Another Sherlolly Discord flash fic prompt: Molly tossing snowballs at Sherlock's window not knowing it's open and has no screen. Have some fluffy K+ rated teenlock.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?"
Molly stifled her giggles and skipped back a few steps, mittened hands to her lips, eyes bright as she watched Sherlock thrust his head and shoulders through the unscreened window. Whoops, her mistake; she'd forgotten he liked to sleep with it open even in the middle of winter.
"HOOPER! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU UP TO?" he roared, shivering a bit, in the cold, his hands clenching on the wooden sill of the upstairs window.
"You said I should wake you up after the first snow!" she called up to him. She threw open her arms, inviting him to take in the winter wonderland around her. "Well, here's the first snow! Now get your skinny arse down here and help me build a snowman!"
She grinned as his glower turned to a slow grin; lord, she loved it when he grinned at her like that, like she was the only person in the world, or the best mystery ever. "Down in a tick," he replied, ducking back into his room.
She hugged herself with delight, raising her face and sticking out her tongue to taste the snowflakes that were still falling.
She'd hated being dragged out to the middle of nowhere when her father had taken this new job miles and miles from London, but meeting Sherlock Holmes - the boy she knew, deep in her bones, she would one day marry - had made it all worthwhile.
Well, not at first. She frowned a bit, remembering how horrid it had felt to be deduced by him in front of her new classmates. Luckily they'd all rallied round her, and his best mate, John Watson, had cuffed him across the ear and scolded him so that had been all right. And when he'd apologized? Startling everyone in the room into stupefied silence? Icing on the cake.
"And what are you thinking about, Molly Hooper, hmm? The new snow or the first time we met?" Warm arms snaked their way around her waist, and she leaned back against his chest with a sigh of contentment.
"Both," she replied honestly, not bothering to ask what subtle microexpression had given her away. Or perhaps it was her choice of mittens? The ones his mum had knit for her?
Didn't matter. All that mattered was this moment, the two of them together, the beauty of the snow…
"Jesus Sherlock, can't you and your girlfriend practice your ridiculous adolescent courtship rituals at a more civilized hour? The sun's barely up, and I. Was. SLEEPING!"
Mycroft's irritable grumble caused Molly to jump guiltily, but Sherlock held her fast, not even turning his head to face his older brother as he called back, "Sod off, Mykey, you've been up for hours and you know it. Go practice your Interview Face in the bathroom mirror a few more times and maybe you'll actually get a job without Uncle Rudy's help this time!"
Mycroft's response, if any, was cut off by their mother's voice irritably yelling at both boys to pipe down; Molly stifled a giggle in her mittened hands, and Sherlock chuckled before pulling her along to join him at the back end of the garden.
"It's so lovely," she said, gazing up at the falling snow and blinking the flakes from her lashes.
Sherlock hummed in agreement, then turned her in his arms and kissed her.
Four years later, Molly's prediction - that he would one day be her husband - came beautifully true as their winter wedding took place outdoors, amid the most beautiful fall of snow.