That night Molly dreamt of Sherlock; more importantly, her Sherlock. Not the mean arrogant stone faced one that everyone else knew, but the kind and gentle one that she knew and loved. In her sleep she dreamt that they went for coffee at Speedy's then after they took a walk which ended up with them getting lost, but neither one of them cared; they had each other. She dreamt that Sherlock saw her shivering and took off his heavy coat and ever so gently laid it over her shoulders to keep her warm. She dreamt that they were telling old stories or telling jokes or something of the sort, but whatever they were saying they kept both laughing and smiling. She dreamt that Sherlock didn't have to go back, that he would decide he was better off with his pathologist and stay with her for the rest of their lives. In her dreams he kissed her first, not the other way in which she had always imagined. No Sherlock Holmes kissed her first. In her dream she floated above London, above Europe and above the world into an entirely new atmosphere, an atmosphere that allowed only her and Sherlock to live in, an atmosphere fuelled by their love. And it was all thanks to Sherlock.

When Molly woke up she felt a pain in her chest as she looked around the room and noticed that she did not actually do those things and even worse, she probably never will. Reality hit her like a slap in the face and brought tears to her eyes at the thought of living one more day, one more second, in her miserable loveless and Sherlockless life. Molly silently curled up into a little ball, hugging her knees to her chest and cried for all the memories that hadn't yet happened, and probably never would be. She cried for herself, she cried for John and Mrs. Hudson, for Greg, and even worse; she cried for Sherlock.

She wasn't sure how long she had stayed like that for but when she lifted her head she was surprised to see the sun high in the sky announcing a brand new day. Great, she thought to herself, another stupid pointless day.

Very slowly Molly threw back the covers and got out of bed. She swung both legs over the bed and did her morning stretch, flexing out her hands she shut her eyes and then began to flex her toes when a sharp pain stopped her. Looking down she eyes her bandaged foot carefully wondering to herself, what happened?

The sound of broken glass sent the little hairs on her neck flying and that deep hollow feeling in her stomach worsen. Molly's heart rate increased as she slowly stood up and walked very carefully to her bedroom door. Suddenly she heard footsteps, not light ones like Toby would make but big heavy ones; someone was in her flat.

Very carefully Molly got up and headed to the closed door making sure to grab the first blunt object she could find, an old beaten down copy of a hardcover dictionary her parents had gotten her when she was accepted into Uni. Slowly and silently she opened her bedroom door and sprang out of her room and into the hallway, very quietly she made her way to the kitchen where the sound seemed to be coming from. As she neared the kitchen she could hear the sounds of footsteps and sizzling like something was cooking, she smelt the air; it smelt like bacon- burnt bacon.

Taking her weapon of choice over her head she jumped into the kitchen and threw the book across the room towards the dark figure hiding in the corner. She heard him gasp painfully and just when she was about to pick up a frying pan, Sherlock bloody Holmes turned around.

"What the hell, Molly!" he yelled fetching the dictionary from the floor. "I just got back and you're already trying to kill me?"

Molly froze, memories of last night flooded into her head. It wasn't a dream, he was there standing in front of her wearing those old ratty pair of jeans and that stupid jacket. But that didn't matter, he was here, he was really really here.

"Oh, Sherlock I'm sorry I forgot!" Molly said quickly stepping forward towards him. "I forgot! Oh here let me help you!"

Sherlock stuck up his hand making her freeze in place and silently handed her the book. "Be careful with that Molly, it's practically an antique." As Sherlock handed Molly the dictionary their fingers touched ever so slightly, Molly could feel herself beginning to turn red but turned around before he could see her blushing.

"Oh," she said taking in the view of the kitchen, "you made breakfast."

Sherlock had made her breakfast, well had tried to make her breakfast. There was bacon burning in the frying pan on the burner, the kettle had fallen over with water still dripping out the top, tea bags were lying around the counter top and in the corner of it all was her cat Toby eating the stick of butter that clearly Sherlock had forgotten about.

"Yes!" Sherlock said proud of himself, "I made us breakfast!"

"You didn't have to do that you know I could have made something! After all you are the guest in my house."

"Nonsense, Molly, it took me awhile but I think I got the bacon just-" Sherlock stopped talking as he took in the sight of his breakfast. "Well it was worth a shot, I guess."

Molly giggled and took the frying pan off the burner before the bacon burnt and tipped the kettle back upright. She turned her back to Sherlock and began cleaning the mess that he had made. While Molly did that Sherlock turned his attention to the rather large stack of newspapers gathered by Molly's TV, upon further inspection he saw that they weren't only local and national newspapers but global and international ones. He picked up one with the cover of the American president on it waving to a crowd and scanned the front page; Asian newspaper; the writing was either Japanese or- no definitely Japanese, Sherlock brought the paper to his mouth and licked the corner and felt the mental click of the deduction begin to take place.

Japanese national paper from two weeks ago tastes quite bitter and quite like fish, obviously bought at the fish market which is also the only place in London that you can buy this paper in its original language. Molly can't read or speak Japanese so she would have no need of the paper, but yet here it was in her room. She was looking for something, a location, a symbol…a name. Sherlock quickly rifled through the stack of papers looking for something in common, he saw papers from Egypt, Canada, Russia, Ireland and even some small country in Africa that he had never heard of. Suddenly everything clicked in his head, she was looking for him.

He had always known Molly had a silly school girl like crush on him but he never expected this from her, he never thought that she would be tracking him. He could picture her now walking throughout all of London to buy these papers hoping that one might mention his name or even show his picture. He was careful while he was gone to avoid such attention but he knew Molly cared and he knew she would look just in case. He smiled to himself and placed the papers back where they were, Molly- his pathologist would never cease to amaze him.

"Breakfast is ready!" Molly sung out.

They both sat at her small corner table and ate quietly, munching on toast, sipping on tea, all while avoiding the questions they had been desperately been wanting to ask. While Molly ate Sherlock studied her movements very carefully, she kept looking over towards the closet and kept fidgeting with her hands and she even dropped her fork twice. He always knew Molly wasn't her best around her but this was something else, this was something new.

"Molly," he said finally breaking the silence, "do you have somewhere to be?"

"Um, no why would you think that?" Molly answered, her voice wavered. She was hiding something.

"You keep looking at the closet as if you are hiding something in there and your hands keep shaking which clearly shows me that you are hiding something. I want to know what it is so tell me what it is."

"No Sherlock it's nothing it's just I've had a lot to process, I'm just trying to get my head wrapped around things that's all."

Sherlock quickly stood up and dashed over to the closet. "Then you won't mind if I look in here do you?"

Molly jumped out of her seat to stop him but before she could do that he already had the door open and was looking inside. "Sh-Sherlock don't look in there this is my house!" Molly said quickly, but it was too late; he had already seen what she was hiding.

He pulled the dress out slowly and carefully as if it were something fragile that would break with his touch. The peach coloured strapless dress swayed back and forth as Sherlock spun it around on its hanger, he took in every detail about and cataloged it in case he never needed this information, why he would need it he couldn't answer that right now he just got the feeling that he would. Before Sherlock could examine it further Molly had grabbed it from his hands and held it close to her body, hugging it around her chest.

"I said it's nothing, Sherlock!" Molly spat out. "Just leave it alone for once!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but his though was interrupted by Molly's fridge, well not specifically her fridge but rather the small ivory paper with cursive writing on it. He moved in closed to get a good look at it and when it came into view, he wished he hadn't seen it at all.

"Mr. John H. Waston and Ms. Mary S. Morstan request the pleasure of your company and invite you to celebrate the joys of marriage by-" Sherlock stopped reading, suddenly his mouth went dry and the room began to spin.

Molly sensing something was wrong were behind him and put a comforting hand on his back and leaned in close. "Sherlock, are you okay? I thought you knew they've been engaged for a year."

John, Bachelor John Watson was getting married. How? How had he not known, he had gotten Mycroft to give him updates on him from time to time to see how he was doing but never in his reports did he mention a Mary Morstan or even an engagement. John had moved on, it was the only logical thing to do after all, but he didn't expect this; this was something entirely different. They had talked about marriage (obviously not between them despite what the media had always suggested) when John went out to the pub and had had one too many with Mike. John had told his friend that he could never see himself settling down, not because he didn't want to but he didn't feel the need to; he was happy with his life being a single carefree man. Oh how the times had changed.

"When is the wedding?" Sherlock asked quietly swallowing the lump in his throat.

Molly took her hand off of Sherlock's back and snatched the invitation off of the fridge. Without saying anything Molly handed him the piece of cardstock and stepped back a few paces and set the dress on her couch.

"In six hours."

I just want to take a minute and thank everyone who has read this,followed,favourited or liked this story so far! If all goes according to plan I will have a rather long story which is good because those are the best kind! I don't have an uploading schedule yet but I do have the next 2 chapters written up, I'll just upload them when I feel you guys need more Sherlock/Molly love!

Thanks you guys

-Lemon 3