SCARLET
To dear Sherlock
With love Molly xxx
Sherlock realized he had crossed the line.
Looking in amazement at those few words written in red, he felt very ill, as if someone had violently shoved a knife into his chest. He immediately realized the tremendous mistake he had made, and perhaps for the first time in his life he realized that acting like a machine also had its negative sides.
He found neither perfection nor neatness in what he had just said and done, but coldness and cruelty, towards a person, a woman, who had always been by his side, hopeful of being noticed by the one whom she considered a God.
"You always say things so horrible ... Always ... always..."
Sherlock saw that this time, unlike any other in which he had treated her badly, he had really hurt her. She stood there, standing, eyes already full of burning tears, just waiting to fall on her rosy cheeks.
He turned to leave, but then, regretting even more, he turned back to Molly.
"I'm sorry ... forgive me ..."
Sherlock moved a little closer, intending to comfort the woman at least a little, and to remedy the pain he had inflicted on her. He approached her a little more, uncertain about what to do, not daring to look in the eyes of his friend (or something more?). His eyes fell on her mouth. And the look rested on her lips, which he had recently brutally diminished, but now did not seem so insignificant, that were painted in red. A Scarlet red.
"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper" he said softly, leaning towards her.
At first, without thinking, he wanted to put his mouth on that scarlet patch. So soft, warm, alive.
Then the mind took over, and it diverted the trajectory until it landed on her cheek.
-o-O-o-
It was dark outside, and Mrs. Hudson climbed precariously down the stairs to the kitchen, with the flutes tinkling on the silver tray.
John had already left with that girl, his new girlfriend, whose name Sherlock still did not remember.
Typical of Sherlock.
He only remembered the things that were important, and his mind palace had room only for useful and relevant information. He had managed to memorize only a few names, very few to be honest, only those who really counted.
Like John Amish Watson, or Martha Louise Hudson, formerly Sissons.
Or Molly Hooper.
With that submissive attitude, she had hit him immediately. A brilliant mind, like hers, was wasted in the self-imposed chains. Really wasted.
He was intrigued by the fact that she was helpful to the extreme. Sherlock loved to feel superior and somewhat different, and Molly always managed to treat him as if he was special, as if he was a truly important person, a king, or a God. As if he really mattered and he wasn't just a machine of information and deductions .
Sherlock heard Lestrade and Molly waving at the door, and they wished everyone a Merry Christmas.
"Ok, so bye Molly ... it was a nice evening. Do you want to take this taxi? "
"No, no, go ... you need to rest to reach your wife tomorrow ..."
"Thank you so much then. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, in case we do not see each other again! "
"You too!"
He heard Lestrade coming out the door, and began to walk in the now almost completely melted snow. He heard the taxi drift away in the wet. He also heard Mrs. Hudson humming as she set about washing dishes, crockery and glasses.
"Mrs. Hudson, I'm going too ... Merry Christmas and Happy New Year then ..."
"Good night dear, and best wishes to you too! Pay attention, I recommend!" Said the landlady shouting from the kitchen.
Sherlock listened to the sound of her red heels indicating that she was heading to the door, and he imagined them moving fast in the snowy slush. Red against the white. Red. Scarlet red.
SCARLET.
He rushed noisily down the stairs, descending the steps three by three, almost falling. He appeared at the last ramp, and illuminated by the street lights, he saw the silhouette of the girl wrapped in that little black dress.
He had never seen her like this before. Or maybe he had just never really looked at her.
When she turned to the source of the noise, shaking her long brown hair, Sherlock sped up.
He ran very fast, dashed out of the door faster than a bullet, so fast that when he had almost reached her, near another taxi, he slipped and fell forward in the snow.
In the fall, he had grasped Molly's dress, which did not tear, in the hope of holding himself up, but he had also dragged her into the wet snow, causing her to fall backwards.
Without saying a word, as Molly threw a frightened little cry, he squeezed her by hugging her. There was a pause, Molly fell silent as they stared at each other. His eyes fell on her mouth and he noticed how Molly's eyes fell on his lips while licking hers. Sherlock felt a urge to taste those velvet lips and he kissed her taking Molly aback.
It was a true, pure and sincere kiss. At first the woman was reluctant, perhaps she out of surprise. But then she abandoned herself and became passionate, determined and almost hungry. Indeed, she slipped her tongue in his mouth and the chaste kiss turned in a voluptuous one.
She held him closer to her, and Sherlock did the same, all the while devouring each other's mouth.
There, lying on the ground in the melted snow in the drizzle and the wet, Sherlock felt like the happiest man in the world.
Hi, this is my third Sherlock os and my second Sherlolly fic.
It's Canon Divergent fic to the scene in episode 2x01 during the christmas "party".
WHAT could have happened IF Sherlock hadn't received Irene's message?
I hope you liked this little os, fave parts?
As always, forgive me for my english since I'm italian.