As Sherlock came back to some level of consciousness, he realized the entirety of his weight was currently on the woman beneath him. He shifted to lie beside her, withdrawing from her as he did. Molly made some sort of sound at his movement, and he placed an arm across her torso in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

He wanted to ask her how it had been for her. He wanted to ask her what she felt about him. He wanted to ask her what he should do now, after. But the words died long before reaching his lips, killed by the fear of inadequacy that had plagued him his whole life, covered up by facts and rudeness. He settled for just feeling her next to him, breathing softly.

Molly's mind was still floating in bliss. When he shifted out of her she made a keening noise, unhappy at the loss. He placed an arm over her, drawing her slightly closer, and she let out a breath, settling against him.

And just that quickly, she remembered who she was next to. Adrenaline shot through her body, and she fought the panic rising inside her. She had just shagged Sherlock bloody Holmes, Britain's most brilliant detective and the object of her fantasies. Insecurities pulled at her, telling her she couldn't have this, couldn't have him. She had to get out of here, she had to play it off like it didn't matter…

"Well then," she flashed what she hoped looked like a playful smile, sitting up on the edge of the bed and trying to locate her clothes."Best be off. Thanks for dinner." Thanks for dinner? God she was an idiot. She pulled on her trousers and stood, gathering the rest of her clothes and clutching them against her bare chest, already moving towards the bedroom door. She had to get out, and it would all be fine. Just two friends, having a tumble, nothing to get bothered over…

"Where are you going?" His voice from behind her caused her to stop, but she didn't turn around to face him, focusing instead on clasping her bra, shrugging into her shirt.

"Oh, have to get home to feed Toby, you know. And have quite a busy day tomorrow-"

"Why aren't you looking at me, Molly?" She couldn't ignore the hurt in the detective's voice. Damn him, he was going to ruin everything.

Sherlock felt incredibly saddened by Molly's rebuff. She probably regretted what they had done, or this was just one more area of human interactions at which he was simply rubbish. There was a sudden dropping sensation in his stomach at the thought. He had hoped, if he really tried, he could have this. He could have relationships and friends and family and…a hidden part of him had hoped, maybe even love.

Molly turned to face the man on the bed, looking at her now with hurt and confusion in his eyes. But as quick as she registered it, it was gone, the perfect mask of indifference falling over his face. She waited for the deduction or insult that usually accompanied the shift to this version of Sherlock, but it didn't come. Instead, he just stared at her, clearly waiting for her answer behind the protection that his nonchalance offered. Immediately she felt a stab of guilt, knowing that this time, it was her who was causing him pain.

"I really am in quite the hurry, Sherlock. That's all."

"You're lying," he replied in his usual manner of deduction. "I don't think I've ever seen you lie before. But your physiological tells are much the same as anyone else's." He snagged his trousers and pulled them on, trying to maintain his façade of indifference.

Molly shut her eyes at his statement, knowing there was no point in denying the truth of his words. What could she say to him? "I've loved you for years and I'm terrified I can't handle this." or "As much as I pretend, this wasn't just sex for me and I couldn't bear it if that's what it was for you."? She was spared from speaking however, when he spoke instead.

"You're…fearful," he fell back on his natural skill set, observing the woman in front of him carefully. "Your respiratory rate is elevated, you're flushed, and your pupils are dilated. These could, naturally, be attributed to recent sex, except your eyes keep darting around the room, like an animal looking for escape. As to the cause of your fear, we've known each other long enough that I feel it safe to assume you are not apprehensive of the possibility of me physically assaulting you. So that leaves fear of being hurt psychologically." He let the statement hang in the air, an accusation.

Molly took a deep breath, knowing she was stuck now. He would know if she lied. Her only option was to tell the truth, and just try to keep it to a minimum.

"I am scared. What we did might…change things," she finished lamely.

"I was hoping that you wanted things to change," he replied calmly, making her heart jump in her chest. He couldn't possibly mean what she wanted him to mean. Play it cool, Molly, she told herself, trying desperately to keep her heart from running away with her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, in what she hoped was a normal tone, when really her stomach was knotting in anxiety.

Sherlock felt his own respiratory rate increase, and the telltale heat in his face that meant he was blushing. If he looked in a mirror, he was sure his pupils were dilated also. He didn't know if he was ready for this, saying the words out loud. He'd avoided being in these situations the entirety of his life, hence he was ill-equipped to adapt to these feelings. He wiped his palms on his trousers, realizing they were damp. When he knew he wouldn't be coming back from the mission Mycroft had provided, it had all seemed so easy. He knew he should have told her that he had missed her the most while he was away, that he never wanted to be without her again. He didn't have to know what else it meant, but that much he knew. He told himself he kept quiet because she was engaged, but he knew she wasn't happy, he could see it, and he knew he was being a coward. But now that he had the chance…would it be enough for her? He couldn't offer a grand declaration of love, nor could he promise to never hurt her, he very likely might, as much as he hated the idea. He couldn't be a good boyfriend, or lover, in the traditional sense…all he could offer was himself, flawed and damaged as he was. He feared it would never be good enough for a woman like Molly Hooper.

"My time away changed me, Molly. I realized how much I care for The people in my life. And you, Molly...I care deeply for you, in a way unlike the others. I…I don't know what it means, truly. All I know is I don't want to be parted from you again, ever. And…I don't want you to be with anyone else," he added the last as an afterthought, remembering the annoyance he'd felt seeing her with Tom, the sadness he felt noticing her engagement ring.

Molly's heart was pounding so hard she knew he must hear it, although he was standing several feet from her. She fought the glimmer of hope that he was saying what she thought he was saying…if she let herself believe that, and it turned out not to be the case…she might never recover. She took a step closer to him, dropping the remaining items she was carrying thoughtlessly as she did so. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the blow she was sure she was about to receive.

"Alright."

"Pardon?" The detective asked with raised eyebrows, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I don't know what this means either. But I'm willing to let it continue, I think."

Sherlock's face split with a grin that made her stomach fill with butterflies, and she felt her own face respond with an answering smile.

He quickly closed the distance between them, gathering her in his arms and crushing his mouth to hers. Christ, to kiss the mouth that had transfixed him for so long…he began to think it would never be enough, illogical though it was.

Molly's heart felt near to bursting. She poured everything she was feeling into the kiss, hoping against hope that this could really be. She ran her hands across his bare back, pulling him impossibly closer. He touched his tongue to hers and she shuddered in his arms, opening to grant him more access.

Somewhere in a corner of her mind, she registered a noise coming from the living room. She was more than happy to ignore it, but her brain was making connections, and in a flash she knew what it was.

"Sherlock, do you hear that?" She had to be wrong, there was no way that was…

The look on Sherlock's face told her she wasn't wrong. That was the Bee Gee's singing "Stayin' Alive." And that could only mean one thing.

"Stay here." Sherlock demanded, shoving her behind him further into the bedroom as he made his way out the door, towards the living room. Molly, never being one to be left behind, followed, glad his focus kept him from noticing she was right behind him.

She quickly realized that the song was playing from inside her purse, sitting next to the chair she had been sitting in. Sherlock fished out her mobile, and from her place behind him, Molly could see a text message lighting up the screen:

" I certainly missed you, Molly."

Author's Note: Sorry the updates have been coming a little slower, quite busy with life and things. Also, I really love these two, and want to give them the story they deserve, and not sacrifice quality for speed. Rest assured, I will not abandon this story. Hope you enjoyed it!