Author's note : So here's chapter 8. Firstly, I'm sorry a thousand times over for such a late update. I had a part exam on Friday and I passed! So I'm happy :)
Secondly, this chapter is their date. I wanted it to be just that, so no Julia, no suspense in this one. Just the date.
Lastly, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed, added this story to their alerts. You mean the world to me.
Listen to : Inside out by Bryan Adams
Disclaimer : Moffat and Gatiss. All yours.
The ride was quiet. He said nothing but never left her hand. She was settled in her seat still marveling at the fact that she was out on a date with Sherlock Holmes. His hand was cold, a stark contrast to her warm skin. He was looking out of the window intently, never meeting her eyes. She looked ahead, trying to calm down her nerves which seemed to be very shaky indeed.
Fifteen minutes later the cab halted and they got out. Molly gasped at the view in front of her. She had been expecting a large, grand restaurant since it was Sherlock's choice but nothing could've prepared her for this. It was positively tiny, a quiet two storeyed place but which just spelled high class all over. Sherlock took her hand again, a slight smile on his face.
'I take it you like it then?' he asked quietly.
She just nodded unable to say anything. How had he managed to know that this was exactly what she liked, rather than tall skyscrapers and noisy cities? But then he was Sherlock, she thought, he'd probably always known it.
He led her inside where a waiter took them to the backside of the restaurant where there was just one table, set for two, overlooking the garden. Two glasses, a slender vase with a single flower and a tall candle were already present on the table.
Only after they had had their seats, did Sherlock look at her again. His expression was so different from the usual cold, calculating look he always seemed to wear. For once he looked human, a normal man enjoying a quiet evening with a woman he liked. The thought made her freeze. A woman he liked? Was that even true? She didn't know what to make of it. For the time being she decided to forget about all that and to concentrate on not making a fool of herself in front of him.
'Yes, I do' he said.
'What?' she asked confused.
'You were wondering about me, if I like you. So I replied' he said nonchalantly.
'You said...' she couldn't continue, too elated by his reply.
'You heard me' he smirked knowing exactly what was going on in her mind right now.
Disbelief. Confusion. Happiness. Elation. No hint of doubt.
It never failed to marvel him how blindly she trusted him. He could be doing this to get something done from her, he was sure the possibility had occurred to her. But what intrigued him was how easily she had banished that thought, believing so strongly that he would never do such a thing, even though he had done it before.
It made him admire her even more. If there was one person except John who he had complete faith in, it was her.
He took her hand once again, enjoying the sight of the blood rushing to her cheeks, colouring them a delightful shade of pink. She was lovely. How could he have been so blind to such an obvious fact?
They talked about her as they waited for the food to arrive. Of course, he already knew most of it but he still listened, noticing the way her voice changed to a sad remorseful tone when she spoke of her Dad, when she closed her eyes briefly, reminiscing about her days at the university, how she had landed up at 's, and the way her hands moved, gesturing every little thing. She was adorable.
She has always been a Daddy's girl. Not even in touch with her mother. No brothers or else she'd have been a lot tougher than she already is. Good at hiding her pain. Chose this line of career because she didn't want to look at people dying. Didn't want the responsibility. Understandable since her father passed away at that time and she saw how difficult it was for the doctor to break the news to her. Living alone all these years has deprived her of the benefits of company but still enjoys to go out with girl friends, judging by the slight tear in the bag she carries only to the theatre or is one of her best dresses. Expensive, good finishing, elegant chiffon. A stitch at the side. She has worn it before. Obviously didn't want to wear something new, wanted something comfortable.
This thought reminded him of the expensive glittery dress she'd worn on Christmas. She had looked stunning and he had been positively infuriated at the thought of her dressing up like that for someone else. She was his, how dare she? So he had gone ahead and ruined the evening for her. Later, he felt like kicking himself after discovering that it was all for him, only him. But the damage had been done. One look at her mortified face had told him that. And yet she had forgiven him yet again. So easily. The brilliant black dress was probably lying in the pile of discarded clothes at the back of her closet...
'Your turn now' she said, pulling him out of his thoughts.
'Sorry?' he asked.
She looked bewildered. Sherlock asking someone to repeat themselves? She had never seen that happening before.
'Tell me about yourself. I hardly know anything' she said in a persuading voice. Well, how could he say no when she was looking at him with those eyes, those bright brown eyes and that puppy dog expression?
So he began at the start, telling her about his parents, the strict disciplinarian Father, the loving mother, the huge estate, his school, his interest in science and his tutor who encouraged his deductive skills,his classmates and college mates..He hesitated here, knowing that he'd come to the point where he had started experimenting with narcotics.
She took his hand on instinct which led him to continue. He had never told anyone about this. Not even John. Yet, if there was anyone who deserved to know about it, it was her.
So he told her everything, his boredom where academics were concerned, the urge to break free, the first time he got high and finally all those years spent as a junkie, aimless and clueless. It had taken him three years to emerge out of the mess and he had never to go back.
He felt her grip on his hand slacken slightly when he got to the less than pleasant details of his addiction but she never left his hand. He appreciated it more than she would understand. He just squeezed her hand to express his gratefulness. After all, he wasn't really good with words. She nodded in his direction, a sign that she understood.
Their orders arrived just then and they leaped apart, not even realizing that they had been leaning towards each other all this time. They ate in silence, occasionally throwing in a remark about random things. Sherlock wanted to ask her about Julia but decided to forget about it at the moment. The evening was so perfect. Why ruin it unnecessarily? He could always deal with Julia later.
She was sipping at her wine and her plate was empty. He was doing precisely the same thing, thinking about what was going on in her mind.
One hand was absent-mindedly playing with her hair, the other was tracing the patterns on the wine glass. She was biting her lower lip yet again, trying very hard not to look at him but failing, as she took slight peeks at him every minute. His lips curved into a smile for the hundredth time that evening. She was thinking of him.
He offered her his arm, tilting his head towards the garden. She placed her hand in his without a second thought and they stepped out for a walk. She hurried to keep pace with him at the start so he slowed down a bit. Both of them said nothing for a while before Molly turned so that she faced him.
'Julia knows' she said, her voice laced with fear.
He wasn't surprised, he had suspected it anyway. Molly's face clearly showed that she had no idea how her assistant had known that. So he didn't ask.
'Hmm. I thought so' was all he said.
'You know, that day was horrible for me' she spoke timidly as if unsure what he wanted to talk about.
'It was pretty horrible for me too. After all, it's not everyday that one gets to jump from a six storeyed building' he joked and she laughed.
'I always shudder at the thought of what would've happened had I not succeeded in the attempts to resuccitate you' she admitted.
'Then, I would have died. What else?' he said in an amused sing-song voice, trying to cheer her up.
It had the exact opposite effect though.
'Stop it. It's not funny.' she cried out.
'I'm curious now Molly. What would you have done had I not made it?' he asked knowing that her answer would be I'd have joined you or something like that.
But she surprised him, as always.
' I'd have died a hundred times over than let you die. I'd have gone to the terrace myself and killed Moriarty if you hadn't told me to strictly adhere to the plan' she whispered, her voice quiet and full of hatred for her ex-boyfriend.
Her answer took his breath away. Once again she had proved to him that she was as loyal to him as John, willing to risk not just her job but also her own life for him. What had he done to deserve such fierce loyalty from his friends?
This time he knew that it was no use staying away from sentiment. He wanted to care for her, to protect her, to cherish her and wanted to drown in her love. She was one in a million.
His body didn't act of its own accord this time. His mind was the one in command, the one who told his hands to wind around Molly's waist and pull her closer, his head to duck down so that their faces were level and slightly lean in so that his lips touched hers in a gentle kiss.
A/n : How was it? Please review...please!
Here are the links to the pictures of Molly's dress and The Midtown Park.
Molly's dress : . ?img= &outputx=340&outputy=408&level=1&ver=4
The Midtown Park : .
I loved both the pictures, I hope you do too!
Let me know :)
Aditi xoxoxo
