Just a little early treat for you dear sherlollians for Valentine 's Day. I hope you will enjoy. Please let me know.
On the 14th of February
It was a silent Sunday night in February when Sherlock Holmes grabbed his coat and blue scarf to depart to Bart's. The boredom took over his mood since everybody was busy with some nonsense holiday revolving around sentiment. Even criminals seemed to be occupied hence there was no crime to solve.
At Bart's Molly at least gave him some experiment to lull his agony. He hoped she didn't have suddenly some imbecile boyfriend to spend the evening with. Maybe she would even give him some body parts. At this thought his mood improved a bit and with light steps he went downstairs to hail a cab.
The hospital's basement was delightfully silent. Apparently everybody was enjoying the party upstairs according to the cheerful noise audible in the whole staircase.
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he heard to start some cheesy love song from above.
As he dramatically stormed into the morgue, his coat floating around him, he expected Molly to be there pleased to see him, as it was her shift that evening. And as it was well known on that particular evening was committed the second most suicide. So Molly obviously was busy.
But for his surprise there was no Molly in the morgue but that grumpy old guy with the dyed hair. Perlon or Permitron? Something like that.
As he looked up at Sherlock from behind his glasses, standing above a corpse, holding a scalpel he sighed.
'She's not here, and no, she didn't leave you any body parts, although you are free to use the lab, but only her station.' He was almost back to his work when he glanced up again. 'Oh, and if you dare to mess with any other workstations, she will, I quote her, detach a pair of your precious body parts and give them back to you for experiments.'
Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise and swallowed hard with raised eyebrows.
'Good evening,' added the elderly pathologist and he got back to slice up the body on the slab for good.
Sherlock, for once, decided to behave mostly because he knew how good Molly was with a scalpel. As he opened the lab door and switched on the light, the small light red package immediately caught his attention on Molly's desk next to the microscope.
Of course Molly got some inane present from an idiot from the hospital. That Croat bloke from the ER has always fancied her. With his puppy eyes.
Sherlock proving Molly but mainly himself that he was mature enough to hold back the urge, left alone the package. For almost an hour.
But it was staring at him. So he stared back. Then he decided that nothing was wrong with smelling it. Simple phase of observation. The sweet scent of vanillin and chocolate were the most significant but there was also a bit flowerish. Rose? No. Elderberry flower. Hmm yes. His long lost childhood memories came into Sherlock's mind.
His grandmother used to bake Elderberry cookies with mellow chocolate pieces in them at the beginning of the summer. The elder was in its full bloom and the sun was rising on the top of the sky alluring the sweet odour of the flowers to linger in the warming air. Light breeze brought towards him the melting chocolate's heavy scent from inside the small cottage's kitchen, where Granny was putting the hot cookies onto an old white plate. He run inside not having the patience to wait for them to get cooler and stole one not bothering with the burning feeling in his palm. He took a deep breath to sense every detail of the fresh forbidden sweet. As he opened his eyes to take a bite behind his granny's back...
..he suddenly found himself in the cold lab of Bart's basement there was no trace of the sunrise and the thick scent of the summers spent in his grandmother's house. The warmth and his grandmother's accepting and devoted love. There were only stainless steel slabs, cold neon lights and perfectly clean and shiny glass accessories.
And the delicious red package in his hand. Gulping he put it down, back to its place, but he felt some bitterness in his mouth. Even Molly wasn't there. Where was she? Surely celebrating love somewhere. Sentiment. How he hated it. How he hated to deal with it.
With a sudden twist in his thoughts he grabbed the small present, tore off the delicate bow and red paper and dropped the cookie into his mouth. Molly wouldn't mind, surely. Anyway she left it here, it was her fault.
Only after swallowing the last crab of the cookie he noticed a little pink card among the torn papers on the desk. He took it in his hand and read the very familiar handwriting.
Dearest Sherlock, love Molly xxx
His brows frowned and mouth opened slightly. He froze, sitting there staring at the pink card saying what he had assumed was a truth of the past. He thought that with many things he had done he deserved to lose Molly's love. He just considered her friendship as a consequence of her good heart and pity. But this, this shoved something else. He was confused. Still holding the card leaving the half ready experiment on the table he took his coat and scarf. He needed to think.
The morning welcomed London and the still thinking Sherlock Holmes with silent snowing. The white blanket on the whole city swallowed every sound. It was unusually silent. So it was quite surprising that John Watson entered the Baker Street flat without anyone noticing.
He found his best friend sitting on his dark grey armchair, his hands above his chin and staring in front of him practically without blinking.
'Khm... Morning, Sherlock,' John tried to get the detective out from his trance, though he didn't have much hope. He sighed and walked to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He decided that he would give Sherlock ten minutes to notice him, before he leaves. He didn't have any urgent topic to discuss he simply wanted to see if he is all right, after last night when everybody was celebrating with someone except Sherlock 'married to his work' Holmes.
So the sudden voice of his friend came as a mild surprise.
'Do you think that after all those horrible things I've done and said she still... feels the same?' Sherlock demanded without looking up.
'Who?' John groped carefully.
Sherlock finally looked up. 'Molly, Molly Hooper.' He shook his head in confusion. 'Last night she left me this in the lab. He held up the worn card.
'Aaaah, that? I, uhm, I think, yes, she probably does, maybe. Though...' He stopped, didn't know how to tell what he wanted to. He knew Mary would kill him for that. 'Everybody got a cookie from her yesterday with the same card.'
'Why would she give a card to everybody with my name written on it?' He looked at his friend with on raised brow. John tiled his head and narrowed his eyes, waiting for Sherlock to catch up.
'Aaaah, not my name on all of them, I presume.'
'Correct.' John nodded with a tight smile.
Sherlock' face fell and he practically collapsed into his chair with a sigh. If John didn't know him better, he would have sworn that Sherlock Holmes was disappointed.
'Were you pleased to get that...present?' John asked after a few moment spent in uncomfortable silence.
'Quite. It was delicious.' the detective murmured.
'No, I mean, the message part.' John immediately regretted his question, expecting his friend's speech of the vainness of sentiment, and his being completely independent of it.
'Ye-es? I was...pleased, I think.' The detective stammered blinking frequently.
'Well then, don't you want to do something about it?' John inquired quietly.
'No,' Sherlock mumbled and putting the small note into his pocket he stood up, taking his violin and turned to the large window, showing his back to John. The doctor was aware that their conversation has reached its end.
'Well, see you later then, mate.' He waved awkwardly to Sherlock's back and taking his coat and hat he headed home.
...
A week later
Molly entered her flat carrying some packages after doing the weekly shopping. She took them onto the kitchen table and sighed tiredly rubbing her neck. Toby run to her feet demanding his food meowing. She turned open the fridge to put the groceries in it while smiling at the fact that the feline could be so affectionate when he wanted something. Well, that reminded her of someone, she giggled. Her phone's loud buzz pulled her out of the train of thoughts.
Do you still love me? SH
Molly gaped in surprise. Obviously she had played the conversation about this in her head a million times, but never intended to really discuss her feelings with him. So she chose the easiest way to avoid this conversation. Not answering. Instead she continued to put the things away and started to prepare a light dinner. A few minutes later another message came.
The answer in no, I presume. SH
Molly groaned in frustration. Any answer would have been bad. So she chose to postpone the inconvenient conversation.
It's not something I'd like to discuss through texts. MH
Then come to the bloody living room already. SH
Molly didn't know if she felt laughing or crying instead. With trembling hands she walked through the hall and entered her living room to find a quite tousled Sherlock Holmes sitting on her sofa. His hair was dishevelled his clothes were mess; dark bags were visible under his eyes. It was pretty concerning comparing to his always neat appearance.
'Sherlock, are you all right?' Molly unconsciously stepped closer to examine him better.
'NO!' he exclaimed. 'No.' he continued in a much calmer voice seeing Molly's frown. Sherlock started to pace up and down, ruffling his hair and looked like he was speaking to himself. 'I'm not all right. I can't sleep, I can't eat, and I don't care enough to change my clothes. I can't use my mind palace because,...all I can think about is you not loving me anymore. You are my home, Molly Hooper, did you know that? You can't not love me. This is not how the world supposed to be. Not my world. I would be homeless without your love.' As he finished his sentence he stopped his frantic pacing and looked at Molly shrugging in surrender. 'I'm miserable. This is horrible,' he gasped out watching her with wide puppy eyes.
Molly eyed him for a moment then snorted with a sound between sobbing and laughter, her hands nervously fidgeting with the ham of her jumper. Sherlock frowned as she slowly closed the gap between them. Molly reached up and placed her hands on each side of his face, gently pulled his head down, looking deep into his eyes.
He felt his eyes close as her lips touched his for a too short moment.
'Is it better?' Molly was ogling him expectantly with a warm smile.
Sherlock made a thinking expression with a half grin. 'A bit. I think I need more treatment.' With this he wrapped his arms around Molly's waist and pulled her close bending down to give her a longer and more passionate kiss than the one before.
He happily hummed at Molly's giggle as he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.