Just a quick note that I stupidly forgot to put on the first chapter!
The list Sherlock is using is a real list on the internet, so if you want to check it out, here's the link;
thoughtcatalog(.com)/chelsea-fagan/2012/11/23-ways-to-show-someone-you-love-them/
1. Make them their favourite food and surprise them with it when they come home.
He spent an extraordinary amount of time considering how to conduct this so called plan. The website only supplied him with brief instructions, no organisational help. So Sherlock formed a schedule, of sorts, of how and when he planned to do each point on the list. Most he could plan himself, but some required some co-operation from Molly. He'd have to wait until her next haircut for seventeen, and the physical affection that twelve and twenty three required would unfortunately have to be put off until he was sure Molly would assent to such behaviour. This was about what she needed, not him, though he did pine to shower her with affection - in the past he'd been well restrained just to place small, chaste kisses against her cheeks and resist the constant allure of her lips- those aspects of the list would have to be put on hold until the appropriate moment arose.
Mrs Hudson had poked her nose in when he was neck deep in collated data, piles of ideas hurriedly scribbled down on paper, lest he forget a single one.
Ignoring her quickening steps and her quiet tuts at the mess, he continued his research. When Mrs Hudson went to lift one of his tossed away ideas, unraveling the hastily thrown ball of paper, he had little choice but to tear away from his chair and rip it out of her hands.
"Sherlock," She scolded, his sudden movement startling her. "What are you up to?"
"Case," He responded dismissively, his waved hand also a gesture for her to take her leave.
Mrs Hudson stood firm, and a teasing smile tugged the right corner of her mouth upwards. "You wrote 'Make Molly brownies' on a piece of paper for a case?" She asked, disbelief blatantly growing in her tone. Coupled with her raised eyebrow, it was very obvious Sherlock had failed to convince her he wasn't scheming.
Sherlock could feel the heat of a rush of blood to his cheeks. Number one on the list had appeared the natural choice as his first course of action, but he struggled on how best to perform the task. His initial scribbled suggestions had been rather off. "Perhaps you need to pay a visit to your optician, Mrs Hudson," He snapped back, a scowl souring his face, the crumbled paper still trapped within his fist.
"Sherlock," She repeated, and this time there's more fire in her tone. "Molly is sweet girl. So whatever you're planning on doing, it better not involve hurting her. Or you're in big trouble, mister," His landlady warned, her finger pointed threateningly. As if somehow making Molly a chocolate treat must be to poison the poor woman. It stung how suspicious people were of his intentions.
"Why must everyone assume the worst of me?" He enquired, slightly petulant. It's a redundant question- he's well aware his reputation precedes him- but can't people give him the benefit of the doubt that he is never purposefully malicious, especially when Molly is concerned.
"We don't, dear," Mrs Hudson said, her gaze searching- hazel brown eyes warm and kind- before she smiled at him affectionately and patted his cheek in a way that reminded him of his long suffering mother. "You assume the worst of yourself."
Mrs Hudson pottered off to the kitchen, only the faint grumblings bemoaning the state of the fridge reached his ears, and he'd felt a vague relief that she hadn't grilled him any further. Then again, in the grand scheme of things, this certainly wasn't the most bizarre item she'd discovered in the small space of 221B. But if Mrs Hudson learned of his extensive plan, then so would his mother, John, Mary…
And then he'd have to face the reality of his ludicrous plan. And admit his feelings for Molly to justify his actions, which was not something he wished to do quite yet. It was bad enough that anyone had an inkling about his feelings for Molly before she should be enlightened about their existence.
"Muffins," A soft, warm feminine voice broke through his wall of thought.
"Sorry?"
His eyes flashed up to the source of the voice, who was half-way out the door of his flat already. All he could spot was the back of her head, but just from that, he knew she was grinning like a shark. "Molly loves blueberry muffins," Mrs Hudson's practically sang, dancing down the steps with more exuberance than would be expected of woman her age, doing her tortured owl impression as she reached the landing. Damn. Just when he'd thought he'd gotten away with it. He definitely needed to find a decent hiding place for the rest of the information regarding this particular 'case' to keep it safe from his landlady's prying eyes.
That was for later. Now, he had to return to his trusty search engine.
How to make blueberry muffins.
Two double shifts in a row had left Molly so drained of all energy that the short walk from the taxi to her flat seemed a trek as her feet dragged behind her. It hadn't helped that it had felt like an age long journey from Barts to the beckoning warmth of her home.
Her keys jingled wearily into her lock, her body was clearly aware her bed were just seconds away, but was too exhausted to speed up the process of reunion. When she finally entered, she sighed happily, flopped out her coat and weakly kicked her shoes off.
"Double shift?" A deep voice vibrated through the air just seconds before the light flicked on and confirmed his identity.
The bright light disorientated Molly for a moment. Blinking rapidly, she smiled wanly. "Yes," She responded automatically, and if she wasn't so knackered, she'd have felt a faint sense of embarrassment about the fact she looked like a walking corpse. "Dr Saunier's mother died. I offered to cover his weekend shifts."
"She did die… ten years ago."
Molly stormed past him into the kitchen, the sudden spike of anger giving her a burst of energy. "That lying bastard!" She spat, her expletive uncharacteristically vicious. It brought the beginnings of a smirk to Sherlock's face.
That slipped as he shyly pushed the plastic container set down on her countertop closer to her. "Muffin?" He offered casually, edging the clear container ever closer.
Molly eyed it carefully for a moment before she snatched the box, stripped it off it's lid, and brought the box up to her nose, inhaling deeply. "Smells good," She sighed, her eyes flickering toward the flashing digits of her microwave. "Bit late for cakes," She said, but the ghost of a smile played at the corners of her lips, displaying to him she didn't care much for properity.
"I could make a batch for Dr Saunier and slip some more interesting ingredients in it," He joked, but annoyance festered at the selfishness of the older doctor who had taken advantage of Molly's good nature. He'd have to face repercussions.
Molly was mid-way through her first bite, and she had to quickly chew and swallow before she responded. "That's all right," She reassured, before diving back to take another chomp out the cake. "These are amazing," She moaned, her mouth still full. Her words, and the delightful noises she was making, brought him a feeling of warmth. "I love blueberry muffins."
"Good," He said, a tight smile on his face, fighting the urge to remove the crumb that had settled just below her bottom lip. He could have brushed it away with his fingers, or he could have leaned forward and kissed -
"You really made these?" She asked, pulling him out of his fantasies as she swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. His overactive imagination was grateful.
"Yes," He asserted proudly. Them, and four other batches he had deemed 'unworthy.' Though, he'd given those batches to some members of his homeless network and they had given him the impression they found them more than satisfactory. But if he was going to carry out each instruction on the list, he was going to aim for perfection in each and every one of them.
Her eyes peered up at him, rich, deep brown scrutinizing the sharp planes of his face. "After all this time - " She said, pausing, and there's wistful pull to her tone, soft and light as a summer wind. With her head tilted, Molly's lips edged upwards, and that only served to bring a glow to her despite her ragged appearance. "- you still manage to surprise me."
Throwing him another fervent smile, she slipped past him, comfortable enough to leave him to his own devices in her home, tossing a goodnight over her shoulder as she trudged to her bedroom, belly sated but in need of a good night's kip.
Sherlock knew that he hadn't made a massive breakthrough tonight, but he did have a quiet sense of triumph regardless of his ability to recognize there was no real cause for celebration just yet.
It was a case of one down, twenty two to go.
But if each resulted in her looking at him like she had tonight, even if in the end it didn't work out the way he longed for, he would still consider it a successful and worthwhile endeavor.
