Frustration

It's not everyday that a man proposes to the woman he loves so dearly.

It's much more rare if said man is Sherlock Holmes.

"Molly. Marry me."

A groan.

"Molly Hooper, it has come to my attention that it would only be the next logical step for us to be bound in holy and legal matrimony."

A sigh.

"It's only practical for us to be married, beneficial in terms of financial stability and propagating our hereditary lines—"

"You've got to be kidding, Sherlock."

"What?" hisses Sherlock, both annoyed at being interrupted and embarrassed that his best friend is now watching him propose to a mirror.

"You can't propose to Molly by treating her like a bloody research paper!"

"Why should I listen to you?"

Mary, who had been reading on the couch, calls from her seat. "I'd listen to him, Sherlock. He is, after all, married."

Sherlock sighs. "Must you two always go here to torment me? I thought after you got married you'd actually spend less time here…"

"Molly. My love for you is inexplicable. You're the stars in my night sky, you're the victory of a thousand cases. I cannot allow us to ever be separated, and—"

His phone beeps.

Brother, your attempts are very amusing, albeit slightly pathetic. You could give British dramas a run for their money. –MH

Stop spying on me. –SH

Not my fault your limited deduction abilities couldn't locate all my surveillance cameras. Carry on practicing, dear brother. The footage is precious. –MH

Don't you have some cake or sweet to abuse? –SH

"I love you, Molly Hooper—"

A seductive chuckle comes from behind him. "I thought sentiment was a chemical defect, Mr. Holmes."

"Ms. Adler. You are supposed to be dead and in hiding."

"Does my being back change your plans?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then it's of no consequence. I must ask though, why, of all things, did I catch you waxing poetic to your violin? That was definitely not what I expected to be greeted with."

"That is none of your business."

"It concerns you, dear Sherlock. It is my business."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm merely paying you a visit. Aren't you touched?"

A tired sigh. "I have no time for your silly games. Why are you here?"

"I just had to see for myself. I wasn't sure whether your brother was joking or not."

"I am yours, and you are mine. It is time we make it official and binding, and—"

"Freak. What in the world are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm wooing a lamp post."

Sally looks at him for a few seconds before a smile, teasing and smug but with less disdain than it used to have a year ago, appears on her face. "Practicing, are you?"

"If Lestrade finds out about this, I will make your life at The Yard very frustrating."

She laughs. "I'm used to it. Bring it on."

"Sherlock…"

"What do you want, Lestrade? I'm busy."

"With what? Glaring at a teacup?"

"What do you want?" Sherlock reiterates, not even surprised that the head detective is here right now. The visit was bound to happen.

"I heard you were going to… propose to Molly."

"And?"

Greg's face breaks out into a goofy smile, and he pulls the grumpy detective into a bear hug. "I can't believe this is the same man I pulled out from a street gutter a decade and a half ago!"

"Lestrade, unhand me."

"Am I going to be a groomsman? I know John's most probably going to be best man, so I'm expecting to at least be part of the wedding party…"

"Lestrade, I'm warning you. Let me go."

"Where are you getting married? I know a couple of locations that you might want to see—"

"Gavin-Gus-Gretel-Whatever-Your-Name-Is-Lestrade, pull your bloody self together. I haven't even asked her yet!"

His whole world stops at this moment, with Molly's beautiful doe eyes looking up at him, a smile on her lips and love and tenderness and joy on her face. The moon is bright above and the air is cool, the London skyline surrounding them.

It would have been completely perfect if not for the group of very curious, very excited eavesdroppers hiding behind some trees, wanting to see and hear the great Sherlock Holmes be romantic to his lady love. Sherlock can only roll his eyes secretly. Did they really think I wouldn't know they're there?

He smirks in his head. "So, Molly... We should get married. Preferably sooner than later. Would you prefer a winter wedding or a spring one?"

A collective groan cuts through the lovely night.

Note: Everyone writes a Sherlock-doesn't-know-how-to-propose story, so that author thought she'd share hers too.