Rule #136- Sherlock will say things that catch you off guard. Try to recover in a timely manner
It was the please that caught her.
He had used 'please' maybe a handful of times in the various years of their acquaintance. Sherlock didn't bother with things like pleasantries, he had no use for them, save for when he needed something. More often than nought, it was a character he played to get whatever it was he wanted. Once the goal was achieved,please and thank you went out the window.
So when her phone vibrated on that fateful tuesday afternoon, with a text from the detective himself, she had a good mind to ignore it. Since the fall they'd gotten closer, Molly even liked to think of them as friends. Her stint with Tom had been an attempt at moving past the crush she'd harboured for years, his little display with that Janie or Jeanine or whatever her name was, had been cruel. Even for Sherlock.
Needless to say, between that and the drugs and him being sent away.. She held no illusions about the man. He had love in him, she knew it from how he behaved with the Watson's, with Mrs. Hudson. Even Lestrade. But that was not a part that showed itself often and if you blinked, you could miss it. Which is probably why she picked up the phone, because they were friends and friends texted one another. That's all there was to it.
Probably.
Her phone went off again, with the little pink panther theme song signaling it as Sherlock. This time though, she opened the message.
Come to Baker Street at once, if convenient.
If inconvenient, come anyway.
Please.
"I don't know what state the flat is in, he was on his violin for several hours until just this morning. If I didn't have my sleeping tonic I don't know what I would have done. I do hope you can sort him out Molly, whatever's going on." Mrs. Hudson confided in her, leading the way up to 221B. Molly frowned.
"Has John been by? He would know, wouldn't he? What's going on I mean." Molly suggested. Mrs. Hudson shrugged, opening the door. "You know how newlyweds can be in their honeymoon phase. But if he's asked you over, I can't think of better company. Sherlock? Molly's here. You be nice now." She ordered, poking her head in.
The young man in question was dressed to the nines, purple dress shirt ironed crisply and black dress shoes so shiny they reflected light from the flames in the fireplace. His hair was freshly ruffled, suit jacket open and Molly had to swallow as her mouth went involuntarily dry at the sight of him.
"Mrs. Hudson, my mother already did her best to instill in me a sense of decorum and chivalry, I'd appreciate your giving up the endeavor." He replied with a roll of his eyes. The older woman pursed her lips.
"I mean it, she's a very nice young lady so you mind your manners."
With a smile of encouragement for Molly, she disappeared back downstairs. Meanwhile, the young pathologist shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the coat rack near the door.
"Hi Sherlock. What'd you need me to come over for?" She asked. He said nothing, instead studying her until she began to shift from foot to foot.
"What? Do I have something on my face or something?" She asked.
"I have intentions." He announced, instead of answering her question. This only served to confuse her more, and her lips lifted in a smile.
"Intentions are good.. What are you intending to do, exactly?"
His eyes narrowed and he turned his back to her, looking out the open window. Framed in it's silhouette, breeze running through his hair like a lover's fingers and the light of the fire enveloping him, Sherlock Holmes looked every bit the lone wolf he claimed to be.
"Sherlock?" She prodded again, softly now.
"I have intentions... concerning you, Molly Hooper." He finally rumbled. You could have knocked her over with a feather. Blinking, she hugged herself and let him continue,
"Would you like to-"
"Solve crimes with you?/Have dinner with me?"
Molly flushed, nearly choking on her own spit and trying fervently not to hack up a lung. Sherlock allowed her a few moments of breathing before trying again.
"What I meant to say is.. Would you like to solve crimes with me, after which we will share a meal?" He asked.
"I… I'm.." At a complete loss.
"Romantic intentions. That is, my intentions towards you are of a romantic nature." He stammered out.
She had imagined this moment for so long. Sometimes he would sweep her up into his arms, declare his undying love and they would sail off into the proverbial sunset together. Other times, they would work a case together and at the end of it he would ask her to be his partner for the rest of their days. Still other times it would happen in the morgue and there would be a spotlight and dancing and all the corpses would sit up, having magically come back to life and clap-
Okay so maybe that last one was a bit much. Of course, Sherlock liked what she did for a living, appreciated her expertise.. Was that really a good thing? After all, the first time she'd asked him for coffee he'd been beating a corpse senseless to check the bruising patterns. And his type seemed to be the more imposing and confident sort. Lord she needed to get a life. Maybe stop falling for handsome sociopaths while she was at it…
"Molly? I… you should sit, you look unwell." She allowed him to usher her over to the couch, taking a seat and watching as he sat across from her.
"Perhaps I should have said it differently.. I didn't wish to consult John on the matter as he'd have been insufferable about it and Mary would most certainly have told him had I used her as a resource and so.. Molly say something for pity's sake!" He finished, alarmed at her glazed eyes.
"I don't even own a riding crop!" She blurted out. His eyebrows raised and she groaned.
Why couldn't he have just said please?