Happy Birthday Alex! This is the crazy secret birthday present and the topic of several whispered conversations in German lessons (sorry about that by the way).
I really suck at this but anyway – Alex, you are the best friend I could wish for! We bonded in Year 8 science lessons over god knows what, I introduced you to Gilmore Girls and we ate m and m's under the table, probably the most fun lessons I ever had. Back then, I would never have even hoped I would be as good friends with you as we are now.
You were one of the few people who didn't just dismiss me as a weirdo who they could copy homework off without her making a fuss and even before this year I considered you a friend.
At the start of this year we ended up sitting together and it sparked the start of an amazing friendship. You talk about Jughead, I talk about Mycroft and everything just works. You are amazing and I hope we stay friends for years to come!
Molly woke to a large crash coming from the other room. It sounded worryingly like Sherlock attempting to use the kitchen for something resembling its actual purpose – the preparation (or experimentation) of food. In over a decade of knowing him, she had only seen him attempt actual cooking two or three times without her helping him and it had not ended well. That made this a definite cause for concern.
"Sherlock? Are you okay?" she shouted to her boyfriend. Knowing Sherlock, he could be doing anything from testing the perfect recipe for scrambled eggs to seeing which brand of baking tray was the most flammable, the latter had ended in a very unimpressed John having to replace half the kitchen while Sherlock insisted it was 'all in the name of science'.
"Yes, yes. I'll be back in a minute." He shouted back in a somewhat flustered voice, which did nothing to reassure her. "Molly, trust me, it's fine." He spoke with a far calmer tone, clearly having picked up on the fact that his girlfriend hadn't believed him in the slightest. "The kitchen is still in one piece. Nothing has exploded, set on fire or been in anyway damaged."
She smiled. The detective always seemed to know what to say to her nowadays, even if he had been totally clueless going in to the relationship.
"What are you doing anyway?"
"Just a minute, then you'll see." He seemed very determined to keep her in the dark about whatever it was that he was doing. When it came to Sherlock, that was never a good thing. It was normally best to try and intervene.
"Are you sure? I could come and help?"
"It's a surprise."
"Surprise!" Sherlock entered the room carrying a large tray that was obviously what was refusing to come out the cupboard. Carefully arranged on it was a plate of pancakes with banana slices in perfect circles. Next to it was a plate of strawberries with the green bits cut off, just the way Molly liked them. She didn't even know that there was fruit in the house!
"I made you breakfast!" She stood corrected – this was a very good thing, and not the sort of cute gesture she would have expected.
"Happy Birthday Molly!"
"Awwwwww, Sherlock! This is so sweet!"
"You deserve something special."
"This is amazing!"
"You might want to reserve judgement on that until you try it."
Still staring at him, she took a bite of the pancake. It wasn't perfect, even with his terrifying skill set cooking wasn't one of Sherlock's strengths, but it was pretty good.
"Have I told you just how much I love you?"
"I believe you have mentioned it once or twice."
With a kiss they ate their pancakes, never once letting go of each other's hands.
…
She arrived at work still smiling. To everyone else, it probably seemed like a normal day but for her it was special. Not only was it her birthday, her boyfriend had acknowledged it by being far more caring than she would have ever expected. Going to the lobby, she greeted the receptionist being far more chipper than normal.
"Hi Sam, how are you today?"
"I'm good Dr Hooper, and yourself?"
"I've already had a brilliant start to the day, my boyfriend made me breakfast."
"I've got a feeling it's going to get even better." He grinned at her, the same knowing grin Sherlock often used.
"What do you mean?"
"I was given this note for you, it looks interesting."
Molly took the envelope, it had her name written on the front in very familiar handwriting. Not quite knowing what to expect, she opened it. Covered in a light sprinkling of gold glitter was a note in the same handwriting:
"My incredible Molly,
With it being your birthday, I thought it would be the perfect time to show you just how much I love you and the extent to which you have changed my life forever. First, go to the place where we first met, the first step in our journey together.
Je t'adore,
Yours, SH"
"You've got the day off to do whatever that says, it was requested a couple of weeks ago but we were told to keep it a secret. I don't know what this boyfriend of yours is up to but I reckon it's pretty well planned." The receptionist's voice broke her out of her thoughts.
"Thanks Sam." She said, already walking out the lobby to the place it told her to go. She could practically feel Sam's smile and knew she was have some explaining to do tomorrow, but for once she didn't care. This was amazing.
…..
Molly practically bounced up the flight of stairs to her lab – for all that Sherlock pretended to be an uncaring sociopath he really had the biggest heart.
In the centre of the lab bench, she saw a deep blue material carefully folded with care. When she picked it up, she saw that it was a soft scarf, just like the one Sherlock was known for wearing. Holding it close, she smiled to herself, remembering the real story behind the scarf.
"Hey Molly!" A voice called through the door, making the young pathologist look up from her work. The grey-haired DI entered her lab, followed by a man she had never seen before.
"Hey Greg! What can I help you with?" he addressed Greg but her eyes were on the man behind him. He looked about her age, with dark curly hair, pale skin and cheekbones that looked like they could cut glass. The only slightly negative thing that could be said about him was that he looked maybe a little tired from staying up late the previous night.
"Actually, I've got a favour to ask." Greg didn't seem to have noticed her interest in the unknown man, at least if he had he wasn't saying anything.
"Of course, anything for Scotland Yard's finest." She wondered what the man could be doing there. He clearly wasn't on Greg's team, he looked far to wild and unruly for that, but why else would be have brought him to her lab.
"Great! Um, you might not be saying that in a minute though. This is Sherlock Holmes, he's helped us out on a few cases."
"More than a few." The mysterious man, Sherlock apparently, spoke softly, but his deep baritone rang through the room, somehow controlling it. Even his name was unique, much like the man himself. The sarcastic comment made her like him even more – not many would dare speak like that to Greg. Even though she had only just met the man, Molly felt a strange connection to Sherlock Holmes.
"Hi Sherlock, it's nice to meet you." She stepped forward and reached out her hand.
Sherlock reached out and took her hand with a small smile. Out of the corner of her eye, Molly saw Greg breathe a sigh of relief. And then Sherlock opened his mouth.
"Only child with all the stereotypical traits of one, father deceased during puberty, consequently a very close relationship with your mother, two or three close friends, had an interest in pathology from a young age and excellent at your job, something that will no doubt become very useful, it's nice to meet you too Molly Hooper."
Wow. That was…wow. Molly had absolutely no idea how to feel about that. Offended, pleased or just plain impressed? He had just rather rudely pointed out a couple of aspects of her life that she would rather not discuss, but there seemed to be a complement thrown in at the end. And from someone who could do a thing like that, know your entire life from a glance, that was a very big compliment indeed.
She looked over at Greg, who had his face in his hands. It looked like Sherlock did this a lot, and, going by his reacting, not many people were as understanding as she was prepared to be. She gave Greg a look as if to say that it was okay and, after a second, he seemed to find his voice again.
"So, yeah. Could Sherlock borrow your lab for a few hours? He normally uses ours but there have been a couple of death threats and it probably wouldn't be a good idea right now." Given what had just happened, Molly couldn't say she was really surprised. She didn't have many secrets in her life, and those she did have were just a matter of liking her privacy, but most others would have things they really wouldn't want to be shouted about.
"Er, sure. Yeah, I guess so." She was a bit concerned, Sherlock didn't seem like the most trustworthy person, but she was intrigued. Besides, there was a smart, beautiful man standing in her lab, what else was she supposed to do?
"Really? Thank you. Thank you so much." The man looked so relieved he made Molly sure she had made the right decision, and at the same time made her see that it could very easily be the wrong one. Either way, this was going to be an interesting day
"No problem Greg."
"No really, I owe you big time. Sherlock, call me when you get something."
With a nod to Molly, he left the pair together. Molly was still recovering from the shock of Sherlock's analysis of her but they couldn't just stand there forever. She decided she was probably going to have to speak first and take control of the situation.
"So this is my lab and there are rules." After a look to check Sherlock was paying attention she continued.
"If you spill anything or make a mess, clear it up, no matter what you're in the middle of. Don't touch any of the things that are already set out for something, it could mess up the results. If you smoke in here, or even consider it, I will throw you out and get you banned from the entire building."
"You're not the only one who can do that deduction thing Mr Holmes, it is part of my job as well."
This earned her another smile.
"Of course Dr Hooper, where would you like me to work?"
"There should be some space on the bench over there. And please, call me Molly."
"Thank you Molly. And call me Sherlock."
The pair quickly settled down with their work: Sherlock investigating whatever it was from Greg's case and Molly following up on the blood tests from her latest cadaver. One, however, was getting significantly more work done than the other. Molly couldn't help herself from looking over at the mysterious detective in her lab. Other than his name and sort of his job, she knew nothing about the man, yet here he was in her lab, looking far more attractive than one should while analysing a sample of dirt. Without turning round, or even looking up, Sherlock seemed to sense her eyes on him.
"Would you like to say whatever it is that is so clearly on your mind Molly?" He was good. She decided which question to ask, going for the most obvious.
"How could you know all that about me? I don't tell anyone about my dad or anything about my childhood."
"Simple you wear a locket around your neck, ten years old at least, with a picture of an older man in it. The engraving –'To my little girl' – means it could only be your father. You wouldn't wear a locket like that if he was still alive, so he much have given you it just before he died when you were a teenager. There are pictures on the wall above a desk that is clearly yours, several of you and a woman that is clearly your mother in various locations, meaning you do a lot together and she means a lot to you, obvious due to the fact that the pictures are on the wall rather than in a draw somewhere being ignored.
You are an only child as there is no sign of any other siblings in the pictures, something that would be likely and probably have prevented such a relationship with your mother. You are dependable enough for Lestrade to come to you for help with cases and for him to leave me with you, intelligent enough for him to trust you to work out things he doesn't even trust his own team to do and mature enough to not have punched me like most would have done by now. Any psychologist would tell you that you practically scream only child.
There are other pictures that show you with people of a similar age. There are only two or three people consistently in the photos, showing they are likely the only people you regularly spend time with, interestingly the same people you share this lab with as there are similar pictures above the other desks in here. There is a picture of you as a young child happily dissecting a dead animal, seemingly knowing what you are doing, or as well as can be expected of an eight year old, meaning you must have done some research in to the topic even at that age. You have a lab you use consistently as well as the mortuary downstairs that is considered yours and happens to be the background of several of those photos, which means you must be very good to have acquired those privileges by the age of 26."
He took a breath before continuing, "The basic point to this is that a few photographs can give away your entire life, you should probably remember that."
Molly just stared at him. What response could there possibly be to that? He was… wow!
The detective smirked and turned back to his work. He knew how amazing he was, he wasn't expecting any words from Molly, the stunned look on her face was obviously enough. She forced herself to look back down, attempting to do her work, though she wasn't likely to get anything done.
An hour or so later, Molly had regained some control over herself and Sherlock had begun muttering under his breath. Suddenly, he jumped up and started pacing around. Molly determinedly kept her head down, she couldn't be staring at him when there was a risk of him seeing.
A loud shout from Sherlock changed her mind. He was wrapping a scarf around his neck grinning triumphantly. Hang on, that was her scarf!
"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"
"Ever so sorry about this but it would be very useful for finishing up this case." She decided to just leave it, there was no way she would be able to convince him to give it back.
"You haven't called Greg."
"No time. Sorry, I've really got to go, it was a pleasure working with you Molly Hooper, I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again very soon." With that he disappeared through the door, long coat swishing behind him.
She stuck her head in to the corridor and shouted after him.
"You'd better bring that back." But he was gone. Molly Hooper was left staring after the great Sherlock Holmes, not entirely sure what it was she had just experienced.
Even then, Sherlock had been so sure of himself, so confident. Under the scarf was another envelope, exactly the same as the first.
"My intelligent Molly,
I hope you like what I have planned, it felt like the best way of reliving the last 12 years of our lives, by far the best 12 years of my life. For the next stop, go to the place we were when you were right and I was wrong, the first and last time I have ever admitted that.
Ich liebe dich,
Yours, SH."
It looked like her boyfriend had a sort of treasure hunt set up for her. Trust Sherlock to find the most unique and romantic birthday surprise ever!
She wrapped the scarf around her neck and set off, excited about what her boyfriend had arranged for her.
Down in the morgue, past the thick grey doors, was another bundle on one of the slabs. On top was a packet of quavers and a cereal bar, even back then Sherlock paid attention to detail and he seemed to be using it to his advantage. She pocketed them for later before looking to the thing they were resting on. Large, with a flowery pattern, she would recognise this type of blanket anywhere. A couple of years ago, Sherlock had all but destroyed her previous one on a case and she had never got around to replacing it. Sherlock, being Sherlock, clearly knew that and thought now would be a good time to do so. She tucked it away in its cupboard, remembering the first time she got it out for him.
…
Quarter to midnight. To most people work would have finished hours ago and now they'd be at home in bed having had a relaxing evening, but not Molly. After a road traffic accident on the M25, it had been a very busy day that was only just finishing.
It didn't help that Sherlock had been popping in and out all day. When he wasn't on an official case given to him by Scotland Yard he wasn't technically allowed in the building so instead he got down to the morgue to use the equipment in there. God knows how he got past the several layers of security in the way but it was probably better not to ask. Regardless, it was something he did on a semi-regular basis and something Molly had to accept. He had been on an official case that week but it was solved, by the yarders, not Sherlock, a couple of days previously. The case was closed but apparently they were wrong, no surprise there according to Sherlock, and the real criminal was still out there. He was very determined to put it all right and it seemed that Molly had become his assistant to do that. As if by magic, he appeared through the open doorway yet again and went straight to the equipment corner, talking to her as though it was the most natural thing to be doing.
"Ah, good, Molly I knew I'd find you here, you always check on the bodies before you leave, a very strange form of sentiment that I have never quite understood but that's irrelevant right now." Sherlock seemed to almost cut himself off mid thought, something she had never seen the detective do before. Something was definitely up. Was it to do with the case?
"If you wouldn't mind, could you run a few more tests on the mud from the jacket? Yes, brilliant, you're a star, I'll be over there checking the shoes again and…"
"Sherlock!" She cut him off, not in the mood to be dealing with a cryptic detective right now.
"What?" He sounded so innocent, almost like he didn't have a clue what time it was or how irritating he was being. Or perhaps he just didn't care, he was Sherlock after all.
"It's quarter to midnight and I've been running tests for you all day, on top of my normal work, I'm going home. Besides, I checked the jacket this morning, there was nothing unusual."
"No you haven't. Oh, you mean the black jacket, no I need to test the brown jacket I brought in this morning." If it wasn't for the fact that his pupils were a regular size, Molly would have accused the man of being high. Though that would come with its own set of problems, it was at least an explanation, right now she didn't have a clue what was going on in the genius' head.
"Sherlock, we don't have a brown jacket." She determinedly kept a layer of calm in her voice, desperately hoping Sherlock was going to explain himself soon.
"Yes we do, I put it in the cupboard after I did the tests this morning, I told you." Though apparently not. Knowing Sherlock, he probably had a conversation when he thought she was there. For a genius detective, he could be remarkably unobservant at times. Especially when it came to her.
"I was in IT all morning sorting out my laptop."
"No no, before that, you had just arrived at work and I passed you in the corridor by the broken water fountain and I told you about it, remember." Molly thought back to that morning. Yep, she'd been right.
"You didn't say anything this morning, you looked like you were in your mind palace, you didn't even look at me." If she wasn't secretly in love with the man, she would have already punched him by now.
"No, I told you that I was downstairs and I just needed to check the jacket and then I could make everything alright again and everything would make sense." He was beginning to sound desperate. Taking a closer look at the man, the pieces began to fall in to place. Huge bags under his eyes, looking as though he was almost asleep on his feet, forgetting that it was necessary to open your mouth to have a conversation with someone. There was a common cause for this, and probably the thing she had to remind him of the most.
"Sherlock. Sherlock, listen to me. When was the last time you slept?"
"When Graham turned up with the evidence, or what he thought was the evidence, really it's astounding how useless those people are, they found almost nothing of importance. And then of course they went and convicted the wrong person, so now I have to disprove them as well as finding the person who actually did it, and…"
"And you haven't eaten either?" She cut him off again, not that he particularly seemed to notice. She was already heading over to the cupboards, pulling out the blanket she kept there for all-nighters, though this would be the first time she wasn't the one using it.
"No, you know full well that digestion slows me down and I must be working at full capacity to sort this all out." The way he said it made it sound as logical as using a pen to write something down, he didn't seem to see the issue with it. Molly turned around and pulled out a bag of quavers and a cereal bar from the top draw of her desk. It was a very good thing that she was prepared for anything Sherlock related that could possibly ever happen, she didn't think there was anything she didn't have tucked away in a corner somewhere.
"Have you at least been drinking something?"
"Of course I have, we live in England, every time you go to question someone they sit you down and force cups of tea upon you, interestingly, even some of the most uncivilised pieces of scum have given me tea before telling me where they buried all the bodies. In fact, there was one time where…"
"Right. Sherlock, sit down." As a doctor, a friend and an observant human being she could see he was on the verge of collapse. Stupid genius!
"I can't sit down, I need to get the mud off the jacket, it's from the victims garden I know it, I just need to…"
"Sherlock, this isn't an option. You're sitting down whether you like it or not." Grumbling, the sleep deprived idiot sat cross-legged on the blanket having realised he wasn't going to win this argument. Looking down at him, Molly didn't think he could look any more like a sulky toddler if he tried.
"There. That wasn't so hard was it? Now, you're going to eat, you're going to sleep, and you can find the mud tomorrow." That got her a look. Well, if he was going to act like a child…
"I'm fine." He was trying to convince her, but she didn't think he had even convinced himself.
"No you're not. Relax, eat, sleep – it's important."
"No, no I can't, I have to…" In the middle of protesting
"Oh for gods sake Sherlock." She muttered under her breath as she jumped in to emergency mode.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me? Sherlock, open your eyes." No response. She tapped his collar bones with far more force than was necessary, making him flinch slightly and open his eyes to stare at her.
"Sherlock. Sherlock, you're an idiot." He sighed and blinked at her a few times before answering.
"No I'm not."
"I just told you that you weren't okay, you insisted you were and then you passed out. That makes you an idiot and me right."
"I didn't pass out, my brain temporarily didn't have a sufficient oxygen supply."
"So it threw your body at the floor to make it better – of course, now I see my mistake." He rolled his eyes, apparently having forgotten he wasn't talking to a stupid goldfish who didn't know their cerebral cortex from their cerebellum.
"Well you don't need to say it like that." He pulled himself in to a sitting position, Molly ready to catch him.
"Yes I do, I was right."
"Yes, you were weren't you." He spoke thoughtfully under his breath, as though he didn't quite believe that had just happened.
"Oh my god, you actually admitted it."
"Weren't you busy trying to force nourishment at me or something?"
"You're really that desperate to change the subject?"
The look on Sherlock's face said it all. The detective so hated to be wrong he was willing to do anything to distract her from the fact. Molly couldn't bear to keep arguing with him. She gave him the food, watching to make sure he ate it. Once he finished, he stared at her, almost asking 'what next'.
"Lie down." She told him firmly, looking at him in surprise when he did so without a fuss. Almost as soon as his head hit the floor he was asleep, looking far more peaceful than he had a few minutes ago. Molly smiled at him and lay down next to him, she couldn't exactly leave him on his own, could she?
Under the blanket was another message, continuing Sherlock's trail.
"My beautiful Molly,
You impacted on so much of my life for such a long time but I almost never opened up to you. There is only one time I can think of when I did, the next place you are going to go: where we were when we danced together, one of my most treasured memories of us.
Te amo,
Yours, SH."
She smiled, that was one of her favourite memories as well. She set off out the building and called a cab, though she did wonder how Sherlock could have arranged this one.
Half an hour or so later, she arrived at her old house, one she hadn't visited in almost five years. It looked exactly the same, though there was a rather distasteful little gnome outside the front door. Looking closer, there was an arrow balanced on top of it, pointing to a bush. Of course, a bush. Kneeling down, she pulled out a box from the fuchsias and opened it. Inside was a vintage record player, in perfect condition. 'Observant Sherlock strikes again' she thought to herself – a few weeks ago the record player she had owned since her teens had broken and Sherlock had obviously noticed that. Down the side of the box was a soft case with an unlabelled record inside of it.
She gasped, he didn't need a note to tell her what it was, she already knew. Just last week, she told Sherlock he should put his music on a disc or record so she could listen to it when he wasn't there, that was exactly what he had done. Though their first time with her record player together was her favourite by far.
"So remind me, why aren't you staying with your brother." What with Sherlock having just faked his own death in the most dramatic way possible, there weren't many places he could go. Walking in to the living room of Molly's house, he looked as though nothing had changed, but they both knew that wasn't quite true.
"Because he's an insufferable know-it-all and his house looks like a medieval castle – not really the atmosphere I want before I go off to dismantle the largest criminal organisation in the world." She laughed, she should have known it would be a reason like that. At least it meant he was spending a couple of days at hers.
"Of course. Well, I'm off out for a couple of hours, be sensible, don't go outside and don't blow up my house. "
"Where are you going?" He did his best to sound nonchalant but it was clear he was curious.
Molly didn't reply, just gave a knowing smile to the detective and walked out, grabbing a small black bag as she left.
….
Almost exactly two and a half hours later (not that either of them were counting of course), she returned to see Sherlock lying upside down on her sofa. She would have assumed he was in his mind palace, preparing himself for what to come, if it wasn't for the huge grin on his face. As soon as she shut the door behind her, his eyes snapped open.
"Hello Molly, how was your salsa dance class?"
She sighed. She had temporarily forgotten that the person she left in her flat was not just a person, he was the world's only consulting detective who would unashamedly deduce her secret.
"Okay, spill. Tell me how you worked it out."
"Well it really was quite simple. Your clothing practically screams exercise, specifically the sort of clothing you would change in to after exercise," Molly looked down at herself – tracksuit bottoms and a loose t shirt. Fair enough.
"You are fairly slim and have never been particularly conscious of what you eat, showing you frequently do strenuous exercise to keep yourself fit as there has never been any indication of you participating in, or even particularly enjoying, any other sports." Was that a… compliment? It was certainly a sign that he'd noticed her appearance.
"The way you are standing right now, in fact the way you carry yourself in general, suggests some form of dance training, and from a young age judging by your seemingly natural gracefulness." Natural gracefulness? Yes, sometimes she was graceful, but this was all coming from the man who had seen her walk in to the open doors of mortuary freezers which would probably contradict that.
"Finally you smell strongly of lycra, no doubt the clothes you wore while dancing and what was in the bag you left the house with. While doing salsa dancing, it is customary to wear tight, brightly coloured clothes, hence the lycra and the bright red flower in your hair." That seemed awfully specific.
Then the pieces fell in to place. Molly just looked at him.
"What?" He asked, obviously sure he was going to get away with it.
"I'm not just anyone, I learnt to see through you a long time ago."
"Okay, I may have looked through your photo albums, calendar and laptop until I found pictures, emails and dates of classes." He had the decency to look mildly ashamed saying that, realising that there were probably several lines he just crossed. For once, Molly didn't really mind though, the detective didn't appear to be judging her choice of hobby, merely commenting on it in true Holmesian fashion. She simply rolled her eyes and went to pull the flower out her ponytail.
"No, leave it. It goes perfectly with your complexion."
She blushed, compliments from the detective were rare, she had learnt to treasure every one of them.
"So Sherlock, you found out my big secret. Anything to say?" She was almost teasing him, daring him to say something about it.
"Molly Hooper, would you like to dance with me?" That was… unexpected.
"What?" She stared at him, waiting for the catch.
"Would you like to dance with me."
"Since when do you dance?"
"Since always."
Right. Well, she wasn't going to question it. She set up her giant record player, it was far better that cd's and she knew she had the perfect song ready. As the needle clicked in to place and the song began, the pair moved closer. It wasn't a slow song, but it was slow enough to be considered romantic.
Molly was surprised by how well Sherlock lead, he definitely wasn't lying when he said he danced. They spent the whole song in perfect harmony and, as the music began to fade out, they were left staring in to each other's eyes.
Yet again, there was a note down the side of the box, one that Molly was just as excited to read as she had been at the start.
"My caring Molly,
For all those years I was so cruel to you, never treating you like you deserved. I am so very grateful that you have given me the chance to make up for all of that. The next place is one of the things that should never have happened between us, though in a way the pain was what brought us together. The first time I told you I loved you.
Kocham cię,
Yours, SH."
With a sigh, she picked up the box and climbed back in to the cab. The next destination was perhaps the most familiar of all, her flat.
…
Unlocking the door, and being thankful it was still locked, she walked in to her apartment. She hadn't actually been in there for the last few weeks at least, everything she needed had gathered itself at Baker Street, but clearly Sherlock had been here today. There was a small box on the kitchen worktop, very pretty and carefully chosen. It was a traditional English tea set. She blinked, Sherlock had really proved himself on this one. Just like why she had barely visited her flat, she had been unable to touch her tea set since the day she got that call. She told him it was contaminated by the memory, even though everything had sorted itself out.
She forced herself not to think of the first part of that day, trying not to burst in to tears again. Even though she had forgiven Sherlock for the incident, it wasn't exactly his fault, the 'experiment' had had a lasting impact on her. Instead she thought to how Sherlock had redeemed himself, making up for everything his sister had done to them.
Molly was sitting on her sofa crying. Exactly what she had been doing for the last 7 hours, 42 minutes and… 37 seconds. Ever since she put down the phone after the call from Sherlock. She'd been having a bad enough day as it was, and then Sherlock called, mocking her for some sort of experiment.
Suddenly, there was a calm knocking at her door. She groaned, she was not in the mood for random visitors.
"Go away!"
The knocking was there again, just as annoying.
"Go away!"
Again. It was getting louder,
"Go away!"
Again. God, they were persistent. She may as well give in, it wasn't like she was going to get any peace with that racket going on.
"Uggh, fine."
She stormed over and pulled the door open. Of course it was none other than the heart-breaking detective himself. Apparently it wasn't enough that he plagued her thoughts, now he was casually coming over as though he hadn't just torn her heart to shreds and stomped on it with his perfectly shined shoes.
"Nope." She went to slam to door in his face, but he was quicker. He didn't even flinch as the door shut on his foot, though there was a strange look on his face, on she didn't recognise of the man who hat hurt her more times than she could count.
"Molly please." He was almost pleading with her, begging even. That didn't change what he had done to her though.
"Nope."
"Molly, please, just let me try to explain."
"You have no idea how much you hurt me, no idea Sherlock."
"No, I don't, but I am so incredibly sorry and I will do anything to make you see that." She wavered slightly, loosening her grip on the door.
"You never say you're sorry."
"I do for you. I love you."
That was enough. Molly flung the door open and Sherlock jumped in to her arms. She was sobbing and, by the sound of it, so was he. They had been through so much together but now, it was going to be okay. Because now, they really were doing it together.
Next to the box was another note.
"My patient Molly,
Even after everything I did to you, you never once stopped believing in me. Even when I broke your heart you still trusted me. The next place is when I finally acted in a way that deserved your love, our first date.
Ti amo,
Yours, SH."
She could feel that this was coming to the end of the trail as she left her flat, calling another cab.
…
Just a few minutes later she arrived, the small restaurant in the quiet centre of the city. Below the large sign outside she saw a small package. A light pink candle, her favourite scent, and the same one that Angelo had put on their table on their first date.
When they arrived, Sherlock instantly took them to a table at the back of the small restaurant. Seconds later, they were greeted by a man that Molly could only assume was the owner, Angelo.
"Alright Sherlock, how are you my man?" The casual greeting confirmed it, Sherlock seemed to be on good terms with almost every business owner in the city.
"I'm well thank you." He looked at Molly and smiled. "Very well."
"Oh and who's your lady friend?"
"Molly Hooper, pleasure to meet you." As she introduced herself, Angelo pulled a very smug face and looked at the two of them together.
"Oh, I've heard all about you. Finally got the balls to ask you out did he? Good for him, he's never actually said he likes you but you don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to see it. Look, it's written all over his face bless him."
Molly looked over at him. The great Sherlock Holmes had his head down looking as though he was waiting for the earth to swallow him up. She squeezed his hand, while Angelo chuckled.
"Awww, to be young and in love. I'll get you a candle, make it more romantic." He returned with a soft pink candle calmly flickering. Molly politely smiled at him, her date did not.
Sherlock was now glaring daggers at Angelo, and Molly was sure that if he wasn't still holding her hand, the two men would be in the corner having some serious words. Actually, Sherlock hadn't actually let go of her hand since he first picked her up, a good twenty minutes ago.
"You can order anything you like, Angelo still seems to think he owes me and has been trying to repay me with excessive amounts of free food for the last decade."
"Does he?"
"Remember that time I hadn't slept for a week and kept barging in to your lab in the middle of the night to run hundreds of tests?" Molly remembered. She definitely remembered.
"Oh yeah, he owes you." After a couple of seconds, Sherlock spoke.
"So, um, what are you going to order?" Molly looked at him.
"Sherlock. I am not expecting this date, or any part of our relationship to be 'normal', just be yourself."
"Okay." After a short breath he continued. "Did I ever tell you what happened with the case with all the severed feet in a shipping container?"
Molly smiled. Normal conversation. Well, normal for them at least.
The date passed, well, perfectly. Neither of them said anything awkward and the conversation flowed for hours. At the end, when Sherlock walked her home, they stood for a moment outside her flat. As he kissed her on the cheek and left, the perfect gentleman, Molly couldn't help but wonder what she had done to be this lucky.
Yet again there was a small note folded beneath the candle. She had a feeling this would be the last.
"My perfect Molly,
I hope you enjoyed the trip around our city of memories. The last stop is where our lives truly came together, our home.
I love you,
Yours, SH."
He really was perfect. She gave one last look in the window and began to walk to what had become their home.
…
A few minutes later she arrived at Baker Street. Even before opening the door, she could hear a faint tune coming from the flat. She opened the door, past the crooked knocker she had learnt to ignore and went up the stairs towards the beautiful sound.
Standing in the doorway, she waited until he finished playing before she spoke.
"I don't think I've heard that one before."
"It's your song. I wrote it for you." Molly was speechless. Never had anyone been this amazing. She didn't think it was possible but here he was, Sherlock Holmes, defying expectations and making her want to hug him and never let go.
"I was just about us and…"
"It's perfect."
"You're amazing, do you know that?"
"I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me."
"All of this…"
"I love you Sherlock Holmes."
"And I love you Molly Hooper."