AN: I was feeling guilty for neglecting my Sherlock OTP while I worked on my Johnlock-themed Secret Santa gift so I decided to draw a Sherlolly-themed piece. I asked for art prompts, and channyfaith and orangesherbert06 asked for something Christmassy. This story came out as I tried to get into the mood of my drawing. I do hope you all had a wonderful time during the holidays, and I hope you enjoy this little fic!
(Originally posted on my Tumblr, as usual)

John and Mary had spent an entire afternoon hanging mistletoe all over the living room, ostensibly decorating the flat for 221B's Christmas party. They could have finished said activity in ten minutes tops, if they didn't end up snogging for half an hour every single time they finish hanging one sprig. Sherlock, seeing the first display, rolled his eyes, gathered his scarf and coat, and immediately fled the scene. His flatmate and his newly acquired fiancee would be continuing their gross display until their guests arrived and he didn't want to be subjected to their amorous encounters more than absolutely necessary. He would have stayed away for the rest of the night, if not for his solemn oath to Mrs. Hudson that he will behave and play all her favorite Christmas tunes to make up for his absence for the last three Christmases. It was the least he could do, she had said. Never let it be said that Mrs. Hudson cannot guilt-trip a grown man into submission like a pro.

He returned to the flat just as the snow started to fall. He eyed the mistletoe sprigs tied to the strings of fairy lights, and mapped a route to the window that avoided them all as if they were land mines. He took his violin from its perch on his chair, and decided not to budge from his station unless absolutely necessary.

Their guests trickled in one by one. Mrs. Hudson brought her famous Christmas pudding and Mrs. Turner from next door. Lestrade bounded in next, and within ten minutes, got both cheeks smeared by Mrs. Turner's lipstick. He retreated near the open door (possibly to have an easy escape route) and tried not to cower in fear of the overly affectionate matron. Mike Stamford came in next, as jolly as Santa himself, and not ten minutes after, Molly arrived, her petite form swallowed by her oversized coat.

"Happy Christmas, everyone! I'm not too late, am I?"

"Oh no, Mike's just arrived himself," said John as he took her scarf and coat. Molly was wearing a brocade dress with a modest V-line collar and flared skirt, her gleaming hair free from her usual ponytail. Sherlock thought it was a vast improvement from her usual attempts to dress up. Lestrade, he spied from the corner of his eye, was obviously appreciative of her get-up as well. He rolled his eyes and ended his little recital.

"Wine, sweetie?" Mary greeted her friend with a hug and a full glass in hand.

"Thanks. How's the wedding preparations going? Decided on your caterer yet?"

Mary and John launched into a spirited tale of their misadventures with their wedding coordinator, and the caterer from hell. Chit-chat flowed in merry streams, while Sherlock retreated near Billy the Skull (sporting reindeer antlers this year), observing rather than joining in. He promised he would be on his best behavior, and if that meant largely staying silent, then that's what he would do.

—

The Christmas party at 221B was starting to wind down when Molly remembered to hand out her presents. She had given everyone else their gifts before approaching the consulting detective. Sherlock, having sensed that the pathologist was about to come near, had started to withdraw to the kitchen when she caught up with him.

"Happy Christmas, Sherlock," Molly said as she handed him a small box.

"Thank you. I was just about retire for the night. Enjoy the rest of the evening though," he replied with a quick smile.

"Oi, Sherlock, Molly, do you know what you're standing under?" John said, as Mary tried to hide her giggles. They were currently snuggled together on John's chair, craning their necks to observe the two.

Both Sherlock and Molly simultaneously looked up, only to find a mistletoe dangling from the rows of fairy lights that John had strung earlier. Was it there before? He thought he had noted (and successfully avoided) where all of those blasted plants had been hung. Apparently not.

The pretty pathologist began to flush. "Oh! I- I didn't stand here on purpose! I didn't notice. You don't have to-"

"Oh, but it's tradition! He has to, dear," exclaimed Mrs. Hudson, interrupting her gossiping with Mrs. Turner to chime in.

"Yeah, come on, don't be a killjoy. Kiss Molly!" cajoled Lestrade, as Mike laughed.

"It's just a kiss, Sherlock. You do know how to do that, right?"

"Ooh, do you need a demo? C'mere Mary, maybe he needs pointers."

"John, Mary! It- it's okay, Sherlock. You don't have to-"

"It's fine."

"I mean, I know you don't want to- Wait, what?"

"I said it's fine, Molly. Stop talking. Let's just get it over with."

Molly shyly looked up to study Sherlock's solemn face. He didn't look terribly excited, but at least he wasn't exactly scowling down at her. She exhaled, and stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips on his cheek.

He stood there, still as a statue, quickly processing the feeling of Molly's soft lips upon his cheek. The kiss was brief and sweet, an innocent kiss bestowed to friends. Friends, nothing more. Why did that feel oddly disappointing? Didn't she like him anymore? And why did it matter now if she still liked him anyway? It's not like he had any romantic notions about his pathologist, right?

Right?

"Well, um, Happy Christmas again, and good night," she whispered and then tremulously smiled as he continued to stare at her. A part of her mentally scolded herself for not going for his tempting lips, but Molly stamped that voice down. It was probably already too much for him to consent to the kiss after being teased so, and she didn't want to make him even more uncomfortable.

She turned to leave, cheeks flushed in a becoming pink, when Sherlock pulled her back. Her brown eyes widened in surprise at the feeling of his warm hand on her waist. He gently lifted her chin up, and closed the distance with a determined kiss on the lips. She gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Her pulse quickened even more, and her eyes fluttered shut. Well, perhaps his initial theory was incorrect after all.

"Happy Christmas, Molly Hooper."