A/N: Set Post-season 3 AU. Italics indicate memory. Please forgive any punctuation and grammatical mistakes as it is not beta read.
Disclaimer: No Characters belong to me.
Molly sat on the floor, watching the logs pop and crackle in the fireplace. Despite her general cheery outlook on life, Molly Hooper was not a fan of Christmas.
It was near Christmas when she lost her father leaving her all alone in the world.
It was near Christmas, when the man she loved deducted her, said horrible things, and revealed he could recognize a naked woman by not her face.
It was near Christmas that same man who concocted a plan to save his friends by killing someone in cold blood, and then was leaving on a suicide mission with nary a word to her.
Molly Hooper, deep down, really disliked Christmas.
Yet here she was, sitting on the rug of Sherlock's parents' house in Sussex, fingering the ribbon on a present she was just given. They were allowed to open one present on Christmas eve a nod to the Queen's Germanic roots. Somehow it seemed to also be a way to placate two genius level boys from deducing their presents too early.
They were amazing people, Sherlock's parents were, so very different from their posh boys. They were so very ordinary, and extraordinary at the same time. No one could deny that Sherlock and Mycroft were their children. Sherlock inherited his father's sharp features and wiry-ness, while his eyes were all his mother. Mycroft had carried more of his mother's rounder features, especially in the chin. Both boys flanked either side of the fireplace, leaning against the mantel like two sturdy candlesticks, both lowly sniping at each other until Mrs. Holmes interceded with a single command of "Boys." The scene was all so very domestic, a tree decorated with a lifetime worth of ornaments, some handmade some not, the people gathered around the fire sipping eggnog and looking at old photo albums, keeping in line their family traditions. What about Hooper traditions? All that remained was her. She didn't have many photographs of a live well lived, surrounded by family. The closest she ever gained to having that was with Tom, and even that didn't last. Suddenly the delicious roast dinner that Mrs. Holmes cooked sat heavy in the pit of her stomach. She felt like an outsider looking in through a window. The heat of the fire was suddenly too warm and Molly was starting to find it difficult to breathe.
"Are you alright dear?" Mr. Holmes asked, bringing the attention of everyone else in the room.
Molly plastered on a smile. "I'm fine, thank you. I think I just need some air."
She quickly got up and grabbed her coat and scarf before anyone could protest or offer to join her. She walked quickly out the door into the darkness cold night air tripping on a motion activated Santa on her way out. As she walked away from the house Molly started to feel a sense of relief as the cold air seeped into her lungs. She turned and looked at the house, noticing the distinct inviting glow emanating from the windows. She turned back around and walked away.
The Holmes's cottage was set far back into the property that Molly knew that it would be best if she didn't wander too far off. Her boots crunched quietly into the layers of snow and ice. The only sound she emitted came the puffs of air released from her breath. While externally she was quiet, internally many thoughts buzzed into her brain. She remembered when Sherlock first invited her.
"Ah Molly!" he said to her when he found her in the lab. "Pack your bags! I need your presence in Sussex with me!"
"Why isn't John going with you?"
"John is planning to spend Christmas and New Years in town with Mary and the baby. Not that I blame his reticence, after last year." He told her in a boyish manner.
Molly remembered John telling her about his drugging everyone and going after Magnussen. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to go.
"I always work during the holidays Sherlock." Molly stated.
It was easy for her because she only had a cat to come home to.
"No, you're not, I already cleared it with Mike, He said he would take care of it."
He unexpectedly took her hand and caressed it.
"Please Molly." He purred lowly.
She was caught. Hook, line, and sinker.
"Alright." She tittered nervously, suddenly overwhelmed by his sudden affection.
"Excellent! I will pick you up around noon, we should be at my parents before dark." He dropped her hand and like a whirlwind he was gone.
"Parents!?" Molly asked the empty room, still in shock.
After her shift, she rushed to do some last-minute shopping. She had no idea what to get Sherlock or his parents. She couldn't forget Mycroft either. What does one get for the man who is practically the British Government? Eventually she selected a few items she hoped they would like. If they were anything like their sons, they were probably really posh. Nervousness filled Molly Hooper, she so wanted Sherlock's parents to like her. When Sherlock came to pick her up in his hired car, he rolled his eyes at her as he set the poinsettia plant into the boot of the car, telling her that she will be fine.
Molly fidgeted all throughout the car ride and all the way up to the Holmes's front door.
"William!" His mother greeted him excitedly, kissing his cheeks.
Sherlock feigned reluctance at being fawned over, his slightly curved mouth as the only evidence of his actual enjoyment of the attention.
"And this must be Molly!" Mrs. Holmes greeted the shy Molly Hooper, pulling her into a big bear hug. She smelled of perfume, and Christmas baking and something else she could not identify.
"That's quite enough mother. I do believe Dr. Hooper would like to come in from out of the cold." Sherlock said.
"Oh yes! Of course! Come in! Come in!" She beckoned.
Mycroft and Sherlock's father sedately joined them in the entryway. Mycroft communicating with Sherlock his current feelings with a mere eyeroll.
The sound of something burping 'Jingle Bells" distracted everyone for a moment.
"Oh dear lord. She found it again." Sherlock groaned.
It was a dancing Santa Claus holding a beer mug in each hand.
"I thought you had gotten rid of it." Mycroft whispered through his teeth.
"Apparently not well enough." Sherlock replied back just as softly.
Mycroft turned his gaze to Molly, who was presenting his mother and father with the red poinsettia plant, then looked back at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow and significant look.
"Do shut up." Sherlock retorted. "She is here because Mummy insisted."
Little did they realize that Molly was within earshot behind Mycroft. The boys would be slightly mortified at being overheard, however Molly gave no indication. She only asked Sherlock's mother for direction upstairs to her room to freshen up.
Molly splashed cool water on her face and looked into the mirror. She asked herself, "What are you doing here Hooper?" It was clearly evident that Sherlock brought her here to appease his mother rather than wanting her to be there for himself. What was she expecting? That despite everything that has happened, as long as they have known each other, that he might display a slight indication of tenderness or affection? The only time Sherlock was tender with her was that day at that train enthusiast's apartment, when he kissed cheek, congratulating her on her engagement to Tom. How is she going to get through this week? Much like that day of solving crimes, this was another aspect of Sherlock's personality. Whatever he was offering, she would take it in greedily. After all that's what Molly Hooper does when it comes to Sherlock Holmes.
Breakfast on Christmas Eve morning was an informal affair. Everyone sat at the wooden breakfast table in the kitchen. They partook in Mrs. Holmes's famous buns along with the usual fry up fare. Molly's eyes lit up as she took a bite.
"Quite good aren't they?" Sherlock's Father asked.
The sweet bread was light and extremely fluffy, and studded with candied fruit, it reminded her of an Italian panettone. It was certainly the best she had ever eaten.
"It helps to have combustion expert." He said conspiratorially. "Though I'm glad she traded in her C-4 for baking powder!"
"Hush you!" Mrs. Holmes said while spooning a fried egg onto Sherlock's plate. "Now Sherlock, I expect you to eat more than just beans on toast."
"But I like beans on toast!" Complained the detective in a pout.
The scene was so utterly domestic, Molly didn't know what to do with herself except sit there and chew. It was like watching a documentary on genius-level animals in their native habitat.
"Now boys I have the baskets set for the neighbors." Mrs. Holmes said.
The boys groaned.
"You mean to give you the excuse to show us off." Mycroft muttered into his coffee cup.
There was nothing more they hated than to make small talk.
"Behave. Or I'll send you caroling with your father." She warned.
Both men simply shuddered.
As the men were leaving, Mrs. Holmes tied a scarf around Mycroft's neck while he was donning his leather gloves.
"Now Mykey, Remember to be courteous and polite, and smile!" She said.
"Is there anything else I should be doing and/or feeling?" He retorted back dryly.
Mrs. Holmes only tugged on his scarf in warning, causing him to lurch forward a bit.
After they left, she noticed the burping Santa on the floor. "Oh dear! How did this get unplugged?" She bent over re-plugged the cord into the socket.
It would be a silent war between the members of the house throughout the day, much to Molly's amusement.
"Can I do anything to help?" Molly asked Mrs. Holmes in the kitchen.
She was feeling a bit out-of-place and useless without the dramatic distraction of the Holmes boys.
Sensing this, Mrs. Holmes replied, "Oh how lovely for you to offer! Would you mind washing the potatoes for the mash? I'll peel."
They both worked silently together at the sink for a few mins before the elder lady broke the silence.
"I never did get to thank you." She said.
They both stopped and looked at each other.
"For my son." She clarified. "Without you, my son would have been most likely would have been dead." She went on.
"Mrs. Holmes…" Molly started to say. "It was my pleasure."
Mrs. Holmes gave her a piercing look.
"I mean…I wanted to." Molly self-corrected awkwardly.
Mrs. Holmes changed the subject. "You must call me Mummy dear, you're practically family."
"I…erm." Molly turned her awkward gaze back to the sink with the potatoes.
"You're a good girl." The woman patted the back of Molly's hand. "I am sure your parents would be very proud."
"Would they be?" Molly thought to herself.
She was alone with a cat, hitting on the wrong side of 34, having had dated a criminal mastermind, had a broken engagement, and a hopeless crush on a man who manipulates her for his own means. What would they say? Somehow, Mrs. Holmes words gave her a bit of comfort that only older parental approval could provide.
After awhile, Mummy Holmes shooed Molly out of the kitchen, claiming she was a guest and would only get in the way. She ran her space like a tight ship, with every item supposedly timed to perfection. She could see where the British Government could get his sense of order and scheduling.
So, she donned her winter outerwear and set off to explore the outside of the house. The air was cold and crisp, and the snow crunched lovely beneath her feet. It reminded her of many times she played in the snow as a child. She spun in circles, and attempted to catch snowflakes on her tongue and later had the beginnings of a very sorry looking snowman before realizing it wasn't really coming together and gave up after she realized she lacked things in terms of accessories in order to do a proper job of it.
A bit further she saw a small structure that looked a bit like a two-level playhouse. It had round windows and looked vaguely like a ship. It even had a small pole atop it with a skull and crossbones flag flapping in the breeze. Molly could practically see a young Sherlock running about in his pirate gear, sword fighting his enemies, firing water balloon cannons, and burying his secret treasures. It made Molly smile, knowing that the man carried on his adventurous spirit into adulthood. His enthusiasm for cases was so much like a child times. He was always so full of energy and life when he was investigating. It was infectious. Not that he seemed to notice the joy he inadvertently spread to her, working together.
Molly veered to the right of the pirate ship. She noticed small wooden marker and bent over to look at it. On it was the word "REDBEARD" etched in a sloppy child-like scrawl. It was final resting place. Molly thought of her father. Every year she would go visit his gravesite on Christmas Eve. This year, she didn't have the ability, being in Sussex. A cold, sad feeling settled inside her. True, Molly's logical mind knew that it was only his rotting flesh and bone buried in that cemetery, but still, she felt as though she abandoned him, leaving him alone on Christmas. Tears pooled into her eyes, she missed him so much.
"Grieving is a fruitless endeavor." A low baritone voice said just over her shoulder.
"Jesus Sherlock! Don't sneak up on me like that!" Molly twisted her body away from him in surprise.
How would he know? Molly wanted to snap the words at him but was only able press her lips together in a fine line. What does he know of grief? He has both his parent, still alive, active and well. He should be grateful to having them still in his life. Molly would give anything to have her father back.
Finally realizing that he said something that could be considered by John Watson's social standards as a 'bit not good,' Sherlock said "He was the best first mate."
Molly exhaled a long breath and nodded, accepting his non-apology apology.
"Have you seen my pirate fort?" the detective asked.
"Just from the outside." She said.
She started walking in the direction back towards it. She didn't notice Sherlock did not immediately follow.
Sherlock slipped his leather gloved hand into the pocket of his coat, and retrieved a rather large dog biscuit, wrapped in a dainty red bow.
He placed it in front of the marker and quietly said "Merry Christmas, boy." before walking away.
His long legs didn't require too much effort in catching up to Molly, who was waiting for him at the entrance. Sherlock motioned for her to enter.
"This feels like I'm the first girl to ever be in here." Molly said. She felt like the first girl let into a "No Girls allowed" area.
"Nope." Sherlock said popping his p's. "That honor goes to Priscila Coxton. Mycroft brought her here when he attempted to experiment in kissing." The detective smirked a bit in memory. "Was so much fun taking back my ship from them." He gave Molly a cheeky smile.
Molly felt quite a bit warmer. Was it the fact she was here Sherlock, sharing a bit of the intimacy of his childhood with her? It reminded her of the time that he went and asked her to solve crimes with him, slowly sharing bits and pieces of other aspects of his life. She didn't know what to make of it.
Said detective seemed to be rummaging through a wooden chest, muttering "Where is it?" to himself. It was with a final cry of "Aha!" that the detective found his prize. He raised his hand into the air, holding a spyglass. He checked his watch. "It won't be long now!" he crowed.
Molly gave him a dubious look. "What have you done?"
Sherlock did not immediately answer but lowered a rope ladder to the second floor. "Can you manage?" He asked the pathologist.
Molly gave him an indignant huff, and proceeded to climb up, with Sherlock following closely after. There was another door leading back outside to an open-air platform. Sherlock began scanning the area with the spyglass.
"Sherlock what is this about?" Molly asked, her breath once again crystallizing in front of her.
"I managed to slip away from Mycroft and Dad and pay off a few of the local boys to have them share their wintry fun." The detective said.
He handed the glass over to Molly and pointed it to a particular direction. Through it, Molly could see Mycroft standing at the end of the lane, smoking a cigarette with their father nowhere in sight.
"You didn't…" Molly started.
"I told them I would double their fee if they managed to knock him down." He replied toothily. "If they manage it, it would be the best 30 pounds I ever spent."
Molly watched as the first blow took Mycroft by surprise. He turned around and another snowball hit him in the shoulder. It was terribly unmatched as Mycroft was outnumbered three to one. Still, something wicked inside Molly took pleasure in seeing the ever prim and proper Holmes brother look a bit unnerved and out of sorts. Molly handed the spyglass back to Sherlock who took it and chuckled as he watched. Molly couldn't help it, and giggled as well. The detective proceeded to give the pathologist a running commentary of what was happening. It was about as entertaining as a football match. Unfortunately for them and the boys, Mycroft was able to take refuge into the house before he managed to fall down.
The pair continued laughing, until Molly noticed how close Sherlock's face was to hers. Had it been any other man, she would have seen it as a signal of wanting to kiss. But, Sherlock Holmes was no ordinary man, he was just excited his plan in messing with his brother had worked. It was for that reason, his eyes seemed voluminously bright, as he looked at her. She was misreading him, he wasn't going to kiss her. Molly turned her head away, breaking whatever energetic connection between them.
"We should go back." She said suddenly.
For a moment, Sherlock seemed…confused and…disappointed? His face returned to its usual inscrutable expression. They made their way back to ground level. Molly moved quickly, as if she was trying to gain as much distance away from the ship as possible.
"Molly…Wait!" Sherlock called out to her.
He didn't seem to understand what just did or didn't happen, and it was just like him to demand an explanation. If there was the one thing that Sherlock Holmes didn't like, it was not knowing or understanding. He caught up to her in a copse of trees and pulled her shoulders back to face him. He stood there, holding her face in his hands and staring into her eyes, attempting to recreate that feeling they just experienced. Molly wasn't feeling it.
She jerked her chin away. "We really should be going back. After all, you brought me here to spend time with your mother."
Sherlock's brow furrowed.
"Ahem." Mycroft's voice interrupted. He was back outside, but this time his eyes keep moving about warily. "Mummy has prepared tea and hot chocolate, she requests that we all join her."
Molly could feel her face tighten as she forced herself to grin.
"Oh and Sherlock? I know it was you." The elder Holmes said darkly.
It reminded Molly from that scene from "The Godfather II," where Fredo receives the kiss of death. Molly shivered involuntarily.
Mycroft forcefully hit the trunk of the tree closest to them with his umbrella, causing the pair to jump back a bit in alarm and surprise, before walking away. Sherlock made an aggressive step forward, as if to go after his brother, but a loud rumbling sound stopped him. It was at that time the branches above them released a large deluge of snow upon them both.
Molly stopped as she reached the end of the lane and turned around. She noticed the festive glow of the lights on all the houses. It reminded her of Christmases she had with her Dad. Every year he would bring the ladder and insist on stringing lights everywhere in and out of the house. They donned their ugly Christmas sweaters, the more shiny and garish the better. The trays of gingerbread men would somehow mysteriously become "injured" missing arms and legs, and occasionally their heads. They drank egg nog and hot chocolate with candy cane stirrers, the drinks getting a bit boozier as they got older.
Molly remembers the night her father died. Like many days before, he was cheerful in front of her but sad when he thought no one could see. It was a Hooper trait to bury your true feelings in a smile. He knew he wouldn't make it past the holidays.
"I'm sorry Molly…" He starts.
"Dad…"
"No, listen. I am sorry for leaving you alone like this."
She takes his hand and squeezes. "It's ok. I'll be alright."
He leans over and kisses her forehead. "Never settle for less than what you think you deserve and be happy. You never know what life will bring you."
Much like then, Molly felt her tears bite into her cold cheeks.
This wasn't her home. This wasn't her family. She didn't belong here. She needed to get away. But how?
The answer came as she trudged up the fence leading back to the Holmes house. A familiar figure, hunched over his phone in a long coat.
"Something must be done! I can't stand it anymore! You have to get me out of here!" He whispered harshly.
There was a pregnant pause as he listened.
"Surely there is something that needs my attention!" He growled into his mobile.
Molly chose that moment to intercede.
"Excuse me Mr. Holmes." She said. "If you are planning on going back to London tonight, I would appreciate a ride back as well."
Mycroft regarded her with a mostly neutral, if not slightly offended look. Realizing this was an opportunity which would only solidify his case for leaving, he nodded.
As Molly passed into the doorway, she heard the Santa burp out "Jingle Bells." Inwardly, she cursed herself for making so much noise.
"Oh. Your back." Sherlock said, his eyes seemingly scanning up and down her form.
Molly couldn't help but feel a bit exposed, so she blushed.
Sherlock looked like he wanted to restart their earlier conversation, but the entrance of Mycroft disrupted his plan.
"You really shouldn't lurk in doorways." Sherlock's father said while pointing upwards.
There hung a large sprig of mistletoe beneath Molly and Mycroft.
"C'mon now. Give her a kiss." He egged.
"That's really not necessary…" Molly protested.
The elder Holmes sighed. "I am afraid Dr. Hooper, he won't give it up until we do. It's tradition."
Sherlock crossed his arms, with a put out look on his face.
Mycroft leaned down, just as Molly tilted her head upward. Both aimed at quick kisses on the cheek. He seemed to pull away unemotionally, only betrayed by the slight tinge of pink in his cheeks.
"Priscilla was a lucky girl." She murmured to him.
Mycroft's eyes widened.
"Now if you will excuse me." Molly said springing away from him and up the stairs to her room.
It didn't take more than 15 minutes for Molly to collect her belongings. She set her bags down at the bottom of the staircase. She could hear Mycroft explaining his departure.
"—The situation has become untenable. I will have to return to London tonight." He stated. "Dr. Hooper will be accompanying me as well."
Molly felt the need to explain herself. "Thank you for such a lovely time. I am sorry for having to leave early, but they need an extra pair of hands in the morgue…all the extra Christmas suicides you know…"
Molly wanted to kick herself for causing the awkward silence followed.
Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion.
After a beat, there was a flurry of action.
Mycroft and Mr. Holmes busied themselves taking the luggage out to the newly arrived black town car. Mrs. Holmes pulled out various tins, filled with various cookies and other sweets. Molly objected, saying it was way too much for a single person to eat on her own, but Mummy Holmes insisted. She even gave her a copy of her recipe for her famous buns, stating that the secret was in the stirring and kneading. She would have to show her the trick next time. Molly doubted that there would ever be a next time. Sherlock was quiet, sitting in the parlor with his hands under his chin. Molly assumed he was in his mind palace.
After the last bag was finally packed and stored in the boot of the car. The goodbyes began. Tight hugs were passed and switched between Sherlock's parents. When Mummy Holmes pulled away, her eyes were teary with emotion. Somehow Molly's were as well.
Mrs. Holmes sniffed and called out to Sherlock, "Sherlock! They are leaving!"
Sherlock got up languidly from his seat and went into the foyer.
Knowing his aversion to being touched, Molly said simply, "Goodbye Sherlock."
Keeping his hands in his pockets he returned, "Goodbye Molly Hooper."
It was simple and to the point, so very different from his parents emotional display.
"Do come back to visit, anytime." Mummy Holmes said.
Molly nodded in agreement, though inwardly she highly doubted she would. She remembered that saying in Mary Poppins of a pie crust promise. "Easily made. Easily broken." They really were really lovely people, the Holmes parents were, but the more love and warmth they exuded, the emptier Molly felt. Knowing the type of relationship she had with the Holmes boys, it was unlikely that they would invite her here again. It would likely be the last time she would see them in this setting.
Another round of indulgent hugs and kisses were given as the Holmes parents followed Molly and Mycroft to the door of their car. Sherlock remained inside the doorway, watching Molly with a quizzical expression, as if he could not puzzle her out.
After yet another outburst of affection, Mycroft exclaimed, "Mother please!"
Mummy merely smiled and wiped the last of her lipstick off his cheek. Settled in their seats, Mr. Holmes bent over in the window and said "Drive safe." and gave the pair a half-smile. A smile that was so very reminiscent of Sherlock. Molly thanked him again. She really was grateful of the experience of being loved so, no matter how unreal, and temporary it was. The black town car finally pulled away and sped away into the night.
During the entire trip back, Mycroft didn't say a word, merely kept looking at his phone. He did not feel the need to make small talk. Molly was silently grateful for that. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window, looked out into the inky blackness of the night passing by.
Once the car stopped in front of her building, Molly bounded out, not waiting for the driver to open the door for her. As he removed her bags from the trunk, she knocked on the window of Mycroft's side. He lowered it with a look of slight annoyance.
"Merry Christmas Mr. Holmes, and thank you." She said with sincerity.
"And to you as well, Dr. Hooper."
Mycroft gave her a sympathetic, long-suffered look but still managed to smirk. It seems he also mastered that particular Holmes trait as well. The window raised back up and car drove off. They were both almost home where they wanted to be.
It was slow work bringing her bags into her flat. Though she struggled, she applauded herself doing it in one trip. Molly then went to her downstairs neighbor to collect Toby. He bounded out of her arms as soon as they both were back home. She looked at the clock and noticed it was only 8:00 pm. She had time to go take a shower before sitting down to watch the Dr. Who Christmas special at 9. Perfect.
After taking a hot, relaxing, shower, she put on a set of fleece snowman pajamas, and a pair of her most garish Christmas socks. She walked into her living room, rubbing a towel in her wet hair. She dropped it when she saw something that inadvertently surprised her sitting on her settee.
"Sherlock!" She looked at the detective shocked.
"Molly." He said standing up.
"What are you doing here?"
The detective sniffed. "There was no point in staying since you had left. Why did you leave?"
She chastised him. "Sherlock, they are your parents! It's the holidays! You should have stayed with them!"
He stepped closer, ignoring her rebuke. "Molly, why did you leave?"
His proximity unnerved her a bit.
"Sherlock they are your family. I don't belong there. I heard you say that you only brought me because your mother asked."
His brows furrowed yet again. "Unlike my brother, I do not jump at every Mummy's beck and call. I only said that to shut Mycroft up. You were there because I wanted you there. If it had a side effect of pleasing her, well, who am I to begrudge her of that?"
Molly picked up her towel and tossed it on her shoulder. She paced to her settee and sat down.
"Your parents are lovely people. You and Mycroft act as though they are a burden, but you should enjoy them while you still have the chance." She said a bit forlornly. She picked at a bit of fuzz off the settee. "I just didn't want the fact I am all alone in this world thrown in my face. I know I'll never have what you have. Parents. Love. A family."
"Molly…" His baritone rumbled lowly. He moved to sit beside her. "You are a part of my family."
Molly's eyes went as wide as saucers, as he surprised her by pulling her close into a hug.
"As for parents and family," He continued. "I am more than willing to give you mine. They adore you and would probably be willing to adopt you. They should on principle you know, considering the debt of how many times you had saved their favorite son."
Molly snorted.
"And what about the other thing?" She attempted to pull away slightly, though Sherlock's arms did not let her get too far.
He gazed at her. That piercing and disarming look. The look that caused a frisson of excitement to course throughout her body. He leaned down, bringing both of his hands up to cup her face and kissed her. It was everything she imagined it to be. Initially it was soft and tender, then growing more passionate and possessive. By the time they separated, Molly was panting as though she just ran a marathon. Sherlock gave her a quick peck before straightening himself up.
That seemed to answer that question.
"Per tradition, I believe you're going to visit your father tomorrow." Sherlock said. "If you don't mind, I would like come with you."
Molly was touched by the offer and could only nod as her eyes became misty and her throat was dry.
"Isn't that Christmas special of that show you like about to come on?" He asked.
Molly raised the remote and switched on her television. They sat together, their sides snuggled against one another with their feet up. Sherlock was mercifully quiet during the Dr. Who special, she suspected he wasn't really paying attention rather than organizing data in his mind palace, she didn't mind it at all.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, savoring his warmth and the feeling of not being alone. Tomorrow she hoped to introduce him to more Hooper traditions, and perhaps with time, make new traditions together.