A/N: OK, here it is, the final chapter. I can't believe I've actually finished this, but yup, this is it. Oh, and it's very much rated M. Thank you once again everyone for reading, for following, for your lovely reviews and encouragement - thank you! An additional thank you to my wonderful beta, moonmama, for sticking with me for this story - it's been over a year, can you believe it? (Heh, I'm sure you can considering how long I went between some chapters, sorry!)

Two Weeks Later

She slipped quietly into his bedroom, although he was awake and aware of her presence from the moment she padded on bare feet down the short hall that led to his en suite, to the pause where she'd hesitated, uncertain, just outside his room, to now, as she closed the door softly behind her.

She remained there, back to him in the darkness of the room, but he could read her continuing hesitation, how she was wrestling with herself, even with only the pale moonlight ghosting her outline with the lightest rimming of silver.

He waited for her to approach, heart thundering in his chest although he managed to keep his breathing deep and even, never removing his eyes from her dark silhouette, waiting. Waiting for her to make up her mind.

Just as he'd been waiting for this moment for the past two weeks.

After their rather intense conversation the day of her return to London – a conversation culminating in a pair of unexpected but very welcome kisses – he'd estimated a month, four weeks before she made the decision to take things to the next level. He'd tried to make it very clear that they would do things on her schedule, at her pace, and was pleased that she'd made up her mind so quickly. A bit too quickly, some might say, considering that he'd only just confessed to having an emotional attachment to her beyond friendship, but he and Molly had known each other for several years, had been through a great deal both together and apart, and were neither one of them what anyone could remotely consider 'ordinary'. He knew he was ready to take the next step in their as-yet undefined relationship, just as he was ready to not take that step if it wasn't something she was ready for.

Molly Hooper loved him, and that was a gift he'd never, ever expected to be worthy of. And he wasn't worthy of it, never would believe himself to be; no matter what words had passed between them since her return to London, he still couldn't find it in himself to believe he could ever be the man she needed him to be – the man she believed him to be.

But for her…as he'd said, he would try. Even though he still couldn't – quite – bring himself to say the word to her, the word he'd always held in such contempt; even though Mycroft had advised him more than once that caring is not an advantage…It wasn't always a disadvantage. Nor was it unwelcome in the heart he'd finally, grudgingly begun to admit he had. The heart James Moriarty had once threatened to burn out of him.

He was welcome to try, should he ever show his face again. He'd vanished after Mycroft had taken care of Irene Adler – the woman was now in some sort of witness protection plan, he understood – and although Sherlock knew it was only a matter of time before his adversary reappeared, for now he had no desire to tackle him. Certainly not until he and Molly had come to some sort of agreement, if that was the right word, about the nature of their burgeoning relationship. She knew Moriarty was still out there, was still an enemy to be reckoned with, but she was so strong it never even occurred to Sherlock to try and distance himself from her for the sake of her potential future safety.

If Moriarty came after him, he'd have Molly to deal with – and Sherlock wasn't entirely convinced the criminal mastermind wouldn't come out the worse for the encounter.

He put the other man from his mind, dismissing the worries of the future in order to concentrate more fully on the potentials of the now. Molly was in his room, making up her mind which next step she was going to take – either back into the hall and up to her own room, or over to the bed to join him. He would respect that decision, whichever one she made, the way his counterpart never would have even considered doing. She had to be the one to approach him, to join him in his bed and initiate everything that might or might not follow.

And so he waited, breathing quietly in the darkness. Whatever happened next would be her choice, even if he was the one who'd never had sex before. Hmm, perhaps he should have let her know about his inexperience; would it put her off? No, of course not, why should it? If anything her being the more experienced of the two of them should be a benefit, another way to highlight the difference between himself and 'Holmes'. And, more importantly, another way for her to understand how willing he was to cede control of this encounter to her.

As he heard a quiet 'click' signifying that the lock on his door had been engaged he found himself suddenly holding his breath. He released it only when Molly finally turned to face him, studying what little she could see of him in the darkness, just as he continued to study her. She was wearing his dressing gown, the royal blue one he'd loaned her when she first arrived, wrapped loosely around her thin frame and shimmering in the moonlight flowing through his uncurtained window as she slowly but surely moved toward him.

"You're not asleep," she said, although tentatively, half a question and half an assertion.

"No," he agreed, sitting up and allowing the covers to fall to his waist so she could see that he was shirtless. "I'm not." He lifted up the edge of the covers as she came to a stop only a few feet away and moved closer to the center of the bed, knowing she needed at least that much in the way of encouragement from him.

She slid in next to him, but not before the dressing gown dropped to the floor in a whisper of satin, puddling in the spill of moonlight on his hardwood floor. She wore nothing underneath it; Molly was all alabaster and dark shadows in the bleaching glow of the moonlight, like some sprite or fairy, a visitor from another world.

He ignored the jeering sound of his own voice in the back of his mind, taunting him for such fanciful thoughts. Of course she was a being from another world; she'd just spent a year on the lowest plane of Hell and it was up to him to prove to her, once and for all, that it was behind her – to prove that he wasn't his other self, and to allow her to prove to herself that she truly meant it when she said she saw nothing of Holmes in him.

When she continued to hesitate, he carefully lifted his arm and rested it on her shoulders; they'd been casually touching like this ever since those first, tender kisses, and he instantly felt her relax as she nestled closer to him. She tilted her head up but he waited for her hand on his shoulder before leaning down to kiss her, a soft kiss that led to another and another until quite suddenly she pulled back to study him.

He smiled and lightly stroked her shoulder, trying to be as encouraging and open with his body language as possible. He was determined to do nothing to make her think of his other self, the one who'd forced her to have sex with him over and over again, who'd eventually coerced her into initiating sex herself in some kind of sick game of 'like for like' – her cooperation for what little freedoms he deigned to allow her. With that in mind, he waited for her to make the next move, being sure to do nothing that could be misconstrued as coercion or restraint as he reached out to brush the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

She twined her arms around his neck, stroking the back of his hair – it was still growing out from when he'd chopped it off to match Holmes' more austere style – then finally moved forward to kiss him again. Her mouth sought his with urgency this time, the kiss not so gentle as she teased her tongue along his lips until he opened for her, allowing her tongue to slide against his as he continued to learn the rhythm of kissing Molly.

Kissing he'd done, certainly; before he'd managed to isolate and systematically box up his physical urges at the end of his stint in uni, he'd kissed quite a few people, men and women. Kissing was sometimes called for on cases, kissing and caresses, so he knew all that. He knew the mechanics of the act of sex as well, so he should be able to adequately give Molly what she needed.

That thought reminded him that he hadn't told her exactly how inexperienced he was, and his conscience prodded him to be sure she was in possession of all the facts before proceeding further. "Molly," he said as the kiss ended, keeping his voice low and as close to soothing as he could manage. "There's something you should know; I'm not…this is, I haven't…"

She looked confused for a moment, then her eyes widened and she pulled back a bit. "You mean you've never…this is your first time?" He nodded, but it was clear her reaction wasn't either of the ones he'd predicted (happiness or disappointment); instead, he could see the furrows between her eyes deepening in distress, as well as feel the increased tension in her body. "Sherlock, please tell me...you want this, right? If you're not ready, if you're not sure...

He silenced her with another kiss, pulling her back into his arms but careful not to roll her onto her back. His other self would never allow a woman even the illusion of dominance in the bedroom, would never let himself be the one lying beneath another person no matter how cowed and submissive he believed them to be. "I want this," he reassured her when Molly once again pulled out of the kiss. "I just wanted you to know that it's not something I've done before, that's all. So you don't have any…expectations."

Some of the tension in her body relaxed at that admission, and her expression eased into one of understanding. "It's fine," she said soothingly. "It's all good."

He nearly snorted at her unknowing echo of something John Watson had said to him the first night they went out on a case together, but managed to keep it in. Instead, he said diffidently, "You know I've had…that I've cared for you for quite some time now. And sexual attraction is and always has been a part of that. It's just not something I'm used to allowing, that I've, well locked away for lack of a better term."

"But you do want it now?" Molly asked, with more than a lingering trace of anxiety.

He caught her hands up in his and raised them to his lips, kissing each one on the knuckles before meeting her gaze. "Yes. I do."

That seemed to be exactly what she needed to hear; she smiled and drew his head down for another kiss, this one more urgent as her arms tightened around him, as she pressed herself closer to his body. When it ended her hand grazed his chest, slowly moving downward until it reached the elastic waist of his pyjama bottoms. He nodded at the question in her eyes, lifting his hips so she could pull them down and off his body, leaving them equal in their nudity.

She seemed surprised (but pleased!) when she encountered his erection; clearly she'd expected to have to induce one in him through more...vigorous...ministrations than the kissing and holding that so far made up the entirety of their assignation. He grinned a bit at her reaction. "Well," he said, his voice hoarse but as light as he could manage when so thoroughly aroused, "at least you know I'm not lying about wanting you."

She giggled, a delightful sound and one he hadn't realized he'd missed until hearing it just now. "That makes two of us," she said, then wiggled her body down the bed a bit until her head was even with his midsection.

Her position should have alerted him to what she was about to do, but his inexperience kept him from figuring it out until she lowered her head and began slowly licking his cock, taking it firmly in one hand. He let out a surprised gasp, but nodded when she paused and looked up at him. "Yes, good," he managed, and saw a definite smirk on her lips before they once again pressed against his overheated flesh.

It was, he realized, exactly the way she'd touched him back on the other Earth, in Holmes' bedroom. There was no way it was a coincidence, the universe was rarely so lazy; instead, it had to be another way for her to take back some of the control and power she'd been forced to give up during her temporary exile in Hell. Whatever. With no urgent outside matters to distract him, he found himself unable to focus his thoughts on anything except how unbelievably good her mouth felt on him. Just as good as he remembered.

He groaned, winding his fingers in her hair but being careful, so careful, not to pull or tug or force her to take more of him into her mouth than she was able or willing to do. And when she slowed to a stop, pulling her mouth away with a last flick of her tongue, he stifled another groan, this one of disappointment, and waited as patiently as he could manage for her to make the next move.

"I brought…there's a condom in my – your – dressing gown pocket," she murmured, moving as if to leave the bed and fetch it.

"Not necessary," he said hoarsely. When she stared at him, he clarified, "There's a box in the bedside drawer." He blushed a bit as he added, " I bought them after we kissed. Not because I expected anything more; just to be safe. So you'd know I was thinking about – well, not about physical protection, since obviously you have a birth control implant and neither of us has any STIs, but so you understand that I, I mean we, um…"

"You wanted me to feel…safe? Protected?"

He blinked; how had she managed to parse his intent from that jumbled mess of speech? "You really are absolutely amazing, Molly," he blurted out as he stared at her. "And yes," he added for good measure, wanting to confirm her deduction. "That's…that's exactly it."

Oh, the tables were well and truly turned; how had he turned into such a stammering, blushing mess while she remained so calm and collected? The benefits of sexual experience, he supposed. And emotional experience; he mustn't forget that she was superior to him in both aspects.

Her hands stroking his erection brought him sharply back into the moment. "Thank you," she said, her voice husky. "Thank you for the thought and for the reassurance. But I think…" She drew a deep breath and let it out again before finishing her thought. "I think…we can do without it. As much as you trust me, I trust you, Sherlock."

She kissed him again, then sat back, lifting herself high on her knees as she straddled his supine form. He held his breath as her fingers confidently wrapped around his cock, letting it go in a soft exhalation as she started to lower herself onto him. He knew he should probably have done more to prepare her to receive him, to engage in foreplay or oral sex such as she'd just gifted him with, but that would have to wait for their next encounter. If she'd wanted anything like that she would have asked him for it.

No, that wasn't entirely true; she was still hesitant with him, afraid to ask too much of him even while retaining control of their encounter. Soon they would both learn how best to interact during sex, but not tonight. Tonight he would remain as passive as she needed him to be in order to help her over any lingering worries or fears she had toward him for being the physical twin of the man who had spent so much time attempting to bend her to his will.

With a soft sigh she lowered her body fully onto his. He slipped into her easily; clearly she was as aroused as he was even without any sort of additional stimulation. That was important; he filed it away in the room he'd built exclusively for her in his mind palace, then shut the door on his intellect and gave himself over entirely to sensation. She set the pace and he followed it willingly, raising and lowering his hips beneath her body in a rhythm older than time.

That shutting down of intellect lasted exactly long enough for his fingers to find and trace the mark of his other self's brand on the outside of her left breast. The movements of his hips stilled as he unconsciously tightened his grip. She gave a soft cry of pain, quickly stifled, and stilled her own movements as she seemed to realize what had so rudely jolted him out of the moment.

She'd shown him the mark in her therapist's office, his own initials burnt into the tender flesh of her breast, and the rage he'd felt then rose up in him again. How dare that bastard mark her this way, treat her as if she were a possession rather than a strong, wonderful, loving woman to be cherished?

"I'm glad he's dead, that bastard should never have been allowed to live past adolescence," he said thickly, his fingers lingering on the brand. "Have you spoken to a dermatologist about getting rid of this?"

The voice of John Watson was screaming in his head that this was NOT the time to start a conversation, when his cock was inside the woman he lo…cared deeply for, but he ignored it. Surely it was better that Molly understand exactly how repugnant he found his other self's actions?

Her fingers lightly caressed his face as she leaned down and kissed him, a slow, sensuous dance of tongues and lips. When she pulled up, it was just enough that he could clearly see her eyes, shining in the moonlight. "I'm keeping it," she said, nodding at his look of surprise. "To remind me…never to become that person again, that woman who was so terrified and helpless and weak."

Sherlock couldn't help himself; he pulled her down for a fierce kiss, stopping her words. "Molly Hooper," he said hoarsely, "you have been many things, but you have NEVER been weak. Don't ever believe that of yourself. You are the strongest person I know, bar none. It's one of the many reasons I…" He stuttered to a halt, staring up at her helplessly, wordlessly beseeching her to understand, to read his feelings even though the words still terrified him.

And Molly, who had proven beyond a shadow of doubt tonight how clearly she saw him, did just that. "Hush," she whispered as she kissed him again, soothing him when he was supposed to be the one comforting her. "I know." His fingers lingered on the small oval mark of the brand, and she covered his hand with her own, eventually pulling it away and pressing kisses to his fingertips. He relaxed, cautiously willing to believe that she'd truly come to terms with the scar. Then she moved her hips in a rolling, sliding motion that completely captured his attention; his own hips bucked in response, and they were once again lost in the movements and sensations of their lovemaking.

Release came soon for both of them, his concerns for Molly's ability to find completion laid to rest as she cried out and writhed against him, her back arched and eyes tightly shut as he felt her clenching tightly around his cock. Seconds later, spurred by her uninhibited display of passion, his own orgasm rocked him, a sensation like nothing he'd ever felt before.

But certainly one he would very much like to feel again. As many times as Molly would allow it.

oOo

They lay tangled together afterwards, Molly's head on his chest, his arms around her, holding her close in the aftermath of what he would have to classify as one of the single most exquisite experiences of his life. Not just the physical intimacy, but the sensation of not only giving himself over to another person without pretense or ulterior motives, but allowing the same to be reciprocated by her. Molly had laid bare not only her body, but her soul and heart, and he'd done the same for her.

He still marveled over the fact that at no point since her return had she transferred any of her anger or guilt or fear onto him. He was the obvious focus of those emotions, at least as far as he was concerned. But perhaps, he concluded tentatively, he could finally let go of that belief? Perhaps he could do as she'd been urging him to and relieve himself of the guilt and shame he felt at having let this happen to her?

She murmured in her sleep, then sighed and nestled closer, her cheek rubbing softly against his bare chest, her arm momentarily tightening around his waist. He leaned down and dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head, then closed his eyes and simply held her. Perhaps, he concluded before dropping into sleep, he could actually be the man she thought he was, the good man Lestrade had always claimed he could be.

As long as Molly Hooper believed in him, then anything was possible.

The End

END NOTE: There will be a bonus extra - the original version of this chapter, written months and months ago; I always knew where the story would end up, but once I got there I realized I had to adapt the ending to fit what I'd actually written. But at the behest of nocturnias (to whom this story is dedicated), I've also included the original for anyone interested (and yes, it's still got the smut!)