3. Labels and romantic expectations make him feel nervous
Molly was having Christmas dinner with Sherlock Holmes, a state of affairs that she had never thought would ever exist. She was pretty happy about this, although Sherlock seemed his usual self.
She had never expected him to actually agree. She didn't even know why she had suggested it and had regretted it almost immediately, blaming the mood and the festive spirit for sweeping her away. She had babbled about the Christmas dinners in the hospital canteen and how they weren't that good but better than eating alone and anyway she was hungry and would he care to join her- and he had, for whatever reason came out of his unfathomable mind, agreed.
He was having lunch. With her. On Christmas day. True, it was from a plastic tray in the middle of the staff canteen, and the whole thing was like it had just been heated up in a microwave, but Sherlock was swallowing the dry turkey at speed. Possibly, probably, his only reason for agreeing was because now that the case was sorted out, he was hungry. Molly didn't mind; at least he was here. And Sherlock never talked much, but he didn't seem to mind her talking either. He would look at his food or look around the canteen, and just occasionally flash her a brief smile that she had seen him use enough times on John and Lestrade to know it meant 'I'm-not-listening-but-by-all-means-carry-on-if-you-like'; so she carried on, glad to know that at least she wasn't boring or irritating him. With Sherlock, that was the main thing.
"Here you go, loves." One of the canteen staff suddenly interrupted Molly's flow. "It's not Christmas without crackers, is it?" And, putting two down, she cheerily moved on to distribute them to the other tables. Sherlock picked up a cracker and idly rolled it in his thin fingers, listening to the noise.
"I think it's one of those plastic frogs." Sherlock said. "It's hard to be sure."
"Well, why don't we find out?" Molly said, surprised to see him taking such an interest. She extended a hand, but Sherlock had other ideas, and was pulling the cracker open from the seal in the side. He held up a small novelty plastic moustache in disgust.
"Somebody actually wasted their time designing this." He snorted disdainfully. Molly privately thought he was probably just disappointed it wasn't a flipping frog.
"Oh, come on, Sherlock, it's more fun if you pull them." She said, offering hers to him. Sherlock looked at it in distaste.
"Why?"
"Well, because… because it goes bang, I suppose."
Sherlock said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow slightly. He looked amused now and Molly suddenly felt herself reddening. It had been a bit of a stupid answer.
"I'm sorry." She said. "It's just because I get nervous. Oh, I always say such silly things on first dates."
Sherlock's face slipped. He now looked positively alarmed. Molly froze, unable to believe she had said something so stupid. It had just slipped out. Her brain was screaming at her to laugh, to take it back, to do something, but the mortification had taken a strong hold and she was unable to do anything but gape at her own stupidity.
"Molly." Sherlock said, clearing his throat awkwardly, looking incredibly uncomfortable. The sound thawed Molly out abruptly.
"No!" She blurted. "I know, Sherlock, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said date. I didn't mean date. This isn't a date, don't worry, I know it isn't a date. Don't worry, sorry."
Sherlock said nothing, still looking around awkwardly. Then he grabbed the cracker that was limp in her hand.
"Pull." He commanded, and, glad for the change in subject, she did. Inside was a pocket magnifying glass, which Sherlock slipped into his coat. Molly wore the paper hat and all of a sudden, Sherlock began to talk, openly and rapidly, about different types of gun powder and what made the bangers in the crackers bang. He was, Molly realised, trying to move the conversation on, to get far, far away from her blunder. She was grateful. No matter how he tried to distract her, her face wouldn't stop heating up.
"See you soon." He said, when the taxi they were sharing stopped at her house. They were just meaningless, throw away words, but she felt sure Sherlock had chosen them deliberately. Sherlock could probably see her embarrassment and wanted her to know it wouldn't change anything. The truth was, underneath it all, Sherlock was a gentleman; if only he knew how to behave as one.