Hello there! This is a oneshot about confusion and toes. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

"So you can bring over the toes after you get done at Bart's?" asked Sherlock.

"Sure. I'll be over in a few hours," said Molly into her mobile.

"Thank you Molly," Sherlock replied.

"Okay, um I'll see you then. Bye, love you." What? Oh Christ I just told Sherlock Holmes I love him ON THE PHONE!

"Love you too." What? Did he just say he loved me too?

The line went dead. She held her phone in her hand and just stared at it. "Holy mother of…" She couldn't even finish. She dropped the phone on the sofa and plopped down after it. Wait. Calm down. It was probably just a mistake. He didn't mean to say it. I didn't mean to say it either. It's just habit. I talked to Mum earlier so that's why I said it. But how often does Sherlock tell people he loves them? Enough to say it by accident on the phone? I doubt it. Molly decided that she had to confront Sherlock about this, if only for her own piece of mind. If he laughed it off as a mistake, then she could too. But if he meant it…No she couldn't think about that now.

Sherlock Holmes had just told Molly Hooper that he loved her, albeit casually and quickly, but he had said it all the same. His mind worked very quickly, so when she, presumably out of habit from phone calls with family and close friends, had declared her love for him, he had taken this as his chance to say it back.

Sherlock had been in love with Molly Hooper for exactly a month now. It all started after the Moriarty broadcast when she had helped him take down the imposter. He had never seen this side of Molly before. He had seen her act bravely when she helped him fake his death, but he had never seen her attack or manipulate anyone the way she had the false Moriarty. Frankly it turned him on.

At first, he though that was all it was, sexual attraction. But when he got back to taking regular cases and saw Molly almost daily in the lab, he started to notice little things about her. He liked the way she quietly apologized to the corpses before she cut into their cold skin. He loved the way her ponytail got stuck in her lab coat and she had to repeatedly pull it out. Soon he realized that the feeling of not wanting her to leave when her shift was over and wishing she could come back to Baker Street with him, was love.

Sherlock had spent the last month trying to figure out the best way to tell her and even if he could tell her. She had broken up with Tom, but that didn't mean she still loved him, Sherlock. Molly was becoming increasingly harder for him to read as he fell more deeply in love with her. He honestly had no idea whether or not she had feelings for him or not. Sometimes her hand would linger on his a moment too long when she was handing him safety goggles, but sometimes she seemed completely uninterested when he tried to strike up a conversation.

He had decided in that split second after Molly said she loved him, that it was now or never. So he had said he loved her too.

The only problem was he only realized after the phone call ended that she probably thought he had said it by accident too. Sherlock decided that in order to prove that he had really meant it and to find out if she had meant it as well, he had to make a big romantic gesture. He knew just the thing.

After her shift ended, Molly took a cab to Sherlock's flat and knocked quietly on the door. When there was no answer, she assumed he was in his mind palace and opened the door herself. She stepped in to the sitting room, but discovered that Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. She walked into the kitchen doorway, but he wasn't there either and the bathroom door was wide open.

"Sherlock?" she called. She started walking into the kitchen and suddenly realized that she was stepping on something squishy. She looked down, expecting to see a crushed eyeball beneath her shoe, but found that she was walking on rose petals.

"Sherlock?" she called again, louder this time. "What's all this? Are you expecting someone?" When there was no answer she followed the rose petals to the bedroom door and knocked lightly. The door was already slightly ajar, so her soft knock opened up a crack big enough for her to fit through. When she looked through the opening, she gasped.

The room was completely transformed from Sherlock's bedroom to something resembling a Parisian cafe in some romantic comedy. His bed was nowhere to be seen. Where had he put it? There were soft yellow lights surrounding the room and in the center there was a table set for two. As she walked into the room she saw clearly that one of the places was already occupied by none other than the consulting detective.

"I brought the toes," said Molly, immediately wincing for her poor timing.

But Sherlock didn't seem startled at all. "Thank you Molly," he said reaching out his hand.

She handed him the cooler and he put it behind his chair. The he gestured to the other chair. She sat down and took off her coat. Suddenly she noticed that Sherlock was wearing a tux and she felt underdressed in her jeans and jumper from work. Slowly she looked up to meet his eyes and asked, "What's all this about?"

"You said you loved me," Sherlock replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Well you said you loved me too," said Molly, defensively.

"I do."

Molly's breath caught in her throat. "You- you- love me? Since when?"

"Since I realized what an amazing woman you are," Sherlock said with a smile.

"Wow. I mean wow about that and wow about this room and this dinner and where is your bed?" rambled Molly.

"Ooh, already thinking about my bed," jabbed Sherlock, waggling his eyebrows.

Molly blushed. "I just meant that it's so beautiful in her and the food looks delicious."

"Well, you can dig in as soon as you tell me one thing. Do you love me too?"

Molly reached across the table and took his hand. "Of course I love you. Don't you ever doubt that I love you."

"Good. I knew that. I just wanted to hear you say it," said Sherlock, looking relieved.

"Sure you di-" But Sherlock cut her off by walking around the table and kissing her tenderly, all thoughts of food forgotten by both of them.