Molly Hooper sat on a park bench in Russell Square, quietly enjoying her hot pumpkin spiced latte and the little snowflakes flurrying past her nose. For once, the square was practically silent, with only the occasional black cab to mar the stillness. But even then, they would sound muffled, almost far away, due to the gorgeous six-inch layer of sparkling white snow that covered everything in sight. Molly sighed happily. She loved snow.
Even better, she had been given the day off from Bart's. Normally, she would have offered to stay on instead (she really did love her job that much), but one look out the window at the winter wonderland that used to be dreary gray London convinced her. Nothing could ruin this.
It was that moment her mobile chose to chirrup a text alert. Molly tugged her scarf closer, refusing to acknowledge it. She knew who it was.
No, it was her day off. And not even Sherlock Holmes was worth missing a snow day. Fit as he was. Lord, he was handsome. That face, his cheekbones! Who would have thought such a body part could be so attractive? And his hands. Goodness, one could devote whole fantasies to those hands. In fact, Molly was slightly embarrassed to admit, she had and–BEEP.
Molly groaned. Fine. Digging through her bag, she pulled out her mobile and checked the texts.
In need of parts. ~SH
Stamford told me he gave you the day off. And you accepted. You never take days off. ~SH
Molly smiled slightly. He sounded almost concerned. Her mobile beeped again.
Where are you? Need parts! ~SH
And he was back. Then Molly grinned, an idea forming. Looking up, she spotted one of the metal gates marking the entrance into the square, currently lined with snow and ice. She admired it for a minute and then snapped a photo of it. Smirking, she sent the photo to Sherlock. He always did like a mystery.
Ten minutes later, Molly's toes were beginning to lose feeling. She sat up, gathering her things, when she saw a black cab pull up and a familiar figure emerge. Molly shook her head. Not much of a mystery I guess, she thought.
Dressed in his characteristic Belstaff and scarf, Sherlock swept into the park, spotting her immediately. Molly simply sipped her latte and smiled.
"Well, that was fast, even by your standards," she quipped. She patted the bench next to her and Sherlock promptly settled down in the offered spot.
"What are you doing here, Molly? And taking a day off? Clearly you aren't ill. Given your choice of beverage and your location, I would gather you actually like it here. You like the snow." Sherlock sat back, looking perplexed at such a notion.
Molly laughed. "I don't just like the snow, I love it. It snows so rarely in London, at least like this. And so, I felt it was a good excuse to take off work."
Sherlock snorted. "Well, I suppose I always miss something. But now, I believe you have been here for at least twenty minutes and your appendages are probably losing circulation. Let's get back to Bart's, shall we?" He stood, shaking snow off his coat and turning towards her expectantly.
Although Molly's toes were in fact almost completely numb, she couldn't resist teasing, "Oh no, Sherlock my 'appendages' are fine! Really, I could stay out here all day. Besides, why do you need parts now? That is why you want to go back?" She smiled impishly.
"Bored, that's why. And honestly, your feet have to be freezing by now," Sherlock huffed.
"My, my, Sherlock The-body-is-just-for-transport Holmes, are you cold?" At Sherlock's affronted expression, Molly burst into giggles. Sherlock opened his mouth, no doubt to give some blistering defense, but then, curiously, closed it again. Instead, he smiled, his eyes softening a bit. "I supposed even I am not unaffected by the cold," he conceded. Then his smile smoothed away. "But really, Molly, it is time to go back to Bart's."
And his exit would have been highly impressive, superior really, if it had not been for the small ball of snow smacking spectacularly into the back of his head when his back was turned.
Sherlock swiveled around to look at Molly, pure shock on his face. Molly laughed outright at that. She hefted another snowball, eying him predatorily. "I don't want to go back to Bart's."
Sherlock opened his mouth. SMACK. He sputtered. That one had hit him square in the chest. "Molly…" he warned.
SMACK. Another to the stomach. "Goodness, Sherlock, you're not very good at this are you?" Molly was giggling uncontrollably at this point. Adorably, Sherlock couldn't help but notice. As infuriating as she was at the moment, he couldn't help but smile a little. SMACK. Distracted, he got a snowball full in the face.
Molly immediately clapped her hands over mouth and darted toward him. "Oh Sherlock, I-I'm so s-sorry, are you a-alright?" Sherlock remained crouched, his hand covering his face. Molly squatted in front of him, trying to see if he was injured at all.
Without warning, Sherlock lunged and dumped a huge handful of snow on top of her head. Molly shrieked and ran, screaming with laughter.
Anyone walking through Russell Square that day would have seen a strange sight indeed: the normally unemotional famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and the usually shy, stuttering pathologist Dr. Molly Hooper laughing and pelting each other merrily with snowballs.
Neither Molly nor Sherlock was entirely certain how it happened, but somehow they both ended up lying side-by-side in the snow. Molly waved her arms and legs, making a snow angel. Sherlock stared up at the trees for a moment.
"I'm not entirely sure why I did that," Sherlock mused. "Snowball fights are generally moronic in my opinion."
Molly turned her head to look at him, grinning. "They are, are they?"
Sherlock looked back at her, his blue-green eyes darkening. "But I find that I am no longer bored. So, perhaps, I might revise that opinion. At least, regarding snowball fights with you, Molly Hooper."
Molly smiled warmly, softly. "You're welcome, Sherlock. And thank you. This has been the best snow day ever." And she leaned over and kissed him.
Sherlock froze. But suddenly the whole world slowed down, even his racing brain, slowed down to focus on the feel of her lips against his, her breath, her pulse. And he found himself kissing her back. He slipped his hand around her neck to cradle the back of her head, deepening the kiss.
Molly couldn't believe what she had just done. She was kissing Sherlock Holmes, for goodness sakes! In the snow! And he was good at it, too! But she soon lost her train of thought, overwhelmed by the kiss.
They broke apart, panting slightly. Molly smiled, slightly flustered, and pulled herself to stand up. Looking down at Sherlock, she brushed off the snow. "Umm, I just wanted to say thank you." She promptly fled up the path.
Sherlock took his time standing, still processing. He allowed himself a small moment of elation before tamping it down. Molly may have been right. Best snow day ever, indeed.