Chapter 2: Surprise

A/N: Heeeeyyyy!

First off, let me provide a summary: Sherlock and Molly have dinner with the Watsons and Sherlock's parents. Worries and surprise ensue, along with pleasant surprises.

I'm planning to write one more chapter after this, the wedding. The honeymoon will be left to dream about, because no Sherlock storyline is complete without ambiguity (and a long ass hiatus, lawls)

Rating is amped up to T for just language, nothing naughty ;)

Enjoy! I had to fan myself because of all the feels I was getting just from writing it!

As each step creaked under the weight of John's feet, he grew closer to his dear friend, who was sitting on his usual armchair by the fireplace. His phone was at hand, his eyes immediately connecting with John's as he entered the room. They lit up with recognition. "John! Ah, brilliant!"

"You wanted to see me?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock stood up, his hands slipping into his pockets. Holding his chin up high, he looked down at his shorter counterpart, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips, dancing over the creases on the edges of his mouth. "Your ring is very shiny."

Mrs. Hudson came walking in with her usual dainty manner, setting some tea on the desk. She and John exchanged a quick "Hello!" just as she scurried downstairs to attend to freshly-baked cookies. "Erm, yeah, Mary bought this polish from a rather dodgy-looking man at a market, but it works…"

"…it contains rat poison."

"…brilliant." John reached over to take a sip of tea, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Sherlock let out a sigh, walking behind John, his feet taking large, grandiose steps, "I need help, John. After all, I am getting married soon…"

Tea sputtered all over the carpet. "WWWHAT?"

A smile flashed on Sherlock's face, his arms set firmly on the rests of his chair. He looked over at John, still slightly red, leaning forwards in his chair with his elbows pressing into his knees.

It took him a moment to sputter out words, and when he did, they were not the best. "Y—you…"

"…yes?"

"You…" John's hand came up to his mouth, wiping off insincerity off of his lips, "…real?"

"John, have we gone over this before? Yes, I am real, and yes, I am alive…"

"The engagement." John sputtered out, his other hand reaching out at Sherlock, "It's real?"

"Yes."

"Not just some dickhead plot to get information for a case?"

"No! Of course not."

John let out a "Hmm," just as he leaned back to set his back on the chair. "I probably shouldn't listen to audio of you on a date with Molly after consuming so much whiskey…"

"WHAT!"

It was Sherlock's turn to be ticked off. His bottom was set on the floor, his legs crossed like an obedient schoolboy, his hands laced together on his lap. His eyes were set on John, who remained in his chair.

"Bloody Mycroft."

John mimicked him drunk, raising his teacup over his head like a shot of whiskey, "All hail the Queen."

"I should've known. After all, it was he who offered to bring me on a visit to the haberdasher's. He could've easily bugged me there. He could've even bugged the items I asked for!"

"To be quite honest, Sherlock, you proposing to Molly and attempting to create a romantic evening knocked Mary's socks off. She was all over the floor, laughing."

"Attempting?"

"It was a good attempt."

Sherlock rose to his feet, arguing like a young boy, "She said she enjoyed it! And me!"

John just smiled to himself, shaking his head. It was rather heartwarming to watch Sherlock talk about his own engagement, especially one without a bubbly bridesmaid who is terribly not his type. Especially an engagement made with Molly's own ring in a box he scraped up from the bottom of a dumpster just to gain access to an office. Maybe Sherlock was changing for the better after all.

"All right all right, Sherlock, you've won 'best date of the year.' Can we discuss the rings?"

"What about the rings? My parents have reserved a pair of wedding bands for the first brother to marry, which would be me. I need your help with the wedding."

"Oh, of course." John started to feel like he was on Sherlock's mindset. "Yeah, because after all, you did help me and Mary with a lot of the planning for our wedding. Have you made an appointment with the bakery yet? Have you gotten a venue, a…"

"No, not with that part." Sherlock's intense eyes locked onto John's, full-on initiative driving his will to speak, "Not yet, at least. My parents have insisted that I bring Molly over to their cottage for dinner. However, I do not think just me, Molly and my parents will be comfortable. I'd rather have you and Mary along as well."

John smirked. "Couldn't you have just not tell them that you were getting married?"

"No information can be withheld once in the hands of my dear brother."

"Right." John clicked his tongue, grabbing his phone out of his pocket. He tossed it into the air a few times as he looked over at Sherlock, his left hand gripping the side of the chair, "What time?"

"Be there at five."

It only took the thought of meeting Sherlock's parents to send chills down her spine. Jesus, just wondering if she would make a good first impression scared her to death. She set her hands flat on the smooth surface of her table, looking up at her reflection one last time. She tried the best she could; her hair was up in a neat bun, and in a state of nervousness she loosened a few strands of hair and curled them, trying to make herself look more youthful once she'd caught the sight of her stern face. She wore a lovely blue gown, simple yet elegant. She admired the way it flowed down her shoulders. Now the only task left was to do her makeup.

Before her hands could reach the stick of lipstick, the door to her bedroom swung open. From the reflection in the mirror, Molly watched as Mary stood at the doorway, smiling like crazy.

"Look at you!" she mused, her every word falling down her mouth with pride. She strode towards Molly and wrapped her arms around her neck, grinning from over her shoulder as the two women gazed into the mirror. "Oh, I'm so proud!"

A smile was swept onto Molly's face as well, grasping Mary's left hand. "Well, I'm not done yet."

"You're beautiful," Mary told her, admiring Molly's reflection—her elegance, her ability to look so loveable without the need for makeup. "Look at you, look at you!"

Molly nodded, her head bobbling up and down as she found Mary's wedding ring. She played with it as she thought of her own marriage. Her own, out-of-a-storybook marriage, written about only on the back cover of one of her romance novels or on a piece of scrap paper, stashed away behind a cabinet in the lab, only existing in her dreams. Yet, as she looked at herself in the mirror, a mature, engaged woman with her loving friend, yes—the fantasies and the dreams thought of while elbow-deep in cadavers or behind a cup of coffee, these dreams have come true. Straight out of a cloud of dreams collected atop the London skyline, all ending with "Forever Yours, Molly Hooper."

"You look like an engaged woman," said Mary, "Found the bloke who found the guts to propose to the almighty Molly Hooper," she let go of Molly and sat herself on the side of the table, "Better yet you found him inside the dickhead man of your dreams."

Molly continued nodding her head, smirking at her reflection, illuminated by scented candlelight, the air holding the smell of cinnamon and apple. Her skin glowed with happiness and pride as she turned her eyes to look at Mary, who was admiring her. She couldn't help but to let out a laugh.

"Quit looking at me like that. It's like you're looking at me as if I had a wedding dress on."

"Molly, a woman like you would feel beautiful in any dress, not just a white one." Mary crossed her arms over her own dress, a pretty red dress off of a rack in the maternity store, "A woman like you should feel beautiful every day. I mean, you met your husband over a bloody corpse!"

Molly laughed along with Mary, a swell of warmth filling her chest. "Look who's talking," she brought her hand up to her mouth, a few tears swelling in her eyes as she took sight of the engagement ring on her finger, "you have a man who'll tell you he loves you."

The ever vibrant grin on Mary's face faded a little as she saw the expression on Molly's face. "Oh, sweetie…"

"That's what he said. I don't blame him for it, he's Sherlock Holmes. He said he'll never tell me he loves me because that's a lie, he's not truly capable to have those feelings but apparently he's fond and he'll marry me and bring me on a honeymoon and have children with me and buy me a house and a life…"

Mary's hand reached out to grab Molly's shoulder, the other flying over to cover her mouth. Tears were falling down her cheeks now, fighting against the words that flew out through her lips, "…he said he needs me there by his side of catch him when he falls and to tell him it's alright. Oh god, he can't be serious, can he? Is he just using me again? Oh god…"

"Come here…" Mary brought Molly into a hug, rubbing her back as Molly cried over her shoulder to avoid her dress, "…Molly dear, he's being serious, he wants to marry you…"

"How would you know?"

"Molly, a man who didn't love a woman wouldn't go out of his way to bring her to the place she's always wanted to go, to buy an engagement ring…"

A larger sob escaped Molly's mouth. "Was he reusing his ring from that case?"

"Oh god, oh dear…" Mary shook her head, "…no, no! I mean, Molly, he went out of his way to make that evening the best it could be. He's taking you to meet his parents. He never did any of that for Janine or the Woman or any other woman in his life!"

Through sobs, Molly bitterly replied, "He probably did all that so the proposal would look real."

"He wouldn't go through all that hassle…"

"…he let that Janine woman fool around with him in bed! Shit! I smelled her when I walked into his room! They were in the bloody shower together too, I saw her shampoo…"

"He'd never ever fall in love with dear Janine, they're both a different breed! I would know! Besides, she sent me a postcard the other day, she's moved to America with a new man, they're getting serious…"

Sobs thundered through her ear as Mary watched tears fall onto the table, "…dear, he cares about you. He thinks you're beautiful, clever, trustworthy, worthy of his affection." She force Molly's head off her shoulder and looked at her straight in the eyes, "Listen to me."

Her fingers wiped tears off of her friend's face as she said, "You'll meet his parents, and they will love you. Sherlock will be happy, they'll be happy, you'll be happy. And if things come to worse, John and I will be there."

It took a few more comforting words for Molly's crying to cease, leaving the two women to do Molly's makeup, mumbling words of relief that she hadn't done her makeup before crying.

"Are you alright, Molly?"

Molly was shaken out of her trance once the voice of her fiancé intruded her thoughts. She was too busy caught in the charming front yard of Sherlock's parent's home, adorned with overgrown bushes and raggedy cobblestone pathways. Lights were on inside and already, she could smell pie and steak. Through the cab window, so far away from the door, she could already feel her heart racing, the unforeseen judgmental eyes, the constant worry…

"If you were expecting a mansion, I'm afraid my parents have been disappointing."

Molly's head slowly turned to face Sherlock, who was buttoning his trademark Belstaff coat. His warm, blue eyes softened for hers as they made contact. He gave him the shortest of all smiles as he hopped out of the car and opened her door, reaching out a hand.

She placed her left hand his, uneasily taking in the sight of hers in his, the ring on her finger. The door was shut behind her, and as the cab drove away leaving a trail of dust in its wake, Molly could only slowly gather her bearings. Sherlock stood patiently by her side.

Heavy silence ensued, until Sherlock offered, "Slowly breathing in and out helps counteract anxiety." He looked over at the darling cottage, he added, with a smirk Molly could not see, "And repeating your name over and over as well."

Molly nodded, biting her bottom lip as she looked down at their hands, laced together. "Molly Hooper, Molly Hooper…"

"Molly Holmes," Sherlock corrected, and Molly's eyes flew up to meet his, her body feeling suddenly even colder in the bitter night. "Well, not yet, but might as well get used to the name."

A wavering smile made its way on Molly's lips as she looked down at their hands again, taking in deep breaths. "Molly Hoo—Holmes. Molly Holmes, Molly Holmes…" she laughed uneasily, "thanks for that, I don't need to change my initials…"

A soft chuckle escaped Sherlock's mouth, as he gave Molly's hand a squeeze. "Are you fit to enter my parent's home now?"

Molly nodded, and Sherlock started heading own the cobblestone path. Her feet remained rooted to the ground as heat crawled up her face. She couldn't believe she was asking for this. "Sherlock?"

He looked back at her. "Yes?"

"Would you…kiss me?"

His eyebrows raised slightly from surprise, and right then and there Molly's worst fears overtook her, expecting the frown of disgust or the forced, hasty kiss on the cheek. However, neither occurred. Instead, Sherlock nodded and swooped down to kiss her on the cheek. Molly felt relief flow through her.

"You don't need to ask, Molly." He leaned back to look at her. "I'm pretty sure, being my wife, you don't ever have to ask."

A daring smile crawled up her face. "Good. So make me not ask."

Sherlock's lips met hers once again, and with knee-shaking pleasure, all nervousness and anxiety were washed away by the kiss, her hands finding comfort in running her hands over his cheekbones, his beautiful hair. The world stood witness to this magical moment, only to be interrupted by the sound of a car approaching. A door opened along with laughter.

"Oi, you two!" John walked forward to the intertwined couple, cradling Mary's body against his, "Get off of each other, you two teenagers. You're blocking the gate."

Molly's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she rested her head on Sherlock's chest. "Sorry about that."

Mary walked up to her, winking. "So are you going to move?"

"Sorry, yes." Molly stepped aside, followed by Sherlock. The four proceeded to walk into the cottage, engulfed with the delicious aroma of homemade dinner.

Sherlock's parents were lovely. As soon as they set foot into the kitchen they wore smiles on their faces. Experiencing overwhelming relief the six sat around food and exchange smiles, compliments and small talk, everything was going along well. Conversations ran along like a well-oiled machine and jokes were smart and witty, stories told heartwarming and embarrassing. Overcome by immense relief and warmth, Molly accidentally let out a sentence, entrapped in happiness, "I love you, Sherlock."

The clacking of utensils ceased, as did voices. Molly looked around the table, replacing the smile that had fallen off her face as she looked down at her plate. The table waited, expectantly.

"Yes." Sherlock let in a deep breath, "Yes, you do."

"Oh, Sherlock!" his mother sighed, giving him a concerning look, "Aren't you going to tell her you love her back?"

His father, on the other hand, sighed and gave Molly an apologetic look just as his son bit his lip and looked over at Molly, who only looked back. Mary looked slightly uncomfortable; John looked slightly amused yet passive at best, taking another bite of his steak. His wife knew that Sherlock didn't love her, but for the sake of family Sherlock let out a deep breath.

"I told her I'd never lie to her."

"Oh, Sherlock!" his father groaned, making Molly feel more like a mouse again. He joined his mother in ranting as Mary and John sat by the disrupted, once peaceful dinner.

"We raised you better than this!"

"I can't believe you brought your fiancé to dinner and can't even bring yourself to tell her you love her!"

"That ring is a promise, Sherlock, to always love her!"

"Enough!" Sherlock said sternly, a little too loud for pleasing. His parent's voices ceased immediately, looking over at their son. "I don't love her. But I care for every single inch of her body, I feel for her every heartbeat, and yes, I will continue to do so for as long as I live. I'll crave for her smile of happiness and pleasure," to that John snickered, "and I will try, to the best of my ability, I will try to love her."

Feeling cuts being mended, Sherlock stabbed some greens with his fork. "Mrs. Holmes. I'll have no one else to walk down that aisle, and I'm sure of it."

Silence ensued. Molly sat numb, staring at her food as Sherlock's mother set a hand over her heart, the other to grab her husband's. John and Mary exchanged a smile, as John lifted his wine glass up high, a smile on his face, "To Molly, the woman who will teach Sherlock Holmes how to love."

Without hesitation, the Holmes and Mary held their wine glasses up, only for Molly to lift hers, numb from surprise. "To Molly!"

A toast to Molly, the woman who will teach Sherlock Holmes how to love. A toast to life, to dreams come true. Molly knew the subtext in those words. A toast to black, two sugars, every cup of coffee, every late night, every cadaver wheeled out and for every slap landed and every unwanted deduction. Every act of love, embedded into the quilt of their lives.

The last thing Molly recalled from that night as she woke up in Sherlock's bed at Baker Street was soft and hazy. A glass of red wine had made her quite light-headed, but she still held onto it as she stared into the fireplace. She felt Sherlock's hand slide awkwardly into hers like a teenager's first date, with lack of experience, feeling quite pleasant with the presence of alcohol. Maybe he was drunk too, or maybe he thought she was too intoxicated to understand, but she remembered his warm breath against her ear, his lips grazing her skin.

He uttered a single sentence before he fell limp on her lap, before everything went black, her eyes no longer taking the weight of sleepiness.

"I love you too."

A/N: *winkwinkwinkwikwink*

Follow, review and favorite, my dear Sherlolly shippers and Sherlockians in general! Fly off into the sunset and await the wedding!

*throws flowers at your face and collapses on bed*