Molly takes a deep breath and paces as she lines up behind the curtain with a handful of other renowned pathologists across the UK. She honestly does not feel as if she should be grouped in with these people. Yes, she prides herself on her work, and yes, she has done her damned hardest to train new pathologists to do their best and on focusing on research for the last couple of years. However, it all just seems so intimidating, and her social anxiety is kicked up to the maximum at this moment, waiting to be handed an award that she isn't totally confident that she should deserve.

"Maybe this would be easier if I actually had a family cheering me on or something", she thinks to herself then sighs shakily again, wringing her hands, unsure what to do with herself at the moment as she waits for her name to be called. Dear God, how is she supposed to go out there in front of all those people, those brilliantly genius scientific medical people, and tell them all about what she has learned, and she has done over the past couple of years, as if it's supposed to shock them and make them see her as some crazy goddess of the medical pathology field. She doesn't even see herself worthy of this, never mind convincing a whole auditorium full of /them/ that she does!

As her breathing begins to become rapid again, she reminds herself that she is supposed to be calming her nerves, not hyping herself up to the point of a full-blown attack.

"C'mon Molly...you've spoken at conferences before...you've got this. It's just like you're talking to Sherlock about this stuff. It'll be fine. Everything is fine. It's just the bloody RPATH Achievement Awards! Just an illustrious award, it's all fine. Try talking to people about death as they eat dinner. That's practical...", she mutters to herself, taking her notecards out of her pocket for the third time during the wait, and looking them over again. She knows the topic of her research back and forth, as well as what she will be incorporating into the intern curriculum for the following year but knowing her habit of tripping over her words, she reads it over in her head repeatedly.

Trying to calm her nerves, she decides to focus on what the others are saying during their presentations, as, it is all very interesting.

Sherlock makes his way into the very crowded reception hall of the venues, grimacing a bit at just how many people are buzzing around. He suffers through the lines to get his pass and table card and then goes to his assigned spot. He sits, albeit uncomfortably, in his seat at one of the many tables in front, becoming stiff as a statue, which he is prone to doing while out in public to keep up appearances. Not everyone can have the luxury of being his friend and seeing him in dressing gowns and multiple states of dishevelment. As he waits for Molly's turn on stage he fiddles with his phone, checking his emails and notifications. He feels a slight fluttering in his chest and gut, an uneasy feeling equitable to nervousness. That's ridiculous, however, as he isn't the one going on stage.

"Maybe this is what it feels like to really care about someone to the point of empathy. Hm…that's a new one. I always thought empathy was always a farse, a crack in the foundation, a fly in the ointment, A total hoax. Because how can you feel what someone else is truly feeling?", Sherlock ponders, furrowing his brow a bit as his heart hammers away in his chest.

Swallowing thickly, he scrolls through a few more notifications on his phone, opening Instagram. Most of his posts are reels of multiple experiments he has done, funny pictures of John and their other friends like Greg and Mrs. H, and of course lots of Rosie when he's in the mood to take them, and general discussion with strangers about cases. Sometimes it really does help to see the thought process of someone who is much more stupid.

When he clicks on the "like" that had popped up, it just so happens to be a picture from about six months ago of him and Molly in Bart's lab. She was assisting him with an experiment, or maybe he was assisting her, but they both looked quite foolish with their safety goggles and gloves on. The hair on both of them was a bit wild and their brows held a sheen of sweat, as the lab gets quite sticky in the summer months with only a couple fans, but she was smiling, and so was he.

As he remembers that moment, the thing that stands out to him is that his smile that day, at that moment, was completely genuine and unforced; like it usually is with the media or to keep up appearances. He remembers the lighthearted feeling between them that day. It was good. Very good. Very relaxed. Neither of them had to prove anything to the other and it was one of the first times that they had been in complete harmony in each other's presence.

They have passed the barrier of whatever had been holding them hostage from being the best friends that they always should have been, and after everything that had happened in the last handful of years between them, all the heartache, loss, and pain (most of it his fault), the dust had settled, and they just /were/. They were themselves. Purely and unabashedly. He couldn't be more pleased with the way they are now. It's comfortable and dare he say...happy.

Although, as happy and content as he is with their situation now, he can't help but feel that feeling in the pit of his chest, and in his gut every time he is around her. The squeezing of his heart, the knotting of his stomach, metaphorically, of course, is both unpleasant but welcome at the same time. Somehow those feelings also came with an aura of warmth and contentment that he rarely feels in most other situations. He has done countless research on what these feelings may be relative to, but only two things showed up. Nervousness or taking a fancy to someone...romantically.

Now even Sherlock Holmes himself knows that there is nothing to be nervous about when he is with Molly, unless of course he misbehaves, then God help him. So that only leaves one explanation...but...could that be? Could he actually be falling for Molly Hooper?

He thinks back to those words he once said to Ms. Adler all those years ago, that still rings true in his very soul today. "I believe John Watson thinks love is a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive."

"Very destructive", he murmurs to himself as his tablemates that he had not even noticed had sat down around him, look at him funny. Destructive. That takes him back to the whole debacle with Eurus. "Make her say it; …obvious, surely?" Sherlock had reeled at the fact that Molly could love him. After all, how was he the type of man who could be loved, or who could deserve love? Especially from a woman as kind and compassionate and simply wonderful as Molly Hooper? But the moment he saw the lid of the coffin he knew. Something inside him just screamed her name so loud that it rung in his ears until it mingled with the loud thrumming of his heartbeat within the blood rush. Then came the feeling. The same feeling that he feels every time he is with her, but it was twisted and terrified that day. The most horrible sinking feeling, as he held what he believed to be her very life in his hands.

How could he stand by and watch that beautiful spark of life get snuffed out in front of his eyes? The very spark that helps him through all of the trying times in his own life? The spark of life that is unendingly there when he most needs it, whether he realizes it or not? He simply couldn't. He could not stand by and watch anything happen to the one and only woman who truly mattered to him in all the world (aside from his mother, of course).

Molly deserves all the wonders of the Earth and then some. She deserves her happy ending, a full life filled with whatever it is she desires. Sherlock Holmes was not going to be the thorn in her side that ended her life through simple acquaintance or friendship. So he did as he was told. He forced those well-kept and extremely coveted words from her lips, knowing how tightly she clutched them and caged them within her, only to be spoken to whoever truly deserved to hear them. Because she had been scorned and scarred too many times to let them go too loosely anymore, and he knew that. It was not him who deserved to hear those three little words. It never was him. He ripped her heart open and revealed the deepest depths of who she is. Her emotions, her sweetness, her light. All taken in a mere three minutes to save the spark, not just for Molly's own sake and future, but because he selfishly needed her around too. He's always needed her.

Every moment they had ever shared had flashed before his eyes as the timer ticked down to her untimely doom. Then came the silence and the aftermath, followed by the most vivid of flashes of his dear Molly, lifeless and blue in the small wooden coffin, like a grim fairytale (of course Jim had a part in this evil ploy), and his own unsaid words encased in gold upon the top as she was covered and hidden away for the rest of his mortal life. Never to be the twinkle of hope in his dark days again, never to be the encouraging word, the tough love, or the squeeze on the arm that kept him going through his own troubles. She would have been Sherlock's own sleeping beauty, but actually put to death because he never recognized his true love for her.

That's when he realizes. It finally hits him...and his hopelessness and rage emitted heat waves off his skin as he tore apart the coffin. "Your loss would break my heart". Mycroft had spoken those words to him once, in a moment of vulnerability. Could he really have been so cold as to never show her even a single hint that he cared for her so? Or did she just shrug off his moments of vulnerability as he had to his brother's? She never believed his sentiments to be real because he had never proven them so.

Hearing Molly's name snaps him out of his mind palace and he quickly realizes that he had been staring into his dinner plate, which is now cold, with tears falling down his face. Wiping his face quickly, he looks up to focus his gaze on her as she walks across the stage to the podium, very visibly nervous. A smile crosses his face, as he sees how lovely she looks tonight, and he can stare for a moment, knowing that she hasn't noticed that he is there quite yet. She's in a beautiful deep magenta dress that falls at her ankles, where she's wearing silver flats. Knowing herself, she is admittedly a bit too clumsy for heels for such an important event. As soon as she reaches the podium, setting down her note cards ever so discreetly, she looks out at the audience as the clapping dies down, and her eyes find his, a mix of glee and utter horror melded together into one glimmer.

Molly paces around slightly as the speaker before her comes to the end of her presentation on how she and others created a new diagnostic service for SARS-CoV2 PCR. Taking a shaky breath, she reminds herself how prepared she is, how long she has been working on her research and studies and experiments, and they all she has to do is convey her message. As everyone claps for Dr. Kenney, she returns back behind the curtain and takes a big breath, grinning and patting Molly on the shoulder. "You've got this. Your work is brilliant, Dr. Hooper, they'll love it."

"Thank you", Molly manages to utter as the host calls her name. Molly swallows thickly and walks out on stage, plastering what she hopes to be a confident smile onto her face. She shakes the hands of those who are giving out the awards then heads to the podium. As she looks out into the dining hall, seeing all those stranger's faces, she can feel the familiar knot in her stomach begin to grow, until her eyes lock with a familiar set that he would know anywhere.

"Sherlock. Sherlock is here. Watching me. Listening to my presentation, my research, my studies. He's here to support me when he could be doing God knows what for a case on God knows who...but he's here", her mind announces to her loudly, and she can't help but smile a bit more and blush, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from his for the moment. Though suddenly she feels a lot more confident to talk about what she has been working on for the past year and a half.

Molly clears her throat and starts, addressing everyone in the room. "Hello all, as you just heard, my name is Dr. Margaret Hooper of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital in Central London. I am both the Department Head and one of three pathologists who run the pathology intern program, working with university graduates from around the U.K who qualify for the rigorous training you need to succeed at Saint Bart's. However, today I am here to talk a bit about my own personal research in the field of pathology and the impact of the ever-present COVID-19 pandemic in relation to post-mortems.

My post-mortem examinations of COVID-19 patients illustrate the continued importance of autopsy in helping to understand the pathophysiology of COVID-19 and its complications, and in advancing patient monitoring and treatment.

What I have done is co-develop the guidelines for COVID-19 autopsies which will be used in city hospitals around the U.K. That may seem pretty straightforward but there is a lot that goes into thinking of and creating strict guidelines, such as approaching and obtaining consent from families, doing those autopsies, writing up every single finding that could possibly be of use or importance at a later time, creating a separate tissue bank collection of samples, establishing a network of about two dozen research collaborators and coordinated sample distribution, and giving numerous national and international presentations to disseminate some of my most pressing findings; all over Zoom, mind you!", she chuckles a bit as the audience does as well. I have carried out my own tissue-based molecular investigations as well, delving deeper into how this virus affects tissue, even post-mortem."

Molly continues to speak in detail about her process and certain breakthrough findings of hers that led to her getting this award. Sherlock beams from ear to ear, both utterly enthralled with her work and her findings, as well as very proud of her as the woman he cares about. She has been his cheerleader so many times that he's glad he decided to be hers for once. Once she is done speaking, she grins cutely and the audience claps as the host steps up with her award and speaks into the mic.

"Her dedication to this vital work is truly extraordinary in a specialist registrar. Dr. Hooper has demonstrated many skills, including sensitive interactions with bereaved families, excellent presentation skills, and post-mortem and molecular analysis technical ability. The output of this arduous work includes a priceless COVID-19 bio-bank and an impressive list of articles and Zoom talks with major hospitals around the globe. We thank her for her extraordinary dedication to her field of science and medicine as one of the U.K's best pathologists of the year, as we award her with this RPATH Achievement Award for 2021!"

The audience claps again, and Sherlock stands up, giving her a standing ovation as he claps as well, and beams at her. As people slowly begin to notice who he is, they begin to stand too and Molly's cheeks turn bright red, but she holds strong, smiling as Sherlock takes a picture of her with the award on his mobile before she waves, thanking everyone, and walks off stage.

He quickly gets up from his seat and skirts around the perimeter of the dining hall to sneak out, meeting her in the hall parallel to the stage.

As Molly comes through the door, Sherlock beams and she gasps a bit, noticing him standing there.

"Sherlock!", she grins and exclaims excitedly. "Why on Earth are you here in the middle of the day? Shouldn't you be on a case or something?"

Sherlock chuckles and quickly goes over, giving her a warm embrace. She blushes and hugs him back. "I figured you deserved someone here to witness your great achievement. And I'm actually thrilled I got to see it. Your work is much more than even I see when I'm around the morgue. You are a brilliant woman and I completely commend you, Molly. Congratulations."

He pulls back and looks into her eyes as she looks up at his, causing them both to flush similar shades of pink.

"Thank you for coming, Sherlock. It did mean a lot to me to have someone here."

"Of course...that's...that's what er, friends do, right?"

"Yes, I suppose they do."

He walks with her quietly out to the parking garage, their silence a bit less content as it usually is, and more filled with tension, as he has become acutely aware of suddenly. Maybe it had always been there, and he had just been privy to being ignorant of it.

"Molly...?"

"Yes?", she answers timidly, fidgeting with the small plaque in her hands.

It gives him a warm feeling inside, reminding him of the time he asked her on a case when he returned from the "dead" all those years ago. "Molly?" "Yes?" "Would you like to...solve crimes?" "Have dinner?...Ooh.."

Sherlock smiles at the memory and clears his throat. "Would you like to...erm..."

"Solve crimes with you?"

"Have dinner with me?"

"Ooh...", Molly snorts and crinkles her nose the way he secretly loves. "Well, that's a change in pace from four years ago."

"I'd say you're right", he chuckles as well, awaiting her response politely.

"Didn't you just have dinner at the dining hall?"

"Well, yes and no. They served dinner but I was thinking and listening too much to really eat. However, I didn't necessarily mean tonight if that doesn't work for you."

"Oh...right. Um...", she knits her brows in a bit of confusion, chewing her lip at the same time.

"Oh, I feel that I should clarify that it would, in fact, be a date. If- if you'd like it to be, that is."

"A date? L-like…a non-friends date? A real date?"

"Yyyesss...that is what I was insinuating."

Molly stops in her tracks and turns on her heels to face him with her mouth agape.

Sherlock looks at her and smiles sheepishly. "I'd like to go on a date with you. Possibly more than one. I have...realized just how valuable you are to me in my life and with that, just how much I enjoy being in your company and you give me these...feelings...which usually are a completely disgusting idea for me, but you make them warm and comfortable and...what I am trying to say is that I have become more than just fond of you as a friend Molly Hooper. I understand that it has taken me way too long and that you may have had these particular feelings for me for years now, and I am sorry that I wasn't sensitive to them, but I understand them now. Please will you give me a chance?"

Molly throws her arms around his neck and giggles girlishly. "Yes! Of course, I'll give you a chance." She grins and pulls back. "If I'm being honest, you needed the time. I think a couple of years has made you a better person. Not that you weren't before. You've just have a newfound understanding of more emotional matters and that makes you even more brilliant."

Sherlock blushes slightly and nods. "I have grown quite a bit. I'm more like...an adolescent now rather than a toddler", he smirks.

Molly giggles and walks towards her car. "Would you like a ride to Baker Street? Cabs are getting expensive, I'm sure. Especially since you came all the way here to see me, the least I can do is give you a ride back."

"That would be nice if it isn't too much trouble."

"I offered, silly. Come on."

He chuckles and nods. "Alright then."

Molly pulls up to Baker Street a bit later and smiles. "Well, thank you again for coming to the award ceremony. It really did mean a lot to me, Sherlock."

"You're welcome." He goes to get out of the car then turns back to her, a bit of a nervous look on his face. "Say, Molly...would you like to come in for some tea? I'm sure Mrs. H has some leftover scones from this morning as well that we could have. If you don't have anything to attend to at home..."

She smirks a bit and clears her throat. "I think I'd like that, Sherlock."

Molly puts the car in park and gets out with him. Sherlock smiles and hooks his arm in hers as they go up to 221B, both with the exhaustion of the day and the hopefulness of their future.