She had forgotten the scent of the air; she longed to be able to bottle it for future retrieval. Molly was wandering in the garden, smelling the sweet air. It was her favorite time of the day, & Italy's warmth played softly on her skin. She was smiling to herself, recalling her journey to this point. Full of uncertainty she had been. Trepidation, fear, shyness, & loneliness permeated her existence. Molly had convinced herself that she had been happy in her isolation. She loved her books, but they hardly were ample company. Somehow, though she continued to wonder at it, Sherlock Holmes had fallen in love with her & now they were to be married in a couple of days. Married. How inconceivably wonderful.

Her hand brushed lightly over the blooms, & she smelled something rather stale amongst the sweetness. A cigarette. Either Sherlock or Mycroft were in the garden. Perhaps both.

She spotted her fiancée sitting at the table she would perch at & read. He had put out his smoke, but was drinking a honey colored liquid.

"Enjoy your tour of the garden?" He asked.

"Yes. It is so beautiful."

He smiled at her. "As are you."

Molly blushed. "You don't need to say such things."

"I know I don't need to, Molly. But this is hardly my area. I'm...practicing for a lifetime of making you feel beautiful. When I met you, your self image was dreadfully low."

She stared at him. He hardly ever said such things. "My self image?"

"Yes. How you view yourself?"

"I know what my self image is. But...what do you know about it?"

Sherlock sighed. "Molly, it is both my gift & my job to observe things. To put together puzzles at alarming speed. Why wouldn't I notice that? Especially in the woman whom I love."

"But...you didn't love me then. And, you're awfully daft about some things. Consider Mycroft..."

"Why would I consider Mycroft? He's exhausting in every respect."

"He's not! And he's your brother, yet you hardly know him..." Her voice trailed off. She thought perhaps that last bit might upset him.

It hadn't. "I know him. I know him, Molly. Truth is, is...& if you ever repeat this, I'll deny I said it, emphatically...Mycroft is smarter than I am. He's smarter, he knows it, I know it. I am forever second guessing myself when it comes to him - he's sexual orientation is an excellent example - & more often than not, I'm wrong about him. You noticed how quickly I recovered from that error? It was because I wasn't surprised at it. He's the only person alive that renders me thus. And only recently has he shed some of his smugness regarding it. And I believe I've always loved you."

Molly had been rapt at his speech, but the last bit took her off guard. "Sorry? What was that?"

He smiled. "I was, as you say, too daft to see. But I've always loved you, Molly Hooper. And I'm grateful you waited for me."

Her eyes betrayed a tear. She stood & went to him, sat on his lap, & ran her fingers through his hair. They kissed in the garden, at the table she had sat at when he had first declared himself to her.

Tomorrow her & Mary would select a dress. The next day, her & Sherlock would be married. Oh, lovely lovely Italy.