Sherlock counted; it took Molly exactly eight seconds to process what he'd just told her, and when she did, her eyes widened and she sat up, forgetting to clutch the sheets to her chest and thus treating him to the sight of her lovely breasts as she glared at him. "Mary told me John's flatmate moved in a week ago!" He nodded, knowing where this was going and letting her have her (well deserved) say. "So you've been back at least a week and never said a word until now? You know Mary's boyfriend well enough to move in with him? Sherlock, how could you..."

He silenced her by the simple expedient of pulling her down on top of himself and kissing her. She melted into his embrace for a moment, but clearly he'd gotten her Irish up, and after a bit she struggled out of his arms and sat back up, glare once again firmly in place. "Sherlock Holmes, why did you wait so long to come see me?"

"I had to make sure you weren't dating anyone. That you hadn't found yourself a new boyfriend," was his blunt reply. Nothing but simple honesty would do right now, at this fragile stage of their renewed relationship. "I needed to see if you'd moved on, if your feelings had changed..."

"And it didn't occur to you to just ask me?" Anger had morphed into hurt, as she tugged the sheets up to cover herself, tucking her arms around her chest in a motion more defensive than modest. "You thought it better to go behind my back, to, to spy on me? Why?"

He sat up, recognizing that lounging beneath the covers was inappropriate for the direction this conversation had taken. Not an unexpected one, not entirely, but certainly one he'd hoped to put off a bit longer, knowing how Molly was likely to react. He rested one hand on her knee, pleased when she didn't immediately push it off in anger. Making certain to maintain eye contact, he said, "I wasn't spying on you, Molly. I was just confirming your availability. Your interest in seeing me again. When it became clear to me that you missed me as much as I missed you, I knew it was time."

"And how exactly did you figure that?" she asked, not sounding entirely pacified by his explanation but less angry than she had been a moment ago. Good, progress being made, showing he hadn't entirely cocked this up.

"Simple observation," he replied. "You carry the last postcard I sent you in your handbag; I saw it sticking out when you were running for the Tube the other day. It nearly went flying, and even though you were late, you still stopped to grab it, to put it deeper inside and to make sure the snap was secured before you rushed off again. And," he added quietly, "you kissed it before putting it back."

She blushed, no doubt at being caught in such a sentimental act, and he felt ridiculously pleased at having elicited such a reaction from her. "Maybe I just have a fondness for the Alps," she murmured, and he laughed aloud before pulling her down on top of him.

"Molly, we both know it isn't Switzerland you have a fondness for," he chided her, then pulled her close for a deep kiss. "Just as we both know you didn't keep the postcard because the picture was pretty. You missed me. John told me you weren't seeing anyone – and no, I didn't put him through some kind of interrogation, and no, Mary has no idea I'm his flatmate. I asked him not to tell her after I explained why I was so interested in his girlfriend's best mate, is all. Just asked him to keep quiet, not tell Mary my name, until today. To give me time to see you."

"And did you know you'd find me sitting on the fire escape?" Molly sounded slightly exasperated, but there was a dimple lurking in the corner of her cheek near her mouth, signalling the imminent eruption of a smile.

"Actually I just planned to park the motorbike there, where it would be out of the way," he admitted with a grin. "Seeing you sitting there...that was just...serendipity, I suppose would be the best word."

"In other words, luck," Molly shot back, but the grin her dimples had foretold had emerged, and she'd laid her hand over his. Another good sign.

He faked up a scowl for her. "I don't believe in luck, you know that, Molly. But coincidences happen all the time, and there's nothing wrong with having a word specifically meant for good ones."

Then he whispered in her ear, "However, I believe my word for a happy coincidence will always be...Molly."

Epilogue – London 1959

It was a quiet wedding. Catholic, of course; although Sherlock had been raised C of E he had no true belief in any form of higher being, and thus it made absolutely no difference to him where he and Molly were married, as long as they were, indeed, married.

The only attendees were their witnesses, John and Mary – who had exchanged vows themselves six months earlier in a secular ceremony just as intimate as Sherlock and Molly's church wedding. The four of them stood together at the altar, the two women holding small bouquets of flowers and wearing their nicest dresses, John and Sherlock in rented suits, as the priest read out the vows. Molly and Sherlock repeated the words back to him when the time came – Sherlock firmly, Molly with a bit of a quaver to her voice as she fought down tears of happiness.

Molly's family had been invited, but her mother had declined, claiming it was too long of a journey for her, that she couldn't leave her job, that it would be too difficult for her to gather up Molly's sisters and brothers from their new home...one excuse after another until Molly finally stopped asking.

Sherlock's family had been invited as well, but since they thought of Molly as nothing but a costly mistake their son had made, no one was surprised when the politely worded note declining the invitation was received. Molly was mortified when she realised they'd included a cheque for an astonishing amount of money, and secretly relieved when Sherlock glanced at it and tore both it and the note into pieces without commenting. He'd graduated with a chemistry degree and forged a career for himself as a consulting detective with Scotland Yard, and he and Molly, although hardly rolling in cash, were well able to support themselves. Especially since Mrs. Hudson, their landlady, had a great deal of fondness for her four young tenants, and had even remodeled the basement flat for John and Mary to move into after their marriage.

When the brief ceremony came to its end and Sherlock was invited to kiss his bride, he did so with a tenderness that brought tears to Mary's eyes – and if anyone had been looking closely, John's were suspiciously bright as well. The bride and groom then bid their friends farewell, and headed back to Baker Street to change into clothes more suitable for the long ride on Sherlock's (not stolen this time) motorbike as they headed off for their two-day stay in the country.

That's not the end of their story, of course, but it's the end of this one. Thank you all for joining them on this part of their journey.

Thank you everyone for reading this, reviewing it, etc.!