Present
It was cold, but well-lit outside. Chrismas lights aplenty. There had been no more Baker Street Christmas parties since Sherlock's death three years ago. Well, Molly knew he was alive but she never saw him again after he'd come to her for help.
Mycroft would contact her on occasion, to see how she was. But she knew that really, it was to check that she hadn't divulged the secret of his brother's survival.
Her flat was dimly-lit, quiet and a bit chilly. Molly wrapped herself in a blanket and was reading a book on the sofa. She was slowly starting to doze off when she heard a soft click. She looked around.
Nobody.
Nothing.
Perhaps the blustery winds had flung a twig at her windows. Having been startled, Molly carried on with her book. But eventually, Molly dozed off again and curled up on her sofa, fast asleep.
Suddenly, Molly woke and checking her watch realised it was close to midnight.
"Christmas ends in 10 minutes…" she murmured to herself.
Molly felt that something about her flat looked different. She got up slowly from her sofa and walked around cautiously. Finally, she noticed a soft glow of light coming from the crack beneath her room door. When she pushed open the door, she saw that her bedside lamp was on.
"I don't remember turning it on…" she murmured to herself.
She headed for the lamp, wanting to turn it off when she spotted the tiniest box, wrapped in simple dark blue paper with white parcel string around it, tied into a bow.
It was a present. No doubt about that.
Molly picked it up and slowly picked at the wrapping. Peeling the dark blue paper off revealed a small box. Molly opened it to see a small, folded piece of paper and another smaller rectangular box. She opened the rectangular one and saw that it contained a brand new lipstick, and in her shade too.
"How…" she whispered to herself.
Remembering the note, Molly quickly put the lipstick down and fumbled with the piece of folded paper. When she opened it, it read:
It really does suit you.
Molly gasped. She looked at the lipstick and understood the reference. Understanding the reference meant identifying who had sent it to her. Clutching the paper in her hand, Molly looked frantically around her room, then rushed out of her bedroom, as if searching for someone.
Her flat wasn't so dimly lit anymore.
The dining room lamp had been turned on and seated at her dining table was a familiar, tall frame. His dark hair cast a shadow on his handsome face. But from beneath the shadow, Molly recognised that beautiful, sculpted jawline. And she certainly remembered that voice.
"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."
