"You and John should have a Christmas party."

Sherlock and John both looked at Mary. "Sherlock doesn't care for Christmas," said John.

Sherlock glared at him. He was not about to dismiss any idea if it could help him. "Explain."

Mary tapped her fingers on the pub table, thinking. "Well, next time you are at the hospital and in Molly's presence, you invite her to this Christmas party you and John are having. You can say John wants to introduce his new girlfriend, namely me, to his friends."

Sherlock chewed on his lower lip. "What if she asks to bring Strange?"

Mary pondered a moment. "You can say it is just close friends. After all, she has not been seeing him long, has she? Anyway, if she doesn't ask if he can come along, that may mean things are casual between them."

"So, maybe she's not sleeping with him after all?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "What's with the big deal if she is? Perhaps she's just lonely and her heart isn't involved."

Sherlock curled his hands into fists. Why was sex such a casual thing these days? If he were to indulge in such an intimate activity, and that was a big if, he would have to be damned sure that his heart was involved, and that he planned on having a future, preferably a permanent one, with Molly. He caught himself at these thoughts. Since when had jealousy transformed itself into thinking of a permanent future with her? Since when had he ever thought about sex as something he might possibly have an interest in as well? It was most discombobulating. Was he interested in the idea of a sexual relationship at some point with Molly?

He blinked as John's voice brought him back to reality. "Mary, he's gone into buffering mode. You really shouldn't say such things to such an innocent like him."

Sherlock scowled at his friend. Did he really have to make fun of Sherlock's lack of practical experience?

John's next words mitigated his annoyance somewhat. "Sherlock, I don't know for sure, but I don't reckon Molly is the type of woman to indulge in casual sex, anyway."

"She wears a cherry cardigan, sometimes," Sherlock blurted out.

John looked at him quizzically. "Have you lost your mind, mate? What does wearing a cherry cardigan have to do with sex?"

"John," Mary said in a low voice, "cherries are sometimes considered a symbol of virginity - you know the saying of a man popping a-"

John's cleared his throat loudly to prevent Mary from continuing. "I get it, no need to explain further. Not sure if it would apply to Molly or not, none of my business that."

"Anyway, to continue," said Mary, looking from one man to the other. "You should probably invite a couple other people so that Molly doesn't feel singled out."

"Mrs. Hudson," said Sherlock promptly.

John nodded. "And Lestrade."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "I wouldn't expect Gavin to accept the invitation. He told me he's planning to spend Christmas with his parents in Dorset. He and his wife are on the outs again. Of course, it might help his marriage if she would end her affair with her personal trainer, the P.E. teacher. Compulsive cheater, that one."

"Anyone else?" asked Mary, ignoring Sherlock's observation about Greg's cheating wife.

Sherlock shrugged. "That's pretty much the extent of my social circle."

"And there's no point in inviting Harry, seeing as you and I are going to see her day after Christmas for a few days," John added to Mary.

Mary nodded and turned her eyes on Sherlock. "That will have to do, then. When are you going to the hospital again? Christmas is less than two weeks away."

"I suppose I could find some pretext or other to go tomorrow, perhaps say I inadvertently left something behind today."

"We have a plan," said Mary with a conspiratorial wink.

"Alright," said Sherlock, draining his beer and standing. "I'm ready to leave."

He didn't miss the way John and Mary rolled their eyes at one another, but they dutifully finished their own beverages and stood as well.

That night, Sherlock lay in bed and let his mind palace take over. He had a lot to think about.

What were his true intentions towards Molly? How deep did his feelings of jealousy run, and therefore his own attraction for her? Was he prepared to embark on a romantic relationship with her, should she desire it? What was it about Molly that he found so appealing, anyway?

He made a mental list of Molly's good qualities. She was loyal to a fault. She was naturally optimistic. She had a sweet smile, and a dimple appeared in her cheek when she was happy, which was more often than not. She had really beautiful chocolate brown eyes. She didn't try to be someone she was not with fancy clothes and makeup. She was very intelligent. Her work ethic was faultless. He even thought it sweet when she stammered a little and looked shy.

What are her bad points? He thought about that for a while. The only thing he could think of was that she trusted too easily, as she had done with "Jim". And really, that wasn't a character flaw, it was something that highlighted her own honesty.

Conclusion of Molly's good and bad points? If anything, she was too good for him. But that wasn't the point. She made him want to be a better man, to live up to her expectations.

Another question - was he falling in love with her, or was he already there?

This was a little harder to define. Love was a feeling, and Sherlock wasn't good with positive feelings. Love had always been an enigma to him, something that happened to other people, not him. How did people in love act? He thought about John and Mary. They spent a lot of time talking, some time kissing. Presumably they were sleeping together, judging by how often John stayed over at Marys, and the couple times she had stayed overnight at Baker Street.

Do I want to kiss Molly? He remembered how annoyed he had been when he had seen Stephen Strange kissing her cheek. Molly's cheek did look very soft, and he was intrigued at the thought of perhaps kissing that little dimple of hers. But kissing on the mouth? He thought of Molly's lips. Soft, an inviting curve to them. Would they be warm and responsive? Yes, he decided, that was something he'd like to experience with her. As for what lay beyond kissing; that was something he was definitely not ready for, at least not yet, one step at a time. With those final thoughts, Sherlock eased himself out of his mind palace, focussed on his breathing, slow and deep, and finality fell asleep.

In the morning, Sherlock suddenly realised that it was Saturday. From the way Molly had spoken to Strange the day before, she wouldn't be at work. It would have to wait till Monday.

He was out-of-sorts all weekend, feeling a mixture of dread and anticipation about Monday,

Not surprisingly, John noticed his agitation. "Settle down, mate, you're gonna wear a hole in the floor with all that pacing," he commented, when Sherlock found himself walking about the sitting room for the umpteenth time.

Sherlock glared and paced some more.

Finally, the weekend was over, and Sherlock went to the hospital, heading directly for the lab, hoping Molly was there rather than in the middle of a post-mortem. He also hoped that Strange was not monopolising her time.

He was in luck. Molly was alone in the lab, doing some reorganising of supplies. She turned when she heard him enter, looking surprised.

"What are you doing here again so soon?"

"I was uh, I thought I might have left something here on Friday, some of my notes."

He walked over to his microscope and let out a sound of triumph, making sure Molly was not looking when he took a piece of notepaper from his pocket with writing on it. "There it is!"

She looked back at him. "Where did you find that?"

"Next to my microscope."

"But I cleaned the area around it and didn't see anything." She stopped suddenly and shrugged. "Glad you found it."

"Oh, Molly," he kept his tone casual, "seeing as I am here, John wanted me to invite you to the little Christmas party we are having on Christmas Day at seven in the evening."

She licked her lips, seeming suddenly nervous. "I don't know, Sherlock."

"Mrs. Hudson will be there," he offered. "Lestrade was invited, but he's off to Dorset for Christmas. Anyway, John wants to introduce his girlfriend, Mary, before they head off to see his sister the next day and leave me all alone. I suppose that means I'll have to clean up the Christmas decorations by myself. Christmas isn't really my thing, but John is my flatmate and all, so I suppose I have to let him have his way on things once in a while."

Molly hesitated. "Well, I can't promise, but I'll try to make it."

Sherlock nodded, "Fair enough." He was rather pleased. She had said nothing about Strange, and he was not about to give her an opening to ask if he could come. "Well, must be going. Just wanted to pick up," he brandished the piece of paper, "this." He began walking towards the door.

"Alright. Thanks, Sherlock, for the invitation I mean."

He paused at the doorway. "You're welcome."

Sherlock deliberately avoided the hospital after that, He did not want to give Molly an opportunity to ask if she could bring her friend, boyfriend? Lover? along, and he did not receive a definitive answer on whether she was coming.

The evening of Christmas Day arrived. Mrs. Hudson, knowing she would be upstairs, had written a note and put it on the outer door for guests, namely Molly, to come up. Greg was there, after all. He had delayed his departure to Dorset, having apparently patched things up with his wife.

Sherlock, feeling nervous and realising Molly was running late, if she were even coming, played "We wish you a Merry Christmas" on his violin, much to the delight of Mrs. Hudson.

He was just replacing his violin in its case when he heard a sound and looked up to see that Molly had come. She was holding two gift bags, obviously holding presents. He hadn't said anything about presents and wondered why she had brought them. She was also wearing more makeup than usual, including a rather vibrant shade of red lipstick, and her hair was done in a way he had never seen before. Enormous gold hoops hung from her ears. He hadn't seen her wearing anything more than studs. In fact, more often than not, she didn't wear earrings at all. She had made an effort. He quickly looked away to disguise his interest.

"Holy Mary," Sherlock heard from John, and he looked up again to catch a rather stupefied, and was it admiring? glance from Graham. He swallowed at the sight that met his eyes. Molly never wore dresses. But oh, this one hugged her figure in a very nice manner that made his heart begin to hammer in his chest. For God's sake, she had breasts, not large ones, mind you, but her proportions were very pleasing to the eye, well, his eyes. He looked away again quickly, telling his heart to stop its rapid beat.

He pretended to be absorbed in looking at John's blog and waited for his heart to slow down as John introduced her to Mary. Then he listened with half an ear to Molly's conversation, first to Mrs. Hudson, where he felt he needed to interject that Molly should not make jokes. Her next comment to Greg merited a snide remark about the continuing affair of his wife with that P.E. teacher. Her next comment to John, saying that Sherlock had been complaining about him going to see his sister had Sherlock glancing up at her and frowning, at which she amended her word to "saying".

That was when Sherlock saw the perfectly wrapped gift at the top of the one bag she had been carrying. She hadn't come to join them, after all. She hadn't come in, trying to impress him. She was obviously stopping in for a short time, then heading off to see Strange. His heart plummeted, and the jealousy returned to bite him on the arse. He'd been such a fool to hope that she might actually still want him after the way he had brushed her off in the past. What the hell was he thinking?

Without knowing what he was doing, he stood and, in a fit of spite, made a handful of rude deductions about Molly, designed to hurt her as she was hurting him. As he finished his diatribe, casting aspersions on the size of her mouth and breasts, he lifted the red present and flicked over the tag, expecting to see some mushy love mote to Strange.

With a sense of horror, he realised his mistake.

Dearest Sherlock,

Love Molly XXX

Even as he registered the words and the fact the gift was for him, he heard the profound hurt in Molly's voice as she looked at him with trembling lips and tear-filled eyes. She licked her lips. "You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always, always." Perversely, the dimple flashed in her cheek as she tried not to cry, and he knew she was right.

He was horrible, a complete and utter arse. How on earth could he make it up to her after this? There was only one way he could think of to try. He, who never said sorry, needed to say it sincerely, and he needed to humbly beg her forgiveness.

As everyone stared in stupefied silence at his completely obnoxious behaviour, Sherlock looked directly at her. "I am sorry. Forgive me." He paused. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

Then he did something he had never done before. He bent forward and kissed that impossibly soft cheek.

She looked surprised, then bit her lip. "I...I think I should just go."

He touched her arm. "Please don't let my boorish behaviour ruin your night. Come, talk to Mary. She's a nurse at Bart's."

"Yes, I am," piped up Mary helpfully, patting the vacant spot beside her.

Molly spared Sherlock one last glance, blinking several times, and he knew she was trying to compose herself, before going to take the seat indicated.

Sherlock was relieved. She had stayed. He shot a grateful glance at Mary and mouthed, "Thank you". She in turn gave him a smile and thumbs up behind Molly's back as she sat.

Sherlock didn't bother carrying on a conversation with anyone, let alone Molly. He sat at the table and pretended to look at John's blog on his laptop. He had too much to think about, and he needed to see that Molly remained later, when Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade left.

To Sherlock's relief, the party wasn't really a long one. At nine o'clock, Lestrade stood to leave. "Early start tomorrow, so I had better get going." Sherlock restrained himself from saying he hoped Lestrade wouldn't come home to a nasty surprise again as he had done before. Lestrade had confided the details to Sherlock about his wife's personal trainer (and lover) by night, P.E teacher by day, only a month earlier.

Lestrade's exit seemed to be Mrs. Hudson's cue. She too stood to leave. "I think I had best go downstairs and have one of my herbal soothers before bed. My hip is being rather troublesome tonight." As if to demonstrate, she limped slightly as she headed towards the door, but Sherlock caught a sly expression on her face when she gave him a parting glance. Did she suspect his mouthing off earlier had been a result of jealousy?

After that, Mary spoke up. "John, come back to my place, will you? Then we can just go to Harry's from there tomorrow." She winked at Sherlock.

Molly, who had just popped to the loo, reappeared at that point. "Oh, is everyone leaving?" she asked, seeing John helping Mary on with her coat, and the absence of Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. "I guess I should leave too."

Mary shot her a look. "I think you and Sherlock need to have a proper chat without all of us around. You should stay." Then she looked at Sherlock. "Isn't that right, Sherlock? Don't you have some more apologising to do?"

"Er, yes indeed," answered Sherlock, feeling slightly embarrassed at Mary's very obvious attempt at matchmaking. He wondered if Molly had any inkling of it. He looked at Molly. "I do need to speak with you further, Molly. Will you stay?"

Molly nodded her assent.

"Alright then," said John, putting on his own coat. "We're off. Merry Christmas, you two,"

"Merry Christmas," Molly murmured as Sherlock echoed the sentiment. He rather liked the way John had said "you two", as if he and Molly were already a couple.

He watched the couple leave, then went over to sit on the sofa.

Molly was still standing, and seemed a little uncertain of what to do or where to look. "Sit with me?" he invited, gesturing at the place she had been sitting earlier.

She sat on the edge, as if ready to flee, and folded her hands in her lap, licking her lips nervously. "You wanted to talk to me?"

He cleared his throat. Now he was nervous too. He angled himself so he could see her again. "Yes. I wanted to apologise again for my behaviour earlier. You didn't deserve it."

She gave a little shrug. "I know you, Sherlock, and I'm over it. You say things without thinking. It was just embarrassing to have you say those things in front of other people." She looked at her hands.

Tentatively, he reached a hand out to place it over her clasped ones, and she looked up in surprise. He'd never touched her before, well, except for the kiss on the cheek earlier, or for an occasional brush of hands if they were both reaching for something in the lab at the same time.

"Molly," he said, looking at her seriously, "What is the status of your relationship with Stephen Strange?"

She coloured slightly and looked down again. "There's no relationship, really, not a romantic one."

He furrowed his brow slightly. "But I saw him kiss you at The Fox."

Her eyes lifted to meet his, a question in their depths that she voiced. "What on earth were you doing at The Fox?"

This time it was his turn to flush. "I was concerned about you. I didn't want you to get hurt. It certainly looked like a romantic relationship from where I was sitting."

"Sherlock, that is the only kiss we shared, and it was because he won a game of darts and claimed a kiss as a prize. That was when I realised I didn't really like him in a romantic way. I didn't feel anything when he kissed me."

He had to be sure. "So, when you left the pub together, you weren't going to his place or he to yours to sleep together?"

She stared at him in undisguised astonishment. "Of course not! I've never," colour rose in her cheeks again, "been close enough with a man to want to share something so intimate. I wasn't raised that way to treat the idea of having sex as something casual. To me, it is something special that should be saved for a person when you know they are the right one, not when you are still trying to figure it out." She paused, seeming embarrassed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Intriguing. Please continue your train of thought."

"Are you really interested in knowing what I think?"

"Of course I am. I would not have asked otherwise." His hand pressed gently, reassuringly, on hers.

She blew out a long breath. "Alright then, you asked for it. I've seen the way so many women sleep with their boyfriends, and it forms an emotional connection. Then, I've often seen the way those same boyfriends have used them for sexual gratification and left them without a backward glance when they got bored. Sex is the last thing a person should be thinking about, when they are trying to get to know whether they are compatible or not."

"How so?" He kept his voice encouraging. This was a really fascinating thing to hear, and her words resonated with his own feelings.

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then continued. "I know a lot of people try to say sexual compatibility is an important aspect to a relationship, but I disagree. The way a person thinks and emotional compatibility are more important, as far as I'm concerned. Sexual intimacy can be learned together and improved upon, once you know you are with the right person. Just like anything else, the longer you get to share it with that special someone, the better it will be. Practice makes perfect, as they say." She flushed suddenly. "Oh gosh, did I really just go on and on about that with you? I am so sorry, Sherlock. I don't want to sound like I am the expert on this; it's just the way I feel. I don't expect everyone to feel the same. Im fact, I'm pretty sure I'm in the minority."

He felt relief wash over him. He liked the way she had been honest with him. It was exactly what he would have expected of her. "As it happens, Molly, we are in agreement on this. I've often wondered if I was the only person who thought that sex and love, if it really exists, should be part of the same thing. That's why sex never interested me, because I didn't feel love. So uh, given what you've just said to me, am I to understand that you've never-" He knew it was an odd conversation for them to be having, and perhaps inappropriate too, but he wanted to be up front about things. He wanted this potential relationship to have a chance to blossom and flourish.

"Never," she said, shaking her head. "And you? Just to make it clear?"

Knowing she was a virgin as well made it easy to make his own confession. He shook his head as well. "Never for me either."

She gave him a little smile. "How on earth did we get round to the topic of sex anyway?"

"It was my fault. I just wanted to be clear on where things stood with you and Strange."

"Why?" Her voice was timid, perhaps a little hopeful.

He took a deep breath. "Because when I saw him kiss you at the pub, I wanted to throttle him. Because I thought your affections were well and truly engaged with him. Then, when you came here all dressed up tonight and I saw that gift right at the top of the bag, I thought you were going to see him afterwards, and I was pissed off. And then I saw the card that had my name, not his." He paused, then his other hand curled so that hers were encircled by both of his. "I need to know, did you dress up tonight for my benefit?"

She looked at him unblinkingly then. "Yes." The word was barely above a whisper.

"Do you still have a crush on me, Molly Hooper?"

"No." Her tone was firm, and he wondered if he'd missed something, until she spoke again. "Sherlock, what I feel for you now is not a crush. Yes, it was, in the beginning, when I was in awe of you. But I know you now, I know the man you truly are, and I know I could be the best thing that has ever happened to you, if you'd allow it." There was a question in her eyes as she looked at him, almost as if daring him to take a chance on her.

"And if I said I'd allow it, what would you do?" He hardly dared to breathe, inching his face ever so slightly closer.

Her smile was tentative. "I'd ask you to kiss me, and kiss me like you mean it." Her own head moved slightly towards his.

"Like this?" he murmured and closed the distance between them to press his lips to hers, to feel what he had longed for, for the first time. His eyes closed even as he saw hers drifting shut as well. It was curious how closing the eyes heightened sensation.

She gave a little sigh and pulled her hands from his grasp so she could bring him closer, winding her arms around his neck.

Her lips were honeyed nectar, the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He moved to kiss the satin of her cheeks, as his hands rested lightly on her shoulders, and he felt the bare skin, covered only by thin straps. Her shoulders were as smooth as her cheeks, and he could feel the way her chest was rising and falling against his. Good Lord, but she was beautiful. Then his mouth found hers again, and he kissed her more insistently, feeling awe at the sensations she provoked in him. It was completely intoxicating.

They finally pulled apart, both rather breathless. His hands moved to slide down her bare arms, and he felt her quiver at his touch. "Better than the kiss you got from Strange?" he couldn't help asking.

"Infinitely."

"Do I need to let him know you're with me now?"

She giggled. "No. After that night at The Fox, when he took me home, I told him kindly that it wasn't working for me. I confessed I had feelings for someone else, and it wouldn't be right to keep pursuing our relationship. He guessed it was you." Then she flashed a grin at him. "I was also getting a bit bored with all the talking of how great he was as a neurosurgeon. After you suggested he might be showing off a little, I started really paying attention, and it got really annoying. He never once asked me how my day had gone. All he did was brag about this operation or that, where he had saved someone's life, how he had a one hundred percent success rate."

Sherlock was in a generous mood. He could give the man his due credit. After all, Strange had been the winner of one battle but the loser in the war to win Molly. Sherlock's prior claim on Molly's heart had brought him the ultimate victory. "Even I can't claim I have solved every case. That's pretty impressive."

Molly pursed her lips. "Not as impressive when you speak to other people at the hospital and find out he doesn't do surgeries where the possibility of success is almost zero."

He slid his hands back up her arms to caress the column of her throat with his thumbs, and she inhaled sharply. "I think we need to forget about Strange and explore this kissing thing some more. What do you say?" he asked.

"Give me just one second." She surprised him then by getting off the sofa and then perching herself on his lap. "I've always wanted to do that," she said, and this time, her hands went to thread themselves in his hair, as she pressed herself closer and brushed her lips against his again.

Oh, he could definitely get used to this. He loved the feel of her body against his.

A curious, unfamiliar sensation flooded his body. Heat stirred in his veins. It was exciting, yet dangerous. With great reluctance, he dragged his mouth away from the invitation of her lips.

She pouted. "Why did you stop? I was thoroughly enjoying your kisses."

His lips quirked slightly. "Because I am discovering I am a man, like anyone else, and I do not wish to rush things between us. I want you to be able to wear that cherry cardigan of yours for a while yet."

Her brows drew together. "What does my cherry cardigan have to do with anything? Don't you like it? It's always been one of my favourites. I've had some odd looks at times though when I've been wearing it, and I don't know why. Maybe people don't like the idea of fruit on clothing?"

"It's remarkable that you instinctively gravitated towards something that proclaimed you to be what you are." His hand came up to cup her cheek tenderly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Cherries have a sexual connotation, Molly. They are supposedly a sign of virginity, which, as it happens, is completely appropriate for you."

She blinked. "Oh." She thought a moment, "So when you are saying you'd like me to wear my cherry cardigan a little longer, you are saying you don't want to take my virginity?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I wouldn't want to take yours either." The dimple appeared in her cheek as she added, "At least not yet. If things work out for us, I think that would be a wonderful gift to share with one another on a certain special night."

He understood what she was implying, and strangely, the thought did not seem unappealing. He had a strong feeling he'd quite like to wake up every morning with her beside him. Suddenly he had a vision of Molly and himself in a different place, a home of their own, wearing wedding rings and playing with two little girls who looked like Molly, although the older one definitely had his eyes. With the baby, it was too soon to tell.

"I have a very good feeling that things will indeed work out for us," he said, "and by the way, I love you, Molly Hooper." The sentiment fell naturally from his lips, as if he had always known it. Perhaps he had. It had just taken him a while to realise it.

She gave a happy sigh and rested her head against his chest, where he knew she could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat. "I love you too, Sherlock."

Then she turned her head to look up at him. "I do have one question. It's about that day, when you came into the lab and said you thought you had left some notes behind. There weren't any notes, were there? I was sure I had thoroughly cleaned the area around your microscope."

His arms tightened around her waist. "I confess, it was a ploy so I could invite you to this Christmas party to determine how serious your relationship with Strange was."

"I knew it!" Her tone was exultant. "I just didn't know why you would lie about something so trivial."

"I humbly apologise for my deception. It was the best idea I could come up with on short notice, and I wanted to know if there was still a chance for me, or if it was too late for us. Are you going to punish me for lying to you?"

She trailed a hand along his jaw. "I think It's a forgivable offence. But I must insist on more kisses as penance."

"I definitely think that can be arranged." He kissed her again, but didn't prolong it too much. They had all the time in the world to explore these feelings, and he was going to savour every moment of it.

She seemed to understand, resting her head once again against his chest.

He smiled in contentment, feeling Molly's warm body against his. It had turned out to be a very nice Christmas, the best, in fact.

Author's note: And there we will leave them, anticipating what we know will be a happily ever after.

My regular readers will be aware that the sudden vision Sherlock has is because this dream takes place after he and Molly have their first two children, a daughter with his eyes and another daughter who is just like Molly. And yes, they are living in a home of their own, while Baker Street remains his consulting rooms. You can check on my profile to see more if you are not familiar with my timeline.

Anyway, this dream story has been in the back of my mind for several months. I knew exactly when I wanted it to happen in my real timeline, and that it was to be a dream that used the Christmas party so Sherlock could have an actual person in mind of whom to be jealous.

Obviously, I played with the timeline, adding in Mary earlier than in canon, and eliminated that horrible text from Irene that disrupted what could have been a very sweet scene between Sherlock and Molly, I hope you enjoyed this alternate version of events.

Your reviews are much appreciated.