Set in a vague post-HLV future where everything is Sherlollipops and Rainbows. Continuing my slightly crackish take on what a relationship between Sherlock and Molly might entail. Poor John is my avatar in these one-shots. This one is a bit soppy. Sorry.

John Watson reluctantly accompanied a moody Sherlock Holmes back to the latter's flat at 221B Baker Street. It wasn't that John didn't want to visit with his old friend, or share some take away after the case they had just solved, but given what Sherlock was determined to do, John could not muster much enthusiasm for his friend's company. Still, he couldn't in good conscience leave him alone, either.

The last case was a good one. Not brilliant, but a solid six. It would have been a great way to spend a few days with his old friend had the outcome not turned into something so disconcerting. Even more disconcerting was Sherlock's reaction to the sudden turn of events. John had rarely seen Sherlock so out of sorts and it worried the doctor greatly.

His worry increased exponentially when, upon arriving at the flat, they learned from Mrs. Hudson that Molly was waiting for Sherlock upstairs. Normally, John would be delighted to see his best friend's girl (future daughter-in-law, Mary liked to say cheekily), but today it only proved that the universe was conspiring against Sherlock Holmes and any shred of happiness he might find.

Molly was sitting tucked up on Sherlock's sofa, her shoes abandoned haphazardly by the door and her feet burrowed into the cushions. She was engrossed in what looked to be a professional pathology journal. She looked like a little kid sitting there, all sparkly and cheerful. John's heart squeezed painfully at the thought of what was about to happen.

The woman in question turned to smile at the duo as they entered the flat.

"Hello! Finished the case then?"

Sherlock was already pacing around a bit and left it to John to answer. He glanced Sherlock's way then nodded, "Yes. Yes, all solved."

"Interesting one? Or of the Official Secrets variety? One of these days I'm going to make Mycroft tell me about what you boys get up to on those cases."

John smiled and chuckled, but it was half-hearted at best. "Oh, you know," John said with false lightness, "the usual... just a bit of a surprise at the end."

Sherlock shot John a look. There was a shadow across the tall man's face that had gradually turned more thunderous as the minutes passed. He was agitated, but resolute at the same time. John took comfort in the fact that Sherlock had not adopted the cold, calculating mask he used when he needed to do something drastic. Maybe he would give up on this idea after all.

"What's wrong?" Molly's voice was calm, but worried. Perceptive as usual. She directed her question to John, but her eyes kept darting towards Sherlock.

John sighed. There was no way in hell he was going to bring this up. If Sherlock was determined to do something that drastic based on a stupid case, then he would have to bring it up himself. Hopefully (if the idiot had a shred of common sense to combat his massive intellect), he would keep his big mouth shut.

But of course, this was Sherlock Holmes, who never met a self-destructive tendency he didn't like.

"Is this about the case? Did something happen?" Molly sat up abruptly, "Did one of you get hurt?" there was real panic laced in her voice and John stepped in.

"No, nothing like that. It's nothing at all, really, just," he shrugged, sending a glare Sherlock's way, "Sherlock being Sherlock."

Molly looked back and forth between them. She couldn't have missed the way John all but snarled that last bit. She certainly didn't miss the fact that Sherlock avoided making eye contact with her. He had no trouble making direct eye contact with John, however, and the doctor used that to send as many psychic messages to his friend as he could. None of which apparently made it through that thick skull considering what Sherlock said next.

"Molly, we need to talk."

"Oh, God. You're really going to do it, aren't you?" John growled.

"Isn't it kinder? After what we saw today-"

"NO!" John shouted, "It's stupid is what it is! Since when do you take personal cues from a bloody case?"

"Tell me what's going on," Molly reiterated. Her voice was forceful, but as calm as before.

Sherlock turned to look out of the window and started to speak, "Molly-"

"No," John seethed, "If you're determined to do this, then you bloody well owe it to her to look her in the eyes while you do it. Get over there."

Sherlock hesitated only a moment, but moved to sit on the sofa next to Molly. He still didn't look her in the eye, or John for that matter, but he did reach out and briefly brushed his fingers across Molly's knee.

"The case today... it was a bit unusual for me. Not the case, really. That was so simple, Lestrade could have handled it alone. It was the couple -our clients- they reminded me of someone. They reminded me of us."

"Really? How so?" Molly was smiling, but not her usual bubbly self.

"An absolute angel in love with a complete prat," mumbled John from across the room.

Sherlock glared in his general direction, but answered, "He was a hard man married to a kind woman, one who loved him. Unconditionally."

Molly smiled when Sherlock chanced a brief look in her direction. He took a breath and continued.

"They've been married for a very long time, quite happily by all accounts until she found out today that," Sherlock paused and swallowed, "that he didn't really love her. Never had, in fact, loved her."

John refused to look at Molly just then, but, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen slightly. He would have done almost anything at that moment to stop what was happening, but knew it wouldn't do any good. Sherlock was determined that Molly not end up in the kind of anguish he witnessed from that heartbroken wife. In his own, emotionally dyslexic way, he was trying to protect her.

"He cheated on her?" Molly asked quietly, fearfully.

Sherlock looked puzzled by that, "Well, no. He's remained faithful. He's very kind to her, as far as I could deduce. Takes his commitment very seriously."

"But he told his wife he doesn't love her," Molly's voice was still calm, but there was a note of something else underneath that John couldn't quite identify.

"Yes. Sort of came out by accident. She was understandably devastated."

That was putting it mildly. The woman was so distraught, that John had felt the need to administer a sedative and have a friend sit with her. Sherlock, for a brief moment, had looked almost as wrecked as the woman. It had taken John a bit too long to figure out that Sherlock had seen Molly's future in the hysterical woman. By the time he had caught on, Sherlock had decided and no amount of arguing would dissuade him. Not even Mary had been able to make him see reason.

After several long minutes of silence, Sherlock finally looked at Molly. He seemed to be studying her features, committing them to memory. John was more exasperated than he had ever been in his life. Couldn't the clot see? No, of course not.

Sherlock's mouth twitched up at the corners for an instant. "You've been very good to me, Molly, better than I ever had the right to expect. Which is why I can't let things go on like this. I have to tell you something."

Molly was studying Sherlock's face intently, "Yes? Go on," she encouraged.

"I don't love you, Molly."

"Oh. Is that so?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." The only thing keeping John from nutting Sherlock was the fact that he did, in fact, sound truly sorry.

"Why are you sorry?" Molly asked and, bless her too-big heart, she sounded like she was keeping it together quite well. Better than John had thought she would. And if she felt the need to make Sherlock grovel, well, good on her. She did sound a bit more cheerful than John would have expected. Odd.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Molly," Sherlock said in a monotone, "For being unable to return your feelings."

"Yes you do."

"Do? Do what?"

"Return my feelings."

Sherlock looked disturbed "...no. I just told you-"

"That you don't love me," Molly finished cheerfully.

"Yes."

"No."

"No?"

"You do love me," and Molly said it with as much confidence as she would delivering a cause of death after a thorough autopsy, "Now, if that's all that you were worried about...?" When Sherlock didn't answer, Molly went back to her article.

Sherlock looked at John, who stared back. Of all the things John imagined happening, that was not at the top of the list. That wasn't even on the list. Either Molly Hooper was in the deepest state of denial fathomable, or she understood Sherlock Holmes better than he understood himself. John sat down heavily in his arm chair, a hand sliding over his mouth to hide the smile forming. Sherlock still looked gobsmacked.

"I'm serous, Molly," Sherlock said, a bit sharply, "It's better that we get this over with now before you get hurt."

Molly looked up from her journal and sighed, "Sherlock, do you enjoy spending time with me?"

"I don't see-"

"No," Molly said sharply, giving him a look, "No. Just answer the question. Do you enjoy being with me?"

"Yes. I find you quite intellectually stimulating and being close to you is physically pleasurable. Perhaps a bit too distracting on occasion, but you seem to know when I need space and allow for my needs in that area."

Molly nodded, "Yes, I understand why you need time alone. Just like you understand when I need to be around more people. Now. Do you regret becoming romantically involved with me?"

Sherlock paused as he thought. A lesser woman would feel hurt that he didn't respond immediately, but Molly appreciated his need to think things through. If John could have hand picked a partner for his best friend, there wouldn't have been a more brilliant choice than Molly Hooper.

"No," Sherlock finally answered, "No regrets about entering into a romantic partnership with you, but-"

"No. No 'buts.' You enjoy being with me, you appreciate me and you make an effort towards sustaining this relationship. I enjoy being with you, I appreciate you and the effort you make on my behalf. That's all that matters."

Sherlock and Molly stared at each other for several long moments, during which John barely breathed. He watched several emotions pass swiftly across his friend's face before seeing Sherlock's jaw set and his eyes narrow. John's heart sank. He knew that look and what it would mean for Molly. There was no possibility for this to turn out all right.

Molly, though, was having none of it. She reached forward slowly and touched Sherlock's cheek, her fingertips barely grazing the skin. Sherlock swallowed. He was getting ready to say something. Something idiotic and sure to blast it all to Hell. It was all John could do not to yell at the berk. The most frustrating part was that John knew that Sherlock knew very well that he was trying to scuttle the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"You give me everything I want and need," Molly said softly, not giving Sherlock a chance to speak. "And I think I do the same for you, don't I?"

Sherlock nodded. John was beginning to see light at the end of this absurd tunnel.

"If you don't like calling that love, it's fine," Molly continued, "If the word 'love' makes you uncomfortable, then we won't use it. We don't have to label anything between us. We don't have to do anything but enjoy what we give each other. I, for one, enjoy whatever-we-aren't-calling-this very, very much." Molly leaned forward and lightly brushed her lips against his, then pulled back and bestowed a beatific smile on a confounded Sherlock.

A happy Molly went back to reading her journal. Sherlock frowned into space, clearly trying to figure out what had just happened. After a moment, Molly wiggled her bare toes against Sherlock's leg. John was sorely pressed not to giggle as he saw Sherlock absently lean to the side long enough for Molly to stick her feet under his bum. Sherlock was already half gone (yes, a visit to the Mind Palace is just what the doctor ordered, you git) and fell silent, steepling his hands under his chin.

The couple presented such a picture of domesticity that John found himself grinning like an idiot. Pulling out his phone, John composed a text to his wife. Mary would be as happy as he to learn that Sherlock had not, in fact, ruined his life and that, yes, Molly Hooper still had the ability to shock the world's only consulting detective into complete and utter silence.

John got up to leave and planted a kiss on the top of Molly's head on his way out. She looked up and the two shared twin looks of complete understanding. The doctor had begun the day afraid that he would have to stand watch over a broken-hearted friend (well, two really) and ended up witnessing the marvel that was Molly Hooper's capacity to manage the great Sherlock Holmes.

So, I have a bit of a theme going with the titles relating to contract law. I hadn't really intended to expand on this specific story, but the titles keep coming to me and demanding to be used. The next one will be "The Cat Clause." Two guesses as to what it's about...