Author's Note: inspired by one of my fave songs, 'Lights Down Low' by Jessie James Decker. WATCH THE MUSIC VIDEO VERSION PLEASE lol! Enjoy!

Molly had come home from Bart's late in the evening. It was going on six. It had been a particularly good day; a nice reprieve from the last couple of weeks.

"Molly Hooper, don't you look ravishing," Sherlock smiled upon her entrance into 221B. He kissed her softly. "I was going to make pancakes for dinner but maybe I should make a reservation somewhere?"

"No, pancakes for dinner sounds lovely," Molly told him. "Let's just stay home." He chuckled with that boyish grin of his. One of the many things they had in common was that they were both homebodies and tended to enjoy their time spent together at the flat more than when they went out. She padded into their bedroom to change into something more comfortable. Sherlock was already in the process of flipping pancakes by the time she appeared in the kitchen. He even had her small radio on, the volume low enough only for them to hear.

"I hope you're hungry; it seems I may have used too much batter," he laughed. Molly only walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his back.

"Starving," Molly simply replied. Sherlock could practically hear the wink in her tone. She let go and he turned to see her dressed in nothing but his aubergine dress shirt. It was big enough to be a short nightdress on her, hitting a bit below mid-thigh. She hopped up onto the counter and sat there as Sherlock finished cooking the pancakes. He scooped a few onto a plate for her and Molly covered them in sticky maple syrup just the way she liked it.

"You plan on sitting on the counter to eat?" Sherlock teased.

"Yep," Molly smirked, sticking a forkful of food into her mouth. So he stood there next to her as he ate, enjoying their comfortable silence. A welcome chill ran up his spine as Molly ran her small, delicate toes along his leg. She was smiling at him in adoration, causing his heart to race a bit faster. It was realized by him that you didn't always have to use words to convey your love. Sometimes all it took to get the message across was a look or a gentle touch. They had their own language meant only for them to share.

Once finished, Molly turned up the radio a bit while she washed the dishes. Sherlock had insisted he'd do it, but she shooed him away playfully. As soon as she was done, he gently took her arm and spun her around before pulling her in close.

"Care for a dance?" Sherlock smiled.

"I would love that, Sherlock," she replied, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. Molly didn't think she'd ever stop blushing around that man. Her man. Her Sherlock. They glided across the flat in their bare feet. If it was by accident or on purpose, she didn't care. She was suddenly against the wall and he was pressing his lips to hers with such heated passion. Her fingers slowly found their way into his dark curls. It wasn't long until it turned from seriousness into playfulness as his fingers trailed down her side, causing an outburst of laughter against his lips. Molly was extremely ticklish and Sherlock couldn't help but laugh with her as they shared kisses. He began tickling her on purpose then, her attempt at fighting back amusing to him. They both fell to the floor, their bellies aching from all of the laughter.

Later that night, they lay together on the sofa underneath Molly's large purple throw watching an old black and white film noir that had piqued their interest. A game of footsie was played sporadically throughout the movie. He loved the way she'd scrunch her toes around his. He loved her. Her natural scent mixed with her shampoo and light spritz of perfume mingling with his scent on the shirt she wore was intoxicating. He had stopped paying attention to the film, only focusing on the woman in his arms. Another realization hit him as he found he was wrong about beauty being a social construct. There had never been anyone like Molly in his childhood to leave that kind of impression and yet, he found her to be the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

He felt as she shifted to snuggle up closer against him, a sigh of contentment leaving her lips. He loved to kiss those lips. Sherlock loved to kiss her in general, wherever he could reach. That's when he trailed kisses along her neck, nibbling playfully at her ear every now and then until he had her laughing.

"Sherlock, are you even watching the movie," she giggled.

"Mm, nope," he murmured against her soft skin. "Much rather be attentive to you."

"Well, if you insist, Mister Holmes," Molly smirked. She turned her head just so her lips could meet his. Amongst the tangling of their tongues, nose nuzzling, playful lip tugging and laughter, they lost track of time. Molly curled up against him, their faces only mere centimeters away as they held each other. Her toes were curling with his. His loving gaze pierced her in place, unable to look away; not that she wanted to.

"You are the love of my life, Molly Hooper," he whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"And you're mine, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered back, burying her face against his neck, breathing in the scent of him. She soon fell asleep in his embrace, his thumb rubbing circles against the small of her back. Everyone knew Sherlock was not a religious man but he couldn't help but feel blessed. He hoped he was spending the currency of his life well in Mary's eyes. The petite woman in his arms was the most precious thing in the world to him. He may have been a fool in the past but Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. He would never let her go again. This he vowed to himself.