Sherlock could easily have gotten out of attending his cousin Ruth's wedding. He already had a dozen excuses at hand, for experience had taught him to be prepared. Worst case, he could have pitched his tent in Mycroft's camp, offering his help with thwarting or fuelling the civil war his brother had chosen to hide behind.

But when his mother had mentioned dancing and the possibility of bringing a date, the image of Molly Hooper had popped into his mind. Suddenly the idea of spending a Saturday with his parents and strangers didn't seem so dreadful. That and Mummy's "You owe me for last Christmas" had made up his mind.

He'd played to Molly's sympathetic nature when he told her the slightly exaggerated plight he was in. Since the birth of John and Mary's daughter, they'd been spending more time together, in and outside the lab. While Molly was usually a willing and interested helpmate, she was perfectly capable of telling him no when she wanted to.

He'd felt stupidly excited when she did agree to go with him.

"I think it's finding the right person to make it work," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"Yes, I think you're right," he answered, wondering if he'd lost his mind when he'd come up with his plan.

The song ended and she excused herself to use the loo again. He didn't realise that he was following her until his parents stepped into his path.

"Your mother and I had enough excitement for one night," his father said, "We're heading home but you and Molly enjoy yourselves a little more."

His mother touched his cheeks, "I'm so glad you came, Sherlock. You and Molly looked beautiful dancing together."

He smiled fondly at his parents. He may choose to avoid them as much as he could, but he knew that they were good people. They had supported him through many crises, often of his own making, and he had come to appreciate this greatly.

His father took his mother's hand, "We'll see you in the morning."

"Yes! We will have a big brunch. How does Molly take her eggs?" his mother looked alarmed not knowing this detail.

"She's not picky, but she prefers them poached."

Mummy nodded, filing this information away, "Say goodnight to her from us!"

With a last nod from his father, his parents left. He spotted Simon and Leo at the bar and decided to join them.

"You know if that detective business of yours ever fails, you could easily become a dance instructor," Leo commented.

"I don't think I'll run out of crimes to solve," Sherlock answered, smiling.

The couple laughed at that, Simon saying, "But if you do, sign me up for the first waltzing lesson."

He'd naturally been worried about getting through the ordeal of being around other people. After all, he'd wanted to make a positive impression on Molly and he knew his own nature often worked against him. He'd hoped that having her see him behaving nicely in a social setting would improve her opinion of him. So he was glad that he'd found a table with people who didn't make him feel so out of place.

Molly had come back from the ladies' room and was obviously looking for Sherlock. He excused himself from the men and headed over to her.

"My parents have left," he told her, taking her back to the dance floor.

It was another slow song and Molly automatically put her arms on his shoulders. He'd noticed her shyness earlier, her surprise at him touching her. She'd acted like she didn't care, but he'd seen that tiny little jolt of her body whenever they'd made contact. He'd fought hard not to grin with delight every time.

Now she seemed at ease, swaying with him to the music, humming along to the tune. There was a painful clench in his gut, one he'd experienced many times in the presence of Molly. It used to confuse and annoy him, make him want to push her away. He'd hated how it made him feel churlish and awkward around her.

"Mummy will have breakfast ready in the morning," he said to distract him from the butterflies in his stomach.

"It's really sweet that you still call her 'Mummy'."

Flustered by his sudden nerves, he babbled, "She'll make you poached eggs. She's experimental but she's a good cook. Hasn't poisoned anyone yet."

"I got sick from a bad batch of baked beans once, during foundation. Didn't touch them again for about a year. By then I was so tired and hungry from all the work I was doing that I didn't care what went into my body and gave them a try again. Those first beans were the best meal I've ever had," Molly provided.

Sentiment may be a chemical defect, but he no longer could see why that was so objectionable. Yes, he felt nervous and apprehensive and part of him still wanted to run from it all. But a larger part just wanted to surrender to it, surrender to Molly Hooper.

And why had he thought that taking her to his cousin's wedding would somehow make her see that? He'd truly been stupid.

"Sherlock?"

They were standing in the middle of the dance floor, the slow song replaced by one with a faster beat. He'd been staring down at her and only now registered the concerned look on her face.

No words came out, his thoughts a panicked jumble in his head.

"Let's go for some fresh air," she suggested.

He nodded mutely, allowing her to guide him outside. It wasn't the first time today that she'd rescued him from an uncomfortable situation. Her innate ability to know what he needed astounded him. Her acceptance of who he was humbled him.

Though it was certainly cooler outside in the gardens of the hotel, it was still warm enough to not need a jacket. They walked over to a bench near a fountain. Molly sat down, stretching her legs and rotating her feet. She patted the space next to her in invitation.

Sherlock preferred to stand, still feeling nervous and not wanting her to notice. But as always, she saw when something wasn't right with him.

"Don't tell me there was an attempted murder at the wedding," she joked.

And with that statement, his feelings calmed. He looked at this woman who bit by bit had filled his cold, empty heart with her brilliant light.

"Molly, shall we go home?" He held out his hand.

He could still see the questions in her eyes but she smiled and placed her hand in his. They walked back to the banquet hall to get her things and she insisted on saying goodbye to Simon and Leo. Then they took one of the cabs waiting outside the hotel.

When they arrived at his childhood home, Sherlock led her around the house to the back garden, towards the little gazebo. Small garden lights gave enough illumination for him to see that she was still bemused. She'd kept her own counsel during the whole ride back and he'd taken the opportunity to arrange his thoughts.

This time he invited her to sit down. When she settled next to him, he bent down to take her feet in hand and into his lap.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, trying to pull away.

He held her firmly by the ankles, "No matter how comfortable you say your shoes are, your feet must be tired by now."

"Oh," she sighed.

He waited for her to make a decision and when she nodded, he removed her shoes. She flexed her toes, glad to be free of the restriction. He began rubbing her stockinged feet, adding a little pressure on her arches. He could sense her earlier shyness return but kept massaging her feet lightly. Gradually, he felt her relaxing into his touch and his hands wandered slowly upwards to her calves, soothing them with long strokes.

She released a deep sigh, her eyes having closed during his ministrations. She looked so blissful, with the dreamy smile on her face. He couldn't wait to find out how else he could make her look that way.

"Molly," he softly said.

"Hmmm?" came her lazy reply, her eyes opening to look at him.

"Thank you for accompanying me."

Her cheeks dimpled, "It was fun. Thank you for asking me."

"I don't think I've told you how beautiful you look in your dress."

She giggled, "You actually have. Earlier. Before we left."

"Well. It's still true."

"Sherlock…"

Before she could complete the sentence, he moved forward, placing a lingering kiss on her lips. He heard her startled inhalation and he moved back to explain himself. But she surprised him by cradling his face and returning the kiss with an eagerness that thrilled him.

Shuffling closer and manoeuvring her so she was half-sitting in his lap, he tightened his arms around her as she lightly ran her fingers through his hair. He nipped her bottom lip teasingly and then sucked it gently. She made an enchanting little noise at the back of her throat. And then she did something with her tongue that caused him to groan deeply.

He was snogging Molly Hooper in his parents' back garden and it was the most glorious feeling in the world.

They broke apart, breathless, but he kept peppering kisses all over her face. He nuzzled the soft skin behind her ear, breathing in her scent.

"Molly, Molly, Molly," he whispered, placing a wet kiss there and then blowing on it softly. He felt her shiver.

"Sherlock…" she murmured, "Sherlock I don't…"

He pulled back to look her in the eyes, "You can have me if you want."

And there it was. He'd all these words planned in his head, arguments to convince her to give it a try, to give him a try. Good words, nice words, thought-out words. None of them had the raw honesty of those seven words.

"I've wanted you for so long," she said.

"Forgive me for taking so long. I've been a fool, Molly," he kissed her apologetically.

"You're the cleverest man I know."

He shook his head, "Not clever enough to realise that I've been in love with you all this time."

Hope and fear mingled on Molly's expressive face, "Do you mean it?"

"Please let me show you," he answered.

She sat there, silent. He could see her processing, debating with herself. He couldn't blame her. He had been so cruel, so unthinking in the past.

She moved back from his embrace, alarming him. But just as he thought that she was going to leave, she adjusted the skirt of her dress so she could straddle him. It made him much more aware of the tightness in his trousers.

"Molly…"

Her smile was sweet, her fingertips caressing his nape, "I would very much like to have you, Mister Holmes."

Then she rolled her hips and that clenching feeling was suddenly no longer something he hated. His whole body hummed with anticipation. He kissed her again, reverently at first, but then with an increasing passion. She didn't stop moving her hips and he'd never felt more aware of his own body. He was certainly fully aware of hers.

His one hand had was kneading the soft flesh of her bottom, while the other had explored her back and then came to the front to cup her breast. With every undulation of her body, her nipples brushed against his palm. He could feel the hardened peak through the fabric of her clothing.

Too much clothing, he thought, as the hand on her bum made its way under her skirt. His finger traced the lace top of the thigh-highs she was wearing and then moved inwards to stroke the smooth skin between her thighs. It elicited a gasp from Molly and she very deliberately moved her hips again so his fingers brushed against her damp knickers.

He ran his fingers along the seam of her underwear, watching Molly's reaction closely. Carefully, he slid his thumb under the piece of fabric and up the wet slit of her sex. He felt her whole body shudder, sparking a pleasurable tingling in his own. He touched the small nub at the top and another tremor went through her body.

"I want you now," she said, kissing him and reaching for the button and zip of his trousers.

He assisted her as best as he could, made clumsy by the sensations of her fingers near his cock. Once it was released from its confines, Molly palmed it with a delighted smile. She stroked it a few times, running her thumb across the top, making his member twitch.

She released him abruptly, "There's a condom in my purse."

There was a frantic search for her purse, which had fallen underneath the bench of the gazebo. Once they'd located it and the condom, he hastily tore off the packaging.

"Careful, we don't want to rip it," Molly admonished, stilling his shaking hands and taking over the task, "I intend to have you right now."

He laughed breathlessly and she giggled, rolling it expertly down his erection. Then she shifted her hips and slowly guided him in. When he was fully inside her, they both stilled, looking at each other.

"I'm yours," he said to her, kissing her cheek.

"Good," she replied and then began to move.

The first wave of sensation threatened to overwhelm him but he fought for focus. He didn't understand how he'd come from being afraid of admitting how he felt to making love to Molly Hooper. But here he was – they were – and he was going to make damn sure that he wouldn't embarrass himself. He'd disappointed her enough already.

Moving with her, he rolled his hips, grinding into her. One hand went back under her skirt, to play with her clit. He nuzzled her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses on her collarbone.

"Kiss me, kiss me," Molly demanded.

He hungrily complied, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She kissed him back with the same intensity. Without warning, she stilled and with a breathless cry she came. Feeling her insides clench around him, drove him to follow her climax. With one last thrust, he groaned his release, overcome with an amazing sense of peace.

They clung to each other, while their heartbeats steadied and their bodies came back from their highs.

"I can't believe I just shagged you in your parents' garden," Molly laughed, her breath tickling his neck.

He lightly ran his fingers down her back, "I used to pretend that this gazebo was my pirate cave when I was a child."

She moved to look at him impishly, "You certainly got some booty tonight."

They both laughed and Sherlock had never felt happier.

"My mother will be cooking you eggs in the morning."

"You mentioned."

"She's also very observant when she wants to be. She'll spoil breakfast with questions."

"Will she? I think your mother is lovely."

"Mrs. Hudson will be far less intrusive."

Molly squinted her eyes at him, "What are you suggesting?"

"The walls of my parents' house are atrociously thin and I believe John left a box of condoms at Baker Street."

"What will your parents say if we just disappear like that?"

He kissed the tip of her nose, "I have a dozen plausible excuses ready."