Sherlock smiled in satisfaction at the little velvet box set open on his desk. Inside was necklace, a lovely golden honeybee on a thin golden chain. That, along with a recording of his composition for her was to be Molly's Christmas gift when she came back to town. He hoped she would love it as much as he hoped that somewhere hidden inside of her, she loved him too. He laughed to himself knowing that the person he was three years ago would scoff at the man he was now, but he didn't care. It was strange, but he often found himself dividing his life by a single event: before and after falling in love with Molly Hooper.
Regardless of how badly things could go once he told her, he knew he'd never stop loving her. Molly could stomp on his heart for all he cared, and he would still continue to adore her. Pouring himself a glass of whisky, Sherlock registered the sound of Mrs. Hudson's footsteps just before she knocked and let herself in anyways.
"Hoo hoo," she chimed, an enticing package wrapped in red in her arms. "This came for you in the post, dear."
He took a sip from his glass, furrowing his brows, and set it down to retrieve the parcel. As soon as it was in his hands, Mrs. Hudson gave him a knowing smile. "What?"
"It's from Molly," she informed him. "No idea why she sent it through the system instead of letting me hold onto it."
Sherlock looked down at it, a smirk on his face. "Perhaps it's because she knows you would've been too curious for your own good."
She waved him off. "Well, go on, open it!"
"Shouldn't I wait for Christmas?" he countered playfully. In all honesty, he was curious about the contents. The fact she had gotten him a gift at all surprised him. It hadn't gone so well the last time she had attempted it. A pang of guilt shot through him.
"Did you want some privacy, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, noting his contemplation.
He shook his head. She wanted to know what it was too, and as invested as she was in their impending relationship, he thought it would be nice to let her be a part of it. Sherlock walked over to the sofa and seated himself, motioning for her to join him. The decorative paper fell away with ease and he then lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a handmade journal bound in soft leather in a lovely russet shade. It closed with a thin leather strap that wrapped around the journal twice. The end of the strap had a button that snapped onto its connecting half on the cover. The paper was handmade as well, deckle-edged and stained for a vintage look.
"Oh, that's lovely," Mrs. Hudson cooed. "It's very you."
"It is," he agreed, unraveling the wrap. "Hhm." He chuckled upon seeing that Molly took the liberty to write him a note on the very first page. Mrs. Hudson placed a motherly hand on his shoulder before getting up to give him space to read it. She closed the door and his eyes began to drink up her sweetly penned words.
Sherlock,
I know you've been struggling with the transition back into your life after being gone for so long. Having you in my life again has been the highlight of my year. I know you have a hard time with your emotions, processing them. I was glad to see you still felt you could open up to me, but sometimes you need to get it out on paper—the words and thoughts in your head—in order to understand what's going on in your heart. Or you could just track your experiments of course. Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes.
Thank you for coming back to London. To us. To me.
With love, Molly xxx
Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. Sherlock recalled his words from long ago. It must have been out of habit. At least that's what he tries to convince himself, for fear of hoping that it meant more. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurve on her mind. He shook away the thoughts as best he could. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact that she's giving him a gift at all.
"Shut. Up," he grumbled. Carefully, he set the journal back inside the box, and carried it to his bedroom, setting it on top of his dresser for the time being. Her note had made him smile, showing she had given this gift a lot of thought. He recalled where she wrote that having him in her life again had been the highlight of her year…not her engagement, but his return. Sherlock turned his head, looking down the hall at the desk where his glass of whisky sat. He had a feeling he was going to need to finish it as he contemplated her words.
Molly was frustrated. She couldn't get through to Tom. Or maybe she had and he didn't want to admit that she was right. Either way, something needed to give. The cold bit at her skin as she watched Milo run around the backyard in the snow. It was getting dark—nearly six o'clock now. Christmas Eve.
"Come on, Milo, time to go in," she called out to the rambunctious dog. He obeyed, coming up to rub his head against her leg, making her laugh. "I think I'll miss you most of all."
Once inside the warmth of the house, she stopped short, noticing all eyes on her. Her nerves had her taking in the room, the details, trying to figure out what was going on. There was an expensive bottle of champagne set out on the coffee table with glasses for everyone, most likely bought by Tom's sister. By the look on everyone's faces, Molly assumed they were waiting for something to happen—something celebratory. She looked up towards the stairs, finding Tom on the landing, greeting her with a smile. His brother stood just at the doorway to the kitchen as if he had taken position right there. What the hell was going on?
"Molls," he smiled, "could you join me for a moment?"
The twisted knot in her stomach was pulled tighter, her breathing unsteady. Somehow, she brought herself to him, nausea notwithstanding. "What is this?" she whispered to him.
Tom took her hand in his. "I know the idea of planning a big wedding has been a little overwhelming—maybe too overwhelming. My brother's ordained, so I thought, why not just do it now whilst everyone's gathered here? We can have a big celebration later—that way the pressure's off."
Is he insane?
Everyone gasped. Apparently she had said that out loud.
Molly laughed awkwardly. "No, Tom. Maybe everyone you care about is here, but what about my friends? They're my family. And how can you expect me to do this right now when you know damn well things aren't right between us?"
He looked panicked. "Okay, no problem, we won't do it. We'll wait. I just thought—"
She locked her eyes on his, dropping his hand. "No. This isn't what I want. I thought it was. But I've been so blind. I deserve better and so do you." Molly slid the ring from her finger and placed it in his palm. "I'm in love with someone else—I've loved him for a very long time, and I'm afraid I've been using you as an excuse, as a way to deny how I felt because I was scared. I want to be able to say I chose my life; that I didn't settle for it. I'm gonna pack up my things. I'll go, and you'll never have to set eyes on me again."
He looked crestfallen, but didn't appear to be surprised. As she set off toward their room, his family began conversing again. And she couldn't help but overhear.
"Oh, Thomas, I'm so sorry," his aunt told him. "She would have made such a lovely bride."
"What a shame she's fucked in the head," his mum added disdainfully.
Molly couldn't help but giggle at that. Maybe she was, but at least there was someone who loved her regardless. By the time she finished packing, everyone had dispersed, off doing their own thing. Most likely, they were just waiting for her to go. She was still a bit on edge after having broken off the engagement in front of his family.
She tried to calm herself, her hands still shaking slightly. Despite how nerve-wracking it had been, she felt a huge weight lift off of her shoulders, unburdening her from all of the pain and sadness. A new feeling took place, one that spoke to her of hope and a not-so-lost love. She was going home to London. To Baker Street. To Sherlock.
"Molly!"
Her head whipped around to find Tom coming out from the kitchen. She prepared herself for his venom. It would be deserved. Whilst she may not have been unfaithful physically, her heart had been, but there hadn't been much she could do about that. After all, she did try to keep it all together until the moment her last nerve was shot.
"I just wanted to say…you were right," he told her.
"What?" That…was not what she expected.
"When we met, you were still grieving the loss of a friend. Though I'm sure he was much more than that to you. When you said I fell in love with the wrong girl, you were right. Since he came back, you've been different. In a good way, mind you. More lively, even. Truthfully, I was a shit fiancé. I didn't want to admit that things had changed when he returned. You convinced yourself you were in love as a way to hide your pain. I've no doubt that you loved me, but I don't think you ever were in love with me."
Molly was speechless. How is it he was so insightful all of a sudden?
Tom continued on, willing himself to get the last bit out. "You and Sherlock—there's no denying that it's meant to be. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me. He was though. We never really knew each other, did we, Molls?"
"No," she admitted, "we really didn't. I hope you find what you're looking for. Honestly. Don't dwell too much on this. Goodbye, Tom." She was out the door, ready to face her new future. The only question was, after all the pain and heartache, would Sherlock still want her? There was only one way to find out…
Author's Note: Poor Tom...so desperate to fix things, but it never worked out. But that's okay. It wasn't meant to be. He'll find someone fit for him just as Molly is going to London to find the man fit for her :)
