UPDATE: I've decided on a sequel! It's called "Beyond" and if you'd like to read it, go on over to my page to click on the link. Once again, please receive my sincerest thanks!

Molly woke up that morning still somehow tired and drawn. Sleep had not come easily, and when it finally did, it brought with it dreams made up of a chaotic mishmash of scenes from the previous two days. She kept reliving her goodbyes with Colin, her encounter with his father, Sherlock's rare display of emotion, and Lestrade's outrage at learning of her and the consulting detective's relationship.

She turned to peer at her bedside clock.

Six o' clock. I might as well get up. The pathologist didn't fancy another go considering she'd not had pleasant dreams.

Well, some of them were. She amended. Although she did not particularly relish the thought of a scared and worried Sherlock, Molly warmed at the thought that he had been scared and worried for her.

She wondered whether telling him THOSE three words then had been the right thing to do, for even as she trusted that Sherlock had been sincere, she also understood how foreign the concept is to him. It's done. It's the truth. I guess I shall just have to wait and see.

Later on, Molly made some French toast and grabbed a cup of coffee, then headed towards her sitting room to settle on the couch in front of the telly. She'd brought her phone with her and hadn't checked it since the previous night, and so was unsurprised to find a few messages waiting.

The first one read:

Sorry about yesterday.
Sherlock and I spoke last night.
Didn't punch him. Don't worry.
I think he really means it, Molls.

GL

Molly smiled, and opened the rest, seeing they were all from Sherlock.

Why do people insist
on getting drunk when it
inhibits one's mental faculties?

S

Case in point:
GL got so pissed
He had to literally
crawl into a cab.

S

JW sat there loudly singing
'Auld Lang Syne', called Mary,
& screamed his affections
for her over the phone.

S

Molly giggled, imagining her friends inebriated, and a highly infuriated Sherlock Holmes along with them. Amused, she sent Lestrade a reply, telling him she understood, and apologizing for her outburst the previous day.

She was about to send a reply to Sherlock when a knock sounded from her front door. Molly clambered from her seat in the sofa and called out, "Who is it?"

"Sherlock." She hurried to open the door at this puzzled that he'd come over so early.

"What are you doing here?" she asked after she had let him in. Sherlock did not answer, only stood in the middle of the room with his hand clasped tightly behind his back and his head bowed. Molly watched, worried, but decided not to speak; she knew he would eventually let her know what he thinks. She grabbed the dirty dishes and brought them to the kitchen, throwing Sherlock a reassuring smile on the way.

As she set down the dishes in the sink, she was startled as a pair of arms snaked under her arms and encircled her waist. Sherlock then put his chin on her shoulder, letting out a content sigh as he did so.

So you like hugs after all, huh? Molly thought. She put up a hand to his hair, playing with his curls. "Is something the matter?" The consulting detective shook his head, closing his eyes as he did.

"Lestrade's come around." Molly continued, and took her hand from Sherlock's hair and began washing the dishes, his arms still around her. At this he nodded, then let out a sigh.

After a few more minutes, Molly finished the dishes and then turned her head to look at Sherlock. He had opened his eyes, so she merely raised an eyebrow at him in question.

It was only then that Sherlock spoke. "We haven't had a proper date."

This caused Molly to giggle, and Sherlock's arms tightened around her. "I didn't realize the situation was so humorous."

Molly shook her head. "It's not what you said. Well, it is, a bit. But I thought it'd be something grave, the way you've been acting."

Sherlock let out a deep breath then. "I've been thinking about when we should go on one, since you'd probably want to go back to work tonight, and..." he was interrupted by a series of barely suppressed yawns, "...and there's hardly any time left for restaurant reservations."

"Have you had any sleep?" He shook his head at this.

"Go then. Take the bed. I'll wake you up later before I leave for work." She turned and pulled herself off of him, then pushed him towards her bedroom. "Go!" she urged.

For once the genius didn't argue, and let himself be pushed, ambling slowly forward, moving only as she steered him around the room. When she had seated him on the side of the bed, Molly turned to go, but was stopped by a gentle hand on her wrist, making her heart jump.

"Stay." he stared up at her, "Please." He added, and her breath hitched. A blush spread over her collar bone and up her neck, racing upwards to flood her face. Sherlock pulled her hand until she was sitting on the bed beside him. He turned to face her before speaking, his hand still on her wrist.

"Very few things confuse me Molly Hooper." he began, his voice deep and a bit scratchy from lack of sleep. "Sentiment is one of them." he cleared his throat before continuing; "You told me yesterday that you love me. This is probably something I have already known for a long time, but have chosen to ignore due to my belief that it would only interfere with the work I have dedicated my life to."

Sherlock sat up and squared his shoulders then, as if bracing himself for something, a far off look in his eyes. "The day you saw through me, when you said you didn't count. That was the day I realized that you did, in fact. You do. And I started wanting to see...to really see...who you are. At first it was because I wanted to decipher you, to see what made you different and believed that when that was done..." He trailed off, shrugging, but Molly understood.

She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

When Sherlock resumed speaking in the early morning silence, his voice was gruff and he spoke rapidly, his eyes focused on her hands. "When I started learning about you, I also started wanting more. It's strange because there isn't anything logical about it, no reliable statistics exist to which I can compare this, and yet there it is, a... a feeling that was neither familiar nor initially welcomed, but there nonetheless. I cannot promise that I will be the kind of man who makes grand public declarations or the one who never forgets the important dates. I am the kind who disappears while busy on cases and who shoots the wall when bored. You said you don't want me to change, that you want me to grow, and maybe I can. With you."

He paused to look into her eyes then. "Molly Hooper, I've fallen in love with you."

It seemed to Molly that all the air had been sucked out of the room. She stared at Sherlock, unable to believe her ears.

"Molly?" he asked, worried at her lack of response.

This time, it was Molly who pulled him in.

She reached out her hand on his cheek and leaned in at the same time, meeting his lips. Her other hand went to the back of his head, sinking into his curls and caressing his scalp. She heard Sherlock groan, and felt him move nearer.

Sherlock lifted her so that she was sitting sideways on his lap, before letting his hands smooth up the sides of her torso. One hand reached up to cup her cheek while the other slid back down to settle on her hip, massaging it. He then gently nipped her bottom lip with his teeth and then took charge of the kiss, wanting to show her, to reassure her that he meant what he said.

He pushed her back so that she lay face up on the bed, and he hovered above her, trying to rein himself in, but unable to keep his lips apart from hers for too long.

Molly understood his hesitation and smiled up at him reassuringly. She brushed his cheek gently, and pulled him closer, her brown eyes shining.

The consulting detective lost all composure at the sight, and he gently tugged at Molly's plait so that it became undone, framing her face. He returned her smile and put his lips to her ear, echoing the action he'd done so many nights before.

"I mean it, Molly." He whispered, before trailing sweet little kisses on her jawline and down her neck. He leaned back and lifted his eyes to meet hers then. "I love you."

Overcome with joy, Molly simply nodded, receiving a wide grin from the consulting detective before she pushed down on her elbows and raised herself to meet his lips one more time.

Their first time together was slow and reverent, and they took their time getting to know each other, wanting to savour each little discovery they made, and committing it to memory. The room filled with sound; their mingled breaths, at times harsh intakes full of longing, at others sighs which were almost musical with their pleasure. And, incredibly, there was also laughter: both from their words, and from the relief that came with the realization that they were, truly, finally, something more.

The afternoon found them in a tangled heap. Sherlock had lifted himself to Molly's side and was lying on his front with his head burrowed in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, one leg in between hers. He wrapped an arm around her waist and felt as her lift her arm up and over it, rubbing his shoulder, while her other arm was trapped beneath his neck, her hand entwined with his own just above his head.

Sherlock turned his face towards her and smiled, receiving one in return.

"So," He he began, his eyes twinkling.

"So?" she asked, pouting her question.

He chuckled and squeezed her hip. "When should we go on that date?"

Author's Note: There it is folks, I hope you enjoyed it. ^_^

Thanks again to all the wonderful people who read, reviewed and sent me PMs. Reading your reviews and messages was a lot of fun, and sometimes it was all I could do to stop myself from responding and letting out spoilers.

I am now in the middle of deciding on whether I should end this story here, adding a few more chapters, or writing a sequel. What do you think?

Whatever the case may be, I've enjoyed my initial foray into writing fan fiction and look forward to, well, more! (I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. *cringe*)

Onwards!

~Liberi Ad Somnia