Give His Heart a Break.
Authors Note: Unlike the previous chapter, this one has my undivided attention (most of the time, my friend keeps bugging me on Twitter). I hope you like Sherlock's plan so far and in the chapter below, his plan shall continue. Of course, there shall be a big problem along the way! So, immerse yourself and enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I am seventeen years old; does it really look like I own Sherlock? Yes? Oh… right… Well, I don't… Just to clarify.
Chapter Seven: Boudin Blanc
Sherlock's plan was going smoothly.
An hour after John's phone call, Molly was finally smiling again and willing to let tonight just be for the two of them, as he had put it.
He knew she would eat that right up.
He hadn't been wrong.
He didn't even have to check her pulse to know that had made her heart beat faster.
He'd made his words sound as if they implied a certain type of 'get-to-knowing.'
"You know what you should do right now, Molly?"
She shook her head.
She wasn't speaking much at the moment.
Words seemed to be failing her because of his behaviour.
"You should go have a nice bath and get dressed."
He smiled; making sure it wasn't too overdone.
"Ok." She nodded.
She stood from the chair and, with one final glance towards him, left the room.
The smile was wiped from his face instantly, once she was out of sight.
They hadn't spoken about the… incident in the kitchen.
Maybe she hadn't noticed?
He rolled his eyes at himself.
Of course she had noticed; she wasn't that thick.
He ran a hand over his face and looked around the space.
It wasn't much.
He couldn't do much to make it more… romantic.
He would have sent someone to an asylum last year if they had told him right now he would be sitting in Molly Hooper's living room, trying to think of ways to make the place look romantic.
He stood from where he was sat and began to search her cupboards for supplies.
He was sure she would have some.
She was the type of girl who would buy all the useless romantic crap even though she didn't have a love life, well up until a few months ago that is.
He wanted to do nothing but be back during those times.
He'd rather be bored than pretending to like Molly Hooper.
Aha!
He found exactly what he was looking for.
Candles in an array of love associated colours; table cloths that gave off a sensual feel and finally the best vase she had – the kind that twinkled under the lighting.
Around the small room, he scattered candles in the colours of red and a cream-like white. He then proceeded to lay a heavy, red table cloth over the coffee and dining table. On the far left corner of the coffee table he placed one of the cream-like white candles and in the middle of the dining table he stood two of the same candles. In between those candles the vase was put.
Sherlock assessed what he had done so far, making sure everything was in order, and then moved in to the kitchen to fetch the flowers he had ordered the night before.
They had come while Molly was asleep and so thankfully, she didn't see his ridiculous disguise at the door.
He brought them in to the living room with a jug of water and after pouring some in the vase, he settled them in.
He studied them for a few moments before re-ordering the layout of each flower.
He scoffed.
Had he really paid someone to do that for him?
They had no right to even call themselves florists.
His final step to making this room perfectly romantic, well as perfect as the room could be, was to light each and every one of the candles before turning the lights out.
He smirked.
He was going to have Molly eating out of the palm of his hand.
About forty-five minutes after his craftsmanship in the living room, Molly came downstairs.
She heard the bustling of cutlery and plates in the kitchen and frowned.
Either Sherlock had gone insane or there was a burglar in her flat.
The latter seeming like the more logical choice.
She walked in to the kitchen and stopped dead in her tracks.
Sherlock looked so… domestic.
He looked so natural as if he cooked every day of his damned life.
She bit down on her lower lip.
Why did he have to make everything look so damned good?
She watched for a few moments.
"It's rude to stare, Molly." He snapped.
She would have thought he was angry but he turned to face her and there was a smile latched on to his lips.
"What are you doing?" She didn't stammer.
"Cooking you dinner." He spoke the words as if it were the most natural and obvious thing in the world.
"I see."
She was quiet for a few moments and Sherlock handed her a glass.
"Your favourite wine."
She sipped at it.
How had he known?
Oh, wait.
Thank God she hadn't asked that question out loud.
He would have looked at her like she was a right plonker.
"Why are you cooking me dinner?"
"I told you earlier, tonight is our night." He turned back to preparing the food.
"I know. But, why are you cooking me dinner?"
"I want to."
Her mouth hung open in the shape of an 'o.'
"Go and sit in the living room, Molly. Dinner will be served in just three minutes."
She nodded her head and, took her wine, going to the living room.
Sherlock listened to her closely and smirked when he heard a gasp echo from her lips and a whisper of what sounded very similar to the phrase "oh my goodness" slip from those very same lips.
Entering the living room, precisely three minutes later, with two steaming dishes of Boudin Blanc; it was the only dish he remembered his mother teaching him to make.
Tonight he chose to make the dish in order for Molly to see what a pathetic choice John was.
One, the food was made by him (it gave it a more personal touch; shows her he wanted to do this).
Two, his dish was French (the language of love).
Three, it wouldn't give her food poisoning after eating it (that had a pretty obvious reason why that was important).
Sherlock laid her dish down in front of her and watched her reaction.
Did she just grimace?
He blinked twice.
She looked perfectly normal, smiling the way she always did.
He really needed to get out of this flat.
His detecting skills seemed to be playing up.
He placed his own plate down and took his seat, opposite her.
His eyes took in her appearance: her hair was hanging down, soft curls caressing her shoulders and falling to her chest. She wore a minimal amount of makeup (mascara), and was dressed in a white, silk, dress that, from what he had noted of her in the kitchen, fell just above her knee and was graced with a pair of white ballet pumps on her feet.
A lot less effort than what she had put in on her first date with John.
He liked that.
She could be herself around him.
But, to her this wasn't a date.
They were getting to know each other.
But, wasn't that what a date was?
He watched her, from across the table, her fork circling the circumference of the plate.
He frowned.
Did she not like the food?
Oh, no.
That was bad.
He was trying to impress her.
He was trying to show her that John wasn't right for her.
He wanted her to see that there were other men out there who could treat her better.
"Is something the matter, Molly?"
She looked up to him.
She gave him a shy, nervous smile.
She didn't answer.
He refrained from yelling at her.
She looked down at the dish he had prepared.
His patience was wearing.
She looked back towards him.
"I don't really like sausage."
Inside his head, he groaned.
He was no better than John.
Actually, no, he was.
John knew what that place was like and he had still taken her there.
John knew what that curry was like and he still had let her order it.
John had no excuse; Sherlock did.
He didn't say anything.
He just watched her.
"But, it looks… nice!" She hurriedly spoke.
Sherlock almost laughed.
Always so polite.
"I'm sure the vegetables are lovely. I'll just eat them." She continued on speaking, her fork still circling the plate.
Sherlock watched her, almost intrigued by her behaviour.
"I'm sorry. I should have asked."
Molly laughed.
"It's completely fine, Sherlock. The whole point of tonight is for us to get to know one another."
She smiled at him.
He almost felt bad.
That wasn't the point of tonight, but she didn't need to know that.
He began to eat his dinner.
She began to eat her vegetables.
Throughout the meal, Sherlock found himself asking her question after question.
He wanted to know if there was anything else he didn't know about Molly.
So far, he knew everything she told him.
But still, he gave her all the right responses.
Well, he must have because she kept on chattering away animatedly.
After dinner, he insisted on clearing the plates and for Molly to sit down on the couch.
He certainly was playing the perfect gentleman tonight.
It didn't take much convincing and soon he was back with more wine and was seated rather closely to Molly on the couch.
She hadn't seemed to notice.
She'd drunk far too much wine, already.
He topped up her glass and vowed to give her no more.
"You know, Sherlock, I've been talking about me all night."
"Hm?"
He was staring at her, his eyes piercing in to her own.
"I don't think that's very fair. You said it was about getting to know each other. I feel as if I know the exact same about you that I always have."
Molly edged slightly closer to him.
Wine certainly made Molly more daring.
Perhaps, he shouldn't have topped her glass up after all.
"What do you wish to know, Molly?" He whispered.
Like she had, he edged closer to her, too.
He hadn't taken a single sip of his wine.
He was fully aware of what he was doing.
"What's your mother's name?"
"Mummy is called Elizabeth."
"What was your first pet?"
"I've never had one."
"That's ridiculous. Why have you never had a pet?"
"Never interested me."
"What does interest you, Sherlock?"
"Right now… you."
Subconsciously, Molly moved closer.
He could practically feel her body heating up at his words.
"And why do I interest you right now, Sherlock?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out."
There was some truth to that statement.
"Have you ever kissed somebody before, Sherlock?"
"Yes."
"Did you like it?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever had a girlfriend before, Sherlock?"
"No."
"Have you ever wanted one before, Sherlock?"
"No. But, I'm starting to reconsider that at this moment in time."
Oh, she'd like that.
Her cheeks reddened and her eyes dilated.
Oh yes, she definitely liked that.
"Is that so, Sherlock?"
"It is so, Molly." He mocked.
"Why are you starting to reconsider, Sherlock?"
She either didn't notice his mockery or she ignored it.
He was leaning more towards the first option.
She wasn't that bright.
She was even less bright in her current state.
He was about to answer Molly when he noticed how close she was leaning in to him.
His eyes flickered down to her lips and then back up to her own eyes.
He wasn't quite sure why, but he found himself leaning in to her, too.
This wasn't a part of his plan.
They were so close.
Even closer than the first time they were caught up in this situation.
But, they abruptly stopped when they heard a door shutting and another one opening.
"Molly, how did you known I'd be com-" The voice of John Watson trailed off as his eyes fell upon the incriminating pair of one who was alive and the other supposedly dead.
In that moment, Sherlock Holmes had two thoughts running through his mind:
One, John Watson was standing a few meters away from him.
Two, why hadn't he known that Molly didn't like sausages?
Authors Note: So, this didn't go to my plans specification's but I like this more! For some reason, I found this harder to write than my previous chapters. I hope to you all, it paid off. It was fun to write. I really hope it doesn't feel rushed to any of you. Anyways, reviews are loved and very much welcomed! I hope to be writing some of this fic for you tomorrow but I have a lot of work to do and so I may not be able to. I may not be able to write as much from Monday onwards as I have a deadline for a piece of work that really needs a lot of perfecting. But, I'm still going to try and work around it. I hope you liked it!
Petal.