Molly was waiting for Sherlock on a park bench in Hyde Park. Her feet stretched out before her, a paper bag on her lap.

"Hello," she looked up and smiled, shading her eyes so she could smile up at Sherlock.

"Hello yourself,"

"How was work?"

"Fine, Mike gave me an extra thirty minutes so I don't have to rush off."

"Mm," he was prodding the paper bag.

"Yes, alright, Mister Holmes who doesn't eat on a case."

"I rarely eat on a case, Mrs. Holmes," he sniffed. "All the difference, especially when you make meat pies." She opened the bag, pulling out one for him, and another for her.

"Oh no, these are the fruit pies," she mourned, realizing rather than two fruit pies and two meat pies, she'd grabbed four desserts. "And I didn't bring forks!" Sherlock was looking at the pie, peeling back the foil tin it was baked in. He took a generous bite, wiping the flakey crumbs from his mouth.

"Still good," he said, mouth full of good, buttery crust and sweet, syrupy berries. Molly looked at him, still holding onto her pie wrapped in wax paper and she laughed delightedly. How silly and childish and…fun. She unwrapped her pie, feeling some small sense of rule-breaking euphoria, eating her pie much as one would a hamburger. It was unconventional but it seemed to taste even better this way. Sherlock looked over at her, licking his sticky fingers, and he found himself smiling as she bit into the second pie, squeaking as the velvety custard oozed out the side.

"What?" she asked, mouth full.

"You've got," he pointed around his mouth the at her.

"Oh," she fished for a napkin, wiping her mouth, then turned at him. "Better?" He leaned over, kissing her.

"Better."