For thirty odd something years of his life, Sherlock Holmes never gave much importance to February fourteenth. To him, it was a day like any other, with the only difference being that there was an overwhelming number of couples walking around London, most of whom were just waiting for this insipid holiday to pass in order to break off their relations. No, Sherlock never cared about the overly commercialized holiday, and if it weren't for a petite, loving pathologist, this year would've been no different.
He and Molly Hooper had been in a relationship for six months now and although there had been a few rough patches, everything was going well. And for the first time in his life, Sherlock found himself making plans for Valentine's Day. That was how John Watson had found him, in nothing more than his pajamas and dressing gown, hair a curly mess, hunched over his laptop, scouring the internet looking for flowers to buy, and restaurants that were still taking reservations. As soon as John entered the flat, Sherlock slammed his laptop shut in an effort to keep John's prying eyes away from the screen. Not that he was embarrassed of getting caught preparing for Valentine's Day, but for the reason that his relationship to Molly Hooper was a well kept secret, something that they had both agreed on that should be kept between the two of them.
The urgency of John's visit was due to an intriguing case that rapidly became a complex mystery, making Sherlock and John run around London chasing lead after lead. Late into the night hours of the fourteenth (or in the early hours of the fifteenth), the case finally came to a lull and both men decided to return to Baker Street, John barely making it into the living room before collapsing onto the sofa and automatically falling asleep.
Sherlock paced the length of the living room for an hour, assuring himself that John was deep in sleep before he put on his Belstaff, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and dashed out of 221B.
He stepped out into the chilly London air and flagged down a cab, throwing himself into its warm interior and barking out the address to St. Bart's Hospital to the cabbie. Sherlock's original plan had been to call up Mike Stamford and ask that Molly be taken off of her graveyard shift she had been placed on, but since he never got father than looking up flower arrangements, Molly was still working her late night shift.
Although it was no longer Valentine's Day, Sherlock felt the need to go see her. More and more he had found himself thinking about her throughout his day and realizing that he missed her when he didn't see her for a few hours. He found himself stopping by Bart's with the excuse of checking up on his experiments but, in reality, he went just to sneak in a kiss and a few words to his pathologist. Of course, they did this only when no one else was around with the exception of one time in the beginning of their relationship, when John had walked in on them tumbling out of a storage closet, faces flushed and acting all flustered. John was suspicious but thanks to the quick mind of Molly and a little white lie about not being able to reach the top shelf of the tiny, cramped broom closet, not another doubt crossed the loyal doctor's mind.
Sherlock was jarred out of his thoughts as the cab pulled over and after paying the fare, he made his way down to the lab of the pathology ward. The halls were completely empty, everyone having gone home to spend the night with their loved ones many hours before. His footsteps echoed quietly on the tile floors, his swift gait hurriedly taking him closer to where the woman who had stolen his heart was working. As he approached the swinging doors of the lab, he heard soft music emanating from inside, a ghost of a smile grazing Sherlock's lips as he recognized the rich, velvety male voice as Molly's favorite singer. She was infamous for playing music when she had to do paperwork during her later shifts.
Sherlock stopped short just before going through the doors having caught a glimpse of Molly sitting at the lab table, cup of coffee next to her stack of work to be completed, swaying gently to the music floating around her. Her hair was up in its usual ponytail, the long, honey brown tresses falling over her shoulder. Her lab coat was thrown haphazardly over the stool sitting across the table, the sleeves of her colorful jumper pushed up to her mid forearm. A faint smile slipped onto his face as he looked at the woman who had mattered the most, the one he called his for nearly six months, albeit with no one else knowing it.
Suddenly, Molly looked up at the doors, sensing someone's gaze on her. A smile graced her lovely face, her tired eyes lighting up at the sight of the consulting detective. Sherlock felt his heart stutter as it always did when on the receiving end of one of her dazzling smiles. His gloved hand pushed the door open and he slowly made his way over to where she was working. Without saying a word, he took her hands in his and enveloped her within his arms.
"I know it is no longer the fourteenth of February; in fact, it hasn't been for a few hours now but I just couldn't let the holiday go by without seeing you," he whispered in her ear.
"I'm just glad you're here right now."
As Molly made to pull away, Sherlock pulled her closer to his body, his arms tightening around her. He started swaying side to side, in time with the music that was still playing.
"Sherlock, I have a lot of work to do."
"Shh, Molly. It can wait a few minutes. I just want to dance with you right now."
Gradually, their swaying turned into a slow, romantic dance, the music embracing them in its soft piano and smooth violin, the velvety timbre of the singer allowing the couple to forget about the world around them and focusing on the two of them in each other's arms.
As the final violin strings faded out, Sherlock kissed Molly on the lips. It was a slow, burning kiss that Sherlock hoped would show Molly just how much she meant to him. When they finally parted, he rested his forehead on hers and opened his eyes. Taking her right hand in his left and placing his right on her cheek, Sherlock shocked Molly with two simple words. Three little syllables, seven little letters.
"Marry me."
Molly let go of him and took a step back. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open, surprise written across her face. Worry and doubt crossed Sherlock's mind and he became frightened that maybe he had messed up, or that it was too soon, or that she no longer wanted to be with him, when he was suddenly thrown backwards with force of Molly's hug. Wrapping her arms around his neck and jumping up, legs automatically going around his waist, she buried her face in his neck and placed a quick kiss on his pulse point. Looking into his bright blue eyes, Molly shattered Sherlock's calm with one quick word.
"Yes."