Sherlock bloomed as a father. Sure, there were some fits and starts. Molly remembered how Sherlock had trudged into the morgue for a case, dead on his feet because Valentine had refused to sleep one night, constantly waking up and needing for Sherlock to keep putting her to bed. Eventually, his will had broken when the little girl had crawled into his bed as he tried to sleep. Apparently, Hamish had followed his sister's example and had crawled into bed next to Sherlock after waking to find his sister gone from her bed. And while Sherlock would treasure the memory of waking up in the morning with two curly heads tucked close to his chest, he was dead on his feet when he dragged himself into the morgue. Molly could only imagine Mrs. Hudson's ire the first time Sherlock had come home from a case a bit too banged up after rushing needlessly into a dangerous situation. And Sherlock still had a hard time holding his tongue in front of the "idiot social worker, as if their growing up with a single me is worse than their growing up with staff in a group home!" She remembered well how he had ranted, pacing back and forth in her flat's living room while she chuckled over a cup of tea. He hadn't been fond of the idea of sending the children to school and daycare instead of homeschooling, either. "What can they teach them I can't!" She's still pretty sure it was that the courts would expect the children to attend outside school while being fostered that convinced him to let them go.

But there were triumphs and sentimental moments, too. Greg had come to the morgue with an exasperated smile on his face once. Apparently, Sherlock wouldn't shut up about his kids at NSY, and much as Greg loved to see Sherlock happy and loved that Sherlock loved the kids, Greg could only hear about Hamish's piano recital and Valentine's budding writing skills so many times at a crime scene before enough was enough.

Molly couldn't help but think how much she and Sherlock could have worked out when, while dropping off a liver at 221B, she saw him pacing the floor with a cold-ridden Valentin, as the miserable little girl refused to settle anywhere other than against the chest and neck of "Ock." Neither Hamish nor Valentine called Sherlock "Dad" or "Papa" or any other variation thereof. She wasn't sure they ever would, and she knew Sherlock wouldn't force the issue, but both children clearly adored the man, almost as much as he loved them.

It was this settling into family life that made Molly wonder why he hadn't asked out whichever woman he had had his eye on.

It was the better part of a year before Sherlock surprised her with a visit to her flat, sans children, which was becoming a bit less regular occurrence. It had taken some time to figure out scheduling and a rhythm, but in the past months, Sherlock had become quite a bit more circumspect of when he dropped his kids on his friends and family- and they were his kids now. The adoption formally had come through a few months prior, with little Hamish surprising everyone with his decision to take his biological-now-adopted father's name, and, as they had learned quickly learned, where Hamish went, Valentine followed, and it was rare occasions she could be dissuaded from that course.

So all in all, Molly was surprised when Sherlock showed at her door one evening with a bag of what appeared to be Angelo's, and only with the food. At her surprised look when she glanced down to where the children's heads would have been, Sherlock explained, "Mrs. Hudson has them for the night." After he came inside, as Molly laid the table, he continued, "I know wine is often paired with a meal like this, but, well, while I myself might appreciate its taking the edge off, I would rather that neither of us are inebriated when having this conversation."

His serious tone rather startled Molly, "What's wrong? Is it serious? If you want to discuss it over food, that's fine, but I'd rather get any unpleasantness out of the way before eating."

With a sheepish smile, he said, "The food will get cold."

"Don't care. I have a perfectly good microwave, we can reheat it."

"Angelo would be appalled," he teased.

"Angelo doesn't need to know," she challenged right back, teasing grin on her face under raised eyebrows.

He set the food on the table, then cocked his head towards her sofa. "Then I suppose we had best sit down."

As they sat facing each other, Sherlock faltered, his face a work of anxiousness, his fingers clasping and unclasping as his mouth opened and closed with aborted sentences.

Thoroughly worried at this point, Molly placed her hand over his, stilling them. "Sherlock," she pleaded, "just tell me."

With a thoughtful nod, he recomposed himself. "When-" he swallowed, "When we found Kate," he paused until Molly nodded for him to continue. "When we had found Kate, I had told you and the others that there was someone that I had harbored feelings towards, but had never acted on those feelings due to wanting to be faithful to my wife, well, not acting on them is a bit of an understatement, there were times that I was downright cruel towards her due to trying to avoid my feelings."

"Oh, dear goodness," Molly thought, "He's come to his one younger female friend to try to work out how to get back into this woman's good graces, maybe even on how to ask her out!" Oh, she couldn't do that. After Sherrinford, couldn't he realize how cruel it was to ask her, of all people?

"When I was in Sherrinford, you asked me to say that I loved you, and to save your life, I did."

Molly closed her eyes and turned away. How did it get worse? He wasn't here to ask for advice; he was here to tell her he wasn't interested before he went and asked out someone else!

"Thing is…"

Here it comes.

"It was true."

What?!

"It is true; in fact, it has been for a very long time." She stared at his now down-turned face. "And I know that I've treated you miserably, and I know I don't deserve your love. Frankly, I'm surprised you even like me, at this point. And while, I know many women find the notion of a man with children appealing, most are not so willing to actually take up with a man who already comes with them, but I'm hopelessly in love with you all the same, and I needed to tell you, even though I'm sure it's the last thing you want to-"

Molly stopped his spiraling thoughts when she brought his clenched hands to her mouth to kiss them.

After a moment of surprised stillness, he rotated his hand to cup her cheek as he bent down for a kiss. He deepened the kiss as his other hand moved up to hold her face as well, tilting her head for optimal angle, fingers tangling in her hair.

After a moment of pure bliss, Molly pulled back. She waited until Sherlock's eyes flickered open, before saying, "Was that alright?" He nodded slightly, still obviously a little muddled. She took his hands in her own. "I love you too." She was sure the smile on her face was as bright as his own. "And for the record, I think your kids are amazing, and every moment with them is a joy."

"You obviously haven't met them when they're trying to avoid eating their veg," he chuckled.

She giggled at that thought, shaking her head. "I look forward to finding out."

"I wish you wouldn't. That's one parenting experience I think I would be just as happy to never experience again." They burst out laughing. "Molly Hooper," Sherlock said after they had calmed back down. She glanced up at him as he continued, "Would you have dinner with me?"

She looked over at the takeaway trays now cool on her kitchen table. "We agreed we're not telling Angelo about microwaving it?"

"I think I can live with that," he murmured, as she reached up to kiss him again.

Author's note: So, happy ending! There's one more scene coming. To my followers on this story, thank you for your patience for this chapter- it's been a crazy couple of weeks with Christmas preparations going on. Can anyone tell where the inspiration for the kiss on the hand came from? Did you like the reveal of Sherlock's lady love? How Sherlock is with his kids? I adore comments, and will love any that are sent my way!