Chapter 2, a bit shorter, but if you have been enjoying it at all, just a bit of my past habits. I haven't published in years and have only written NCIS fics until now. I've never been the type to post an incomplete story. EVER. Give it a day or so and you will have it completed. I don't hold back for reviews... that's just tacky. I write for my enjoyment, and as other authors here, to satisfy the itch for canon twists that either haven't happened or we don't have the patience to wait for. From a Canadian fan, love, Prairielily.
With Mrs. Hudson, John, and Rosie all departed on their assignments, Sherlock sat down in his big squishy chair. So many observations to take note of, so little time. So many things to book… he had been pre-occupied with his romantic partner, Molly Hooper, for quite some time. And her increasing look of sadness and longing had taken awhile for him, the Great Detective of all people, to figure out. When it hit him, he felt like a dolt who should probably be kicked square in the nuts.
Those lunches at their favourite restaurant, where she would nearly always at some point lose focus on their meal time, to gaze longingly out the window. Sherlock, finally too curious to bear it, took the opportunity to excuse himself and then return, coming from behind her, bringing his face town to kiss her temple and looking through the window slyly, straight at what he deduced was her angle of vision.
Bringing flowers home to 221B twice per week, different ones each time, to gauge her reaction. He thought he had a winner. The bouquet with the cut larkspurs seemed to be a favourite.
Sneaking into her desk when she would have to leave her office while he was visiting, officially or otherwise, and noting the telltale wear and small, circular water marks – dried tears? – on certain dog-eared pages of a certain genre of magazine.
But the best – the big one – was making sure Molly was there to assist him in "recalibrating" his ability to observe female style and deduce their dress size. He almost felt heartbroken at her reaction to seeing the set of three wedding gowns he had set before her, requesting that she try them on in order to help him "recalibrate his powers of observation". But, he felt confident in the result of this particular mission. Indeed his heart was counting on it.
Not being a fool, he would casually asked her to try on her favourite first, as that would most likely suit her figure and give him a base for mental calculations. Or so, he would tell her.
He had known the style and the dress from the wear on the pages of the bridal magazine in her desk. He had known the shop from the boutique she had routinely stared at longingly, unable to help herself, and was grateful that they seemed able to get that particular dress in. He was relieved when she chose first the one he thought she might based on the magazine. THAT would certainly save him a lot of time and agony…
And this was where Mrs. Hudson and John came in. Ordering everything once he had decided… booking the places, the people, indeed the only thing they could not guarantee – though if you asked Mrs. Hudson she would have bet them the month's rent that she knew damned well and could guarantee it - would be Molly's answer.
Sherlock decided to wing it and try for a ring style that was, admittedly, inconclusive - based upon observations past the jewellery shop and the dog-eared certain pages of the magazine.