Sherlock Holmes stood in front of the mirror. His reflection looked back at him. Confident, relaxed, and excited. A twinge of apprehension turned in his gut, but he pushed it away, straightened his shoulders, and exhaled with finality.
After eighteen long years, he was finally ready to move out, move away, and move on. He would miss his family, of course he would, but he was ready, and he needed this. He wanted to see the world. He wanted to be a part of it, to breathe it in, to live.
He had already packed. His suitcase, while rather small, felt oddly heavy, but he had made up his mind. He had what he needed, and he smiled at his reflection, turning to leave his old room forever.
He smiled at his father and embraced his mother. She had tears in her eyes, but she was happy for him. It still hurt. His father wished him the best, and Sherlock hesitated before hugging him as well.
When he was ready, he walked out the door with a heartfelt farewell on his tongue and he did not look back.
London was better than he could have imagined. The bustling city was teeming with life, with people, each one totally unique. It was fascinating. All of history, all the people who had ever lived, and not a single one of them was exactly the same.
The city air was thicker and damper than Sherlock was used to, but it was good. He felt like a wide-eyed child as he took it all in. A wide grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, and the elation he felt was incredible. He was happy.
He had settled down in a little flat. Nice, not terrible expensive, and tucked away. Perfect. It felt like it had been made for him, just waiting there. It felt like home.
Sherlock slipped his hands into his pockets, collar turned up to fight off the cool wind. It was exhilarating. His cheeks were rosy from the chill, but his heart was warm. There was a spring in his step as he walked along, breathe clean and white as it billowed in front of him.
He was on his way to the hospital. He was planning on doing some research, to keep his mind fresh and sharp while he tried to find a real job. He was considering forensics or chemistry.
Sherlock snapped back to reality upon realizing that someone had bumped right into him. He looked up to see a woman, looking hurried, and very, very, apologetic. No, not a woman, a girl, young, around Sherlock's own age. As Sherlock looked at her, he thought she was beautiful. Her hair was long, mousy brown and her eyes were dark and glassy. She had fumbled her coffee, spilling it on her hand, on her blouse, and on Sherlock. She looked near tears, and as she opened her mouth to apologize, Sherlock cut her off with a bright smile.
"Careful there," he said easily, straightening the cup of coffee in her hand. Upon consideration, he lifted the cup entirely from her grip and held it himself. Her hand was mildly burned.
"Th-thank you," she stammered, cheeks flushed a deep red. She didn't meet his gaze, but a grateful smile tugged at her mouth. She looked up, but quickly looked back down, aware of their close proximity. Sherlock took a step back.
Sherlock brushed it off. "Your hand," he said quietly, not wanting to scare her off. "It's burnt." He glanced at her face, down to her hand, and back. He looked almost concerned.
The girl laughed, awkwardly. "Y-yeah. I guess it is. I hadn't noticed. Well, I didn't notice, but it isn't bad, and it's not important, and it hardly hurts-" she stopped when she realized she was rambling. Her cheeks warmed again. "Sorry, I- I'm sorry."
Sherlock resisted rolling his eyes good-naturedly, and instead offered his hand. "Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself, pleasant smile still in place.
The girl risked a quick glance to his face before shaking his hand with her uninjured hand. It was clumsy, left-handed, and she gave him a shaky smile. "Molly Hooper."
Sherlock offered to walk with her back to her place, or more accurately insisted. She didn't protest, but her gaze flicked nervously from him, to the street, to the other people walking along, and back to him. She looked like a startled hare, and Sherlock almost wanted to laugh.
He reached his hand out, fingers circling her slim wrist. She jumped with a light gasp, and Sherlock did chuckle at that. He pulled her closer to him so he could talk to her.
"You look worried and anxious," he observed, letting go of her wrist. "I know we've just met, but if you'd like to tell me why, I'll listen," he offered gently.
She looked startled. "Most people don't pay this much attention to strangers," she said honestly, then looked like she regretted it. "Not that it's bad, I mean, it's just unusual. Most people don't care. You're different."
Sherlock stopped walking, and Molly followed his cue. "Maybe I am," he shrugged. "But no, you're right. I wouldn't pay this much attention to most people."
Molly smiled at him, sincere and beautiful, and Sherlock was caught off guard, a little, by it. He grinned back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
They walked in silence for a while, comfortably. Sherlock asked why she had been in a rush earlier.
"I was running late for a job interview. It hardly matters now. I didn't really want the job, but do want my own flat," she admitted.
"Oh. So we're going to you're parents' place, I presume?" he stated more than asked.
Molly's cheeks colored lightly. "Yeah. I hope that's not a problem?" She asked, nervous again.
"Of course not," Sherlock laughed. Molly joined him.
Sherlock noticed Molly shiver, just a bit, and he turned to her.
"You're cold," he told her, narrowing his eyes as he watched her.
"Oh, um, yeah. You're right," she said uncomfortably, looking back at him. "From the coffee. It's still damp," she said needlessly. Sherlock already knew that. He started to move, but stopped as she glared at him, surprisingly fierce for someone so unobtrusive. "I won't take your coat."
Sherlock threw his head back, laughing heartily. When he looked back at her, a smirk was on his face. She took a step back.
"No. You won't take my coat. But I will give it to you, and I will insist you wear it, otherwise I will drop it right here and leave it, and neither of us will have a coat."
Molly gaped at him. "Blackmail." She gave him a weak glare, feeling her resolve slip away.
Sherlock placed the coat on her shoulders, still warm from his body. The fabric on the outside was scratchy, but the inside was lined with a smooth material, and it smelled good, like cologne.
He gave her a smug smile, and she tried her best to look angry, but only ended up giving him an awkward smile. He laughed inwardly, and she realized that he knew. She wasn't really mad.
Before long, Sherlock was feeling the cold himself. He hadn't been spared from the coffee incident, and his sleeves were damp with the dark liquid.
"We're almost there," Molly told him, as if she knew. Perhaps she did.
When they arrived, it was to a small, quaint house. It was lovely, brick with white trim and a little bench swing on the porch.
"Beautiful," Sherlock remarked about the place quietly, but he was looking at Molly. Molly looked startled, blushing furiously and sputtering incoherent noises.
Sherlock walked up the steps with her, knocking on the door politely. A middle aged man answered it, with a short, pleasant woman hurrying to stand behind him. Sherlock flashed them both a winning smile.
"Hello there," the man said slowly, taking in the new face of the boy with his daughter. He sounded slightly guarded, but not hostile. Protective of his little girl, but not overbearing. He turned to Molly. "And who is this young man? Is he your boyfriend?" he asked.
Molly opened her mouth, embarrassed, but Sherlock cut her off, slyly slipping his hand around hers. "Sherlock Holmes," he offered charmingly, shaking hands with the man and giving a polite nod to the woman. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Hooper."
Mrs. Hooper took one look at him, realized that he must be freezing, and hurriedly invited him in. He sat in the living room by the fire, pulling Molly down by his side. Mrs. Hooper handed him a soft blanket and shoved a warm cup of tea in his hands. He thanked her graciously as she took the seat across from them, by her husband.
"So," Mr. Hooper began, sipping his own tea, "how did the two of you meet?" he asked curiously.
Sherlock laughed, light and casual. "Well, actually, your daughter spilled coffee on me," he confessed, amused.
Mrs. Hooper gasped. "Molly Hooper!" her father lightly reprimanded. Molly looked guilty and flustered, and Sherlock waved it away.
"It's no problem, really. I'm fine, although I think she burnt her hand. Anyway, I offered to walk with her, and we started talking, and it's been great," he said honestly. At the last few words, his gaze had shifted to Molly, and a tender smile graced his lips.
The next day, when Sherlock knocked at the door, Molly was surprised, and shyly happy. The day after that, he stayed for a while, sipping tea and chatting. Then they sat outside on the front porch swing, blankets wrapped cozily around their shoulders and they talked. About everything and nothing. Days went by, weeks, months. Sitting on the little bench swing. And it felt like home.
One day, Sherlock didn't come when Molly expected. She waited, and he didn't show up. Puzzled, she stepped out on the porch to wait for him. The minutes stretched on. Nothing. She began to worry, making her way to the swing to sit. Something caught her eye, and she saw on the arm of the bench the clean white paper of a letter with her name written in neat, black letters. She held her breath as she opened it, dark eyes scanning the page as she held it gently.
Her eyes grew damp as she read the letter from Sherlock Holmes.
You're the only girl I'll ever love. And I'd do anything not to give you up. If I could only stop the world when you're standing by my side. See I'm having the time of my life.
Molly Hooper had never been so happy. Three years had gone by since she met Sherlock Holmes, and when he had proposed to her, she had been speechless and giddy and so incredibly in love. Now, she felt the same, multiplied by ten, and she was nervous and excited and full of joy and she thought she might burst.
She looked like a princess, dressed up in pearls. She was so proud and happy and she felt tears prick at her eyes, but she willed them away. She hadn't even walked down the aisle yet, and she was already crying. She laughed because she was so overwhelmed, it was all she could do.
Sherlock stood alone in a darkened hallway, in a little church on a hill. It was his wedding day. Everyone was there, proud of him, happy for him, and he was happy too. He had never been one to believe in a higher power, but as he sank to his knees, he couldn't hold back what he was feeling inside. He thanked the Lord for his family and the perfect bride and he said:
She's the only girl I'll ever love. And I'd do anything not to give her up. If I could only stop the world when she's standing by my side. See I'm having the time of my life.
As he watched Molly walk down the aisle, he was suddenly struck by how beautiful she was, and how lucky he was to have found her. Tears rolled down his face. He couldn't help it. He was astounded by the fact that he was marrying this beautiful, wonderful woman. His heart ached with love for her, and this moment, watching her walk towards him now, was so perfect, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.
The ceremony was wonderful. And when Sherlock kissed Molly, kissed his wife, if he had known before that she was the girl he was waiting for, he knew now that it was worth the wait. And as he held her in his arms, trails of dampness on both their faces, he laughed for joy, and it felt like home.
Years went by. The quiet comfort of their home turned into the murmurs of a baby. A perfect baby boy, healthy and loving. There were the cheers when he took his first steps, the tears when he got his first teeth. Pattering feet steadied, and as the little boy grew older, Sherlock and Molly couldn't have been happier. They were a perfect family, a little world created by love.
Soon, a second child arrived, a baby girl, and Sherlock cried when he held her. She was so much like her mother, so beautiful, so full of life. He held her tiny fingers, and felt the familiar joy of being a father. He kissed her gently and cradled her close.
The children grew. Soon they were ready for school, and Sherlock couldn't believe it. There was no way his little girl, his little angel was that old already. Molly laughed and kissed him, tasting like coffee.
.
Sherlock barely managed when his daughter left for university. He had already been through the same with his son, who was now married, with his own child on the way. How had life passed by so fast? Where was the little baby he had held in his hands so long ago?
Sherlock came home one day, still adjusting to the quietness of their home. Molly wasn't there to greet him when he stepped inside. He figured she must have upstairs.
.
Molly stood alone in the attic. She had been going through an old dresser drawer. There were little tiny clothes unused for years, toys long forgotten, bedtime books and blankets and drawings and it was all too much. Yesterday still felt like the day she had brought her children home for the first time, and now they were all grown up.
As she searched, she found a chest that contained her things from her wedding day. There was her pearl necklace, and photographs. She was smiling, and crying, and Sherlock looked so handsome in his tuxedo, and she smiled at the memory. She clutched her dress to her chest, closing her eyes to relive the moment. When she opened them, she saw a letter, written so long ago. But she'd never forget it, no matter how old.
As she turned to put the dress away and pack up the years, she saw Sherlock standing in the doorway. His eyes were full of tears and walked to her, and held her close to him. He leaned his head against her forehead, closing his eyes and doing nothing to stop the tears from falling. He took her soft hand in his, gently, weaving their fingers together. He rocked her back and forth, there in the attic. And as they danced, he leaned close to her and whispered, so full of love.
You're the only girl I'll ever love. And I'd do anything not to give you up. If I could only stop the world when you're standing by my side. See I'm having the time of my life. Yes I'm having the time of my life.
And he knew he was home.