Sherlock buttoned his shirt as he let out a sigh. He wasn't exactly looking forward to the little Christmas gathering he was about to host at 221B. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson had cleaned and cooked so all Sherlock had to do was show up, maybe play a few songs on his violin. Still, if there was no case to be solved, he'd much rather spend the evening alone.
You're not doing it for you, Sherlock told himself. You're doing it for your friends.
He'd been making a considerable effort since his return to London to attempt to understand his friends, to actually do things that might make them happy. When he faked his death and left to dismantle Moriarty's empire, he hadn't anticipated how much he'd miss everyone. That was when he discovered how much he really appreciated his friends. How much he really cared for them.
Which was why he found himself doing things he would never do before, or at least never do without a healthy amount of complaning. And that included hosting a Christmas gathering and actually acting like he wanted to be there.
The strange thing was, he found that a part of him did want to be there. He had no particular interest in Christmas, but being around the people in his life… well, it was something he found he was enjoying more and more.
As Sherlock grabbed a pair of socks from his top drawer, a small red box caught his eye and he hesitated. Inside the box was a gold necklace that he'd seen at a shop in Paris. He'd only been 'dead' for a few months at that point, but when he saw the necklace in the window he suddenly felt inexplicably homesick. It had bothered him throughout the days he was in Paris, finishing what needed to be done there, until one night it suddenly occurred to him: the necklace reminded him of Molly.
It was delicate, unassuming, and deceptively simple at first glance. But closer inspection revealed a complex patten along the setting that held the single pearl. And, above all else, it was beautiful.
Sherlock has bought the necklace before he left the city, promising himself he would gift it to her when he returned to London.
But the job took longer than he was expecting it to, and he returned to find Molly engaged. And while he wasn't exactly well acquainted with social niceties, he knew that such a gift wasn't really appropriate to give to an engaged woman.
Still, his hand lingered over the box. Would it really be so bad…?
Molly had been on his mind for much of the time he was gone. He'd known that Molly was giving, sometimes to a fault. It was one of the first things he had deduced about her when they met. But over the years he discovered that what he initially thought was just weakness was actually a special kind of strength, a kind of selflessness that he hadn't noticed because he didn't think it existed. She, like the necklace, was so much more interesting than she appeared at first glance.
Over the months which bled into years, he found himself thinking of her constantly, of all the things he had noticed about her but never really focused on, things his brain had filed away without him realizing it. Brooded more than once on all the times he knew he had hurt her and promised himself that he when he returned he would do everything he could to make her happy.
And that's what you're doing, Sherlock reminded himself as he pulled his hand away and close the drawer. You're letting her go so she can be happy.
—
"Almost ready?" Tom shouted from the kitchen, where he was waiting for Molly.
"Just about!" Molly called back, touching up her lipstick one last time, making sure she looked her absolute best. For Tom, she tried to remind herself, but she knew how unconvincing even the voice in her head sounded.
She reached into a drawer for a sweater, remembering how cold it could get in 221B. Looking for one that would match her dress, she pushed things around until her hand hit a solid object. A few months after Sherlock's 'death', Molly had found a first edition of The Drift of Civilization in a used bookstore a few blocks from her flat. She had remembered talking about one of Einstein's essays from the book, so without a second thought she bought it.
Two weeks were spent dwelling on the why of it until she finally realized that she just missed him. Buying the book had made her feel closer to Sherlock, even though she had no idea where she was. She resolved to give him the book when he returned. Because she refused to believe that he wouldn'treturn.
But things were different now. It wouldn't be right to give Sherlock this gift in front of Tom. She had moved on. She had to act like it.
You moved on. You need to do this. For you AND for Sherlock, Molly tried to remind herself. She didn't want Sherlock to feel like he owed her anything for what she had done for him. He would never really be happy with you, so you would never really be happy with him.
She tried not to think about how happy his smile was when he came to see her at Bart's when he got back. How sad he seemed to look when she told him about Tom.
This is Sherlock Holmes, Molly reminded herself. If he wanted you, he would have said so. You have to move on.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the first sweater she could, not caring what color it was, and shut the drawer.
"Ready?" Tom asked, smiling, as Molly met him in the kitchen.
"Ready," she replied, fully aware that her smile didn't reach her eyes.
THE END