A/N: Thanks again all you amazing people!
And now for all of you who have been so patient, FINALLY some fluff ;-)
Enjoy!

Molly was asking herself why she had followed him onto the roof top again. She tried to convince herself that it had nothing to do with the puppy dog eyes-look he had given her, when asking her to climb the ladder with him. She hated herself for giving into him once again.

But she was glad she had stayed until the case had been finished. It had been worth it. The moment she had seen the two children back at their home, her heart had swelled. To know that she had been part – and if only a small one – of the team finding them, made her feel proud. She had felt how happy even Mr Banks was that his children were back safe and sound. She was glad everything had turned out the way it did. Well, not everything. Of course she wished things with Sherlock would have turned out differently.

Said man was standing on the edge of the roof again, looking over London at night, his torch turned off. Molly had no idea what this was all about, and as usual Sherlock did not fill her in onto his thoughts. She walked over to stand next to him, a few steps away. She could not stand being too close to him. It made her want to forgive him, to forget her decision to not see him again after going back home. Therefore she kept her distance, the light of her torch drawing nervous circles around her feet.

After a long moment of silence she asked, "So, it had nothing to do with Moriarty?"
"No." Molly rolled her eyes at his mono syllabic response.
"But what does it mean: Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?" She was glad that she had said it without stuttering.
"It can mean exactly what you want it to," came the enigmatic response.
Molly sighed deeply.
"Sherlock, what are we doing here?" She gestured to the roof and the city around her and the light of her torch touched his figure in the process.
"There's things half in shadow and halfway in light."
Molly directed the ray of her torch towards his face in order to dazzle him, and her voice transported all the frustration she was feeling, "Are you a fortune cookie, or what?!"
He glanced at her for a second, probably surprised by her open display of anger, but then turned back towards the city at night.
Molly let her hand sink and switched off the torch as well. She did not know why, she just felt like it.

Just as she was about to think about leaving the roof, since she saw so point in staying any longer, he started to speak in an absent voice, "You know, what my mum always used to say when Mycroft or I were sick?" She shook her head, although he did not look at her.
"A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down," he chuckled, clearly remembering it.
"I can't follow you," Molly said, again looking at his profile.
He came back from his memory, as she could tell by the change in his tone. "What I'm trying to say is: all parents tend to have their weird little sayings, not only..." But he stopped mid-sentence, because he realised that he was about to say something she could misinterpret.
But she finished his sentence for him, "You mean... not only my dad."
"Yes, but I don't mean it as a..."
She almost smiled when she interrupted him, "I know how you mean it."
And she did. She knew it was his way of apologizing for making fun of some of the things she had told him about her father.
He nodded, but he still did not look at her.

Silence.

"I'm sorry."
Molly hung her head.
"I've already told you, I don't want to hear it."
Now he turned towards her, and she could see that he was angry and tried not to show it as he made a step towards her, "But you have to let me explain!"
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I don't have to do anything you say, Sherlock Holmes!"
"That's not what I meant!" he hollered. As soon as he realised how shocked Molly was by the volume of his voice he cleared his throat and took a breath in order to cool his nerves.
"I know I can't take it back, but..."
"Why did you want me to accompany you to the case in the first place?" she interrupted him. He was clearly taken aback by her question. She looked at him with a stern expression.
When he was about to answer, she added, "And don't bullshit me with 'I need supervision during a missing children's case', because we both know that's only half the story."
He was surprised by her choice of words, but it only proved his assumption that he had to choose his words with care.
"You seemed to have enjoyed our last case, and I thought it would be fun."
"Fun?! Sherlock, two children had gone missing!"
He hung his head and muttered, "Timing…"
"Sorry, what?"
He looked back up. "You know what I mean… My idea of fun is… different. And there were moments when we've had fun, weren't there?"
She looked down at her shoes.
"Yes," she admitted in a meek voice.

"You don't want any excuses? Fine. I can understand. It just don't want you to hate me." There was such desperation in his voice that Molly had to look at him to make sure that this had really been Sherlock Holmes sounding so lost, almost pleading. The look he gave her did not prove her wrong. There he was standing next to her, letting his guard down and letting her see a bit of his real self. She could not help herself, but reach forward and touch his cheek. For a second there was a look of horror in his eyes, and she thought he would retreat, but as soon as it had come it left again, and he let it happen. He even closed his eyes for a short moment when her hand touched his cheek.
She slowly shook her head and felt tears threatening to escape when she whispered, "Sometimes what you do is so wrong, and then it is so right."
She reluctantly released his face and Sherlock's gaze followed her hand.
"You say all those horrible things to me and you take me for granted, and..." She had to take a breath to keep herself from crying, before she went on, "It's not logical, but I could never hate you."
His eyes snapped back to hers, and she could see that his thoughts were running a hundred miles per hour.
Now it was his turn to shake his head. "Nothing of this is logical."
"What do you mean?" She had to take a step back from him, but he followed and was just as close as before when he explained, "It's not logical that I find you much more attractive than other women I've encountered, although from a objective point of view you're only averagely attractive. You lack most of the biological triggers. Like, your hips are narrow, your mouth and breasts are small and..."
All sympathy she had felt for him a moment ago went down the drain once more. "Sherlock, if you're trying to talk me round by listing my physiological disadvantages, let me tell you: This does not help your cause!" She took a deliberate step away from him, and this time he let her, sensing she needed the space. He raked a hand through his hair and looked around the roof, as if looking for someone to tell him how to proceed further.

Molly was about to tell him to leave it be, when he turned to her again with new found strength in his eyes, and he told her seriously, "My mum had another saying," he took again a step towards her, and this time she did not back away. "And it was," he tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, "a thing of beauty is a joy forever."
She held her breath and stared up at him with doe eyes, as a shiver ran down her spine when he touched her.
He let his hand fall reluctantly to his side and stood a little taller, leaning out of her personal space.
"You're probably right: I took you for granted. And I'm pretty sure that there will be instances in the future when it will seem like I do. But I want you to understand that this is not the case." He looked hard at her, conveying the truth of his statement, making her understand.
"I guess I took you for granted, because I thought you would always be there; because of the person you are: truthful, loyal and kind."
He did not wait for her to say something as well, but turned in the direction of scenery of London at night and then pointed a finger to the sky in the direction of St. Paul's Cathedral.
"See that?"
Molly had to take a step towards him to follow the line of this finger. But she knew instantly he meant the small twinkling object in the night sky. Hence she answered quizzically, not knowing where this was leading to, "That's the polestar."
He nodded and dropped his hand again. "Yes. Despite popular misconception, I know a little bit about astronomy. I know that this is the polar star, which is used to navigate, because it's a constant, always there, helping you finding your way back. And this is what you are to me, Molly Hooper, my constant."
Molly could not believe her ears. The power to speak had deserted her and so all she could do was turn her head slowly towards the man standing beside her, fearing he would disappear the moment she would lay eyes on him. She was afraid this was all a dream.

But when she looked at him he did not turn to dust or combust. He was looking at her intently, judging her reaction to his words. She could barely stand his mesmerizing gaze and all the emotions swirling in his eyes made her dizzy. His gaze flickered towards her mouth and back to her eyes. Molly's heartbeat was drumming so loud in her ears that she almost did not hear his low voice, "Forgive me."
She scanned his face for any sign of deception, but she did find none.
There was an unspoken yes in her eyes, and that was all that it took for Sherlock to descend his lips on hers. He kissed her gently and purposefully while snaking his hand around her waist to draw her closer. Surprised by his actions Molly went stiff at first, but recovered rather quickly and kissed him back with all her pent-up emotions.

So while the wind changed once again, the consulting detective and his pathologist were kissing on the roof of 17 Cherry Tree Lane. And when they finally drew apart for breath, Molly could not keep the silly smile off her face, because she knew Sherlock Holmes was far from being practically perfect, but he was hers.

Epilogue to follow...