The time has come for the final installment. I would like to sincerely thank every last person who reviewed, followed, and favorited this story, the feedback was incredible.

And, as always, a heartfelt thanks to MizJoely, without whom I probably would have chickened out and not even published this story!

Molly had only two thoughts going through her mind as she steered a slightly startled Sherlock towards the bedroom.

One was that she was going to spend the rest of her life with this man. Marry him, if he would abide it. Would they have the occasional row? Naturally. Would she banish him to the sofa for being an insensitive git from time to time? Of course. She knew all that and had known it would be part of being with Sherlock for as long as she had known him. If she was being honest, her temper wasn't always top form, either. They were well suited in that way.

All she knew was that no one had ever done anything this considerate for her in her adult life and she was certain beyond a doubt that Sherlock had never done anything like this for anyone before.

Which brought her to the second thought: every article of clothing on the man needed to come off. Immediately.

His coat had thankfully been abandoned in the living room, leaving her with the task of removing one of her favorite suits. He was wearing the blue shirt that looked stunning on him, obviously knowing she preferred it to the white ones. The jacket and shirt were gone in a minute and he quickly had his hands under her jumper, yanking it over her head in one swift move. Their knuckles bumped together as they both went for the other's trousers. Molly giggled and Sherlock pulled her closer by the hem of her jeans to start planting open-mouthed kisses on her neck while the rest of their clothes were shucked.

She backed him towards the bed and placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down until he was sitting on the edge of the mattress. His hands immediately wound into her hair as she kissed her way down the smooth skin of his chest, his eyes slitting in anticipation. A smile touched her lips as she hovered above him. The way he transformed when he was with her, the trust he placed in her hands – the trust she had regained, she reminded herself – left her thrilled.

His moan was light but his hands tightened tellingly in her hair as she lowered her mouth over him, lips and tongue sliding over the smooth, warm skin. A month of not being able to be with him had nearly been worse than the years of pining. Nearly.

One of his hands left her hair and sought support from the mattress, his hips beginning to buck into her. He sighed her name and she hummed in response, looking up at him.

"Unless you want this to end very abruptly, I would suggest you stop," he said huskily, clearly relieved when she pulled away with one final, teasing lick.

Sherlock reached out and grasped her hips, pulling her to her feet before reversing their positions. Sitting her on the edge of the bed as he knelt on the floor before her, he brought his mouth to her neck, sucking lightly as his hands roamed over her thighs and lower back. His touch was intoxicating. She wrapped her arms lazily about his shoulders, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as his lips traveled down to her collarbone, nipping lightly before continuing to the sensitive skin of one breast, then the other, taking his time. As his head dipped even further, trailing kisses down her torso, he lifted one hand and gently pushed at her chest, encouraging her to lie back.

Molly's breathing hitched as her back hit the blankets, his mouth slowly traveling across her belly. She tried very hard not to become emotional as his lips lingered over the pink scarring on her stomach. Crying was not typically an attractive quality during sex. Fortunately, his lips paid homage for only a few moments before moving on, drifting low on her body.

It took her by surprise, as he had never done this before; she had assumed he was simply one of those men who was put off by it. It had been fine by her as his demonstrated methods had been more than adequate in their time together. Slinging her legs over his shoulders and gripping her hips, he pulled her to the edge of the bed. Perhaps she had been wrong.

She gasped and her body went liquid as his mouth found her center, his tongue flicking out tentatively as he explored her. Fingers gripping the blanket below her, Molly could feel herself growing wet at an embarrassing rate as he stroked her slowly, deliberately.

"Awfully eager, aren't we, Molly," he murmured teasingly against her.

"It's been a month, Sherlock," she said breathlessly, arching slightly on the bed. "And you are doing a fairly wonderful job."

"Am I?" he said with a touch of pride. "That is good to know."

"You've never done this before?"

"No," he replied, looking up at her with a simpering expression. "Having said that, I feel rather confident that it would go a lot better if I weren't talking. Stop asking questions."

Molly happily complied, her hands leaving the sheets to entangle themselves in his hair. He was an astoundingly fast learner, the tug of her fingers and her gasps and moans clueing him in to every spot that made her body ripple with pleasure. For several long, glorious minutes, all she could feel was his mouth hot against her, his tongue roughly caressing her flesh, and the blood in her veins throbbing between her legs. His fingers ran gently along her hips and her thighs, sending shivers through her skin, before moving to rub lazy circles inside her thigh, closer and closer to where she ached for him.

She felt him tease at her entrance before deftly sliding two long fingers inside of her.

Her eyes slammed shut and she whimpered. God help her, she actually whimpered.

The feeling had her light headed as he dragged his fingers along her swollen muscles, not missing a beat with his tongue. In just a few thrusts she was coming undone, shuddering around him as she cried out his name.

When she had recovered the ability to see properly, she looked down to find him staring at her rather smugly, his arm wrapped around her raised knee and his chin propped atop it.

"You seemed to rather enjoy that," he drawled.

"Solid ten," she breathed out.


"Olympic scoring system… forget it, get up here," she laughed, grateful that he had the decency to wipe his mouth with his discarded shirt before moving up her body and resting his weight against her. She could feel him pressing into her pelvis, hard and warm, and the blood suddenly started tingling inside her once more.

"The bags," she said suddenly with a groan. In her earlier haste, she had forgotten to bring their bags into the room with them. They were a good twenty feet away – not an impossible trek, but mood ruining none the less.

Sherlock smiled at her and lifted his hand, popping one finger against the foil packet he held.

"Pocketed one before we even left London," he told her.

"You really are a genius," she said, running a hand through his hair. "Which is why I love you."

Everything froze.

It was ridiculous to be so afraid of speaking the words out loud; even more ridiculous to be afraid of his reaction. But it had been an unspoken understanding until that moment and for a few horrifying seconds Molly thought she had ruined it all. He stared down at her, his eyes suddenly deducing.

"You're scared," he stated simply. "Not of loving me, you've loved me for a long time."

"Not that, no," she muttered a tad defensively.

"Of what, then?" he asked, his voice low and intimate. "That I'll be angry you said it? Or that I won't say it back?"

Her eyes darted back and forth between his, not sure if he was actually looking for an answer. Truthfully, she wasn't sure she knew the answers to those questions.

Sherlock's face suddenly softened again and he lowered his head until his face was inches from hers.

"You never have to be scared of that, Molly," he murmured, placing a soft kiss to her lips. "You should know by now that I love you."

Her face broke out in a grin before she leaned up to kiss him fiercely. He responded instantly, slipping one arm under her to pull her tight, their bodies flush from head to toe. With an impressive amount of dexterity, he managed to rip open the condom packet without ever letting her go, nimbly rolling it on with one hand before enveloping her with both arms. Molly hummed with satisfaction and Sherlock groaned her name as he pushed into her, stilling for a few moments to enjoy the feeling of being joined again.

He started moving in her, thrusting with slow, firm strokes that felt achingly sweet. Her already sensitive flesh began to burn with the building pleasure. His movements were becoming quicker and she could feel him growing harder inside of her. A string of nonsensical 'yes's' and 'please's' left her lips as her hands anchored on his back and in his hair, the first wave of pleasure cresting in her body. Sherlock's hands gripped her back hard and he suddenly buried himself fully in her, the sensation causing her orgasm to rip through her as she screamed his name. He practically sobbed hers into the curve of her neck, his hips grinding gracelessly against hers.

The room was filled with the sound of their labored breathing for several minutes before Molly felt him begin to lift away from her. He collapsed on his side and let his forehead come to rest against her shoulder. Feeling far too blissed-out and lazy, Molly simply reached out to her side and grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it over them.

"We are going to have to do some laundry before we leave this place," she said with a satisfied laugh.

"Or just buy them new bedding all together," he suggested.

"What exactly do you have planned for this weekend?" Molly questioned, giving him a look of mock concern.

"Beyond what we just did, not a thing. Though now that I think of it, dinner would be an excellent idea."

"Um, Sherlock… did you bring anything? I didn't see an ice chest in the car." At his blank look, Molly pulled her mouth tight, trying not to laugh. "These houses don't typically come with food."

"Do they not?"

"No, not beyond the odd box of sugar or cooking oil," she giggled. "I think you got a bit too used to government comfort when we were abroad."

"This is my first time doing this, Molly," he said, slightly wounded.

"It's not the end of the world," she reassured him, climbing from the bed to start getting dressed. "Quick trip to the shop and we'll be set."

"I always miss something," he grumbled to himself as he followed suit.

The next afternoon, Molly was tucked against the arm of the sofa, a mystery novel propped on her legs. The doors to the porch were open and a delicious breeze floated in, oddly warm for the time of year and carrying the sound of gulls into the house. They had returned a short time ago from a brief walk on the beach after spending the better part of the morning tangled in bed. It had been heavenly from the moment they walked into the house, but since she had taken to reading she had felt a shift in the atmosphere.

Molly could feel Sherlock's eyes boring into her from his position in the armchair and let out a sigh, though she was mostly just amused.

"Stop looking at it," she told him, pulling the book up in front of her face.

"Your hair only grows half an inch per month, do you know how abnormally slow that is, Molly?"

"Shut it."

Don't giggle, Molly Hooper, can't let him know it's funny.

"At that rate it'll be at least a year and a half before it reaches the length it was before."

"Are you charting it?"

"No, that would require keeping statistical data. I'm observing."

"Are you bored, Sherlock?" she asked gently, lowering her book to her lap.

"No, why would you say that?"

"Because you start to overanalyze little details when you're bored."

"I'm not bored," he said, his mouth turning down a bit petulantly. He considered her for a moment. "I'm just not used to this much inactivity."

"I'd argue that we've been very active."

He gave her a withering look.

"You know what I mean. Are holidays always this… placid?"

"What did you expect when you rented a house on the shore for three days? A murder investigation?" she asked, laughing a bit. At his serious expression, she sobered. "Look, if it's driving you that batty, we can go collect samples of macro algae from the tide pools to look at and I'll let you bring your scope in from the car… I saw it in the boot."

He looked at her with renewed excitement and leaned forward in his chair before standing.

"In a moment," he said. "For now, your hair - "

"Oh God," Molly groaned, running the fingers of one hand through the strands that, she thought, were coming along quite nicely. With her other hand, she lifted her book back up, attempting to block out his fussing.

"There are several options to speed along the process and promote growth, from what I've seen in my research. Plenty of natural options – coconut oil, fish oil, vitamins - "

"Pregnancy has been known to do the trick."

She heard a strangled noise emanate from him, though the book still blocked her view. Lowering the novel again, she couldn't keep back the smile at his positively horrified expression.

"Teasing, Sherlock."

"Don't. Make. Jokes, Molly."

The giggling could no longer be repressed, though she felt a bit of guilt as he waffled in the middle of the room, looking slightly green. He turned suddenly and headed for the open door.

"Where are you going?"

"Calling John," he stated in a huff.

"Don't expect any sympathy from him, he's in favor of the idea," she called after him, flipping the page in her book. "He's insisting on the name Hamish."

He was not on the porch for five seconds before he came barreling back inside, marching over to where she sat curled into the corner of the couch. Bracing his arms on either side of her, he leaned in with a look of intense revelation, his eyes lighting up.

"Our offspring would be absolutely brilliant," he stated, looking startled by his own words. Molly could only nod silently, completely gob smacked by the sudden turnaround. He held her gaze for a moment before pushing away and walking back towards the porch. "But they will not be named Hamish," he tossed over his shoulder as he walked outside.

Molly let out a breathless little laugh, stunned.

Oh yes, she thought to herself. Absolutely going to spend the rest of my life with him.