Flashback chapter! I'm going to give a more detailed account of what happened between Molly and Sherlock. Sorry if it gets a little repetitive, but I want to tell it from both of their perspectives. This chapter goes to Molly; next is for Sherlock.

Thanks again for all the feedback! If you haven't already, pretty, pretty please won't you review?

Inspiration for this chapter's content goes to applejacks0808! Thanks so much!

Also, I've gotten 5,000 hits on this story. Not that much, but certainly a personal best on this site. Xoxo to all my readers!

Random useless fact: This is the longest chapter of any story that I have ever written.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Molly Hooper sat directly across from Tom at a table in the diner that was just down the street from Bart's. She stared at him while sipping at her steaming cup of coffee.

"So..." She cleared her throat, and lowered her coffee, "Why are you here? Why now?"

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat and ran a finger down into the top of his shirt collar, "Well, umm... Just being without you, Molly...And knowing how much I had hurt you, and how wrong I was," Molly raised up both of her eyebrows, "I just couldn't stand being away from you anymore!"

Molly sighed and ran her fingers through her long, brown hair, "Might I remind you that you were the one who broke off the engagement; you were the one who accused me of being in love with someone else."

"I-I know," he stammered, "I thought you were. The way you looked at him..."

"I told you he was just my friend," Molly almost whispered, trying to keep herself from crying as long as was possible. Suddenly all the pain she had felt from being without him had started to resurface. "Look, Tom...This, Coffee. Us. I don't think this is a good idea."

Tom cupped his face in his hands and remained silent a few seconds before saying, "Alright. Just think about it a few days, will you?" Molly looked down into her lap, "Please."

She nodded her head solemnly, "Yes, alright. I'll think about it." Tom smiled back at her, "But right now I have to get back to work."

Molly's mind was on anything but her work. Tom had come back. That is what she wanted, wasn't it? Tom had made her so happy before. But even he had never been able to make her feel quite the same as she had on that night...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Molly had been fast asleep in her bed when she was awoken by a thudding sound from the other room. Oh great, she thought, which of my possessions is he ruining this time? She hope inwardly he had only slammed the door.

She got up slowly out of her bed, her equilibrium off from the haze of sleep. When she was half-way to the front door, she realized that it would probably have been wise to cover herself with more than the shirt she was wearing; she didn't want any unsolicited remarks from Sherlock about it. It's too late now, she told herself, more to justify appearing before Sherlock in so little clothes than to actually vindicate her attire.

When she reached the door, her eyes had still not been able to able to adjust to the dark.

"What on earth are you doing making so much noise?" She asked while fumbling blindly for the light switch, "Do you even realize what time-" She stopped when the light came on and she was able to see Sherlock's face; there was a long cut down the side of his face, swelling rapidly and turning an unsettling shade of purple. "I'll go get the first aid-kit," she muttered before rushing into the bathroom.

Oh lord, she thought, what has he done to himself now? Molly scrambled back to the doorway, bandages and cloth in hand. Sherlock was gone.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm right here," he said from the living room.

Molly exhaled a sigh of relief and found Sherlock hunched over in her favorite armchair pressing his hand against his face. Molly rushed over towards him and knelt in front of him, resting her elbows on his knees.

You're pushing it, Molly, She criticized herself, full well knowing she wouldn't pass up a chance to be that close to Sherlock Holmes. Even if he had been a huge pain in her neck ever since his "death."

"Move your hands, please," She asked, surprisingly without stuttering. She would've made a bigger fuss over him if she didn't already know exactly how he would react to that. Stop blubbering, it won't help to remedy the situation...She blocked his voice out of her head.

He still keep cupping his injured face in his hands. A shiver ran down her spine when she had to grab his hands and pull them away herself. Focus, Molly, focus... She started dabbing at the swollen wound on his face.

"What did you do now?"

"Just a mundane fight. The other man left in an ambulance," he chuckled. A low, sultry chuckle that sent Molly's stomach fluttering.

Molly looked at him disapprovingly. Her eyes were met by his, which looked surprisingly soft at the moment.

Lord, he smells so good...

Molly froze when she felt his fingers graze the wrist of her free hand. He curled his fingers around her wrist until he was holding her whole hand, never breaking eye contact with her

What...Is happening...?

She dropped her cloth when he started to lean forward. She inhaled sharply and swallowed.

Oh lord, oh lord, what is he doing?

She closed her eyes and leaned into him; their lips met. He kissed her slowly and softly, pulling back after a few seconds.

Why is this happening? Molly sat frozen in front of him, her eyes opened wide.

Sherlock drew back slightly, "Was that not good?" He asked, looking at her with his blue, puppy-dog eyes, and dropping her hand.

Molly almost laughed. It wasn't the best kiss she'd ever had, but it was with him. That was all she wanted.

"It was perfectly acceptable," she responded, mimicking his speech.

Sherlock smiled in relief and leaned in to kiss her again. The kiss was more intense, this time; desperate, almost.

It should be, Molly thought, I've been waiting years for this.

Sherlock moved himself out of his seat and onto the floor with Molly, never breaking the kiss. She coiled her fingers through his lovely, dark hair, and he wrapped his long arms around her waist, fiercely roving her body with his hands, occasionally breaking away to caress her skin with light kisses. He leaned into her until the were both lying on the cold floor.

"Couch," he murmured against her lips, "Your floor is rather uncomfortable," Molly broke away and started to squirm from beneath him to get up, "Wait," he said.

Sherlock pushed himself up off of the floor and put one arm beneath Molly's knees, and the other beneath her neck. In one fluid motion, he picked her up off the floor and laid her on the couch. Molly giggled.

That night was the best Molly had ever had. She kissed Sherlock Holmes, (Sherlock Holmes!), for what seemed like days, and then fell asleep in his arms on her couch.

Years later she could still recall exactly what it felt like to have him breathing against her neck as he slept.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Molly got her thoughts back to the present. That wasn't the only time she and Sherlock had gone well beyond the boundaries of normal friendship. But then he just left-for two years. He had barely even said goodbye to Molly. She'd cried for nights (even though she all along expected for him to do something like that). She had never counted upon him to be capable of a romantic attachment.

As disturbing as it was, Molly knew that it had just been some sort of experiment for Sherlock. She was sure he had a logical explanation for everything they'd done in her flat. He had never talked to Molly about it-certainly not. Any time she had tried to bring it up, he just started discussing his cases with her.

So what exactly had gone on in his mind?