A/N:: This one's rated K+ and is set Post The Final Problem.
Molly likes candy. Chocolate, especially Cadbury bars (in every variety except peppermint cream but the plain dairy milk is her go-to). She's not terribly fond of gummy worms but loves gummy bears, which makes absolutely no sense but don't even think of telling her that or she'll happily lecture you on the differences in taste, elasticity, chewiness, and stickiness. Toffee and caramel, lollipops, Mars bars (especially fried), saltwater taffy (but only from someplace called Natasket in the United States), and Jelly babies and too many others to list.
But the point is, he can list them. Every single one of them. Sherlock Holmes knows them all, and what's more, he knows her reasons for liking or disliking them.
"I know what kind of candy you like," he blurts out before she's done more than crack open the door.
Molly looks at him like he's grown an extra head and he can't blame her, especially under the circumstances, but he pushes on. "I know what you like, I know what you hate." He taps the side of his head, ignoring the small gasp that escapes her lips as she sees his bandaged knuckles. "It's all in here. I've never deleted a single one of your preferences."
"What happened to your hands?" she asks when he falls silent. "Does this have something to do with that phone call? The one your brother sort of explained after his minions finished turning my flat upside down looking for cameras and explosives?"
He nods. "It does. There was a coffin and I couldn't bear the thought of you being in one so I smashed it. And I kept thinking, Molly would yell at you for this but I couldn't stop and then all I wanted was a fried Mars bar and to see you."
She reaches out and takes his hands in hers, gently, tenderly. "Well, you're seeing me. And I think we can manage the fried Mars bars as well. If you still want one."
He nods, feeling as if he's used up all his words, allows her to bring him into her flat and hopes he can explain himself a bit better after having something to eat.
Because knowing everything about Molly Hooper's candy preferences tells him more than anything else that when he said those three little words...he meant them.