A/N: For the December 30th prompt - "A random light." Rated K. Victorian post-TAB. Takes place a week after the scene in the abandoned church. Stand-alone.

Sherlock tripped over yet another rock and cursed yet again the incredibly thick fog that had settled on London that night. He could barely see his hand in front of his face, yet alone the dangers and inconveniences in front of him. Trying to navigate from the crime scene back to Baker Street was impossible. Of course, there were no hansoms around.

Everyone with an ounce of sense is at home in bed, Sherlock thought. He was convinced he was lost. Haven't seen a familiar building in ages. I'd better stop somewhere and wait out the fog before I end up in the Thames.

He started looking for a building that resembled a house or an inn. None of the buildings he passed looked like residences and all of them looked completely shuttered.

Suddenly, a single dot of light pierced the fog. With a sense of hope he would normally think was beneath him, Sherlock followed the light. Its source turned out to be a candle in the window of a first-floor apartment.

Hopefully, they are as open to weary travelers as the candle would suggest. He climbed the front steps then knocked on the door. The door was opened by the last person he expected to see. His eyes widened a fraction. "Hooper?"

"Holmes?" she asked, her eyes wide.

Sherlock sat on the floor next to the woman he hadn't seen in a week. Not that I ever really saw her.

She had insisted that he sit by the fire to warm himself. He insisted that she join him.

The fire and the tea were helping. Sherlock refused to admit that her warm brown eyes were helping even more.

Hooper chuckled, those delightful eyes dancing with mirth. "I can't believe you managed to lose your way two blocks from Baker Street, Holmes."

"That's all it is?" he asked, suddenly energized. "I'll leave as soon as my tea is finished."

"Don't you dare – you can still get lost in that mess. You'll stay here until it lifts."

"Hooper…" He trailed off, blinking. "I didn't get a chance to ask the last time we spoke – what is your Christian name?"

"We're not on a first name basis, Holmes."

"We should be."

"What in Heaven's name would make you think that?"

"You are, frankly, the most competent person working at St. Bartholomew's. Your work is invaluable to mine. You keep me on my toes."

"That's hardly a reason for us to be on a first-"

"You are also the most intelligent, passionate, and beautiful woman I have ever met and I would very much like to know you better."

She smiled a bit. "Much better. My parents named me Margaret Anne Hooper but I prefer to go by Molly."

"Molly," he murmured, tasting the word on his tongue. It tasted sweet. "My Molly."

"Yours?" she asked, surprised.

Sherlock grinned. "Yes, of course. The light brought me here, just as every candle in every window has guided people home."

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "That is terribly sentimental for a man who has famously sworn off sentiment."

"I have seen the error of my ways. Now…" He scooped the petite woman up and placed her in his lap. "What shall be my reward?"

"Oh, I can think of a few things," she murmured, before pulling his head down for a kiss.