A/N: Short drabble inspired by a piece of Sherlolly artwork by sherlolly29 on tumblr :)
Coffee
It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon. Well, it had been at first. Molly had made a little stop at a nearby cafe, hoping to do a spot of reading with a cappuccino in hand. The cafe had been kind enough to offer her a small dish of freshly-baked biscuits as well. You can't have coffee without a little something to nibble, the lovely coffeeshop lady had told her.
Halfway through her drink, she was surprised to see a cup of black coffee placed on her table. The hand that had carried it had not been the coffeeshop lady's, but it had not been an unfamiliar one either.
"Molly," greeted the detective, whose hand (and choice of drink) she had recognised from the get-go.
"Sherlock," she greeted back, raising an eyebrow, "What are you doing?"
"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"It is never obvious with you," she answered, closing her book.
He continued to sip his drink in silence. The detective seemed utterly at ease, crossing his legs and leaning back into his seat. Spying the biscuits on the table, he reached for one and took a bite, nodding in satisfaction. Molly cleared her throat and leaned forward, her fingers fiddling with the handle of her coffee cup.
"Can I help you with something?" she rephrased, hoping he would answer her first question.
"Oh no, I'm fine, thanks," he said with a shake of the head and a quick smile.
There was something infuriating about the way he was just sitting there, slowly enjoying his coffee and reaching for what was his second biscuit now. Molly drummed her fingers impatiently against the tablecloth, an absolute contrast to Sherlock's perfectly relaxed demeanour.
"This is rather nice," said the detective, at last.
Molly exhaled sharply, not knowing whether to laugh or to slap the man. It was her turn to lean back against her seat, though more from resignation than relaxation. She crossed her arms in front of her and glared at the detective.
"What do you mean, this?" she asked.
Sherlock looked up at her from the rim of his coffee cup and stared back at her curiously. He was perplexed at her perplexity.
"This," he said, gesturing to their surroundings, "Coffee."
"Coffee?"
"Y-up." he said, popping the 'p' before popping another biscuit into his mouth.
"I don't underst—"
"It's a few years late, I suppose…" he continued casually.
Molly gasped in shock when he suddenly reached for her hand, bringing it up to his face as though he were examining it.
"What are you doing?" she whispered fiercely.
"Just being sure," he said, smiling quickly as he gently placed her hand down on the table.
"Of what?" Molly said, withdrawing her hand quickly.
"That you weren't engaged anymore,"
"Of course, I'm not engaged anymore." Molly remarked, a little sharply.
"Good. Which is why we're here, doing this," explained the detective, gesturing once more to the cafe they were in. "I was four years too late, thought I missed the chance. I'm not missing it again."
A silence passed between them, as Molly struggled to make sense of what he was saying and what he was possibly meaning.
"You don't mea—"
"Yes. I do." he interrupted, reaching for her hand that she had withdrawn, "Now, that we've settled coffee. Would you like to have dinner?"
END