Author's Note: Hello readers! This is a Christmas story I posted on ao3 last month, and only just recently finished. I was debating whether to keep posting stories on this site, but I figured why the hell not? The only thing I wanna say is that from here on out, I ask that if you don't like my stories, just stop reading them. Don't bother commenting. I don't post for criticism, constructive or otherwise. I post because it brings me joy to write and share my stories with you. Thank you. Sending love to all y'all! xo, Shelby

"For God's sakes!" Sherlock shouted in annoyance. He tossed his mobile on the sofa with impressive force, just as Molly entered 221B, ducking as a reflex.

"I see you've still got anger issues," she remarked with a sigh. Sherlock kept his mouth shut, knowing that if he were to make a comeback, it would just make things worse with Molly. He felt as if he had to walk on eggshells around her anymore since that blasted phone call, and the several arguments that followed after.

"He's got a lot of issues, love," Mary piped up from the kitchen where she was feeding Rosie. "So speak up, Sherlock…what's got your knickers in a twist?"

Molly stored the body parts 'his nibs' requested in the fridge, where they were usually stored, whilst she listened in to the conversation around her. She tried to ignore it, but her curiosity always got the better of her.

"Mummy won't get off my back about meeting the girlfriend I made up having months ago," Sherlock answered reluctantly. "She wants me to bring her 'round for Christmas…and I would if I hadn't lied this one time."

"You're always lying," Molly scoffed, but was loud enough for only Mary to hear. At that point, she lost track of the conversation, having it become background noise as she cooed at her goddaughter. And she was successful at ignoring it, until the sudden silence. That was when Molly looked around to see Mary looking at her with a mischievous look. "What?"

"You are gonna be Sherlock's date for Christmas," Mary told her with the upmost confidence.

"Like that's gonna happen." Sherlock and Molly spoke in unison, laughing at the notion. "In case you haven't noticed," Sherlock began, "we haven't had a friendly conversation since my birthday."

Molly's heart clenched in her chest as her mind wandered to the events that occurred after they went out for cake that evening.

"Sherlock, you need to eat," Molly pleaded with him.

"What for?" he sighed, plopping down on the sofa, turning himself away from her. Molly knelt down on the floor beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Because, Sherlock," she told him, "you need to keep your strength up." Molly's fingers traveled up, brushing them through his freshly washed curls. A small smile graced her lips when she heard his hum of approval at her ministrations.

"I already ate a slice of cake," he mumbled. "Isn't that enough? I'm too tired." Molly boosted herself up on her knees, leaning over to speak softly in his ear.

"A compromise then?" she suggested, hoping he'd agree to eat. She jumped back when he turned over to face her.

"I'll eat a full English breakfast in the morning," Sherlock told her, the promise of it lingering in his reddened eyes. God, it killed her to see him like this.

"What's the catch?" she asked, wondering where he was going with this.

"Have dinner with me," he said simply. Molly wasn't sure she heard him right, and Sherlock obviously noticed, so he elaborated with his next three words. "On a date."

"You've no idea what you're saying," Molly laughed in disbelief. "You're still on the mend, and you're not thinking straight." Of course, he assured her he was thinking quite clearly, and so she waited for him to pick her up the night of. The only thing was that he never showed up; no calls, no texts. That's the night Molly promised herself never to fall for any more of his stupid games…until he called her two weeks later with a most heart wrenching request.

"I want something in return," Molly stated firmly. "If I agree to this, you have to watch Toby whilst I go on holiday next month." Sherlock cringed inwardly. He and Toby had never gotten along. This compromise wasn't worth it.

"No deal," Sherlock replied almost instantly. "I'd rather face my mother's wrath than deal with your mangy cat."

"He is not mangy!" Molly argued in Toby's defense. She marched off toward the door, ready to leave. "I can't believe I ever felt anything for you, Sherlock Holmes." Granted, this was just the front she put up around him ever since he stood her up. Of course, nobody but her and Sherlock knew about it, but she'd rather spare Mary the details of it all.

As for Sherlock, his reasons for standing her up were pretty flimsy, even to himself. Most importantly, he realized he loved her too late. Not in the way he loved his friends and family, no. He loved her in ways he couldn't even begin to comprehend. After Eurus put the last nail in the coffin, quite literally, Sherlock knew whatever shreds of his friendship with Molly were destroyed. He could never become the man she needed—the man she deserved. Not once did it occur to him that it wasn't his call to make. He should say something—make her wanna stay. Instead, what came out was much worse.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out." And with that, Molly slammed it as hard as she possibly could.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Mary berated him. "Honestly, what is going on with you two!?"

"Something unfixable," was all he replied with, walking toward the fridge. He stopped when Rosie gripped his index finger tightly. He looked into her bright, shining blue eyes that seemed to cut him to the core.

"Unca! Mowwy!" she squealed urgently, pointing at the door with her other hand. Sherlock had to admit to himself that it was pretty sad when a one year old was telling you to fix things. So he flew down the stairs, and onto the street clad in only his pajamas and cobalt blue dressing gown. He could see her only a few feet away.

"Molly!" he called out to her, his voice booming, but the tone was desperate. She turned to look at him, completely disheveled, and began to laugh at the sight. Slowly making her way toward him, her mind was telling her it was a bad idea, but Molly couldn't ignore the fact that her heart made her go to him.

"Always the dramatic one," she told him upon her approach. Sherlock was relieved to see that she found it amusing. "What in—"

"I'm sorry," he told her breathlessly. "For everything. What I said was uncalled for, and I apologise for all I've done in the past, but Molly—"

"I'm sorry too," she spoke quietly. "I don't wanna fight anymore, Sherlock. We should at least be adults, and not bring this negativity out in front of Rosie."

"Agreed."

As he watched her walk away from him once more, something that would never stop making his heart ache, Mycroft rang him.

"Brother mine, I have a case for you."