Come follow me down as I fall into the rabbit-hole of the Mary-shipping-Sherlolly trope. Thank you to those of you who've read, kudos'd, and commented on my previous story! This one is totally not Series 4 compliant, with the exception of Rosie's existence. This is my humble contribution to 12 Days of Sherlolly 2017.
"then when you're quite dressed
you'll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they'll stare!"
––e.e. cummings
Molly felt the warm air of the Watsons' home invite her in, before the house's owner greeted her. "Hiya!" she chirped, stepping across the threshold.
"Hello, Happy Boxing Day!" said Mary, deftly shutting the door with a stockinged foot. "Thank you so much for coming. As you can see, we're running a bit late because this one," referring to a grumpy-looking child in her arms, "won't go down for her nap."
Molly cooed, stroking Rosie's soft, rosy cheek, "Oh, that's a shame, isn't it?" The two women exchanged smiles. "Let me get settled in, and I'll help." Mary mouthed a relieved "thank you" at her.
But the blonde woman suddenly gasped and exclaimed, "Molly!" almost startling her as she pulled her scarf and coat off. "Beautiful earrings!"
"Oh, they're nice, aren't they?" Molly preened a little under Mary's compliments, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ears.
"They're absolutely gorgeous, and they suit you so well. They're like they were made for you." Mary set Rosie down in her play area to inspect Molly's ears more closely. Her eyes grew impossibly wider by the moment, that Molly feared they would fall out of her head.
"They're from Sherlock," she said slowly, which she inwardly hoped would take the attention off her. She added in explanation, because it was nothing special, really, "From Christmas yesterday. He left it under my tree." And before Mary could snicker and cry, "Naughty!" she amended, "And that's not a euphemism for anything."
Mary's eyebrows shot up. "Sherlock… Sherlock Holmes?" she clarified, as if they were acquainted with a confusing number of Sherlocks.
"Yeah."
"Sorry, Sherlock gave you those earrings?" she asked again, though it did not appear to be because she did not hear Molly the first time. A delighted smile seemed to creep more visibly on her face.
"Yeah," Molly repeated. The line of questioning was beginning to worry her, and what was worrying still was that she couldn't quite read the tone in Mary's voice. "What? Is something wrong with them?" Her hand went up to skim her ears, fearing she might find them swollen or something worse.
John came down the stairs, fiddling with his tie. "What's wrong with what?" he asked absently. "Hey, Molly."
She threw him a weak wave.
"No, nothing's wrong with them!" Mary placated smoothly. Her smile had widened by then, and there was an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes that was not there before. She repeated with emphasis, "They are very nice earrings.
"Yeah," Molly agreed, though still not quite sure what her friend was trying to tell her. She wondered if Mary would keep emphasising every other word until she did. "They're probably from M&S or something."
"Molly Hooper," Mary said in a feigned, scolding voice, "I can spot fake jewellery from a mile off…" She looked pointedly at her husband who was innocently trying to tie a Windsor knot in front of a mirror.
"Part of your trade?" he supplied, sneaking a glance at his wife.
Molly interjected, "I thought you were an…" her eyes darted to Rosie, who was busy toothlessly nibbling at Mary's clutch purse, and whispered the word, "assassin?"
"General espionage––black ops, covert missions, and the like," Mary waved dismissively. "But I've done a jewel heist or a handful in my time…" She bent down to collect Rosie, confiscating her purse, and began to bounce her gently in her arms before she continued, "And those, my dear friend, are not Marks and Spencer earrings." She said all of this with a knowing, satisfied expression on her face, leaving it to Molly to arrive at her own conclusions.
She gaped at Mary for half a moment longer, then it was her turn for her eyes to widen. Mary answered her wordlessly with a vigorous nod and a suppressed laugh.
Just then the front door opened, letting Sherlock in, who stood doing a headcount of the living room's occupants. "Oh, you're still here," he observed with displeasure.
"I—I invited you over, remember?" Molly calmly protested.
"Not you––them." He tipped his head at the Watsons, as he placed his coat and scarf next to Molly's.
"Yeah, well," said John, half-occupied with putting a bit of product in his hair, wresting down a fly-away. "We actually live here, you know."
"And we're also trying desperately to leave," added Mary, giving Rosie her favourite dummy.
Sherlock's eyes landed on Molly, raking over her appraisingly. "Oh," he blurted out in surprise. "You're wearing the, er, right…" he nodded, as if he were agreeing with something someone had said. "They look very nice. On you," he swallowed. "They look nice. You, wearing them." He seemed to make a conscious effort to close his mouth to stop himself from stammering any further. Instead, he opted to bend his head closer to her face, to better admire the rich jewels hanging from her ears. He made a small approving noise that no one could quite discern.
Mary watched them intently, forgetting about her date with her husband for a moment. John, who was mid-groom, stopped too, his hand suspended above the top of his head, to watch the scene unfold.
Without really knowing what came over her, Molly tilted her head just a bit and placed a swift kiss on Sherlock's lips, mostly catching his bottom lip in between hers. "Thank you for the earrings, Sherlock," she said softly, retreating almost immediately back to her space.
Sherlock straightened his back, dazed, looking as if he was internally recounting the steps he had taken leading up to that moment, and then contemplating how to replicate them.
John cleared his throat. "Right. We're off then," he announced. He looked as though he was about to say something else, to caution the two child-minders not to do anything inappropriate in front of the baby, but thought the better of it, for it fear it might give them ideas. Instead, he signaled at Mary, whose face was awash in unabashed glee.
She walked over and inspected Sherlock for signs of life, and when she was satisfied, put Rosie in his arms. She planted a small kiss on her daughter's forehead, and murmured, "Be good. You, too, Rosamund." She passed Molly as she picked up her clutch, and uttered a challenge in sing-song under her breath, "Bet you a tenner they're from Harrods."
On their way out, John whispered to Mary presumably––but not completely––out of earshot, "Jewel heist, then? It's a bit sexy…" The ring of Mary's giggle was drowned out by the sound of the front door closing.
"You okay?" Molly asked Sherlock, once they were alone.
"Yes, yeah, I'm fine. Fine. Really fine. I'm… fine."
"Right, because you saying it four times makes it true," she deadpanned wryly. He bristled a little at her comment, but said nothing in reply. After another moment, she wondered out loud, "Are we just going to stand here?"
"No. If I might suggest adjourning to the couch? We can continue being awkward there."
"Sounds good."
They took a seat next to each other on the sofa, leaving enough room for Sherlock to deposit Rosie to recline between them. Molly cooed at Rosie, who looked up at her gurgling with infant adoration, and played with her little hands.
"So…"
Molly finally looked up at Sherlock, and echoed, "So…"
He pursed his lips, in an almost contrite manner. "You owe Mary ten quid."
"Why?"
"She was right. I happen to recently've solved a case for a certain sheikh from Qatar who owns holdings of––"
"No," she interrupted, holding a hand up. "I meant the earrings, Sherlock."
He blinked at her, eyebrows furrowed, "Well, I would have thought it was obvious."
"What's obvious?"
He leaned forward and raised his hands to either side of her face, flicking a stray lock of hair to reveal the controversial earrings. His body already slanted towards her, he bought their lips together in a more satisfying version of what Molly began several minutes ago. She opened her mouth to him, and let their tongues meet, while her eyes drifted closed to savour the feeling of the moment. He hoped now she understood.
"Oh," she breathed softly. "Okay." A dreamy smile spread over her face. "I had it right earlier, then?"
"You certainly did," he chuckled, relinquishing his hold on her however reluctantly. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."
"Merry Christmas, Sherlock," she replied, not bothering to correct him.
"Now, young lady," said Sherlock, addressing Rosie, as he gathered her up, lifting her with arms outstretched. "Let's put you down for your nap so I can spend some time alone with your Aunt Molly."
I also imagine that after snogging, they'd unmake the Watsons' marital bed just to mortify John. It'd be Molly's suggestion, and it was just that thing that made Sherlock decide he wanted to marry her. Maybe a story for another day.