Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and John Watson, his best friend and sometime partner, sat in the small sitting room conversing with the elderly woman sitting across from them. The woman in question had once been the personal assistant to one of the most powerful executives in the financial district. She was a tiny vibrant lady, surrounded by cats, and working diligently on her knitting while she answered their questions. She would occasionally interrupt them to ask, repeatedly, if they were sure they didn't want any tea. On the third such occasion, Sherlock rolled his eyes and John had relented, so they were now sipping tea from delicate china cups as the woman beamed at them. It was apparent that she wasn't accustomed to company. There were no pictures of family, or any others, present in the sitting room. Only her former employer, Malcolm Evans. Cats played with the yarn as she constantly shooed them away with affection. She had obviously endowed them with all the devotion she had, with nowhere else for it to go.
"When you saw Malcolm, how did he look?", she asked hesitantly.
"Mr. Evans is in good health. He looked well." John answered her, exaggerating a bit for her benefit, while Sherlock sipped his tea impatiently.
"I'm so glad to hear that. He never did know how to take care of himself. Always working.", she spoke fondly, betraying her affection. "I took care of him, though. Made him eat. Made him sleep. Then he was forced to retire, and me along with him. I haven't seen him, or spoken to him since last Christmas…" Sherlock could swear he could see tears in her eyes now.
"MIss Butler, is there nothing more you can add to your statement? You, or Mr. Evans, have had no dealing with, or business with, the United Bond Merchants PLC since you left their employ?"
"That's correct, Mr. Holmes. We were well and properly put out to pasture, as it were. One day Malcolm was in charge, the next he was cut off entirely. Such a shame, really"
"In this case, madam, it works to his advantage. It means he can bear no responsibility for the nefarious financial goings on of the past three years."
"Of course not! Malcolm has always been an honest, and honorable man. A bit brusque, perhaps, a bit too involved in his work to make friends. But, at the core, a good man." The elderly woman had grown a bit heated in his defense, but then smiled a bit sadly. "I miss him. I mean, I miss working with him, every day," She let her knitting fall onto her lap, as a cat jumped up on her knee. He was joined by another, and there was the sound of plaintive meows from the kitchen. "I'm sorry, it seems to be feeding time…"
"Not to worry, Miss Butler. We're through here. Thank you for your time," John said in a kindly tone, and rose to leave. Sherlock's mind seemed to be elsewhere, as he muttered a brief, "Yes, thank you," and followed John out.
As the pair headed down the the quiet street in search of a taxi, John couldn't help but ask his companion, "Remind you of someone, does she?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, John?"
"That's your Molly Hooper in about thirty years time, give or take!"
"Don't be ridiculous, John. Molly doesn't knit."
"She could learn, mate. She'll have plenty of time not having a life!"
"And she only has one cat!"
"I'd call that a good start, Sherlock!" John looked at his friend, who seemed to be considering the matter carefully. "Miss Butler, there, was, and probably still is, madly in love with a cold, arrogant, and work obsessed Mr. Evans. We've talked to Evans, and the first thing he asked was if we'd be seeing Miss Butler. She's filled her life with knitting and cats, and it seemed to me that he had filled his with alcohol and tobacco. See my point, Sherlock?"
"I don't drink, John."
"No, mate, we all know that alcohol isn't your drug of choice!"
Sherlock winced at his friend's sharp retort, but conceded the point. Lately he had taken to contemplating his life as it was now constructed, and finding it wanting. Or himself wanting, literally. He wanted more. More interaction. More companionship. And this was all centered on a single petite woman, brilliant, kind, and lovely. With an unfortunate penchant for cats. He had to make his move before she took up knitting, for who knows what kind of colorfully tacky jumpers she could release on an unsuspecting world! With this thought in mind, he had the cab drop John off at his flat, and continued on to Molly's place.
Sherlock entered the flat without knocking, as was his usual habit, to find one Dr. Molly Hooper sitting on the couch in her sitting room, sipping red wine, and watching reruns of Doctor Who. He immediately pictured Malcolm Evans smelling of Scotch and weaving back and forth, as he answered his questions. "Molly, just what is your average daily consumption of red wine?"
"I would say it is just enough, Sherlock," Molly replied, not at all taken aback by his surprising choice of an opening comment.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Just enough to allow me to tolerate these unannounced visits of your, and not enough to eliminate my inhibitions about thrusting a knife into your cold, dark, shriveled heart, Sherlock."
"Ah, then I suggest you stay at this level of consumption, Dr. Hooper. Evidently my life depends on it."
As Sherlock was speaking, Toby, Molly's ginger tabby, jumped onto her lap, purring loudly and rubbing against her, in an evident display of feline possessiveness. Sherlock moved to sit on the couch next to the pathologist, and the cat stopped purring, and narrowed his eyes. "Molly, I've never really considered this before, but tell me, have you ever considered owning more than one cat?"
"I have, Sherlock, although why it would interest you, I don't know. Sometimes I think that Toby gets lonely, all by himself while I'm at work. Perhaps I should get a kitten?"
"NO!"
"Sherlock, are you alright? You seem a bit agitated. Would you like a drink?"
"NO!"
"Sherlock, you're beginning to frighten me. What's this about, then?"
"Molly, I've come to the conclusion that you are headed towards an unfulfilling old age, surrounded by cats, and knitting projects…"
"I don't knit, Sherlock."
"Not now. You could take it up to fill your endlessly empty hours…"
"You're no longer frightening me, mate. Now you're depressing me," Molly said, taking a healthy swig of wine.
"Not to worry, Molly. I've decided to spare us the indignity of such a bleak future…"
"Us, Sherlock? So far it's only me overrun with cats and knitting projects!" Molly now eyed him a bit suspiciously. "What have you seen in your future, you git?"
"Not much, as I predict a premature demise due to overdose, or lung cancer!" Sherlock sighed deeply, and flopped back heavily into the cushions.
"So, have you decided how we can avoid this fate, Mr. Holmes?" She smiled as she said this, as she began to sense where this conversation was going. It was not somewhere she had ever suspected, but a place she always had wanted to be.
"Marry me, Molly?" Sherlock spoke almost under his breath, and winced a bit, expecting a negative but hoping for a positive reply.
"Why, Sherlock? Just so we can avoid being miserable? Or so we can be miserable together?"
"I was thinking more like avoiding the misery, and being happy together together. I think i can make you happy, Molly. You can make me happy by just letting me try."
"I'd be very happy to let you try, Sherlock," Molly said, putting down her glass of wine so she could throw her arms around his neck, pull him close, and kiss him passionately. When she finally let go, Sherlock smiled down at her, running his fingers through her tangled hair. "No more cats, Molly. One is the limit! And never take up knitting. The world is not ready for any of your custom designed jumpers!"
"Promise, Sherlock." Molly crossed her heart, but then looked slyly up at him. "But what if I need a hobby?"
"We can discuss that later, but I expect the children will keep you busy enough. Then the grandchildren. And you mustn't forget about me..."
"I'll never forget about you, Sherlock."
"Well, just in case, let me remind you again," the detective said, and pulled her close. And Molly knew that she would, indeed, never actually need these reminders, but be eternally grateful for them.