Unfamiliar Territory

"What do I do?"

"Just be yourself," John had said, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder.

It had been possibly the worst advice Sherlock had received in his life. He hadn't known what to say at the time, because he was so out of sorts. He had been aware that John was taking the mickey out of him, in a way, because he was so deep in such unfamiliar territory, but he hadn't been able to come up with a response as John had walked away.

Valentine's Day. Sherlock had never even given thought to Valentine's Day.

Besides, he was an arse. Molly certainly wouldn't want him to be himself, that would make it just like any other day. So, clearly, he had to do something different. But... he wasn't good at this, and he was more than a little clueless. Let it never be said that he didn't try, though. Experiments were his speciality. Unfortunately, he only had one chance to get this right.

"Mrs Hudson!" he yelled, grabbing the towel to wave away the smoke.

"What are you up to- oh, Sherlock, what have you done?"

Sherlock grit his teeth. "I haven't done anything. There's just a piece of aluminium foil that'd caught fire on the bottom."

"Maybe if you just-"

"I can cook!" Sherlock retorted, whipping away the rest of the smoke. "I wondered if, maybe, you have... some of those ridiculously heart shaped biscuits with the pink sugar on them."

"You put them down the garbage disposal last time, that was a fine thing," Mrs Hudson replied. "John and Mary didn't mind them at all."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And they also give into the whim of fancy, but..." He flung the towel aside. "I find myself in need of them. It. The whim of fancy."

"Ah, you're doing something for that sweet Molly, aren't you, love?" Mrs Hudson patted his shoulder.

"Mrs Hudson." Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, exhaling though his nose.

"I've still got some, let me get them." Mrs Hudson left him to his own devices, most of which was now to find the 'good china' from the cupboard. Admittingly, it was clear in the bottom of the cupboard, and he still had yet to clear the experiments from the table...

He glanced at his watch and set the plates down a little harder than he meant to. Molly was due in ten minutes, and the flat was a wreck. Since when did he care about those things? Better yet, since when had he been the type of person to be in a committed relationship with another human being?

His mobile chirped. A pang of irrational fear spiked up into Sherlock's chest; was Molly cancelling? He hadn't told her why he wanted her to stop by, but if she cancelled now, this was all for nothing. He made a grab for his phone anxiously. And relaxed slightly when he noticed it was only John.

Did you buy her chocolates?

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tossed the phone back on the chair. He decided that it wasn't yet wise to text John to piss off. Best to see how the night went. And he had bought her chocolates, thank you very much. He had done his research. More or less.

His phone chirped again. He sighed and grabbed it back. Didn't John know he had things to do?

Did you buy condoms this time?

He groaned out loud and ditched the phone again, turning back to the task at hand. Just because he had mentioned the one time that he and Molly had gotten intimate over the course of their relationship...

But was that the point of all of this? Was that the point of the so-called Day of Love? Sherlock wondered, balancing a graduated cylinder in one hand and a set of empty beakers in the other. Was that the ultimate end goal? Did dinner and... chocolates and fancy biscuits lead to sex? Sherlock chewed at his lip, shoving his unfinished experiments onto the island with the old case files and his unfinished personal archives. He was lacking in romantic knowledge. Perhaps he should have done more research.

Needless to say, he didn't have time to rethink the events of the evening now. He had dinner and he had chocolates and he had other... aforementioned items should the evening take a deeper mood, but first he needed to plate dinner and find a vase for the roses and- his phone chirped for the third time in five minutes.

He ignored it in favour of setting the table and getting dinner out of the oven. It only took a minute to get everything plated and to collect both biscuits and a crystal vase from Mrs Hudson - "I want that vase back, Sherlock Holmes!" - and then he was running bare foot back to his bedroom to change out of his wrinkled pyjamas into something more suitable.

It was twenty eight after; Molly was unusually always on time when Sherlock invited her over to his flat. So, two minutes. He cast his gaze around the kitchen for a moment before returning to his phone to finally check the message that was still impatiently buzzing reminding towards him.

Kidding asides, you'll be fine.
Have fun tonight. No cases except
her, though.

Sherlock smiled faintly to himself.

Thank you. You too. Tell
Mary to demand whatever she
wants of you, if I have to give
into the holiday, so do you.
S

John's reply was nearly instantaneous, which was good, given Sherlock was near about to silence his phone not to ruin the evening. Ruin the evening?

Oh, we have every intention.

Sherlock scoffed and turned the volume off, setting it aside. There was no dignified answer to that and it wasn't important in that moment; the doorbell rang. He spun around for the kitchen expectantly. Mrs Hudson was to let Molly in. And then...

"Sherlock? What did you want to see me abo..." Molly trailed off as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Um..." Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck, unconsciously fixing the back of his hair. "Happy Valentine's Day," he muttered, ducking his head slightly. He tried not to look up at her through his eyelashes because that was cliché, and he ended up doing it, anyway. He both wanted to see her reaction and utterly melt away to his bedroom and forget this day even existed.

"Valentine's Day?" Molly repeated, looking at dinner and the roses and then Sherlock. Her cheeks were going pink. Was that a good sign, then?

"I don't know if you've already eaten," Sherlock said slowly, glancing at the food and then the floor. There was mashed potatoes smashed in the carpet from earlier. He scuffed his shoe through them. "But if you aren't hungry, we can... send it home and-"

"No!" Molly interrupted. "I mean," she added quickly, "I'd love to have dinner. With you. With you, right?"

Sherlock raised his head. "Yes, of course. There's no one else here. Er, your coat." He held out his hand. "I'll take it, you can start eating because it's going to get cold."

"Oh, thank you." Molly handed over her coat. Yes, she was definitely blushing. That was probably definitely a good sign. She hadn't been blushing as much since they started 'dating'.

Sherlock nodded slightly, draping her coat over his arm to pull out her chair. He guessed that was the proper action required for the experience. "Go ahead and eat. I'll be right back." He deposited Molly's coat and scarf in the sitting room before returning to the kitchen. Molly hadn't touched dinner. Sherlock stopped in the doorway. "You aren't eating. Did I make something you didn't like? I thought for sure that-"

Molly shook her head. "No, no. I'm just waiting for you." She smiled nervously up at him.

"Oh." Sherlock glanced around before crossing the room, sinking into the seat opposite Molly. "That wasn't necessary."

He was at a loss as to what to say, or talk about, or even to do asides from eating the dinner that he had prepared. Be yourself. This wasn't his usual mode of operation. But then Molly brought up a murder victim that she had been doing an autopsy on during the day and all thoughts of behaving in any particular way were gone. Sherlock launched into the follow-up conversation, relieved to be back in familiar waters. Murder was his usual mode of operation, and death was quite a good segway for it.

"Three people? At once?" Sherlock hid a grin behind his glass of water. "Bully for him."

"Sherlock," Molly protested, laughing.

Sherlock took a quick drink to stifle his laughter. "Perhaps it really is quite rude," he amended, setting his glass aside. "Although from an outsider's standpoint..."

Molly rolled her eyes, but chuckled as she took a drink of wine. Sherlock unfolded his napkin from his lap and gracefully got to his feet. As good as time as any to return to the present.

He opened the cupboard and pulled out the silver wrapped box of chocolate. "Speaking of being someone's sugar..." He thought for a moment and cringed as he turned around. "That was actually a really horrible segway," he muttered, holding out the box to her. "I didn't know what kind of chocolate you liked. So I got the assorted one; candy's not really my forte, either." He turned his head slightly, wishing that she'd just take it and stop staring up at him with big eyes.

"Sherlock..."

"Molly, please," he interrupted, hoping to dodge any overly sentimental expression of love and adoration. They were dating, and he had many emotions that were rarely so simple towards her, but he could only take so much. Valentine's Day would fill his quota for a month.

"Right." Molly took the box of candy from him. "Thank you again."

Sherlock blew out a breath. He was abruptly unsure if he was doing this right, again. Something was niggling at the back of his skull that he was doing it all wrong. "The flowers are yours to keep, obviously, and I remember reading something about plush animals but I didn't see why that should appeal to grown adults. Although," he added quickly, something from his mind palace clicking into his immediate memory, "I suppose that it depends on the person because I seem to recall that you have a stuffed monkey in your bedroom closet so maybe I was a little hasty in assuming..." He trailed off and licked his lips, looking up again.

Molly was crying.

Well, okay, she wasn't crying, but she was doing that thing where she was about to cry but was clearly trying not to cry. Sherlock took a step back, literally, lips turning down in a frown. For God's sake. He had done something wrong.

"I am rubbish at this." The words came unbidden and he didn't realise that he had said them out loud until Molly started shaking her head.

"No, Sherlock, you're not, it's perfect, I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me." Molly rubbed at her eyes. "It's just a little overwhelming, I think." She beamed up at him. "It's perfect, really."

Sherlock blew out a breath. It's overwhelming for you, he thought sarcastically, but wisely did not say it out loud. "Well then. That's good." He cleared his throat. "I'm glad. So, um... did you... want to..." He gestured vaguely, at nothing in particular. He hadn't thought past dinner.

"To..."

"To... wash dishes, yes!" Sherlock stepped forward, collecting his plate. "You can watch the telly while I clean up, if you'd like."

"Oh, no, no, I can help-"

"No, I'd really rather if you just relaxed-"

"But I want-"

Sherlock leaned over, brushing his lips against her temple. "I insist."

"... Okay," Molly murmured, smiling slightly as she turned away.

It was eventually how he ended up on the sofa next to Molly, ten minutes later, watching reruns of some reality television show that he couldn't care less about. Molly was leaning slightly up against his shoulder. Her shampoo smelled like apple orchards. She liked the strawberry cream filled chocolates the best. There was a contestant on the reality show that had curly hair and Molly's eyes invariably lingered on him. Sherlock pointed it out and then tried to keep his laugh to himself when Molly blushed and muttered some nonsense in response.

"I'm glad you're here," he said shortly, startling both Molly and himself for saying it.

"Huh?" Molly glanced at him.

Sherlock swallowed. "I mean... for Valentine's," he explained pathetically. "It was... nice." It seemed as though he rarely had the words when he needed them the most. "And always. You know..." He licked his lips. "You've... been there. I... appreciate it. And enjoy it. It's... really... good." Knowing that was just about the worst speech that he had ever given in his life, he tried to ignore how hot his ears were becoming.

"It's... uh, my pleasure," Molly mumbled. They were both blushing now. "I mean..."

Sherlock nodded before she could continue. "I know."

"Huh. Good," Molly said meekly.

"Right."

Sherlock curled his fingers into his palm, clenching his hand into a fist for a moment. He licked his lips again and kept his gaze on Molly's. His intentions were clear, right? He wasn't sure. He never was, when it came down to this point. He was slow and unsure, painfully clunky and tentative and awkward. Because this was personal. This was intimate. This was a part of himself that he buried deep and never touched that occasionally poked into reality now and then and, frankly, it scared the living daylights out of him. Being so vulnerable - in front of anybody. It made his heart ache at the sheer terror of giving himself over to it.

But this was Molly. She'd always been special, with her marred perfections and unending patience, and it had taken him a long time to realise it, but he had and she always accepted him, through everything. It was Molly, and there was no one else he'd rather experience this with.

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned forward to press his lips against hers.

Molly's lips were hesitant at first, but then more sure of herself. That was something that Sherlock respected her for; she seemed to always find her backbone when it counted. It was something that he was still having trouble with himself, unassuredly raising his hand to brush his fingers through her hair.

He wasn't sure why, but with his free hand, he felt for hers until their fingers melded together effortlessly. He guided their hands to his own chest, flush against his blazer and his heart pounding beneath the fabric. He was still scared to death of being too close with someone; he figured maybe letting in on that fact was more than enough to make up for the words he didn't have.

"Love you, too," Molly mumbled against his lips.

Sherlock groaned softly, resting his forehead against hers. "Molly..." He sighed, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

"I know," Molly said quietly. "Your response is always that you know."

"I do know," Sherlock mumbled. "I reciprocate. Always, you know."

This time, Molly laughed. Her breath smelled of red wine and strawberry cream. "I know, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled, tilting his head to press his lips against her again. Unconscious reaction again this time; he cupped her face between both hands and deepened the kiss. Her lips tasted of the red wine and strawberry cream and even sugar from the biscuits. There was sweetness beneath his lips and between his hands;

and maybe Valentine's Day wasn't so bad at all.

I meant this to literally be a short, little fluffy piece and it totally ran away with me, and I don't mind at all. I had a RP once that I got to experiment with Sherlock being in love (yes, admittingly with my own OC ;'D) and I wanted to incorporate some of my writing in that into this; thus, almost 3k of Sherlolly. But who's complaining? xD

I do not own Sherlock. Thanks for reading!