Molly's eyes filled with tears as she looked at Sherlock and the ring, and how vulnerable he looked at that moment. She fell to her knees as well, and taking his hands in hers, said softly, "There's no one I want to be with more than you, Sherlock. My answer is yes, a thousand times yes. One for every time you thought of me when I was away."

Sherlock started to weep, and Molly pulled him into her arms. When at last they were both calm, Sherlock pulled away from Mollyand held out a hand to her. She put her hand in his, and his fingers placed the ring on her finger.

They both held each other as they sat on the floor in each others arms. Sometimes Molly would kiss Sherlock's forehead, and other times Sherlock would hold her ringed hand and play with her fingers. It took them a long time to dry their eyes, but when they did, it was nearly lunch time and the smell of a pot pie was drifting up the stairs from the kitchen below.

The clock striking noon awoke them from their reverie, and Molly stretched, her back and legs stiff from her position on the floor. Sherlock began to get up, and changed his grip on her hand to help her up.

Molly asked, "Shall I bring lunch up for us, or will we go downstairs?"

He frowned. "I'm not that hungry."

"Well I certainly am. You really ought to eat."

"I guess." He shifted his weight. "I haven't been downstairs in a long time."

"We can eat up wherever you wish."

His lips pursed together as he thought for a minute. "We'll go downstairs. Mrs. Hudson will certainly wish to be informed of our engagement."

Molly squeezed his hand. "She will indeed." She and Sherlock walked to the door, and she led Sherlock down the stairs. He was slow on the stairs, carefully checking to make sure the next step was there, but Molly matched his pace. When they reached the bottom, Molly led Sherlock through the hall, looking for Mrs. Hudson, and found her in the kitchen. She knocked on the doorway and said, "Lunch smells lovely, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson half-turned from where she was at the oven, looking in at the pot pie she had made, and not seeing Sherlock at the door, cried, "Molly dear! Are you going to take lunch upstairs with Sherlock, or down here with me? It's nice and golden-brown. I haven't made one this fine in a while."

"I brought Sherlock down with me."

The elderly woman looked up, and seeing Sherlock standing sheepishly by the door, exclaimed, "Sherlock! You haven't come down in months!" She closed the oven door and ran over to give him a pat on the shoulder. "I must say that Molly's being a rather good influence on you."

Sherlock smirked. "I should say so, she's going to be my wife."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened, and she gave a small shriek. "Sherlock! Oh, I'm so happy for the both of you!" She proceeded to shower them with joy and kisses until Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"Mrs. Hudson, I do believe your pot pie is burning."

"Oh no!" Mrs. Hudson ran back to the oven and took out the pot pie. It was now black in places on the top, but otherwise not that worse for the extra baking time. "Goodness, I was so excited about your engagement that I burned the pie. It's such a shame, this one was almost perfect." With a sigh, she turned and said, "Sherlock, go sit down in the dining room while Molly and I bring out lunch."

He left the room, fingers trailing along the wall, and while Mrs. Hudson moved to put the pot pie into a serving dish, she told Molly, "Now could you please be a dear and get some plates and silverware out of the china cabinet? And some glasses and a pitcher of water would be lovely as well."

Molly did so, and with the plates, cutlery, glasses, and water in tow, she and Mrs. Hudson carried their lunch into the dining room, where Sherlock was waiting. They had a good lunch, despite the top of the pie being a bit burnt. She could notice the difference in Sherlock, how he seemed more like himself, and not the depressed addict she had found living like a hermit in the middle of London. The man to whom she had just become engaged wasn't what others would call happy or joyful, but his wit was returning and he seemed to radiate a contentment that showed the strength of his feelings and a peace that had long deserted him.

Finally, everything seemed to have fallen into place. Molly was back with the people she loved, and in returned, was loved by them.

After lunch, Mrs. Hudson assured them that she'd take care of the lunch dishes and they headed upstairs again. Molly looked around the flat in more detail. A human skull adorned the mantle of the fireplace, and above it was a mirror. Some of the pictures from her portfolio were scattered about the walls. In one corner, there was a table covered in glassware and little bottles of chemicals, but they were dusty from disuse. The furniture was more used than the furniture at Thornfield; the breakfast table in the small flat's kitchen had a deep gouge in it, and the carpet was speckled with burns. Parts of the floor were covered in piles of things; some were stacks of books, others clothes and what looked like costumes, and others were boxes. The whole flat was rather a mess.

"You know, it would be nice to tidy this place up a bit."

He smiled. "I made Mrs. Hudson stop cleaning. It was annoying me."

"Well, if I'm going to to be your wife, then I'll do the cleaning myself."

"I guess I have no other option," he replied with a sigh. "Just don't move anything around. It's taken me long enough to memorize the flat, I don't want to have to learn it all over again." He slouched in his chair as Molly circled the room. She went into the kitchen and found a rag to dust with. She stepped around a stack of books to get to the bookshelves by the fireplace, and started dusting the shelves. With a cursory glance, Molly tried to figure out the pattern the books followed.

As Sherlock heard her shifting the books to dust, he said smugly, "Don't put any of the books back. I have a very specific system in place and I would be very put out if it was organized incorrectly."

Molly talked out loud as she reasoned it out. "It's not obvious like by color, author name, or date published, but there is a pattern." After a few minutes in thought, she cried, "I've got it! Your books are organized by subject matter; each shelf with its own theme, like encyclopedias, case books, and medical books all with their own shelves. Then each shelf is organized by year, then author last name. Am I correct?"

Sherlock laughed. "It took John two weeks to figure out my books. Yes, you have it right. Ask me if you have any questions as to where something should go. Even though I cannot read in my current state, I should like to know where all my books reside."

Over the next several hours, Molly started piling the books on the floor beside her and sorting them by theme. She couldn't resist cracking a few of them open and taking a look inside, even setting a few of the medical ones aside to peruse later. They made conversation, and Sherlock often voiced his opinion as to which shelf the books belonged on. It was nice, and Molly liked looking over the apartment and thinking that she would be staying here for the foreseeable future.

When the stacks of books had been sorted and put in their places, Molly dusted herself off and walked over to Sherlock's chair. "I'm going to write a letter; Diana and Margaret will surely want to know of my engagement."

Sherlock reached out, and when she took his hand, pulled her down to his level to kiss her. "If you absolutely must."

It took sheer strength of will for Molly to not sit down with him and instead pull away. "I need them to send me my books and the rest of my clothes."

"But I want you to stay here with me."

"I'll just be a little while. You can be patient. And besides, they'll be ecstatic when they hear I'm engaged."

"Fine," Sherlock humphed and turned away from her, pouting.

"Fine." If he was going to expect that to work, he would have another thought coming. Molly turned and walked downstairs to get some of the paper and pens she had brought with her. She quickly wrote her letter in her room downstairs.

Diana and Margaret,

I do hope you are both well. I am currently in London, after finding Thornfield abandoned and a ruin. There was a fire a few months ago, and Sherlock was blinded in both eyes. I traced him to his residence in London, and I'm staying with him for the present.

I miss you both terribly, but I am very glad to have found him again.

I'm so happy, I can hardly write without blotching the paper. He still loves me, and I him. I'm pleased to say that we have become engaged.

I would surely appreciate you packing the remainder of my things and sending them to this address, 221B Baker Street in London.

I do hope the two of you are doing well, and please write to me often. Give my best to Jim.

With love,

Molly Eyre

As Molly signed her name, she realized that, although she and Sherlock had not discussed a date for their wedding, or any wedding plans whatsoever, she would surely not be Molly Eyre for much longer.

Molly Holmes had a rather nice ring to it.

She carefully blotted and folded the letter, placing it in an envelope and on her way upstairs, asked Mrs. Hudson where they put their letters to go out, and put her letter with several others in a basket to be mailed. Ascending the stairs, Molly reached the top and opened the door into the flat. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, Molly said, "I'm done now. Care to come out?" as she searched the flat. He wasn't in his chair or the kitchen, and she did not want to pry into the flat, as John lived there as well, but she was starting to wonder when a pair of hands clamped around her eyes.

Molly reacted instinctively. When she was a girl, her cousin John Hooper had tormented her, and one of his favorite tricks was to cover her eyes and not let go. She hated being blind, and she hated feeling like she couldn't escape even more. He would only stop if she jammed her elbows behind her to wind him enough to let her go.

She did the same now without a second thought, slamming her elbows behind her and into the stomach of the person behind her. The person groaned and his hands left her, and only then did she realize that it was just Sherlock. He lay on the ground, his eyes wide more in shock than in pain. "What was that for?"

"I'm sorry, I overreacted." Molly wrapped her arms around herself as Sherlock coughed and got up. "I don't like to be surprised like that. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I just - " He tilted his head to one side. "I just didn't think you had something like that in you."

"I didn't have the happiest of childhoods," she said quietly, looking down. "My cousin John used to push me around, and do that to me, and that was the only way to make him leave me alone."

"You don't need to apologize, Molly. I shouldn't have scared you." He stepped forward and put his arms around her. "I'm actually rather glad that you are capable of defending yourself, to a certain extent. With some training, you should be able to protect yourself adequately."

She put her head on his chest. "I did have a question, though."

"What is it?"

"When will we be married?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Only you would ask something like that after what just happened. I hadn't given it much thought, in all honestly. I want you to be mine, but I don't want a big wedding. I don't have as much money as I had in the past, and frankly I would like a small ceremony than something large and unwieldy."

"I can agree with that. Shall we set a date?"

He thought for a minute. "How about in a week or so? I don't feel the need to wait. You're all that I want."

"Fine with me. Who do you want to invite? It's too far for Diana and Margaret to come,and my other cousins wouldn't care to."

"I only have Mrs. Hudson, John and Mary, Lestrade, and my brother." He sneered. "I suppose, if my brother is inclined to come, that I shouldn't throw him out. As much as I would like to, it would ruin the mood."

"That sounds lovely." Molly just stayed silent for a long time, listening to the beat of their hearts. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, and pressed his lips to her forehead.


At the chiming of the clock at 6, they finally broke apart at the smell of a stew cooking downstairs. "We should go down and eat."

"We just ate! Surely you can't be hungry again."

Molly sighed. "You don't have to eat that much. Besides, we need to notify John and Mary of our impending nuptials."

"I suppose." Sherlock led the way downstairs this time, his fingers locked around Molly's. The voices of Mary and Mrs. Hudson could be heard drifting from the kitchen. As they walked into the dining room, John Watson was already seated at the table, looking over a newspaper. He blinked as he glimpsed Sherlock.

"Sherlock! You haven't come downstairs in a long time."

Sherlock seated himself across from John, pulling out the seat beside him for Molly. "No, I haven't. Such an astute observation, John."

John looked over at Molly. "Is this your doing?"

"Well he needs to eat."

"And besides, we have some news that necessitated our presence downstairs." Sherlock held out his hand underneath the table, and Molly took it.

Carefully folding his newspaper, John asked, "What sort of news is this?"

Molly smiled. "News that should be imparted when we are all gathered."

The women's voices outside grew louder as Mary walked into the dining room and deposited a big pot of stew on the table. "Isn't this lovely? We haven't eaten together for such a long time." She was followed by Mrs. Hudson, who carried a tray with bowls and a pitcher of water.

They dished out bowls of stew, and as Molly blew onto her spoon to cool it, John asked, "And what was this news you spoke of earlier?"

Molly looked at Sherlock, who was picking at his stew. "Do you want to tell them, or shall I?"

"Whatever you like." He seemed nervous, although Molly didn't completely understand why. He had no such qualms about telling Mrs. Hudson.

"The suspense is killing me," Mary said calmly.

"I suppose I shall, then." Molly took a drink of water. "Sherlock and I are engaged."

John looked utterly flabbergasted, but Mary smiled. She inquired, "Have you two set a date?"

"Not as of yet." Molly glanced down at her hand still entwined with Sherlock's. "We haven't really talked about it yet, but we wanted you to know."

At the sound of a glass slamming down on the table, Molly looked up. John's face was a little red. "You mean to tell me you're engaged?" She nodded, but John continued, "Don't you think it's a bit too bloody soon?"

"Soon?"

"You've been here, what, a day? And in that time you've already managed to spend all your waking hours with him and get engaged."

Molly didn't understand. Yes, the time had gone rather quickly, but Sherlock didn't seem hesitant and neither was she. "Your point being."

John huffed. "My point being that up until recently Sherlock has been an utter hermit." Sherlock didn't flinch, his eyes still downcast, but his grip on Molly's hand tightened. "And I'm simply concerned that you might be moving a bit too fast for him. Up until yesterday, he thought you were dead!" Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth like she wanted to speak, but seemed to think better of it.

Sherlock finally spoke. "I won't have you use that tone of voice with Molly. I was the one who proposed to her, and this is what I want. I've dwelt in darkness and shame long enough."

"John, it's their decision, and I for one think that they will be quite happy together," Mary said with a small smile.

"I just don't want them to do something they'll both regret."

"The only thing we regret is the time we lost." Sherlock turned toward Molly. "We were prepared to be married once before, and will again. It will be simpler this time, I daresay." John began to calm down.

Molly found the courage to speak again. "I know you're worried I'll break him, John. But I won't allow that to happen. Never again."

John sighed. "You two have never done anything normal."

With a roll of her eyes, Mary replied, "Dear, it's rather like the pot calling the kettle black."

"I suppose." John put his hand around Mary's, and they both smiled. "Just don't do anything like suddenly deciding to get married."

"Whyever not?" Sherlock smirked.

"Because I intend to be there. I won't miss my best friend's wedding."

"Glad to hear it." They finished the rest of their meal in relative peace.