Dear All:

Thank you so much.

I can safely say that this was one of my most formative experiences in writing Molly and Sherlock. Although I had done one-shots before this, I had even written one multi-chapter of five parts before this - this was the one. This was the one that helped me understand Molly Hooper's skin, the one that got me to get Sherlock Holmes. Since then, so many things have genuinely changed. I don't know if I'll continue writing Sherlolly, but I do feel like I've moved on quite a bit. I don't think this is the last thing I'll update, and Molly Hooper will remain my first love. I hope I return to her one day.

Thank you for everything, thank you for all the friends I made doing this. Thank you for all the comments, for helping me grow and change as a writer. I've really loved doing this, and this isn't goodbye - but I'm filled with a lot of affection finishing what I feel was my first real foray into this adventure.

I'm not going to name everyone who managed to get me to write this story four years down the line, because it required so much dedication on the part of so many of you - reminding me of this story, reminding me to finish this story, reminding me that you were waiting for this story - but I know you all. You helped me a lot.

Molly didn't like climbing up all those stairs anyway.

She wished she didn't have to all the time, but Sherlock was thoughtless and idiotic and irritating - and it was easier to give in, climb the stairs, put the new body parts in the fridge and grab a snack from the other fridge (Food Only. Absolutely No Science in This Microwave!).

"Are those the specimens from Muller?" he asked when she had put away an assortment of fingers and eyeballs.

"Yes," said Molly. "Sherlock, you'd better call your mother. She's been calling me nonstop."

Sherlock made a face, flinging himself on his chair. "She keeps berating me for getting you into trouble again."

Molly rolled her eyes. "You deserve it," she said. "Had it not been for you, I would almost certainly have not been caught by Miss Cogs smuggling frogs into our backpacks -"

Sherlock glared at her, standing up to regard her more closely. "She was referring to the one which happened more recently," he informed her with asperity. "The one with the guns?"

"I remember," said Molly. "I was there. But your Mum needn't worry. Meena already chewed you out. And no one died, nothing awful happened."

"You were in the hospital for days for a poorly performed surgical procedure," Sherlock reminded her.

Molly waved him away. "Comes with the territory."

Before Sherlock could respond with more snark, there were footsteps coming upstairs. "Oh good," said Mary, as she poked into the living room. "You're both here."

Molly smiled. "What's up, Mary?" she asked.

"Well - John, come up here!" Mary called behind her.

"Oh, good, it's a party," said Sherlock under his breath.

Molly looked at him with some amusement. "Be nice."

Sherlock once again fell into his chair.

John joined Mary presently.

"Lunch, Molly?" asked John.

"Sure," said Molly. "I was making fish. Sherlock didn't say you guys were joining us."

"I made it obvious -" began Sherlock.

"I'm sure you did," said Molly. "Anyway, settle down."

There was amiable chatter as everyone sat down at the kitchen counter for Molly's fish. Sherlock complained about the fact that the fish was not that good, and Molly smacked him at the back of his head. Mary teased Sherlock about the length of his hair - John hashed out the details of the latest case they'd tackled, and Molly talked about her paper.

Footsteps thundered upstairs, and Meena broke through the door. "Sorry I'm late!" she cried.

"Wonderful," said Sherlock sourly.

"Oh, be quiet," said Meena good-humouredly, taking off her coat. "How's the stomach, Mary?"

"Becoming larger," said Mary.

"Wouldn't want to be you," said Meena cheerfully.

"I never invited you," Molly pointed out.

"Sherlock did!" said Meena, confused. "He said he had your approval. He sounded like a dictionary again."

Molly looked at Sherlock, in some confusion.

He shrugged. "Mary has a big announcement. I suspect she's making us the god-parents of her child."

Mary looked both extremely pleased and unbelievably exasperated. "I was, actually."

"And you invited Meena because?" asked Molly.

"I suspect he has a big announcement of his own," said Meena, looping her scarf out of her neck. "Asking me for Molly's hand in marriage, are you?"

John sniggered.

"Yes, actually," said Sherlock. His back was ramrod straight, his face unbelievably impassive, and his cheeks were tinged red.

Molly sipped from her glass of water.

"Christ, Holmes," said Meena cheerfully. "You couldn't ask her Mother, could you?"

"Molly shares a much closer bond with you, and she has a complicated relationship with her mother," said Sherlock.

Meena sat down on the last stool by the counter. "Hope to God you spoke to her about it."

"Interestingly, yes," said Molly. "There have been many conversations in the last few days about how it would be beneficial for tax purposes, for the increased access to each other's information, the ability to visit each other in emergency rooms of hospitals. I hope you weren't proposing when you were doing that, Sherlock."

"I thought it was obvious I was," said Sherlock, frowning.

Mary burst into laughter.

"Have a ring?" asked Molly.

"I remember you categorically told me when you were nine years old that you'd lose a ring in a trice," said Sherlock firmly. "You also said you'd prefer that doll that everyone was mooning over."

"She told me when we were fourteen that she'd prefer to have a scholarship," Meena supplied.

"And how are you going to solve the dilemma, Sherlock?" asked Mary. "She's not nine, so it's likely the doll wouldn't be something she cares for. And she's done with her education, so she no longer needs a scholarship."

"She has to say yes, first," Sherlock pointed out.

Everyone looked at Molly.

"Alright," she said. "I'll do it."

Everyone burst into happy laughter and excited chatter - Meena declaring that if she was the one asked for permission, she reserved the right to walk Molly down the aisle, and Mary countering with the promise that she ought to the Maid-of-Honour in that case. John was shocked that Sherlock had managed this without help or input, at which Sherlock had scoffed.

But Molly was looking at Sherlock.

He smiled briefly.

She shook her head with a small smile on her face, returning to her fish. He held her hand under the table for a second, his thumb brushing against her palm.

Endless love,
Ridiculosity