Hi dear Readers,

Thank you all the nice words and the not extremely nice ones as well. (dear Guest, I don't think I will ever make that mistake again.) And thank you for all the follows and favourites. I can't tell how happy I am when I see that somebody made the effort to feedback. As English not being my first language it makes me extra happy to get some kind words from you, really, thanks.

Love

When the breeze is flitting the veil

Not the breeze, not the veil. The flitting.

Akos Fodor

It's a haiku I tried to translate to you and hopefully didn't fail entirely. It' so beautiful. I find it fitting to this chapter.

As Sherlock took off white crash-helmet in front of the big two floored tuft farmhouse not far from a small village in Tuscany somewhere near Montepulciano. It was more than hot, the sun was on its highest point and the long trees on the opposite hill seemed to be waving in the heat. He ruffled his sweaty hair and dusted his trousers and white shirt after the long ride on the dry dirt road. He sighed with his lips pushed together and stepped to the front door to knock on it. He heard the tough steps from behind the door and gulping hardly straightened himself putting on his most charming smile. The door opened to reveal a stately elderly woman standing in front of him dropping her wide smile as she recognised the visitor.

'Tu?' (You?)

Just as Sherlock took a deep breath to speak the door was clashed to his face unceremoniously. He stood there stunned, considering repeating the knocking when after loud shouting between the old woman and somebody else heard from inside, a young, tanned faced man opened the door smiling apologetically.

'I am sorry, signore. Nonna (granny) is a little bit warm tempered. I am Daniele. Please come in.' He gestured towards the inside of the house with a wide smile. Sherlock nodded and stepped forward as he started to speak.

'I am...' But he was interrupted by Daniele in a bit colder tone.

'I know who you are, signore. Come in.' He nodded not feeling necessary speak further.

Sherlock entered the semi darkened house and followed the young man across the whole building. He wore dirty white shirt with rolled up sleeves, turned up collar and dark green stuff trousers with dark red stains on them. He had been obviously occupied with wine. The house was old but well kept holding a typical raw scent of a farm house, the furnishing was rather practical then pretty, but it was a seemingly comfortable warm home for a huge family for at least five generations back. The windows were mostly darkened by long heavy curtains keeping out the warmth of the noon sun. As they passed the old wooden kitchen Sherlock saw Nonna doing the washing up frantically with loud clattering, murmuring in front of herself. All he could hear was a few words but it was quite obvious that she was referring to him.

'...questo bastardo...mia cara nipote...uomi Englesi sono bastardi…io ho detto ancora…' (that bastard…my dear grandchild…English men are bastards…I've already told…)

They reached the back-door when Daniele stopped and turned towards Sherlock with a now tough expression instead of his previous cheerful one. 'I know she loves you, signore, but if you ever make her cry again, I will give you some very painful moments.' Sherlock was trying to suppress a grin, as if this young Italian farmer could cause him any harm when the other added. 'I have a huge family and a lot of friends, Sherlock Holmes.' The smile somehow faded away from Sherlock's face and felt he swallow hard while nodding.

'I consider myself warned...?' He raised one eyebrow slightly turning his head. This seemingly pleased Daniele and he gestured toward a small path leading into the depth of the rich Tuscan garden of olive trees. Sherlock straightened himself and easily stepped down the few stairs leading to the ground from the large roofed terrace.

As he was walking between the ancient, gnarled plants he felt completely out of place and was wondering if Molly felt the same way.

But as he reached a small clearing after a short walk, he saw Molly, his Molly between the freshly washed large white sheets hanging another one on the string outspreaded between the trees. She was wearing an equally white long light strapless dress, her hair was in a loose bum, the curly lower mops of hair still dump from the bath she had just taken. Her bare feet were almost hided under the long dress but they were occasionally exposed while she was lightly dancing to her own silent humming. Her skin got tanned, thin blonde stripes appeared in her nut brown hair above her forehead from the sun. She definitely wasn't out of this place.

Sherlock was watching Molly, the moment was harden into stone not wanting to move. He felt his blood pumping in his ears loudly, his heart was banging in his chest. He was about to do something he had never done, something he had never wanted to do, something was very not him, but apparently he couldn't be himself without Molly Hooper either anymore.

As a stronger breeze flitted one of the wide bright canvas Molly saw the tall, dark haired man behind it for a short moment. Doubting her vision she dropped the next linen back to the basket and with wide eyes and dry mouth she carefully took her steps to the direction of the said sheet to pull it away and make sure that the sight of Sherlock was not her imagination again. As she grabbed the edge of the material she found herself looking into the green blue eyes of Sherlock Holmes who was also trying to get to the other side of the laundry. They stared at each other for a short minute, so close, Molly could hear his heavy breathing, their hands were almost touching.

'You are here...' she whispered in a small voice.

'Yes, I am.' he answered in a low voice, his eyes dropped from her eyes to her mouth for a moment.

'You've found me.'

'You knew I would.' He whispered in his deep baritone.

'I hoped so.' A hint of warm smile appeared on her face. This gave Sherlock the courage to bent down and kiss her gently pushing away the sheet completely and stepping forward to put both his palm on each side of Molly's head while her hands was wandering to his neck and into his curls.

'So, do you have anything to say?' She asked trying to catch her breath and searching his face with a serious expression.

'Yes.' He gulped and cleared his throat. 'I'm ready, I'm ready...to love you.'

'Good, good.' Molly nodded smiling widely and pressed her mouth to his, strongly folding her arms around his neck while Sherlock embraced her waist lifting her slightly with his strong arms.

I hope you liked it. Please let me know. I hope my Italian is not disastrous.

I am still planning to write one more chapter, if you are interested.

Be good, till next time.