Elevator of St. Bart's Hospital, one month after the events of Sherrinford…

"Sherlock, I'm telling you, this is a really bad idea," John warned as he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation and trepidation.

"Of course, it isn't, John," Sherlock replied casually, but his ramrod-straight posture gave him away.

"Sherlock!" John very nearly stamped his foot in frustration. Would this man-child ever learn? "You've completely avoided and ignored her since that horrible phone call, you leave me and Mycroft to tell her the horrible context of it, and you're only now going to see her again by asking for assistance on a case as if nothing ever happened?"

Sherlock hesitated for only a moment before responding in a convincing tone (as in, trying to convince himself), "She knows the entire context behind that phone call, and has had plenty of time to accept it. There should be no reason for her to be angry or upset anymore."

The elevator doors to the lower floor opened to the sight of John laughing loudly (but without any humor) and Sherlock looking perplexed (and just a touch nervous).

As they began their walk down the wide hallway, Sherlock snapped, "Would you care to go and fetch coffee for all of us while you enjoy your little laugh, John?"

"Are you kidding? I'm not missing this for anything, especially when you may need serious medical attention if you really intend to follow through on this extremely bad idea."

Sherlock scoffed, but without the usual sharpness that accompanied that sound. "John, even if Molly were to become so agitated, I highly doubt a slender woman only 5'4" could do me any serious harm."

John's surgery, one hour later…

"No doubt about it, mate. You have a broken nose." John smirked. "Quite an impressive right hook for a slender woman of 5'4", eh?"

All of the bravado and confidence that Sherlock had tried to portray an hour ago had completely vanished. The only thing he could do now was sit still on John's operating table as the good doctor treated his swollen and bleeding nose. John could read his best mate, though; years of experience had made him very good at that. The detective's eyes had a pure 'lost little boy' look. So, John decided that the best way to get through to him was to speak as if to a little boy.

"Sherlock, do you want to know why I knew something like this would happen?"

For once, Sherlock offered no sneer or eye roll. His eyes only asked for the answer that John had.

John nodded and took a deep breath before speaking, knowing how important this was. "Sherlock, it's not that she doesn't understand the situation with your sister or why that phone call happened. Of course, she does. But even though it wasn't your fault, she was still humiliated and deeply hurt. Do you know why?"

Sherlock blinked, but then John saw the realization dawn in his eyes.

The doctor nodded. "Yeah, mate. You weren't the only one who was vivisected that day. And she wasn't the only one who spoke the truth when she said those three little words that day. Am I right?"

A moment's pause, and then Sherlock lowered his eyes and nodded.

"So, the question now is this," said John, finishing his patching up and lowering his hands from Sherlock's face. He fixed his best friend with a very serious gaze. "Are you willing to accept it, and try to be the man she deserves? Because, if not, you've got to let her go. Like it or not, your fault or not, that phone call changed everything for you two. I know you want things back the way they were, if only because it's familiar, but you can't. If you can't be what she needs, then you have to let her find someone who can."

221B Baker Street, one year later…

The consulting detective collapsed into his chair with a huff. All of the cases that had come to his e-mail this morning had been insultingly simple, and if something good didn't come along soon –

Suddenly, the sound of a very familiar set of footsteps rushing up the stairs caught his attention. A grin spread across his face as warmth filled his chest. In the next moment, the one who counted the most opened the door, smiled, and rushed towards him.

"Guess what? I just secured not one – but two – brains from the morgue. I can bring them home after my shift tomorrow, and if you like, we can start on that experiment you've been wanting to try then."

In one swift movement, Sherlock had pulled the pathologist down to him until she straddled his lap. She shrieked and laughed until he silenced her with a kiss that left no room for doubt as to how he felt about her proposal.

"How could I ever believe I could get along without you, Molly?"

She gave him a smirk while her eyes sparkled. "Well, even geniuses can be idiots." She kissed his nose, a gesture that was never trivial between the two of them. "But all that matters now is that you're my idiot."

"Yes, Molly. I'm entirely yours."

They stopped talking for quite a while after that.

A/N: I wanted to do something in honor of the one-year anniversary, and I wasn't sure what until I saw Louise Brealey's Twitter post about it. So I decided to give her and Molly the missing scene that they deserved. I hope you enjoy. :D