Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine.
#DryCleanOnly
He won't let the drycleaners anywhere near it, and people are starting to talk.
The "it," in question is one of his suit jackets. Charcoal grey, slickly tailored, it's among the first things he bought after he came back from his Hiatus. (Over the years away he'd built up bulk, and he had thus found that none of his remaining clothes, when he returned, had fit him.
A trip to Saville Row with Anthea and Mycroft's credit card had thus proved necessary- And enjoyable).
The circumstances of the jacket's purchase are beside the point however; they are not the reason he's refusing to take it to the drycleaners now.
No, the reason he's keeping it on its own, strictly sequestered from the rest of his wardrobe, is that the last time he saw Molly Hooper, she ended up wearing it.
She'd also ended up- quite unexpectedly- making it smell of her perfume.
Sherlock knows she hadn't done it on purpose; She'd been on a date, she'd noticed some red flags. A little too much wine taken a little too quickly by her date. An implication that he felt he was owed something because he had brought her out, and that something wasn't a kiss on the cheek good night. A text to John had led to Sherlock coming into the restaurant and spiriting her away, ostensibly "on an emergency."
It had also led to him- none too subtly- implying that the idiot who had frightened her should not contact her again. Ever.
Standing outside in the cold while waiting for Sherlock to do his patented Make A Cab Appear Trick (TM) she'd started shivering and he had thus lent her his jacket to keep out the chill. She'd smiled gratefully at him as he'd slipped it over her shoulders and he had, once again felt that familiar swoop of feeling in his belly as he took in her lovely smile. They'd ended up back at Baker Street, eating a Thai takeaway and watching some nonsense about pirates which seemed wholly historically inaccurate to Sherlock but which seemed to entrance Molly-
As she often did, Molly had fallen asleep on Sherlock's couch and Sherlock had taken her into his room. Put her in his bed.
He'd found the jacket when he went back out to the living room and he'd draped it over himself as he lay down to sleep.
It was only then that he had smelt the tell0tale reminder of Molly's presence. It had wafted around him, oddly soothing- comforting- and when he breathed it in deeply, he couldn't help but smile.
The next morning after she left he hung it in his wardrobe and there it has stayed. Unworn, but not untouched. It makes him smile every time he looks at it.
Mrs. Hudson thinks he's doing an experiment.
John keeps eyeing him in that way that he has but Sherlock Holmes is adamant- The jacket's not going to the cleaners and that is that.