Eleven Pipers Piping

*Molly walks into the Baker Street house and immediately flinches. Someone is quite clearly murdering a cat upstairs.*

Molly: Toby? Sherlock, what is going on?

*Sherlock is standing in the middle of the sitting room, wearing a kilt and nothing else, and clutching a rapidly deflating set of bag pipes. There is a laptop open in front of him, playing a video of eleven pipers marching in unison down a street.*

Molly: Please tell me this is for a case, and not a new hobby you've picked up.

Sherlock: Case, obviously.

*Molly slumps against the door frame in relief.*

Sherlock: I suspect one of those men is an assassin. Murdered a man in front of a crowd of hundreds without anyone seeing, using a dart coated in a slow-acting poison. But I haven't been able to identify which one is the killer.

Molly: Yet.

Sherlock: Yet. I just have to deduce which of them isn't actually playing as they walk past the victim.

Molly: What does Mrs Hudson think of all this.

Sherlock: She went to visit her boyfriend for the afternoon.

*Molly nods, and tries not to ogle Sherlock's bare chest and legs. She fails.*

Molly: Are you keeping the bag pipes when you're done?

Sherlock: I wasn't planning on it. Unless you'd prefer me to?

Molly: No, that's-that's definitely not a thing I would want. No.

*Sherlock nods and sets the pipes down. They give a mournful wheeze as they settle.*

Sherlock: And the kilt?

Molly: You could, uh, keep that. If you want. I mean, I wouldn't object.

*Sherlock grins and steps closer.*

Sherlock: I tried to find one that looks similar to the cover of one of those books you keep in the nightstand.

Molly: You did?

*Sherlock nods. He reaches for Molly and pulls her tight against his chest.*

Sherlock: Consider this an early Christmas gift, Molly.

Molly: Oh. OH.

Sherlock: Would you like to unwrap your present?

*Molly blinks as she processes what he's said.*

Molly: God, yes.