A/N: For the January 8th prompt - "It's what I do in the middle of the night." Rated T. Fits in somewhere after The Lying Detective and before The Final Problem.

The bad guys were caught, Lestrade was on his way to NSY, and John was on his way home to kiss his sleeping daughter's curls and write up the case for his blog. After chasing criminals for an entire week, Sherlock was starving and exhausted. Baker Street was closer, but there was only one place he wanted to be right now. The fact that it was the middle of the night made no difference.

Letting himself in with the key she had given him, he saw that the entire flat was dark. Sherlock had memorized the layout of Molly's home during his very first visit, so he didn't need to turn on the lights. Hanging up his Belstaff and taking off his shoes, he then walked into the kitchen and went straight to the refrigerator. Leftover Chinese take-away was more than enough to satisfy him.

When he was done, he tossed the empty containers into the bin then walked to Molly's bedroom. He stopped at the door and listened. Sherlock had once walked in on Molly and Tom asleep in her bed and he'd vowed to himself that he would never barge in like that again. Satisfied that he only heard Molly breathing, he slipped into the room, silently closing the door behind him.

The moonlight shining through the window was enough to show Molly asleep on the bed, the flower-print sheet only covering up to her waist, and above that he could see she was wearing her pale blue silk negligee. Bad day at work, he deduced. She only wears that to bed when her day has been utter shite and she wants to improve her mood. Sherlock quickly and quietly changed into the spare pajamas she kept for him then slipped into bed beside her.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, blinking sleepily. "Sherlock?"

"Go back to sleep, Molly," he murmured.

"Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. The case is solved, the criminals are in custody, and John's certain to make us the toast of the internet once again."

"Mmm, to your utter delight, I'm sure," she murmured as she turned on her side to face him. "And the word you're looking for is 'viral.'"

Sherlock chuckled. "Right." He reached out to tuck a stray lock behind her ear and felt her shiver. "Tell me about your day."

Molly sighed quietly. "Murdered woman. My age. Killed by her ex-fiancé after she wouldn't give him any money." She shuddered. "I noticed cat hairs on her clothes and asked Greg to have someone get her cat."

"You identify with her," he murmured, one hand reaching out to gently stroke her hair.

She nodded. "I kept thinking that could easily have been me, if Tom were evil and greedy instead of-"

"A complete moron?" Sherlock asked, smiling a bit.

Molly laughed softly. "Something like that." She smiled at him. "Thank you, Sherlock. I needed that."

"You're welcome."

"So, um, why are you here? I mean, not that you're not welcome, you're always welcome, but if the case is solved, wouldn't you rather be home?"

He gently stroked her cheek. "Who says I'm not?"

She stared at him. "Sherlock…"

"Hear me out, Molly," he murmured. "I've realized that this is my favorite bolthole not just because it's quiet and out-of-the-way, but because you're here. The few times I've been here without you, it just wasn't the same. There was no order in the midst of chaos without you."

"You're saying I'm good for your peace of mind?" she asked, confused.

"You calm my mind, my body, and my heart. My soul too, if I believed in such things."

"Sherlock…" Molly looked torn. "Don't say something you don't mean."

"What makes you think I don't?" He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "I don't just come here to get a respite from the world, Molly. When I get an urge to see you, touch you, hear your voice, and breathe in your scent, I come here."

She stared at him. "But you never touch me." She looked down at his arms around her then back up at his face. "Until now, that is."

"What do you mean?" he asked softly. "I touch your hand, I kiss your cheek. Those count." He suddenly looked guilty. "The last few times I was here, I … may … have touched your hair while you slept."

Molly smiled a bit. "I may have touched your curls while you were in the hospital."

It was his turn to stare. "You came to see me?"

"Yes, of course. It was before you woke up. I couldn't stay long, but I did visit. John was there, I thought he would have told you."

"He didn't," Sherlock said, more than a little irritated with his best friend.

"Enough about that," she murmured, one hand coming up to play with his curls. "You were saying something about me calming your heart?"

He closed his eyes, sighing contently. "I was?"

"Sherlock…"

He opened his eyes to smile at her softly. "You must know by now that I depend on you, Molly Hooper. And I don't just mean at Bart's. Your constant attention and affection remind me that no matter happens, there is someone in the world who loves me." Her eyes widened and he continued. "Yes, I know you love me. I've known it since that Christmas, but I wasn't prepared to act on that information until now." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Molly. I know my home will always be wherever you are. That is, if you'll have me."

She stared at him for half a heartbeat then whispered, "Of course I'll have you, you silly man."

Sherlock grinned at her. "I'll take you to the nearest church first thing in the morning."

Molly laughed softly. "If this is a dream, I really don't want to wake up."

"You're definitely not dreaming." He then proceeded to show her just how awake he was.