Prompt from Tumblr (enamoredwithsherlolly). Feel free to submit a prompt!
"You're going to propose?!" Mary and John stared at Sherlock in shock, unable to believe their ears.
"I'm certain we're still speaking the same language. What part of that didn't you understand?" He rolled his eyes .
"It's just..." Mary spoke up, "Does she even know you're dating?"
Sherlock paused for a moment, staring at her.
"Of course she knows. Why wouldn't she know?"
"Well," Mary continued dryly, "for starters, the last time four times you took her on a date you ended up on a chase for some criminal, and she got left behind. I asked her, and she thought you brought her along to look inconspicuous."
At this, Sherlock looked genuinely offended.
"I'm perfectly capable of looking inconspicuous by myself!"
Mary just shrugged her shoulders.
"Anyways," John spoke, "she doesn't even realize you're trying to catch her attention. You're going to propose, and she doesn't know you're dating."
Sherlock looked at them for a moment before turning and walking out their apartment door.
"I've got to propose. I've already bought the ring!" He shouted back at them.
Mary and John gave each other a look. This wasn't going to turn out well.
Molly had a dilemma. Sherlock had texted her two hours ago, telling her to dress up nice and that he would pick her up at 7. Judging from the past few times he had called her out, she suspected it was for another case. Should she wear heels or tennis shoes? What if there was another chase? Could she even keep up with him anyway?
She shook her head. Never mind. He'd be fine. He always was. She donned a silky, black off the shoulder dress (the only fancy one left she owned. She hadn't kept the Christmas one. Didn't want the memories) and a pair of short heels. She would be able to run in those.
She hoped.
Just as she was considering whether or not she should change into more sensible flats at least, the doorbell rang.
Sherlock.
She opened the door, a little confused when the man that greeted her wasn't wearing his signature Belstaff but a suit instead.
"So fancy? We going to a wedding or something?" She laughed.
He stared at her.
"Sherlock?"
"Um, uh, no. Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Just come out and get in the car." He turned quickly, nearly bumping into the doorframe, and walked down the stairs.
Feeling a little hurt, she closed the door behind her and followed him down. She knew what he was like, but still. Sometimes it hurt.
"So...this restaurant is nice." Molly looked around at the fancy chandeliers and silk table cloth. Thank goodness she had dressed up for the occasion. Lord knows she probably would have been kicked out if she wore one of her normal jumpers.
Sherlock hadn't spoken a word on the way here, and she was feeling a little uneasy. He hadn't even looked at her, and his face had been burning a bright red the entire trip on the cab. She suspected he might have had a fever, but before she could touch his forehead, he had slapped her hands away, telling her he was quite fine, thank you.
"Sherlock," She reached out her hand to touch his own, which seemed to be currently wringing itself into the table cloth of its own volition.
He nearly jumped out of his chair.
"Um, yes. We'll have some red wine," he stopped a waiter walking by their table.
"SHERLOCK."
"Yes, Molly." He looked at her, his expression carefully schooled to look blank.
She frowned.
"Sherlock!" A voice called from across the room. Sherlock's eyes shifted to behind Molly, his brows suddenly creasing.
What was John and Mary doing here?
John casually strolled up to their table, a pregnant Mary on his arm, and grinned widely at Sherlock.
"So...having dinner out, are we?"
"Oh, no," Molly smiled. "I think we're here for a case, but Sherlock won't talk to me about it. It must be important."
John guffawed, slapping Sherlock on the back.
"Why are you here?" Sherlock spat out between his clenched out, glaring at him.
"Just returning the favor, old friend," he casually grinned (though to Molly it looked a bit evil) and pulled up a chair for him and his wife. Both he and Mary were smiling at Molly quite strangely, and she shifted a little in her chair. To an outsider, if John and Mary had been a tad older, it would almost look like an arranged marriage was taking place, what with their beaming smiles and Molly's nervous one and Sherlock's permanent scowl.
Of course, only three people on the table knew what was going on.
An hour later, they were digging into their meals (fish for Sherlock, steak for Molly, and Mary had already dug into three appetizers and a salad and was still gradually stealing food off of John's plate). Sherlock was still fidgeting in his seat, and the more he fidgeted, the more amused John and Mary seemed.
"So, what brings you two here?" Molly asked.
But before they could answer, a blood-curdling shriek pierced the air.
They all glanced toward the woman, covered in blood, sobbing, to their left. A second later, Sherlock was crouched down next to the man on the floor. The poor man had been shot in the head, and nobody had noticed. Well, except for his partner. A silencer, Molly heard Sherlock speculating to John, who had gone with him.
Suddenly, Sherlock's head shot up, and he looked around the room, locking eyes with a man standing at the doorway of the kitchen. He started running toward him, and the man, startled, shot into the kitchen and out of sight. John was in hot pursuit of the two, and five seconds later, they were nowhere to be seen.
Molly and Mary glanced sideways at each other, then pulled out their purses, split the tab, and took a cab home. It would take them awhile. It always did.
Three hours later, Molly heard her lock being picked, but she didn't bother to get up from her chair. She had settled down with a good book, and she wasn't getting up for anyone. Not even for Sherlock Holmes.
"Molly?"
She looked up at the man covered in lord-knows-what, raising an eyebrow.
He look at step forward, his hands hidden behind his back.
"The case was cut and dry. Woman has an affair. Man hires a sniper masquerading as a waiter. Quite simple, really, not even a 4." He began to ramble.
He took a deep breath.
"What I'm trying to say is...I promise I won't ever leave you behind again, Molly. John and Mary have informed me that you didn't realize we were dating, but I assumed because I had invited you out numerous times (the uncalled for cases I truly apologize for) you would realize and I wouldn't need to say it out loud. I'm not good at sentiment, as you well know."
Molly's book lay forgotten in her lap as she stared at Sherlock, her heart thumping loudly.
He pulled out his hands from behind him, a small, grey kitten coming into view.
"I had planned on proposing tonight, but in the chase, I had lost the ring. I will replace it of course, but as you've been talking of Toby being lonely, I thought this would do as a suitable replacement."
He looked a little awkward now, and gingerly knelt down on one knee. Molly's hands were over her mouth now, and tears were leaking from her eyes uncontrollably.
"I am a ridiculous man, and I had not realized the extent of my feelings for you until I nearly lost you. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful, and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. But, Molly Hooper." He paused, staring into her eyes and kneeling on the floor with the kitten squirming in his hands (Molly would be laughing if she weren't crying), it would be my great honor if you would take me to be your husband."
She shot up from her chair, the book falling onto the floor. Her lips crushed against his.
"I've been waiting for this day for forever, Sherlock Holmes. I'm glad you didn't make me wait longer.