A/N: Here we are folks, the final chapter. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed your reviews. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

She escorted him inside, to the parlour, where Frankie sat holding an infant girl, also with Molly's chocolate brown eyes peering over him from above her bottle. On either end of the sofa across from Frankie's seat were two younger girls - one about twelve, one possibly eight or nine - also with Molly's eyes. And nose. And ears, lips, hair...it was as if Molly was a Matryoshka, a Russian Nesting Doll; stand them in a line and the only differences would be in size and age.

She introduced him to Tommie, the pre-teen, and Dani, the younger of the three, and then the baby.

Jamie.

Another boy's name for a girl-child; why? The obvious answer was that they had been named for their fathers. And since all four had been introduced as Hoopers, perhaps it was a way to honor those (absentee? deceased?) men.

No surprise they were all Hoopers; his frantic investigation into Molly's life these past few weeks had revealed that her deceased father - not her biological father, no record of who that might be as her birth cert listed that particular relationship as 'unknown' but rather the man who had raised her before dying of cancer during her first year of medical school - had taken her mother's last name. A matrilineal family, he'd set that interesting fact aside for further research when it became clear that all Hooper men took their wives' last name, but not worth spending more time on during his search for Molly Hooper in the here and now.

Nor had that search revealed the existence of any of Molly's daughters. Why keep them a secret, were all their fathers as dangerous as Moriarty, or was there some more mundane reason? Abusive men, irresponsible men, one-night-stands, who were they?

Where were they? Why weren't they a part of their daughters' lives except as namesakes?

All these thoughts, questions, deductions raced through his mind as Molly told the girls that she and Mr. Holmes (Dad, here? Oh no, right, himself, he was Mr. Holmes) had some grown-up matters to discuss (Frankie looked at her mother askance, almost looked as if she was going to say something, then closed her mouth and nodded, interesting, she knew something about Molly's secret, her mother's secret) and then led him back out of the parlour and up the stairs to the first floor.

She hesitated a moment on the landing, then opened a door revealing another set of stairs. "The attic's the most private spot," she explained (needlessly) as they ascended to the next floor. "We'll be able to hear if any of the girls try to listen in. Not that I think they'd do anything like that but, well, they all know who you are and you being here is important and…"

She trailed off without finishing her thought, whatever it might have been, and looked nervously at her hands. "Even though I knew this day was coming, I still haven't quite figured out how to explain things to you."

"You might start with the night Moriarty died. If, of course, he actually is dead." He hadn't meant for that to come out quite as accusatory as it did, but he needed to know that much first, before Molly shared whatever other terrible secret she'd been hiding from him - and it was a terrible secret, there was no doubt about that in his mind whatsoever. Nor was there any doubt that it was tied to Moriarty's death in some way, to that infant who bore Molly's features and his enemy's name.

(Ignore the jealousy that thought provokes, compartmentalize, save that unexpected reaction for future analysis.)

"No, he's dead," Molly insisted. "He died when I said he did. And yes," she added with a sigh, "he's Jamie's father. Even if it seems impossible -"

"Sperm donor?" Sherlock shouldn't feel as incredulous as he did, having that suspicion confirmed, but it was an undeniable fact that he found this particular truth difficult to believe. Molly had been the one to break things off with Moriarty, well before his true identity had been known; Molly had been horrified to discover that she'd been dating a murderous psychopath; there was no way she'd willingly have his child.

Unless she had no choice in the matter.

She let out an unexpected laugh at his question. "Um, yes, actually, but not, not in the conventional way. Not the way you're thinking - oh fuck!" she exclaimed, the expletive as unexpected as the laugh had been. "Look Sherlock, I know you. You've been given a mystery and I know you won't just let it be, you won't just take my word for things, that there's a reason I've kept my family a secret, so I'm going to just...just show you."

She pulled her mobile out of her pocket. "I thought about deleting this, but every time I went to do it, something stopped me. Well," she added with a shaky laugh, "not something. Someone. You, to be exact. I always knew you'd show up one day, and I've never been able to say no to you. So I saved it. You watch this, okay? You watch it and I'll answer any questions you have as best I can." She pressed the mobile into his hand, looking him straight in the eye as she spoke. "Just remember, Sherlock, I've never lied to you, I never would lie to you. This video you're about to watch...it's not a lie, either. It's real, even if you might not want to believe it." Then, her voice, low, barely audible even though they stood less than two feet apart, "It's how Jim Moriarty died, that night two years ago."

Then she turned away, crossed the length of the attic to the small, dusty window opposite the one under which she'd left him. Settled herself onto an equally dusty trunk, and watched as he held the phone up and pressed 'play' on the video she'd queued up for him.

He watched the video in silence, all twenty minutes of it. Then he played it again, a second time, then a third time, all while Molly waited patiently at the other end of the attic. No one interrupted them; no small voices called for her, no one rattled the door handle or complained about being left alone for so long.

Frankie, he thought distractedly as he rewatched the final minutes of the video for the third time, must be quite the expert at managing her younger sisters. Or else the three older girls were far less impatient or curious than he would have been at their various ages.

He started to press 'play' one more time, then hesitated. Closed the phone. Crossed over to return it to Molly.

Watching it again would tell him nothing new.

She looked at him as he sat next to her on the lid of the trunk, accepted the mobile in silence. Waited for him to speak.

Judging by her choked laughter, she wasn't expecting his first words to be, "Nature has certainly gifted you with a unique way of hiding a body, I'll give you that."

"Yeah, you can thank my mum and her mum and her mum before her for that," she said once she'd regained control of her voice. There were tears gathering in the corners of her eyes again, why? "All us Hooper women have the same weird biology. The same curse. No one knows how it happened, or when, that's lost to history, as the saying goes. But yeah. Hiding a body, that's the easy part for us."

"Tell me."

So she told him. Told him how all the Hooper women shared the same reproductive quirk as that of the various anglerfish species. Told him how her sisters had died - two from suicide, just like so many of their aunts and great-aunts and ancestors had done - the other after undergoing an abortion. "She just...bled out," Molly said, her voice a soft monotone that did nothing to hide her obvious pain at the memory. "I didn't find out what really happened until after...after I was pregnant with Frankie."

"Who was her father?"

He hadn't meant to ask that extremely personal question, but under the circumstances...after all, she'd told him to ask anything he wanted.

"My boyfriend. First one. Last one for a long time after that." A sad smile graced her lips, quickly vanishing. "Frank Llewellyn. My parents didn't know we were seeing each other." Resentment tinged her words. "My parents didn't want to freak me out, to scare me, so they didn't warn me what might happen if I had sex." She let out a snort. "Aside from the usual, that is - STIs, normal pregnancies. So you can imagine my shock, my absolute horror when Frank just...lost control. Bit me. But I, I liked it. What came after, though - well. You saw the video with Moriarty. I screamed and my father came running and found us, but it was too late for Frankie." Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. "Once he bit me it was too late but I didn't know that, not then. I kept begging my father to help me, but he couldn't. And my mum had to explain things while I was still...absorbing him into my body."

She sounded ashamed, even after sixteen - no, seventeen - years. Why? It hadn't been her fault, after all.

Still, she must have known what would happen after that first time, and yet she had had other children, other daughters, before Jamie.

Seeing the question in his eyes, or perhaps just anticipating it, she continued on. "Tommie was...it was rape," she said bluntly. "During summer recess my third year of uni. I didn't have any other way to fight back. And Dani's father...he was a medical student." She let out a wistful sigh. "I thought I had it under control, you see, that I could get involved with someone safely. And frankly, I was lonely. Daniel was funny, and clever, and we had so much in common." This time her sigh was melancholy. "You can guess how that turned out, deduce it I mean."

"Not well," Sherlock said succinctly.

Molly shook her head. "No, not well," she agreed. "But when it was...happening, while he was still aware of things...he was so full of questions, and I had no answers for him. But he gave me some ideas, put me on track to find a way to suppress my pheromones so I could safely have sex in the future. That's, um, why I wasn't worried about asking you out."

She blushed, although Sherlock had to scan his memory to figure out what she was talking about. That Christmas...no, she'd made no verbal advances, although he supposed the fact that she'd signed her gift for him "Dearest Sherlock, Love Molly" with the three X's indicating kisses could be construed as asking him out. Maybe?

"The coffee," she supplied with another blush while he stared at her. "When you were, um, whipping that body? I asked you for coffee and you gave me your order."

"Ah. That." He did remember it, had buried but not deleted it. Just as he'd never deleted anything about Molly Hooper. He knew her measurements, her taste in clothing, her favorite foods...and now he knew so much more than he'd ever expected to learn.

And wasn't that wonderful!

His face split in a wide grin. "Molly Hooper," he proclaimed, grasping her by the upper arms and pulling her close enough to plant an enthusiastic kiss on her forehead. "International Woman of Mystery, mother of four, Human Anglerfish - would you like to have coffee with me?"

"But, but, don't you have other questions?" Molly sputtered in confusion. But she allowed him to take her hands, to help her to her feet. "Aren't you, I dunno, skeptical? Horrified? Disgusted?"

"Disgusted? By you? Never," he asserted. "Fascinated is closer to how I feel. Intrigued. Eager to learn more, yes but not until I've had time to - you'll forgive the term - absorb what you've told me so far." He grinned.

Molly rolled her eyes. "And you tell me not to make jokes!" But his pun had the desired effect of pulling a reluctant smile from her lips.

"And yet that never stopped you," he reminded her. "Just as my cold words - those 'terrible things' I always say - never stopped you from being my...friend." It was a word he didn't use lightly, but he didn't hesitate to use it now. "Never stopped you from being there when I needed you most. So no, to answer the question you haven't asked me, I won't be turning you into the police for murder, and no, I won't be turning you over to my brother or the mad science types at Baskerville or any other research group so they can study you. What I will do is help protect you and your secret, and to help find a way to keep your daughters from suffering the way you have. If you'll have me, of course."

Strange how his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, how sweaty his palms had become, even though he was confident Molly wouldn't turn him down.

Or not so strange after all; as she smiled, nodded, and stretched up to press a soft kiss to his cheek, he turned his head, capturing her lips with his own. She squeaked in surprise, but allowed the kiss to continue, even kissed him back.

It felt...right. Like coming home. How had it taken him so long to understand, to realize what he felt for her?

Well, he always did miss something. And when it came to Molly Hooper, he managed to miss a great deal. Honestly, that should have been his first clue.

As the kiss ended, he smiled down at her. She was staring up at him somewhat dazedly, and he couldn't help but chuckle when she blurted out, "No sex unless you're willing to wear a gag."

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, covering her fingers warmly with his own. "Believe it or not, Molly, I quite look forward to it."