Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

Prompt sent by Mayacakaya on Tumblr: "Sherlock bouncing off ideas at Toby. Molly first thought it was for a case. Then she realized he's proposing to her".

Molly was quite used to the sight of Sherlock Holmes barging unannounced in her flat at the strangest hours of the day and the night. He had done it countless times before, when her flat was just another one of his bolt-holes; and now that they were in a relationship, he usually spent all of his free time between a case and another with her at what he had learnt to call "his other home away from Baker Street".

The fact that he had started to cherish her cat, Toby, had been a pleasant surprise; and thankfully, her pet reciprocated the feelings. Being a cat, Toby didn't pester Sherlock too much, and the consulting detective saw in the feline the potential to be a valiant substitute of John, when the former army doctor was too busy with his family or his job.

"Since I can't always bring Billy the skull with me, Toby is the only one who can help me with my deductions...when you're not at home" he had added precipitately at her annoyed look. Molly had made him promise that he wouldn't even think to experiment on her cat, and so it was not weird anymore for her to come back home and find Toby on top of Sherlock's chest while her consulting detective was bouncing off ideas at him. The cat's only contributions seemed to be a well placed "Meow" once in a while, but Sherlock was satisfied, and Molly knew that a satisfied Sherlock meant a not bored Sherlock, so she was happy with the arrangement. Until a week ago.

In fact, Sherlock and Toby usually had their "speculative sessions" in the living room, or in the kitchen (depending which one was free at the moment of need). Until last monday, when Sherlock had started to take the cat with him in the bedroom, lock up the door and remain there for at least two hours, in relative calm.

At first, the pathologist was merely amused by his behaviour; after three days, and after a in-depth examination of the animal, which seemed to be healthy and safe as usual, she became intrigued; at Sunday, she started to worry.

That's why, after she saw Sherlock, a purse in his hands, grabbing Toby and closing the bedroom's door behind them, she bolted to the same door and started eavesdropping, without any shame. After all, it was her home, her bedroom, and most important, she was doing it for her mental and emotional health, seen as the curiosity and the apprehension were eating her alive.

She could only catch a few sentences, who sounded completely nonsensical to her.

"What do you think? Is it to your liking?".

"Meow...".

"Red, or white? No, yellow...or purple? Of course, you're right...purple!"

"No, you're supposed to take a seat, not to wander all over the bed...and don't eat them, I need to use them later! Oh well, since you're so certain about that, eat them all...but don't come to me when you're going to need a stomach pumping!".

Oh no. He was breaking the promise...no experiment on Toby. "Well, desperate times call for desperate measures". With a speed that would have made Sherlock proud, Molly took a hairpin from the messy bun on the top of her head, and picked the lock.

The scene before her eyes was so bizarre, that her first reaction was to pinch herself, sure that she was still sleeping and what she was seeing was a strange dream induced by a massive hangover. Then, Molly covered her eyes, and burst out laughing hysterically. After all, it was rare seeing Sherlock Holmes, kneeling on purple rose petals, in front of her cat, offering him a fried onion ring.

"Oh my God...why-why are you proposing to Toby, Sherlock?" she managed to say between her chuckles.

The consulting detective blushed, and muttered something unintelligible.

"Sorry, what?" she asked again, trying to calm herself.

"I said I was practicing! I was practicing my marriage proposal to you, and this is all John Watson's and Grayson Lestrade's fault!"It has to be perfect", they said! "You have to plan everything, every single detail ! Practice, practice, practice, Sherlock!" Well, that's what happens when you listen to a man who was previously known as "Three-continents-John Watson" and to a DI who choose a serial cheater as his wife!".

"Wait a minute... do you want to marry...me?"

"Of course, Molly! What, did you really believe that I was interested into pursuing a stable relationship with your cat ? No offence,Toby, but your cat is not really my type".

Molly started to laugh again, but the vulnerable look in Sherlock's eyes made her stop.

"Well, since you have practiced so much...do you want to..you know...do it?"

"Without a proper ring? With your cat who has already eaten five rose petals? I don't even have a speech yet...It's not perfect".

Molly rolled her eyes. "Who cares about the ring, the romantic set-up, the speech...?". She approached him, and hugged him, whispering "I don't care about all those stupid things. Perfection, is when I'm with you".

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, absolutely" she assured him.

"Well, then...Would you marry me, Molly Hooper?".

" I don't know...I think that Toby might be a bit jealous...but I think he will come to terms with that, sooner or later...".

"Molly!" he complained, exasperated.

"Yes, Mr Holmes...I will marry you".

Thanks for reading...and be kind, let me know what you think!