7 Years in Subtlety
a/n: happy valentine's day my dears. This idea came to me yesterday when I did my Galentine's Day fic on tumblr which you can read on my blog here: .com (slash) post (slash) 110946106520 (slash) self-preservation-ficlet if you like. enjoy!
It started off as an afterthought, he had seen balloons on the first missed Valentine's Day. Molly Hooper was new to his life but he didn't mind her in it. So he did something that he hated and he was sure she was unaware that it was his doing. Everything was in the details, but he was rather brilliant at being clever for a time.
The first gift was a book mark. Nothing fancy, just something he saw when he was perusing an antique shop for a necklace that had gone missing for an elderly woman in Cardiff who had been on break in London. There had been a slew of pickpocketing. The trail was there and it was obvious that the culprit was an amateur. Selling the items they grabbed for monetary value to get by until the next day of thievery.
It was a child of no more than six years, a young lad of irish decent. His uncle had taught him of it when he was still alive; three years gone. The boy had no one to go to. No place to call home. Sherlock gave him a stern look, a hot meal before handing him off to a woman he trusted with the promise that he wouldn't have to steal from anyone again, nor that he should now that he was going to be taken care of.
The bookmark itself was old and dusty but he had seen the value of it. It had gold tassels looped in the hole that had been punched out. It had a quote penned with an impressive calligraphy: "What is necessary is not what is important to the world but yourself."
He didn't know why it struck him as something that she should have but he had bought it with a fiver – three pounds higher than necessary and left before the old man could give him his change for it.
Three days after leaving it on her desk in her office in a sealed envelope with not even her name on it he saw it tucked in a large medical volume she had begun to read. He had schooled his expression and managed a 'good evening' before leaving her there looking after him.
The year after that he had snuck into her flat while she was away getting drunk with her best friend Meena. He had looked into her messages earlier in the day when she came to drop something off for him. He had left it on the counter in her kitchen. A set of gloves, unboxed.
He hadn't been there but a message from Meena came to his personal inbox on his blog with the subject line: Better than last year.
The few lines that followed were something along the lines of: Mr. Holmes though I can't say you're a winner, I do like your taste in outerwear. She'll use them, I'm sure. What will you do next year I wonder.
Meena
P.S. Don't worry I won't give you up yet.
Meena was right, as she always was about either of them. It wasn't the first time she had talked to him about Molly. Nor would it be the last. Molly wore them four years later when he had called on her to go somewhere with him. Spending the day with her hadn't been the only thing that he had enjoyed that day. He found it liked knowing she didn't just put all the things he gave her in a box and left it on the shelf.
Year 3 he missed. Or he would have seeing as he was supposedly a dead man. Molly knew of his alive status and though he wasn't in the habit of telling her right out that it was him. He wanted to give her something. Anything would do.
A message got sent to his brother.
Something in reference to light will do. Don't leave a note.
Mycroft had been slow about figuring out what that meant until he looked at the calendar. It almost made the middle aged man sick the idea that Sherlock still was into the whole giving loved ones gifts to show affection. Sentiment was a vile thing that he took no part in unless it concerned his own brother or parent.
He figured something out.
A candle that when lit in the dark showed the night sky in whatever room she desired. Molly had never mentioned a thing about astronomy but nothing else seemed to fit his vague description of what he wanted to gift the young woman this year – or the day after as it were customary of his brother's way of doing things.
Sherlock must not have thought she would have come to ask about it though, for he had three messages the day after from Miss Molly Hooper on his desk.
"She's more frightened than enthused," Anthea told him quietly as he looked at each message carefully.
"Maybe he should skip next year as to ease her worries. She's perfectly safe."
Anthea nodded. She also knew that the girl had been seen with another man and it was on more than friendly terms. Skipping the next year would be a good idea.
Year 4 he begrudgingly missed. He had been taken by a cult derived in Africa but station in Finland of all places. The web was nearly gone now but he still had one more organization to cut down as long as he had gotten out of there safely. His rabid mind was the only thing keeping him going. The decision to make it back as quickly as possible after that was another thing also.
Molly visited his grave that day. She had never been before. The day of Valentine's Day she had spent with her fiancée.
Now, "How cliché is that? To ask on Valentine's Day? You would have scoffed at the idea. I laughed a little because I was in shock. I hope you are well wherever you are."
The thought that someone could be listening kept her from saying the words, "I hope you return sooner rather than later on the slab." She knew that he would come back – to all of them but she hated singling out that feeling that maybe he might. It would mean she gave up hope and after the first year and all that charade she had worried that she had a right to do so. Everyone else seemed to forget him, why couldn't she? She knew, that's why and he had promised in so many words.
"Don't think too much." She knew what he was trying to say. (Don't think about me too much.) He had always thought she wore her feelings on her face until the day she showed him up and remarked on what he was trying to hide to everyone except her. She found herself a little more that insignificant to him on that night.
"It's the first year the mystery gift didn't arrive. I should count it as a good thing."
Yet, a part of her wondered what it would be.
Year 5, Molly was no longer engaged but Sherlock had annoyed her so much that she had gotten out of the city. It's like the city itself belonged to him. In a way it was his, and the other him too.
She found a present in the form of a bottle of sherry and a hand stopping a blade from coming in contact with her back. Of course, she had gotten her knees scratched up and a slight concussion but he was taking her up to her flat by the time she had woken up.
How they were already back in London, she couldn't begin to marvel at it when drinking was involved.
"What happened?" She groaned, cuddling up into his warm scarf as he unlocked the door with her key this time rather than picking his way through.
"You left London. That's never a good idea on Valentine's Day weekend. You should know that." She could taste his anger but she couldn't help but huff herself.
"You are the reason I left, idiot." She tried to wrangle herself out of his arms but he was holding her tightly in his grasp though he did loosen up once they were near the couch and he carefully placed her there before moving out of her way and into her kitchen where he began to tinker with this. She knew that he knew where everything was so she wasn't too bothered by it. As long as he didn't make a mess.
"Both Watsons explained that what I did was less than kind. I thought it was kinder than letting you be humiliated by someone who didn't like you anyways."
"Yet he asked me to drinks?" She called to him as he stayed in the kitchen for a few more minutes. He came back with leftover scones she had gotten from the bakery and some tea that he had brewed quickly by upping the temperature of the burner.
Molly took it but didn't drink it so as to not burn her tongue. She blew on it for a second.
"Most men think about asking a woman or man to have a drink."
"Are you included in that number?" When he just looked at her, she giggled and took a sip of her tea. "Didn't think so, so why should it matter that I nothing was going to happen?"
Still nothing.
"Sherlock, as much as I understand you as a person living in the world and you are actually living in this world again. I cannot read your mind so talking to me is an activity you need to take part in."
"Fact: I do enjoy talking to you out of most people I may call acquaintances or…friends."
She hummed waiting to see where he was going to take this.
"As my friend I do not wish to see you hurt in any way and seeing as this night has gone, you almost got hurt anyways."
"It's a part of the job of being with you. Not with you with you, being one of your people that others can access." She paused seeing the conflict in the way his brows scrunched together and the way he brought his legs up onto the chair opposite of her couch. He had kicked off his shoes and if she didn't know any better he was about to go deep into that brain of his. "Sherlock." She called to him and he shifted his head to her.
"We are talking."
He sat up, plopping his feet back on the ground. "Yes. I know. I was just…" He tried to continue the sentence but wasn't truly sure how to follow through currently. "I don't like it." He said instead. "The people getting hurt because of me part."
"Tonight wasn't about you. I'm sure that person just happened to be scoping out the place waiting for any one woman to come near enough for him to strike. I am grateful that you followed me tonight. I mean I hate that you did that but thank you for saving my life though I still got a couple scrapes. It's indefinitely better than being in a hospital bed somewhere."
He mulled over that for a moment.
"Happy (Not) Valentine's Day, Molly Hooper." He said quietly once he was done.
She realized that it was him then. Not that she hadn't already figured it out already but this gave her a true answer. Mycroft hadn't bothered much with her two years ago.
Year 6, she met his parents. It was in a completely spontaneous sense of meeting one's sometimes almost lover and friend parents. It started with Sherlock and Mary inviting Molly to try this bistro with them (Mary more than Sherlock, though he was being forced to go along). He just wasn't aware that his parents were in the vicinity until his father found him in the men's room trying to get away from the discussion they were having about children.
Molly was fertile and they didn't talk about that mostly because he hadn't tried to. He enjoyed what they were doing with each other in every sense of the phrase. This could be a time for them to try. Now that his parents were there and could possibly get involved he was worried they would want the wedding before the grandchild though both ideas were very far away to him.
Molly was what he needed right now. He didn't know how it would work with them on top of each other all the time, or the addition of a child but he knew now they had to talk about it, and it would probably begin when they were finally alone but not now.
When he went back to the table, apologized to Mary that he had to take her to meet someone quickly and offered to get her a cab because they could go be gone long, Mary had just looked at him before grabbing a waiter and asking about their selection of desserts with a grin.
Now they were sitting with his parents who had just begun their meal. "You've known our William for a long time, I hear." Molly smiled at his mother kindly and nodded. "Years is a long time to not pursue anything my dear." She continued and Molly giggled in that way that made it clear she wasn't sure what to say to that.
"She tried a few times." Sherlock chimed in, knowing that this would all go easier if he just gave what little details he felt like sharing at currently.
"And you said no?"
"Well, not in so many words."
"Oh, you! She's so pretty though." It would have been less shrill if Molly wasn't sitting right next to Mummy and the son she was involved with.
"Thank you." Molly replied blushing, she wasn't used to that even if he tried his best to continuously give her compliments in his own way.
The conversation turned over to his dad who wanted to know more about Molly's work. The mention of the morgue made his mum pale slightly but she just took up the wine she was drinking. Molly was as cut and dry as she could be, she did through in a joke or two as was her nature even in the most intense situations.
Sherlock made a grab for her hand under the table and spoke with his parents as if this was an everyday occurrence. They didn't stay there for more than a few minutes and then he mentioned leaving Mary at the table which he probably shouldn't have done knowing her love of sugary decadences.
"Adding the fact that they already know who she is."
"Not all." He replied, as they rushed back to a amused looking Mary Watson who was typing furiously on her phone.
"Sexting your husband in public, you really got tired of waiting. You could have just called a cab."
Mary schooled her expression as she finished the message and sent it looking up at the two of them with a sly smile as if she hadn't been caught in the act of it.
"Sherlock…" Both women said at the same time before Mary continued on smiling gratefully at the younger pathologist.
"I wanted to wait and see how the visit with your parents went."
"HOW?" Sherlock grumbled, trying to keep his voice at a low level as not to disturb other guests. He had enough loud outbursts in a restaurant to last him a life time or two.
"Your mum might have emailed me about it a couple of days ago."
He sighed. "Should have been obvious why you were so adamant that I come to this specific restaurant."
"I think it's sweet." Molly beamed.
Sherlock frowned for a half a moment longer before muttering that she would find it nice before kissing her on the cheek.
There was a flash and Sherlock sighed but seemed all that much okay with it.
Year 7, they bought a house together. A cottage with a blood hound with a fondness for her tabby cat Toby. It was the equalivent of "This is our secret place" and "I'm doing this because I can imagine myself spending the rest of my life with you, Molly Hooper." They didn't wed until two years later but this was the biggest thing they could have done for each other. A double present in it's own right.
"It even came with the bee farm close by." Molly quipped one night when they were taking a weekend to be here together. They still spent most of their time in the city, but this was still their safe cove away from loud things and trouble.
This was a place that Molly wouldn't mind staying at forever and raising a child with or bees if that's what they decided. Sherlock admitted that he wouldn't mind an heir or two. He used the word heir. What the child has to gain from him beyond his brain and attitude she has no idea but she likes the idea of having someone like them. Someone that can remind them of how much they care about each other. To bring a child into the world can be seen as one of the greatest forms of love.
"That was the point." He told her about the bees.
"You have to admit it's still a nice place without the bees."
"Bees are important to me, Molly."
She giggled kissing his nose. "I know. They're sweet."
"Honey. Right. Ha ha ha." He did enjoy that joke, though he wasn't admitting it. It was no secret that he liked her humor even though it was often put to use when it wasn't appropriate. Today he welcomed it.
"No gifts this year." He told her after a beat.
"You don't count this as a gift…it's literally the same day every year."
"I'm not as clever as I thought. You see me."
She nodded. "I love you, too."
"Je t'aime, Molly."
I almost called this Babies or Bees because of that last bit but at least it's not as nice as what I chose to title it. Anyways I hope you enjoyed it. I had fun working on it. Let me know what you think.
much love,
day