From the author's desk: My second story in this fandom, yay! And it's a gift-fic to boot, double yay! Yeah, I like writing stuff for people. I get immense pleasure from making others happy.
Anyway, this is set post-Reichenbach, post-reunion. Molly and Sherlock very much love each other, but haven't done much in the way of dating (Sherlock especially). Their relationship is in an "old yet new" sort of stage.
The piece I listened to while writing the section with the violin is Lindsey Sterling's "Crystallize," in case you would like music to set the mood.
Enjoy!
Dedicated to: Nocturnias (aka sherlolly on Tumblr), for her birthday. Many happy returns of the day, and I do hope you like your present!
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Just having a bit of fun!
Her Birthday
by dreamsweetmydear
Sherlock neither cares for nor dislikes birthdays.
He doesn't remember many people celebrating his birthday when he was younger. Sherlock vaguely recalls his favorite butler, Nathaniel, and his nanny Marie presenting him with cake and small presents of books, and though they made it a point to do something small for his birthday every year until he left for boarding school, Nathaniel and Marie were the only ones to really pay attention to the day.
Mycroft left it at a simple, "Many happy returns, little brother," and a small parcel of chocolates or another sweet. Even today, Mycroft is the only one to remember his birthday and wish him, though to be fair, the date is not something Sherlock advertises. He's fairly certain that John still has no idea when his birthday is, though John is sentimental enough that Sherlock believes he would go sniffing it out if he truly wanted to know.
But these experiences have made him indifferent to the concept of birthdays in general. The only birthday he bothers to remember is his brother's, and he is just as simple with it—an extravagant cake full of all the calories Mycroft is often trying and failing to avoid, and a card mirroring his brother's customary birthday message: "Many happy returns, elder brother."
So when, on an ordinary Wednesday at Baker Street involving Sherlock seated at the kitchen table examining a slide of cat hair samples and John rummaging through the cupboards for a bite to eat, the other man asks him, "Molly's birthday is in a few days. What are you doing for her?" Sherlock is at a bit of a loss.
He must appear rather confused as well because John just gives him a look while grabbing the loaf of bread, and follows with, "You were planning on celebrating your girlfriend's birthday, weren't you?"
Well now he can't just say no, can he? That would seem callous, and Sherlock is making more of an effort to be less so.
Still, he thinks as he retreats to his favorite place on the sofa, what is he to do?
Sherlock will happily admit that he loves his girlfriend. Very much so. The thought of Molly not being in his life and in his circle of people closest to him makes him feel very uncomfortable.
But Sherlock will also be the first to admit that he is a crap boyfriend. He doesn't do the kind of sentimental blubbering that men like John do in relationships. Molly actually understands this far better than John, and yet she still wants to be with him.
"You fascinate me, Sherlock, from how intelligent you are, to the lengths you go to hide your humanity. And more than anything, I love your humanity," she told him once.
And if he thinks about it, of all the people he knows, Molly Hooper is by far the best example of what humanity should be—giving while never asking for recognition, kind to a fault, and strong beyond anything.
It's her strength that Sherlock admires the most. Molly is perhaps one of the strongest women he has ever known. She called him out for speaking rudely to her at that Christmas party, which was so long ago now. She was strong enough to help him when he was preparing to face off against Moriarty on top of Bart's. She not only put up with him as a house guest, but was firm in asserting her dominance in her home—she refused to let him turn her home upside down to his liking.
She kept his secret, knowing she could lose her job. She kept him alive—gave him a home to come to when he was finished wandering the world but wasn't yet capable of going back to his own home, provided insight into his puzzles regarding Moriarty's network when she could, gave him a link to his life when all else was ripped away from him—and did it all never asking for anything in return.
To the world, she was still the mousy pathologist working alone in the morgue, but in his time away, Sherlock got to know the woman who loved him, and he found that he couldn't help but love her in return.
But while he holds Molly in the highest esteem and loves her beyond a doubt, he still hasn't a clue about how to celebrate her birthday.
He can't just buy her roses and chocolate. That would be cliché, and therefore dull. And doesn't that go with some other holiday anyway?
Cake and presents seems childish. While Molly wouldn't mind it, he's sure she wouldn't be completely happy. And he wants to make her completely happy.
So then, how is he to proceed?
Well, what are the absolute facts?
Molly Hooper. Early 30's. Long, lovely auburn hair. Works as a forensic pathologist at St. Bart's, so she loves science enough to make it a prominent part of her profession. She loves cats. Late bloomer, most likely due to the fact that she's always been on the shy, quiet side. Few friends means little social interaction—demonstrated in her profession, which also translates into her sense of clothing for work, which is functional and unflattering. So, practical when she needs to be. Fond of dresses and skirts and blouses outside of work, so she's quite feminine when she wants to be as well. Minimal jewelry at all times, and minimal make-up as well. No more than a pair of nice earrings and a pendant. Not fond of rings. Prefers to wear ornaments in her hair on special occasions. A "natural" woman. Easily contented, doesn't like big noisy parties. A romantic. Likes intimate quiet settings, compared to pubs. She loves listening to him play his violin, and is fond of music in general. Danced when she was younger, and still does—evidenced by the muscles in her legs. Dances in a contemporary style.
Oh.
He smiles as he gets an idea, and slips his phone out of his dressing gown pocket, putting the pieces for her birthday in place.
xxx
The best thing about running all over London catching criminals and solving other people's puzzles is that someone always ends up owing him a favor.
Which is why Sherlock is able to have free reign over the lavish ballroom of one of London's best dance schools. It's a lovely room, all gleaming wood and lighting that casts spotlights on the floor and the grand staircase at the opposite end of the room from the entrance.
He is hiding in the shadows on the first floor, just away from the landing of the staircase, watching the entrance when Molly enters the room. She did as he asked, and came dressed to dance, her body encased in a navy unitard, her shoulders covered by a thin cardigan and her waist wrapped in a floating, filmy lighter blue skirt. She wears simple black flats to cover her feet while walking here, and he can only assume she has brought a change of clothes in the bag she carries on her shoulder.
He watches as she looks around in awe, taking in the elegance of the ballroom and its lovely high ceiling. The details in the ceiling and walls make it quite artistic and stunning to look at.
Smiling, Sherlock pulls out his phone and sends her a text. Ready to dance?
He watches as she pulls out her phone from her pocket and reads the message. "But there's no music," she says, her quiet voice echoing beautifully in the room, even as she steps out of her shoes and takes off her cardigan. He smiles before sending her another text.
Just listen, and move when you're ready.
Sherlock keeps his eyes on her as she puts her phone down and moves to the center of the room, closing her eyes while taking deep calming breaths. He slips his phone back into his pocket, before carefully lifting his violin to his neck from where he had placed it on a nearby ledge, and takes his bow into his hand, all the while keeping his eyes on her.
Taking a breath, Sherlock begins to play.
He starts with the first few notes in a tremulous vibrato, flowing into smooth quarters and eighths punctuated by slurred sixteenths. As he continues to play, he watches the woman on the floor below him, swaying gently to the melody. He picks up the pace of the piece, and smiles as Molly begins to move in response to the music, her body slipping into dips and elegant extensions.
A small smile curls Sherlock's lips and he makes his way slowly and silently down the stairs, his fingers continuing to stretch and place themselves expertly across the bridge of the violin, his bow sliding across the strings. Molly's movements mirror his bow, her body gliding on nimble feet around the room, leaping with the rises in the melody, back arching as her arms extend around her, fingers and hands pointing just so to emphasize the thoughts and meanings in the music she dances to.
Sherlock catches her gaze with his own, and he relishes the way her face splits into a grin, her body never pausing in distraction. Instead, she continues to dance while he comes to a stop, playing and spinning slowly in place as she dances in a circle around him. Her joy is palpable to him, and visible in every movement she makes, and watching her dance to the piece he has written for her lights a fire inside of him.
As Sherlock plays the last few notes of the composition, Molly gives one last flourished pirouette, bringing her face to face with him on the tips of her toes, only centimeters from his body, and it takes him a second to realize that they are both panting in exertion.
Sherlock keeps his gaze locked on Molly's, and takes note of the slightly dilated pupils in her eyes, and the ring of her brown irises around them. Her cheeks are flushed, which he loves, and her hair is loose and going every which way because of her recent dancing.
He brings his instrument down slowly, transferring his bow to his left hand, securing it in the hollow of his curled fist while gripping the neck of the violin, and then takes a small step towards her.
Sherlock stares at Molly for a moment longer, enjoying the bright-eyed gaze that lights her face, his newly emptied right hand gently reaching up to bury itself in the hair on the back of her head, before closing the distance between them and sealing her mouth with a passionate kiss, one filled with the nipping of lips, the teasing of tongues, and moans turned into happy sighs.
When they part in desperate need of air, Sherlock buries his face in her hair, while his arms wrap themselves around her petite frame as Molly rests her cheek against his chest and grips the lapels of his suit jacket.
"Wow," she exhales breathlessly, before beginning to giggle madly, causing Sherlock to chuckle as well.
"Indeed."
"Thank you. That was an absolutely beautiful piece," she says, turning her head to look up at him. Sherlock leans down and gives her small peck on the lips.
"And you danced beautifully to it," Sherlock murmurs in her ear, before kissing her firmly once more. "Many happy returns, my love."
"Thank you, Sherlock," Molly beams up at him before he releases her from his embrace.
As they enjoy a nice meal together at Angelo's later that evening, Sherlock decides that he is no longer indifferent towards the idea of birthdays, because Molly's smile is proof enough that celebrating them—or more specifically, doing something to celebrate her birthday—is exceptionally capable of bringing both of them joy.
And really, there can't be anything wrong with something that makes both of them happy.
x
x
fin