizarre mix of arrogance and affection. OK, maybe they were still. But she'd never imagined he'd be saying them to her.

Now she had to choose.

He was offering everything to her on a silver platter, but did she want to risk taking it?

She couldn't imagine what having him as her boyfriend would be like. How would he treat her? Would they be in the middle of a kiss and Lestrade would call, and Sherlock would all but drop her onto the floor while he grabbed his coat and ran out the door? Would he ignore her for days on end while he worked on a case, except when he needed into the morgue or the labs? Would he send her flowers, bring her soup if she was sick, hold her hand in the street?

She didn't know.

"I think tonight I've shown you that I am capable of doing the expected things," he said as if reading her thoughts. "I can't promise to do them all the time. I can't promise I'll never forget your birthday or Valentine's Day or any of the other things women place a high value on. But I do promise to always try to treat you properly. And if I'm not doing enough you can call me out on it. Though I'd prefer it not involve throwing food in my face or shoving me onto the floor," he added wryly, causing her to laugh.

"All I ask is that you give me time when I need it, space when I need it. And I will need it. But I'll do my best not to leave you languishing without me for too long."

Molly nodded. "Before I answer you, I need to ask one question."

"All right."

"The night you came to me, before the… before the fall. And you asked for my help. You said I was the only one who could help you."

"Yes," he replied, somewhat puzzled at this seemingly random change of topic.

"What if I hadn't been? What if there had been someone else who could've done what you needed in addition to me. Would you still have come to me?"

Ah. Not so random, after all.

He could've told her to spit it out, that this wasn't really what she was asking, because it wasn't. But this was not the time for him to give a lecture. She loved him: it was obvious. What was equally obvious was that she was afraid. Afraid to trust him with her heart.

He couldn't blame her. He wasn't exactly quality material in that department.

But he wanted to try to be. As difficult as it would make his life.

He stepped even closer to her, looking into her large dark eyes. They were eyes that could swallow you up, he realized. She was an open book to him, Molly Hooper. One that he looked forward to reading. His lips curved into a slight smile.

"Yes."

She sighed. "Thank you. I don't have the energy to be afraid anymore."

He enfolded her into his arms. "You don't need to."

"Good." She sniffed and he realized she was crying. But when she looked up at him, she looked calm, happy. She hastily wiped her face. "Yes, Sherlock. I would be… most pleased to have you."

He raised his eyebrows. "Not honored?"

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

He saw she was teasing him. He laughed, and she laughed too.

"Fair enough, Molly," he said, bending to kiss her.

When the kiss ended, they stood together for a moment, his cheek resting on the top of her head, letting the reality of this new development in their lives slowly settle over them. After a few minutes, Molly looked up at him with a smile. "There's just one thing you've forgotten, Mister Holmes," she said, eyes twinkling.

"Oh?" He asked, intrigued. "And what might that be, Miss Hooper?"

Her smile turned into a wicked grin. "You've not offered me any dessert."

He returned her grin. "How remiss of me." Brushing his lips against her ear, he whispered: "lead the way, Miss Hooper. Lead the way."