AN: Wow! Christmas is just around the corner And I just realized how far behind I am. I hope to get several written now that I have two days to work in, but I hope you will all forgive me if it takes a few days after Christmas to get them all up. Big development this chapter, though, so...yeah. Let me know what you think!- CG

10th December

For the better part of the next day, Sherlock sat with his leg propped up on the sofa, scowling. At one point he had attempted to play the violin but John arrived shortly after he had started and berated him for not properly following instructions. Sherlock hated to admit that the doctor had been right as his ankle began to throb with pain from standing. So it was that he had resigned himself to the sofa, with enough loud complaining to drive John away for the rest of the day.

Things couldn't really be any worse. No cases and no experiments because of his blasted ankle. Why had he even agreed to go ice skating in the first place? It had been a terrible idea driven entirely by emotion. Pride goeth before a fall, the saying went and his certainly had. What had compelled him to let things get that out of hand?

Molly.

He had agreed to go only to fulfill his mission of giving her a thank you kiss for Christmas. Yet things kept falling apart, nothing had gone according to his plans so far. He scolded himself. This was nothing in comparison to other challenges he had faced. He would not quit. But why was it so difficult? And why a kiss? He had always claimed that women were not his area, they were too distracting. The work was all that mattered. This kiss could change things, become an even bigger distraction. John had said her crush on him had faded and that could be enough to keep everything from changing. But the idea of that saddened and irritated him. It might be time for things to change.

Deciding there was nothing more to be done about it in his current state he realized that it was time for tea. Not fully able to fix a meal in his current state, Sherlock bellowed for assistance. Even if he didn't get anything more than tea and mince pies, it would suffice. Damn his leg!

"Mrs. Hudson!" he called out again.

There were footsteps on the stairs but they didn't match with his landlady's shuffling gait.

"Sherlock, quiet down for heaven's sake. A sprained ankle is hardly the end of the world."

"Molly!" he replied in surprise. "What're you doing here?"

She laughed good-naturedly at him. "I figured you'd be bored out of your mind and driving poor Mrs. Hudson mad. Looks like I was right." Molly came into his kitchen, placing a couple of sacks on the table and draping her bag and coat in a chair. "I brought Chinese, John said it was your favorite."

"It is. But I still don't understand. Why did you come?" Sherlock shifted to better see and deduce his pathologist. She was dressed casually, although clearly had changed since her shift. Her hair was tied into a braid that she was nervously twisting the tail of between her fingers. No clues as to why she was here.

"Just thought I'd keep you company. It's a lonely time of year." Turning away from him she picked up the other bag from his table. "I also thought you might want a look at this hand, advanced frostbite. Too much winter, I suppose. Although, you can never have too much winter in the winter." Molly giggled, and although he had no idea what was so amusing, Sherlock found the sound made him feel a little less miserable.

He hoisted himself up and limped gracefully, well somewhat, into the kitchen.

"I disagree. Personally, I've had far too much winter." He punctuated his disapproval by collapsing into a chair and reaching hungrily for a take-away container.

"Ah, it was a quote. Didn't think you would recognize it. That's why I also brought this," Molly rumaged in her bag pulling out what looked like a small textbook. "Figured if you didn't feel like examining the hand, you might enjoy reading a bit. This is one of my favorites. I can always find a piece that speaks to me." She ran her fingers over the cover before handing it to Sherlock.

The Collected Works of Robert Frost.

"He's a renowned American poet," Molly continued, knowing he didn't have much knowledge of literature. "Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length really helped after you..., well, let's just say it helped."

Sherlock nodded and looked up at her. He was only just realizing the complexity of her and it was mesmerizing. Before him stood a woman of such effortless kindness with vast stores of hidden resolve. Sherlock's heart began to race. His tongue became heavy and clumsy in his mouth. Molly coughed lightly and broke the spell.

"Can I have some of that or am I going to be stuck with the purple hand for dinner?"

"Don't make jokes, Molly," he replied, but he handed her a box with a smirk.

Over the next couple of hours they ate, talked about Sherlock's recent cases, and performed some enlightening experiments on the frostbitten fingers. When it was time for her to leave, he found he really wished she could stay.

"We still haven't read any of your book," he began, trying to come up with a reason for her to stay just that little bit longer. This went beyond still wanting, genuinely wanting, to kiss her.

"You hang on to it for a while. Bring it back to me when you are walking again." She sat it and a hot cup of tea on the table in front of his couch where he was now re-situated. "Goodnight," she said, walking out of his door and downstairs out of his sight.

Opening the book, he found what was obviously a favorite of hers. It had been underlined in sections and she'd made comments in the margins.

Revelation by Robert Frost

-x-

We make ourselves a place apart

Behind light words that tease and tout

But oh, the agitated heart

Till someone find us really out.

-x-

'Tis pity if the case require

(Or so we say) that in the end

We speak the literal to inspire

The understanding of a friend.

-x-

But so with all, from babes that play

At hide-and-seek to God afar,

So all who hide too well away

Must speak and tell us where they are.

He may not have kissed her this evening, but he was beginning to understand why he wanted to so very badly. And what he might need to do in order to make that happen.

End Day 10 - Frost

NB: I'm actually pretty proud with how the prompt word was worked into this one. Both in the hand (frostbite) and the poetry. Molly's quote is from the Robert Frost poem Snow. And the other poem she mentions, that is the whole title should you want to look it up. It truly is a lovely poem, if a bit sad. I really like Frost's poetry and hope you enjoyed this little bit too. - CG