A/N: Only one chapter left after this one. Thanks for reading and reviewing, and remember: if you want the M rated version just go to my home page and scroll down to "The Ruination of Miss Molly Hooper". TTFN!

Two Hours Previous

"Wait, what? My father…but how did he…I wasn't entirely certain myself, how could he…" Molly spluttered in confusion when Sherlock appeared unannounced on her doorstep. She'd been in the process of carefully weighing and measuring out dosages of foxglove and other medicaments, standing in front of the mortar and pestle with a pair of tiny fabric bags clutched in one hand as she stared up at him, confusion writ large on her expressive features.

He wasted no time in striding to her side and kissing her on the cheek while she gaped at him in shock. "Our fathers have agreed that we are to be wed as soon as the Banns are read, isn't that marvelous news? Although neither of them are particularly pleased at how we arrived at this outcome, both agree that it is the best recourse under the circumstances." Then he grinned at her, knowing how self-satisfied he both sounded and looked, and not caring. He'd won the woman he lov…wait, where had that come from, that word his mind had almost used?

Although he'd not used the word when Dr. Hooper had confronted him, once face to face with his daughter, it was the first one that had sprung to mind, in an unguarded moment of real happiness.

Love.

Did he love her?

His thoughts degenerated into an incoherent mess, while Molly struggled with the knowledge that her father was aware of her condition – and had deduced on his own who was the responsible party.

She babbled something to Sherlock, stammering a bit as if suddenly overwhelmed by the knowledge that their actions had resulted in the creation of a living creature, that the careful plans Sherlock had laid for their shared future were actually coming to pass – and then went utterly silent when he interrupted her by blurting out, "Your father wishes to know if I love you."

Molly's face, which had paled as she took in the news he'd come to deliver, turned even whiter, then suddenly flushed a deep red. It was far darker than the becoming shade of pink she turned when in the midst of sexual congress, although accompanied by similar facial expressions and many of the same gestures – widened eyes, opened mouth, even fluttering hands that seemed not to know where to come to rest as she stared at him. "What did you tell him?" she finally asked, and it seemed to Sherlock that she was even more interested in knowing his answer than Dr. Hooper had been.

Oh, stupid, of course she was; how could she not be, when it was her own happiness at stake and not merely that of another person, no matter how beloved? "I told him I held you in the greatest esteem, and that I would endeavor to give you the kind of life you deserve," he replied, feeling his heart skip a beat when her expression fell.

"Oh," she'd said. Just the one, tiny interjection, 'oh' and nothing else.

That was it, the moment when the proverbial penny finally dropped, the scales were lifted from his eyes, and Sherlock Holmes was given to understand the true nature of his affection toward this woman.

Molly, on the other hand, not being privy to his thunderstruck thoughts, had already turned away from him, eyes downcast and mouth set in an unhappy line.

No. Intolerable. He would not simply allow her to leave, not when it was within his power to restore the smile to her face. Sherlock reached out impulsively and took her hand in his, tugging at it until she reluctantly turned to face him.

She sighed, not meeting his eyes as she said softly, "Yes, Sherlock? I do have things to do. And my father, I should find him so that he can tell me how recklessly I've behaved..."

He silenced her with a kiss. A soft kiss, a gentle kiss – and yes, he would use the word – a loving kiss. After a startled moment she allowed herself to return the kiss, eyes fluttering shut and a soft sigh escaping her lips when it ended.

It was only in that moment that he realized he'd taken her hands in his, and only when he found himself down on one knee that he realized what he was about to do.

A sudden intake of breath told him that she had come to the same realization. Still clasping both her hands in his, Sherlock looked up at her, smiled and said, "Molly Hooper, would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife? Not only are you the most singularly intelligent woman I've ever met – and yes, I do include the females that I've met at University in that statement – but your kindness, gentle humor and patience have never wavered toward me, even when I did nothing to deserve them, even in the face of my own crass stupidity and insensitivity. For those reasons alone you should turn me down, but for the sake of our child – and because I have come to realize that the answer to your father's question is a resounding, unequivocal 'yes' – I hope that your response will be a positive one."

She burst into tears before tugging him back up to his feet, throwing her arms around his neck and murmuring "Yes, yes, yes," against his shoulder. He held her, feeling awkward and proud and even the smallest bit frightened at the ferocity of her reaction, but eventually settled into simply letting the moment wash over him, much as her tears were. The proposal had been spontaneous – and utterly unnecessary as they were going to be married whether he said the words or not. However, Molly's reaction told him, with no room for uncertainty or misinterpretation, that he'd somehow managed to stumble upon exactly the right thing to do.

"I do think Mrs. Sherlock Holmes will suit you much better than Miss Molly Hooper," he murmured as she shyly released her hold on him. He captured her hands once again, reluctant to allow her to leave his presence just yet; after all, it was doubtful they'd be allowed any time alone together after this moment. Even though the damage, as it were, had already been done, the proprieties would no doubt be much more strictly enforced until the wedding had taken place. He raised Molly's hands to his lips, pressing a pair of soft kisses to her knuckles, then pulled her close to cover her mouth with his own for a much more satisfying kiss.

A kiss, and a promise. Within a fortnight, no later than that, this woman would be his wife. And if everything went well, God willing (not that he believed in such, however, it wouldn't hurt to hedge his bets, as John would put it), in seven more months she would be the mother of his child as well.

A girl, he hoped, decision made in that very moment, although he knew very well that any such decisions were well out of his hands. With Molly's eyes and hair and laugh and nose…

The sound of a throat being cleared disrupted his thoughts; Molly pulled away from him with an embarrassed gasp, and he turned to find their cook giving them a frosty look, plump arms folded across her chest. "Miss Hooper, your father has just arrived and is waiting for you in his study," the older woman said, her voice as cold and disapproving as her expression. "I pray you will excuse her, Mr. Holmes?"

Although voiced as a question, it was more of a command, and Sherlock bit back on his desire to offer the woman the sharp side of his tongue for interrupting the tender moment he and Molly had been sharing. "Of course," was all he said, stepping out of the way so that Molly could move past him. "Do forgive us the indiscretion," he called out as the cook made to follow Molly. "My fiancée and I were just a bit caught up in the moment."

The cook – he never could remember her name – gaped at him incredulously, and he gave her a cheeky wink and a wave as he exited the house. Although it would no doubt be good manners to offer to accompany Molly to her meeting with her father, he knew Dr. Hooper would not welcome his presence at this time, and that Molly was certainly strong enough to endure such mild chastisement as her father might be inclined to bestow upon her. No, the old man loved his daughter far too much to remain angry with her for long – if, indeed, he had been angry with her in the first place. It seemed much more likely that he'd reserved such emotion for his future son-in-law, and deservedly so.

Now, two hours later, standing in the rose garden with his brother at his side, Sherlock once again found his thoughts drifting to the future, a future even two short years ago he never could have anticipated. Nor would he have believed it to be a future he desired; to be married, to be a father, especially after witnessing his brother's unhappiness and the cool formality that existed between his parents, not to mention the devastating loss the Hoopers had experienced when Molly's mother had died. Even his Baker Street housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, had been married to a scoundrel that he'd helped put away in prison – much to her gratitude. And Inspector Lestrade's marriage was not without acrimony, as his wife seemed incapable of fidelity. Not to mention the affair Anderson was carrying on with Miss Donovan…

And yet, in spite of the many, many poor examples of matrimony life had set before him, he looked forward to his own nuptials with impatience. Yes, he wished to continue the carnal relationship he and Molly had begun in order to set this entire series of events in motion, but it was much, much more than that.

He loved her. It was that complicated, and that simple. He loved her, she loved him, and he vowed in that moment to never give her cause to doubt him, or to regret her actions.

Two weeks. In two weeks, no longer, they would be wed.

He could hardly wait for the day to arrive.