Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, John, Molly or anyone you recognise.

Authors note: I know it's been a while, and I'm really sorry. Hopefully I can make up for it with a whole load of fluff :) This isn't a perfect chapter, but I tried my best in my half-conscious state. As usual, thanks so much for reading and reviewing. Enjoy :D

Jeremy Kyle's voice blared out of the television, leading Sherlock, who sat comfortably in his favoured armchair, to scoff frequently at his statements. His eyes often darted to Molly, who sat in the opposite armchair, wearing his t-shirt and focused on the people on the screen. Following ten minutes of persuasion over breakfast, the pathologist had agreed to take the day off.

Sherlock rolled his eyes for the sixth time, causing Molly to speak.

"You made me stay here, Sherlock, so you have to follow the consequences."

"The consequences being daytime television?"

"Yes," The pathologist smiled, before getting up to boil the kettle.

The detective followed her to kitchen, silently refusing to let her out of his sight.

"Sherlock, I'm not going to get kidnapped in the kitchen. You can see me from your chair," Molly exclaimed.

The man simply shrugged and sat at the table. A few moments later, Molly joined him with two cups of tea and a question on her mind.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Are we going to talk about…what happened last night?"

The detective looked up at her words; anger, sadness and guilt clouding his impossibly coloured eyes.

"Mycroft has Moriarty imprisoned, he will do all he can to keep him there and if not, I will personally ensure his life ends. You're safe Molly. I promise you that."

"I know," Molly stated, "I meant what happened afterwards."

"Oh."

The pathologist smiled nervously before continuing.

"What happens now? I mean, are we a…couple?" She hesitated on the last word, expecting the detective to cringe. She was pleasantly surprised when he didn't.

"We have grown rather close over the last twenty-four hours," He stated, "And there is no denying that I love you and you love me."

He got up and stepped around the table, kneeling down before Molly.

"But before we go any further, you have to understand that I'm not good with feelings, Molly. You can't expect me to be brilliant with this "couple" thing. I will definitely try my best, but I can't guarantee that I will make you happy."

Molly rested her forehead against Sherlock's and whispered soothingly in her gentle voice.

"Sherlock, I don't care what kind of partner you are. All that matters is that your mine. Just being with you makes me happy…even when you criticise my appearance."

They both laughed, the detective's baritone voice harmonising with hers once again.
"Well then, Molly Hooper, I would be delighted to be your boyfriend." He murmured, and their lips pressed together in a tender kiss.

John sat in his armchair, a smug smile pulling at his lips.

"Well, I can't say that I didn't see this coming," He said, standing up and clamping a hand on his friend's shoulder, "Congratulations. It's about time you two got together."

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, but couldn't help but grin. Molly had hopped into the shower, and the doctor had come home to an ecstatic flatmate, his expression echoing the face on the wall. The detective had admitted to his relationship with Molly, and now both men were content.

"So where are you taking her?" John asked.

"Excuse me?"

"On a date, Sherlock. Where are you taking her on a date?"

The detective's eyes widened at the realisation that he'd have to take Molly on dates. After a moment, he beamed, noticing that this wasn't an unpleasant idea. He turned back to his friend with excitement glazing his eyes.

"I know just the place."

A towel-clad Molly exited the bathroom and tiptoed to Sherlock's bedroom, avoiding the two men as she went. Neither of them were to be found. She dried her hair with a hairdryer Naomi had left behind and put on the black dress. It reminded her of the last time she wore it and the terrifying events that happened, but the pathologist knew she couldn't exit the flat in Sherlock Holmes' shirt.

She entered the living room to find the two men waiting for her. Sherlock stood, his eyes wandering over her form, and grabbed his coat. He passed his flatmate's black jacket to him and turned to Molly.

"We're going to your flat so you can pack a bag. I want you to stay here for a few days, is that okay?" Sherlock queried.

Molly nodded, and they exited 221b, stepping out onto the freezing street. Snow was still falling from the evening sky, blanketing the ground and buildings. Sherlock noticed the pathologist shivering and shook off his coat, draping it over her shoulders to fight the cold. She smiled at him gratefully, and sighed in relief as a cab stopped before them.

Molly Hooper's flat was nothing special. It wasn't large, it wasn't expensive and it certainly wasn't elegant; but it was her home, and she loved every inch of it. The front door opened out into a short, carpeted hallway. An archway on the left hand side lead to the living room, which held a comfy sofa, a small television and a bookshelf filled with endless amounts of novels and textbooks. It also lead to the tiny kitchen. Two doors on the right hand side of the hallway lead to the bathroom and Molly's bedroom. The walls were painted in warm tones and the faint smell of cherries lingered in the air.

The three stepped through the threshold and the pathologist headed straight for the kitchen, intending to feed her cat Toby and boil the kettle. After a refreshing cup of tea, she went to her room to pack a bag. The detective looked over at his friend and winked, pulling a pen out of his pocket to scribble on some scrap paper and passing it to him. He left the flat silently, the oblivious woman still in her room.
She appeared a while later, her fully-packed bag in hand.

"Where's Sherlock?" She asked.

"He left. Told me to give you this," John answered, holding up the scrap paper.

Molly took the note and skimmed it over, smiling at the words she saw in his chaotic handwriting.

Taking you for dinner, dress nicely – Sherlock.
P.S – No one is taking you away from me this time.

She handed the note back to John and entered her bedroom once again.