Staring out at the drizzle slowly making its way down to the windowpane, Molly paces around her house utterly bored. It was her day off, and while grateful she wishes she could go for a walk or hang out with Meena, who unfortunately was visiting her parents a long ways away. She decides to make herself a nice cup of steaming hot tea and watch some crap telly, even though she had already watched three hours of it on end and felt like her eyeballs could fall out. However intriguing, there are only so many medical and murder documentaries you can watch until you say enough. She sighs exasperatedly and flicks the kettle on, leaning against her counter as she waits.
She aimlessly scrolls through her social media, and then remembers she hasn't read John's latest blog post yet. Smiling, she goes to the new link that he luckily texts to their friend group and begins to read. A grin spreads across her face at the parts where Sherlock sounds humorous and her mind drifts off a bit.
They are in a good place again, friendship wise. The phone call was well explained, and he made up for it more than enough with being kinder and even more polite to her, especially in the morgue. He had apologized genuinely many times. They had even gotten a chance to babysit Rosie together. It was actually fun, and he is a lot better with her than Molly could have ever imagined; but then again, he really is like a child himself. They got along just like regular, ordinary friends. There was no façade of being a famous detective or an award-winning mortician. Just Sherlock and Molly, nearly decade old buddies—wow, has it really been that long? Laughs and smiles and lots of coffee was shared the evening they watched her together. Her heart flutters at the warm memory as the kettle whistles sharply, drawing her out of her thoughts.
Molly prepares the tea in her favorite mug and goes to flip on the TV for the hundredth time today when her phone chimes. She peers at the screen and sees that it's a text from Mrs. Hudson. Sometimes she forgets just how savage and in tune with modern technology she is. Opening her messenger, she reads:
{Hello Molly dear. I know you said it was your day off, but a couple of my bakers got the flu and I was wondering if you would be able to help me make some pastries. Other than them you are the next best baker I know, and I can't possibly make everything for tomorrow by myself. You would be a life saver, darling. Xo Martha}
Molly beams. Yes! Finally something to do!
{Of course I can help you out. It's a dreary day anyway. I'll be by within the half hour. Don't worry, we will get the case filled to the brim before you know it! x x x Molly}
She takes a sip of her tea then dumps it, grabbing her bright yellow raincoat—the one that matches her yellow VW Beetle— and slipping on her sneakers, before grabbing her purse and keys and leaving her home for the little café.
About two hours in, Mrs. Hudson takes a break to go eat something since she was feeling a bit lightheaded. Molly happily took over. She enjoys baking and she usually does so when she is in a happy mood, or very bored. She makes a mental note to buy more ingredients at the store for her own home and continues kneading the dough, wiping her hair away from her face with the back of her hand. Peering up from the kitchen and through the small open window, she notices how totally empty the place is. It feels a lot bigger when it's closed and there's no customers lined up for breakfast or a treat.
Strolling over to the sink, she washes her hand then grabs her mobile out of her purse, turning on one of her favorite playlists. She pops the freshly baked pastries out of the large oven and sets them down to cool, replacing them with the next sheet, then resumes kneading and shaping the dough for the next batch. When the next rotation comes around, she has a system of efficiency set up. Sending a quick text up to Martha, she tells her to take the rest of the day off and that the kitchen is in good hands with her, that she has a system and will be fine for a few more hours.
A few pastry rotations later she hears a ruckus from next door, thanks to the thin wall between 221B and Speedy's. Molly wonders if it's Sherlock and John, but continues working. As she puts the new round in the oven, she hears the bells on the door of Speedy's jingle, signaling a customer. But they were closed.
Molly turns around and looks through the glassless window, seeing none other than a completely soaked Sherlock Holmes. She then realizes how hard it is downpouring compared to when she arrived. Her heart skips a beat. He is always handsome, but he has -the- purple shirt on, and not only is it tight but its now completely drenched and clinging to his body. For a moment she doesn't think air is going into her lungs.
"Molly, what are you doing here?" Sherlock questions.
"M-me?" Damn. She told herself she wouldn't stutter over his beauty. "You're the only completely drenched from head to toe and in a -closed- café! You're getting the floors all wet, Mrs. Hudson will have your head if she has to mop again."
Sherlock shrugs. "I'll mop it, then she'll never know."
Molly snorts. "You, Sherlock Holmes, doing a chore? I'd love to witness THAT" she laughs a bit and he pouts like a child.
"Hey, I am perfectly capable of running a silly mop through a puddle thank you very much. Also, I am here because I saw the light and I was concerned. Hudders is usually is done tidying by two. What's your excuse?"
"She texted me and asked if I could come and help her bake since two of the bakers are out with the flu and she needed a lot of baked goods for tomorrow morning to sell. I was super bored anyway, so I was happy to help. I do love to bake."
"Hm. You do?"
"Yes, sometimes. I'm quite good at it."
"Shall we test that theory?" he smirks and strides over to where a sheet is cooling and goes to grab one. Molly smacks his hand away.
"Don't even think about it Mister! No freebies. Well…unless..."
"Unless?" he furrows his brow. "Unless what? I'm starving, soaked, and I've just solved a case that was a nine. I deserve one."
Molly raises an eyebrow. "Unless you clean up after yourself first. The mop is in that closet." she points.
He groans and trudges over to the closet. He takes his water-logged shoes off and set them aside then grabs the mop and cleans up his puddles in only his socks. Molly could have laughed at this picture. She would never know any other man that could look so sexy, yet so utterly juvenile at the same time. Once successfully mopped, he returns it to the closet then takes his wet suit coat off, leaving only the purple shirt, which was still clinging to him like glue. He wasn't wearing his Belstaff because the rain would have ruined it.
Jesus, is he trying to entice her like this? She can see his lean chest underneath and wonders what he looks like shirtless before turning red and distracting herself with the dough.
"Molly?"
"Yes Sherlock?"
"Is there a small towel in there?" he asks and sits down.
"Err…." Molly looks around and finds a dish towel. "Yeah, here's one." She brings it over to him and smiles sweetly. "Thank You." He says and rubs it through his dripping curls. Molly notices that he is beginning to shiver even though the heat of the oven has warmed the place up quite nicely.
"You're shivering Sherlock. If you're not careful, you'll catch an awful cold. Believe me. I went to work like that once…you can imagine working in a morgue how that turned out for me. I was in bed for a week with pneumonia."
Sherlock looks up at her from where he is seated in front of her and searches her eyes, finding genuine concern, then shrugs a bit. I've been through worse."
His eyes were like a breathtaking stormy sea, swirls of blues, greens, and even a bit of gold. Molly nearly lost herself in them. "I know that but, regardless, health is health."
"I suppose I have no choice but to take my shirt off though. My skin will dry faster without the drenched material upon it."
Molly's breath hitches in her throat and she can't seem to get out any words. She just shrugs and returns to the kitchen, kneading the dough but keeping an eye on the mischievous detective in her midst. That's when his usual snarkiness came out and she swore she could have slapped him again.
"But then again, you would enjoy that a bit too much, wouldn't you?" he smirks at her devilishly, rising from his chair.
"Sherlock Holmes!"
"It's just a deduction, dear Molly. Don't fret." He grins boyishly. Molly can feel her face flush onto her cheeks and down her neck as he slowly unbuttons and peel the fabric from his porcelain skin. God, he's even more gorgeous than she imagined, despite all the scars speckled about his torso and chest, including the one from Mary's bullet so long ago.
Just when she thought her embarrassment could not get any worse, her playlist chose THIS VERY MOMENT to play "Gorgeous" by Taylor Swift. That's it. She was dead. She wanted to curl up and bury herself in the ground. Oh God.
Molly turns into a statue, unable to move in her moment of pure, unadulterated DREAD. Sherlock raises an eyebrow and seems to be listening to the lyrics as he moves towards the kitchen. Jesus, her chest was going to burst; it felt like the tamed love she had for him was trying to escape her like a vicious lion, battling with the nervousness and embarrassment she just could not come to terms with in the moment. Still, she remains unmoving. He walks over to her shirtless, his damp curls upon his forehead and his bright eyes looking directly at her.
Instead of making fun of her, he smiles genuinely. The kind of smile that made her weak and forced her heart to twinge with happiness and skip a beat. For a moment they just stare at each other until Sherlock goes and washes his hands, beginning to knead dough. Molly stares motionless and silent.
"Well? There are at least five trays left to go. I assume if we finish together, it will take less time. Maybe then we can get back to the murder documentary we were watching once Rosie was asleep. We never did get to finish it and it's kept me wondering."
Blinking a few times, she finally gets her ability to speak back. "Yeah, um, okay."
Sherlock smirks a bit at her and wipes his hands on a hand towel. He turns to her and gently takes her chin, tipping her gaze up to him. Smiling again, he brushes his thumb along her cheek, and then the top of her forehead. "You may be very good at your jobs, but you do make a mess. At least in the morgue you have a face shield and goggles." He looks back in her eyes and raises his thumb. "Flour. All on your face." He chuckles deeply. The song on her Taylor playlist then changes to "How You Get The Girl".
Molly turns red again. "Th-Thanks, Sherlock...er..I can..turn the music off now. I think I've had enough of it." She moves to turn it off, but Sherlock carefully grabs her arm.
"Don't…it's…fine."
Molly nods and then begin working on the pastries, getting a few pans done, the playlist on repeat. Molly blushes all over again a couple hours later when "Gorgeous" comes on yet again, and Sherlock chuckles knowingly.
"Stoppp laughinggg!" Molly giggles and tosses some flour at him.
He gapes. "You did not just-! Molly Louise Hooper!"
Molly laughs more, Sherlock looking like he walked through a snowstorm shirtless. Smirking, he grabs some in his hand. Molly squeals, "Oh my God no! Don't you dare William Holmes!"
"Oh, now I'm definitely going to!" He rushes over and streaks some onto her face again. Molly squeaks and laughs.
"You are glad you're wearing a tee and not one of those fluffy, blinding jumpers!"
She snorts and nods. "Definitely. We are a mess now."
"You started it!"
"No way! You started it because you laughed at me!"
"Did notttt, I was laughing at your reaction!"
"That's the same thing!"
"Pfffft, whateverrrr."
"Yeah that's right, you don't get the last word for once."
Sherlock makes a face and the oven dings. He takes the baked ones out as she works on the dough. He listens to the lyrics of "How You Get The Girl" again and falls quiet.
"Oh c'mon, you're not going to get all pouty cause I got the last word this time are you?"
"No, no, I'm just thinking. Don't worry." He gives her an encouraging smile and she nods, returning it.
He works on the dough with her then pop the last batch into the oven. He begins singing along to Molly's utter shock. Firstly, that he even knew the words, and secondly, that he's a decent singer. It was just so unlike him.
"And you were too afraid to tell her what you want…I want you for worse or for better, I would wait for ever and ever, broke your heart, I'll put it back together, I want you for ever and ever…" he turns to her slowly.
Molly's heart nearly stops. Was he directing it towards her? Does he have feelings for her?
"Picture in frames of kisses on cheeks...and say you want me..." he continues softer and gently cups her flour dusted cheeks in his hands.
Molly swallows hard and looks up at him, locking eyes with him. Before she knew what was happening, his head was dipped to hers, their lips moving together and their tongues dancing upon each other's, as if their life depended on it. It was the best kiss Molly had ever experienced in her entire lifetime and she leans into it more, a small moan escaping her as she returns the kiss with passion.
When then finally pull away Sherlock looks exhilarated, but nervous. "I mean it. I meant it then…and I mean it now. I have been so afraid to…to admit my feelings…it was never my strong suit Molly..."
"Mean what Sherlock?" she asks cautiously, knowing full well what he was implying.
He takes a breath and the releases it, stroking her cheeks. "I love you."
Molly tears up a little and grins brightly. "I love you too, Sherlock."
"So...?"
"So…?"
"For worse or for better, I want you, for ever and ever…w-will you…be mine? Like, forever…?" he swallows hard.
Molly's eyes widen. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes are you asking what I think you're asking?"
Sherlock then, in all his damp, flour covered, and shirtless glory, brings himself down onto one knee and looks up at her. "I am not a man of tradition, but I know you appreciate it. "Yes, Margaret Louise Hooper, I'm asking you…will you marry me?"
Moly covers her mouth as tears draw trails through her floury cheeks. "Oh my God…yes. Yes. Yes, a million times yes!"
Sherlock beams with relief and gets up, engaging in a very steamy kiss with his new fiancée. Molly cradles his head as they kiss until they pull away. "I-I... I misplaced the ring. BUT don't worry, I'll find it. If I don't, you'll get a new one, I swear. I HAD been thinking of asking since...well...you know when. I just couldn't muster up the gall to ask, and every time I thought I could it was never the right moment."
Molly blushes and chuckles a little. "I can't imagine you being nervous, but it's nice to know you are, in fact, human. Also, I love you regardless, ring or no. I want you, you are the prize, not a ring."
"I won't always be, but I know you can handle me. You're the only person who I know for a fact can handle me at my worst. I've lived it, I've seen it, and you save me every time." Sherlock and Molly both blush and the oven dings, signaling the last tray of pastries were finished baking. Molly cleans up as he puts them in the case and then he holds his hand out to her. "Now, how about that murder doc?"
Molly snorts and giggles. "Yeah, once we clean ourselves up and you find the ring! It may not be my priority, but I'm sure it was expensive, and you don't want it lost forever."
"Right! Yes, that. I will find it, no worries. Is it too soon to shower together? I'm sure we can get cleaner that way, plus it's more efficient. We will look for the ring after."
Her face turns red and she gapes. "Sherlock!?"
He laughs in his beautifully deep baritone and steals a pastry, popping it into his mouth, then retorts. "Come on Molly, we're going to be married! Plus, I know you can't resist me, and frankly, I don't want to resist you either."
Molly flushes deeply and laughs softly as they collect their things to bring up to 221B. "Alright Sherlock, but the ring may just end up waiting until tomorrow…and the documentary may just be forgotten for a while." She smirks teasingly, and he raises an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Yes. We are absolutely electric already. I can only imagine…"
"It's a good thing you won't have to imagine for long then."
"Yeah, I suppose so." Molly giggles giddily as they turn all of the lights off, and head up to 221B to start their first night as an official AND engaged couple.
🎵 That's how it works…that's how you got the girl. 🎵