Sherlock peered through the curtains of his front window, watching for Molly's arrival. He could feel nervous anticipation running through him and he had sought refuge in wearing his dressing gown over his suit, which always seemed to help him feel more comfortable somehow.

As he waited, he reflected on is two year absence from London. It had been a dark time for him, putting himself in constant danger with various factions of Moriarty's network. The last mission, however, had been by far the most dangerous, and when he had been exposed as a spy, he had not expected to survive.

There were weeks of torture, sleep deprivation, a minimum of food and water to keep him alive. But he had steadfastly refused to expose his brother or his MI6 superiors. He had been ready to die if necessary, to ensure that Moriarty's network would extend no further, and he knew it was only a matter of time until MI6 would close in, even if they were not in time to save him. Mycroft's intervention just in time saved him and he had discovered that in the interim, his name had also been cleared.

But Sherlock Holmes was a changed man. His time away had served to give him an awareness of his own mortality, and a new appreciation for the people who had been instrumental in helping him cheat death.

Of course, it was Mycroft who had helped him survive most recently, but it was Molly who had occupied his thoughts more than he had expected while he was gone. He would replay in his mind quite often the scene in the lab where he had asked for her help and she had so willingly given it. She had even offered up her own comfortable bed for him while he was laying low in the days before his "funeral". Molly was an extraordinary woman.

In those final weeks before his return to London, just before his capture and afterwards, he had found himself wondering how things had changed during his absence. Mycroft had refused to tell him anything, wanting Sherlock to focus only on the mission. Sherlock had been left to only guess at how his circle of friends and acquaintances were moving on with their lives. A lot could happen in two years.

When he had gone to see Molly at the hospital though, after his rather unsuccessful reveal to John about his "resurrection", for the first time he had felt he was home. She still smelled the same, that curious mixture of strawberry shampoo, along with the usual lab smells. He had inhaled her scent, gently brushed his lips over her hair, grateful that here was someone who was genuinely glad to see him as she slid her arms around his waist to give him a tight hug. She had brought out in him a feeling of wanting some stability in his life. John was no longer at Baker Street and presumably about to become an engaged man, but Molly seemed unchanged.

So here he was, wondering what he should do next. Should he show his interest in her as possibly more than just a friend? Should he play things cool and try to determine her own level of interest? Yes, he decided finally, I'll play it cool, invite her to act as my assistant and see where things lead after spending a whole day together.

After what seemed an eternity, but was really only half an hour since she had responded to his text invitation, saying she would be right there, Sherlock couldn't help the way his heart leapt as he finally caught sight of her heading towards 221B from the underground. He knew Mrs. Hudson would open the door for her, so decided to stay standing at the window, as if he didn't have a care in the world and was merely enjoying the view of the activity in the street.

He heard the outer door being opened and the tread of Molly's light footsteps ascending to his front door which he had left open in invitation. His eyes slid to the left as he heard her enter, then say in her musical voice, "You wanted to see me?"

He kept his hands casually in his pockets as he turned to face her, saying as he stepped towards her, "Yes. Molly, would you-" and he paused, feeling somewhat flustered for a moment at the way his heart was thumping. She was like an oasis to a dying man. He collected his thoughts, swallowed and proceeded, "would you like to solve crimes?"

Even as she said "have dinner?" at the same time, then flushed with embarrassment, Sherlock felt a tingle of anticipation. This was a good sign indeed if she was hoping for them to have dinner together. It wasn't enough though, he wanted to be certain she was receptive to his advances.

He found it very sweet, the way Molly agreed to be his assistant, but then was nervous, wondering if she should act like John.

She wants to please me. He was pleased himself with the thought. Another sign that pointed towards her possible continuing interest in him, despite his long absence.

He'd had his chance with her, had known she wanted more than friendship years earlier, but he had dismissed her feelings as merely a crush on him due to his superior intellect rather than anything deeper. But her behaviour shortly before he had sought her help had confused him. She no longer seemed to have a crush on him as someone with whom she was in awe, but she seemed to look at him as he truly was. There had been no time for him then to think about that with the threads of Moriarty's web tightening, but he had thought about it a lot while he'd been away. She had definitely still been interested in him at that point. Two years was a long time though to go on holding a torch for someone you might never see again. He was realistic enough to know that there was a high probability she had let him go and moved on.

But her reaction to him was sparking hope and he intended to make the most of his chance, if indeed he did still have one.

With that in mind he set out to impress her, show her that two years away had not in any way caused him to slip in his observational skills. With the Harcourts swiftly dispatched after handing the wife the card of a divorce lawyer, I've sent a lot of business to those lawyers, he thought, perhaps I should be be collecting a commission, Sherlock decided to test Molly's feelings for him further.

He had the perfect opportunity to do so when a client arrived with her stepfather, asking for his help in locating her missing online pen pal who had abruptly stopped communicating with her.

Sherlock knew as soon as the young woman explained her situation that the stepfather was the one posing as the suddenly absent friend, but he wanted to prove to Molly he could exhibit empathy.

So Sherlock took hold of the sobbing woman's hands and injected a note of deep sympathy into his tone, which surprisingly wasn't difficult. He discovered he did actually feel compassion for her.

"And you really thought he was the one, didn't you? The love of your life?" He slid a glance towards Molly. Would she catch the hidden meaning of his words?

Molly looked across at him too and it was if a current of electricity passed between them. He stood and walked towards Molly, quietly explaining his deductions from the case, before turning back to the devious stepfather and exposing him.

After closing the door on the devastated but at least enlightened client and her horribly embarrassed stepfather, Sherlock was about to take the plunge and ask Molly to go to dinner with him, when his phone pinged.

It was Lestrade, calling him to investigate a baffling case, and it provided another opportunity to impress Molly at the site of the investigation.

Sherlock didn't really know why he was so desperate to do that, and his inner voice started to torment him, using John's voice in a taunting manner, telling him he was being a show-off and asking if he was jealous when Molly made her own clever deductions.

Even the way they both said "Six months old" together indicated a hidden connection between them, and Sherlock suddenly realised he was impressed by Molly, in a way he had never been before. It was a rather strange feeling. No woman had fascinated him before with superior intellect, except Irene Adler. With Irene, her cleverness had been merely in her ability to manipulate others, not true superior intellect. Molly's ability shone through naturally and she used her intelligence for good rather than self-serving purposes. Despite Irene's outward beauty, he had not been attracted to her physically even upon seeing her naked. He was discovering that he was very much attracted to Molly's simple beauty, quiet manner and dimpled smile. She didn't put on a false façade in front of him and he appreciated that immensely.

With the case determined to be a silly hoax, there was one more thing Sherlock decided to do before asking Molly to go out for dinner. Idly he thought something casual would be best, in case he found out he had misinterpreted her feelings for him, in which case he could pass it off as merely a thank you for her help.

I'll see if she wants some chips, that is innocuous enough, he thought to himself.

Once outside of the building, Sherlock checked his watch. Yes, there was definitely still time for him to do one more client consultation before dinner. He looked at Molly, who had just exited as well, followed by Lestrade who was headed back to New Scotland Yard. "I need to return a hat to a client. Apparently he has an interesting case for me. Are you up for it? We'll have to go back to my flat first to pick up the hat though."

Molly held up her notepad. "That's what I'm here for."

Sherlock smiled. "You did well in there, by the way. I think Gavin was quite impressed." Not to mention me as well, he thought.

Molly blushed slightly then looked confused. "Gavin? Who's Gavin?"

Sherlock gestured at the retreating figure of the detective inspector. "Gavin Lestrade, of course, who else would I mean?"

"Oh, you mean Greg Lestrade." She let out an endearing, musical laugh.

"Gavin, Graham, Greg, it's all the same to me." He kept his tone light to mask the slight embarrassment he felt at not remembering Lestrade's first name. Molly probably thought he was a complete moron. Perhaps he could make a joke about his ignorance. "I'm not the best with names. Why do you think I don't call Mrs. Hudson by her first name?"

She looked blank for a moment, biting her lip. Finally she said, "Because you've never heard her first name?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Oh, she mentioned it to me once but I deleted it, considering it unimportant, and I'm a bit embarrassed to ask. I have a vague notion if is Maggie or Martha or Mildred, but I could be wrong,"

Molly laid her hand on his arm affectionately. He liked it when Molly touched him. "You've always remembered my name."

He had to be honest with her. "That's because you are relevant to me, Molly." Could she decipher this next clue to his feelings for her?

He was pleased by her answer as warm chocolate coloured eyes met the cool depths of his own turquoise ones and held them for a moment. "You're relevant to me too, Sherlock." He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat at that. Things were definitely looking promising between them.

The couple returned to Baker Street to retrieve the hat. Sherlock had popped out that morning for a short time to take some pictures of the "rats" for his crime wall. The fellow, who had provided Mrs. Hudson with his name and address over a friendly cup of tea, had accidentally left his hat behind and Mrs. Hudson had given it it to Sherlock when he returned home. That had been an amusing topic of conversation for Sherlock and his brother too, when Mycroft had stopped by to discuss the important case involving an underground network planning an attack on London.

Upon arrival at the hat man's place, Sherlock and Molly were invited in.

"My girlfriend's a big fan of yours," said the man, what was his name? Sherlock thought for a moment and remembered. It was Shilcott. He was obviously very much into his trains, judging by the room they had entered. Had he really said girlfriend? Sherlock thought it highly unlikely the man was attached romantically. That hat had been a clear indication he was a loner.

"Girlfriend?"

He glanced at Molly with a grin as he said the words and saw the crease between her brows. Obviously that had been a Bit Not Good, and he didn't want Molly to think he was still the cold, uncaring man he used to be, so he decided the best thing to do would be to apologise. "Sorry...do go on."

The enigma of the disappearing man from a train carriage, or car, as Shilcott had stated, was an interesting and puzzling one that would require some thought. For Sherlock though, the exchange afforded the opportunity for him to look at Molly several times as either he, or she, made comments. He could almost see the invisible sparks between them each time their eyes met.

She's definitely feeling it too, he concluded to himself with satisfaction, as he and Molly prepared to leave.

With that in mind, he felt confident enough to ask a casual question as he began to descend the stairs. It was time for him to make his move. "Fancy some chips?"

When she didn't respond to his question immediately but asked what the day had been about, he was able to be honest about it, about her importance to him.

"-The one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most." Sherlock thought that made things pretty clear, without actually making protestations of deep affection or love. She mattered the most to him - more than John, more than Mrs. Hudson, more than Lestrade, even more than his own brother. He hoped she didn't think he was just talking about her help in faking his death, that she understood the deeper meaning behind the words.

Sherlock smiled slightly. "You made it all possible." He looked down, prepared to take her hand and confess what was in his heart, to make things clear, in case she had not understood his intent. It was at that moment he saw the ring he had not noticed before on her finger. His brain shut down for a split second, then reset, trying to process this completely unexpected information. He drew in his breath. "But you can't do this again can you?"

He barely heard her response through the "Fatal error - abort objective" message flashing in his mind even as he forced out the correct words for the situation. "Congratulations, by the way."

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back more firmly to hide their trembling, trying to give the impression that he was unaffected, but every word by Molly was like a knife thrust into his heart, the one he had just discovered he had. How could he have been so utterly wrong? How had he misread her signals of perceived interest? The looks that had passed between them, both at Baker Street and here, they had meant something to him, but apparently not to her.

Well, it serves you right, he told himself. You played with her emotions in the past and now she has turned the tables on you. This is what you deserve. You could have had a chance with her years ago if you hadn't been too idiotic to realise it.

He came back to himself just as she finished with, "-no idea why I'm telling you any of this," and he steeled himself to do the right thing, to not let on in any way that she had hurt him.

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper," he told her, knowing his heart was aching over the fact that he would not be the man to make her happy. "You deserve it."

He couldn't help his next words though, the words to remind her that he knew she had, at one time, been interested in him. "After all, not all of the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths." He deliberately used the word sociopath, rather than psychopath, so she was in no doubt to whom he was referring.

Her response was barely audible, almost questioning. "No."

"No." He affirmed her word, taking a a step forward and looking into her lovely brown eyes, knowing it was time to close the door on this barely opened chapter of his life. Then he gave her a soft smile and bent down, placing a gentle kiss to her cheek, letting her go once and for all.

With that, he walked away, dinner invitation forgotten. Just before the outer door closed behind him, he heard her murmur something but didn't look back. There was no point.

An unfamiliar female voice within him taunted him then. "You didn't win, you lost."

Author's note: Yes, a rather ominous ending to the chapter but It's only an echo from my "real" Sherlock's past creeping into this dream. I hope you liked the little conversation after the hoax scene and my explanation as to how Sherlock obtained the hat.

I love to think of Sherlock realising his feelings for Molly while he was away from London.

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