Molly had reached Baker Street at the appointed time and was let in by a joyous Mrs Hudson. The housekeeper had hugged her and shed some tears again, though this time they were happy ones. Holmes was out but was expected to return soon. Molly, sipping tea in the sitting room, felt a bit odd playing the role of a visitor in her old house. But the same place felt so different since her last visit, the mourning atmosphere now replaced by an air of cheer and optimism. It almost felt like the old days.

There were a few additions to the rooms though, specifically what looked like a human skull on the mantelpiece. Picking it up gently and turning it around, she was surprised to see that it was-

"Real," Sherlock Holmes' baritone confirmed her conclusion. "Just a friend of mine, though when I say friend…" He was standing by the door, hands behind his back. He was wearing his camel coloured dressing gown, so he must've arrived some time back when she was observing the skull. "Please do be seated."

She replaced the skull and with a small smile sat on the chair that was reserved for clients. There was a moment of silence as he took his seat and lit his pipe, the glow of the lit match illuminating his face, throwing sharp shadows as well as lighting up its smooth planes. The small flare threw contrasts, the high cheekbones against the full mouth, the sharp nose against the pale cheeks. Molly found herself mesmerised, and flushed when Sherlock caught her gaze, his lips twitching upwards. Twitching her hands nervously, she looked around the room until her eyes landed on a bunch of newspapers, with headlines screaming about the 'Dead Detective's Return'.

"The newspapers are having a field day with your return Mr Holmes," she commented.

"Oh yes, the papers… Make me sound like some big hero. But then, the stories they published earlier were as far from the truth as they could be. Watson was so incensed once, he'd threatened to write each case himself," he sighed with a pained expression.

"He should then…he's been the closest observer. I'm sure your cases would make wonderful reading-".

"I doubt many would find stories about beheaded nuns or dismembered country squires wonderful," he murmured with a twinkle in his eyes.

It was new, this sudden…openness in his eyes. He had always been such a reserved, private man… but now, those dropped shutters somehow made her feel exposed and nervous.

"You wanted to see me?" she blurted out.

"Yes…yes I did. Have been sorting my things since I returned and came upon a few things I feel you'd appreciate better, amongst other things." He went to the bookshelf and picked up a thick leather bound volume that she instantly recognised. It was the book on ancient Egyptian and other embalming techniques, a collector's item she had always been fascinated with. "I no longer have a need for this, having experienced embalming first hand. Tomb raiders do not appreciate being disturbed, it seems. What an unfair world!"

Molly could only stare at his smiling face. Had he just said he'd been embalmed by tomb raiders?

"Oh, they didn't complete the process," he read her mind as always. "They were disturbed by Egyptian police. Though in retrospect, they might as well have finished it…the fever and rash from lying in that solution made death seem preferable! But well, here's to having a good constitution!"

Molly failed to see the humour in his tale. In the light from the sitting room windows, she could see him more clearly…marks she had failed the see in the dark morgue. There were additional lines along his eyes, few more around his mouth. There was what looked like a scar from a serrated blade on the back of the hand that held the book, a burn mark on the wrist of his other hand. Looking up at him from her seat, she could also see a faint line around his neck…all the marks were faded but their reality hit her like a ton of bricks.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to gather herself…just what all had he been through? She got up and stood in front of him, her eyes tracing that beloved face.

"How are you now, Mr Holmes," she asked softly.

He frowned, looking down at her but sighed, turned away and sat down.

"I'm fine Molly," he said signalling her to follow suit. "A little tired but fine."

"I don't think so. I mean, I doubt you're only a little tired. It must've been exhausting, being on the move constantly, being alert…being alone."

He'd turned sharply to look at her then, his eyes narrowing. "Being alone is what saved me Molly. I did what I had to and I didn't waste time or energy convincing people about the morality behind each and every action," he snapped. "What was done needed to be done. I didn't choose to be the person to do it, but God knows I wasn't going to back down from seeing this…this game to its end."

"You call it a game, Mr Holmes? Faking your own death, being away from your home for three long years…I don't see how that's a game."

"Because you weren't playing it Molly. Nor were you a spectator, and be thankful for that," he said in harsh tones.

The affable mask was gone. Sherlock Holmes was no more hiding behind it; instead he was letting her see the effort and pain he had been through while away. She knew he wasn't particularly emotive and so, encouraged his expression.

"I am grateful you are back, safe and … with no visible injury. It must've taken a lot…bringing down Professor Moriarty's evil web. That's what you meant, didn't you? When you said you had to face your toughest foe?" she asked kindly. "This need for subterfuge…a clean break so you could deal with him. He is dead, isn't he?" she asked after hesitating for a moment.

"Like a dodo," he replied with a small smile. "And yes, Moriarty would've used people as baits. As a matter of fact, he almost did."

They were interrupted at that instant by Mrs Hudson knocking on the door, a tray of tea things with her. Molly sprang up and gathered the tray from the old lady, being too polite to convey her disappointment at being interrupted. At the same time, Sherlock had no such inhibitions.

"I didn't ask for tea, Mrs Hudson. It's hardly been any time since you served me luncheon…are you trying to stuff me like a turkey?"

"Oh, Mr Holmes! You barely nibbled at your breakfast, the plates were almost full when returned. You've hardly eaten well since coming back…what will I tell your mother if she sees you all skin and bones?"

"You will tell her nothing…I am not a child anymore."

"You could fool me," she muttered under her breath as she turned to Molly. "And look at you, you are too thin…do take care of yourself, Molly love, I worry about you a lot you know. Being alone, working so hard…you'll be exhausted."

Molly ducked her head, those kind and genuine words suddenly making her tear up. But she took a deep breath and blinked any tears away before turning towards the housekeeper, this time with a brilliant smile and saying, "I will Mrs Hudson, I promise."

Convinced that her words would be heeded to, Mrs Hudson left the room while reminding Sherlock to eat his food.

"That woman's a hassle," he complained.

"She just worries about you. She cares deeply for you, you know that."

"Well, she sure does have a strange way of showing it!"

Molly chuckled at his almost petulant tone. He was still childlike when it came to understanding certain aspects of human behaviour.

"She does her best, Mr Holmes," she said. "Ensuring you are well fed and looked after… that's just her way of showing her affection."

"Just like you did earlier?"

Her smile faded, shocked at his blatant words. His tone was challenging, daring her to deny what she'd said earlier. There was a stony silence in the room as their gazes held. Molly was not able to look away, even as Sherlock's eyes softened a bit.

She was startled when he got up suddenly, clapping his hands while moving towards his bookcase.

"Well, before I forget, I need to inform you of a… mistake on part of the government." He muttered while perusing his books, looking for what turned out to be an envelope that was addressed to her. "This came in while I was… away. There was no alternate address so," he shrugged.

It contained the application for the annulment, a paper that Molly still felt dreadful holding in her hands. An accompanying letter stated that the application was incomplete, some mundane formality needed to further the procedure.

It was as if time had stopped…or reversed itself. She stared at the paper in her hand, afraid of what it meant for her…for them.

"I am in receipt of a similar notification. We can, of course, take corrective action immediately." His words were direct, without any emotion but the look on his face was…wary, like he wasn't sure of her reaction. Molly realised she had been staring at the paper in her hand for quite some time when he huffed and moved near her and asked impatiently. "Tell me, what do you want?"

There was an edge to his voice that gave away the fact that he wasn't as calm as he looked. She had travelled to hell and back in his absence, an absence that had changed her in more ways than she could define. But she was more his equal than earlier; they were now on a much even keel. An even keel that gave her the final bit of nerve she needed.

There was just one answer to his question, an answer she'd never let herself admit before. As she stood up and took a hesitant step towards him, her voice was nothing but steady when she looked in his eyes and said softly, "You."

Sherlock inhaled sharply at her words, his eyes narrowed. She knew it was now her turn to take initiative, and she could just about find enough courage in her heart. She hesitantly reached out to hold his hand, pursing her lips in anticipation. His hand was big and warm, soft in her calloused hand. Before she could lose her nerve she raised it to her lips, laying a reverential kiss on it. Looking up him, she hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, rising on her toes to lay a kiss at the edge of his mouth.

There was stillness in that moment, plenty of communication in that silence, their hands not the only thing that held them together. They had memories of growing, falling and learning together. Of seeing each other at their lowest and at their highest. There was so much life shared that no words could be enough, no language other than their eyes eloquent enough to convey what they both felt. What they had experienced. How they had learnt and hence, grown.

It was the culmination of all those factors, of all those instances that had led them here. This was their time, both standing out amongst their peers, both misunderstood, both foolhardy enough to follow their hearts. Brave enough to embrace its desires.

Their first kiss was chaste, as Molly leaned up and pressed her lips against his. His lips were soft, but nothing prepared her for the softness that now shone in his eyes. Eyes that further lit up when he brought up his arms to hold her close, traced her face as if recording each and every feature, before landing on her lips. When he kissed her then, it was as if a dam had broken.

It was passionate, unrestrained, filled with longing. It was a protest against the wasted years, wasted chances; yet sanguine for the opportunity the future presented. It conveyed all that was not spoken for such a long time…feelings and emotions that were excessive for mere words. They broke for air, both panting but bright eyed, exchanging slow and shy smiles. Sherlock tucked Molly's head under his neck, holding her close, rubbing his nose in her hair. The moment was perfect for them both until Molly slightly pulled away to look into his eyes.

"I…I love you. With everything I have, with everything I am…I love you," she confessed, feeling a weight shift off her shoulders.

He blinked, as if surprised at her confession, before stammering, "Molly you…I-I couldn't stay away…not ever again. I am just not that strong."

"You don't have to."

"I want…I need you besides me. It won't be easy."

"It never was," she whispered, tears finally escaping her eyes. He embraced her again, mumbling against her hair and holding her tighter. The future was away, the past was spent. The present was there, with him…in his arms, and it was the best gift.