Day 6: Huddling for Warmth
"I miss you." Molly whispered, her face red from the cold wind slapping her face, while she was standing in front of Sherlock Holmes' fake gravestone.
To the whole world, Sherlock Holmes was a fraud and a criminal who preferred to take him own life rather than face the consequences of his actions. But to Molly Hooper, along with some very few selected individuals, Sherlock Holmes was very much alive, travelling around the world in order to infiltrate Moriarty's criminal network and to clear his own name.
Another blow of the cold wind hit Molly's face harshly, and Molly tightened her coat around her petite body.
His. His coat.
She kept reminding herself. It was Sherlock's Belstaff that she was wrapped inside, not hers. And though she felt a pang of guilt for using his coat without his permission, she couldn't stop herself from basking in the warmth that spread through her body and soul whenever she wrapped herself in the dear coat of her dear Sherlock. Maybe to everyone else, that coat was only a garment, but to Sherlock, it was a valuable piece of him, and Molly would give anything to have a piece of Sherlock with her, even if it was only his coat and even if it was engulfing her.
Molly sighed deeply, gazing at the shiny black gravestone as if willing it to disappear, as if willing it to summon Sherlock back. God, how much she has missed him!
With another sigh, Molly leaned forward to place her hand on the top of the gravestone. She knew that Sherlock wasn't really buried there, but despite that, the gravestone meant that Sherlock was still out there, fighting against the remnants of Moriarty's network on his own, moving from one town to another and from country to another, wishing to come back to his old life and his beloved London.
"And to me?" Molly thought wistfully. It was a deep thought that she never dared to say it out loud, even in the sanctuary of her own home.
Another blow of the sharp wind dragged Molly out of her thoughts. She quickly adjusted the over-sized coat around her much smaller form, before she turned around and walked towards the main road.
But what Molly wouldn't give if she knew that another soul was watching her from behind the trees, glad that he has left a small piece of him to keep her warm until his return?
Two years later:
Though the party Sherlock theoretically threw in his flat to celebrate Mary and John's engagement (and to make up for ruining their proposal night) was near its end, Sherlock was not ready for the day to end, too.
Mrs. Hudson has already excused herself, declaring it was time for her herbal soothers and beauty sleep. Next, Greg said his goodbyes to everyone. John and Mary stayed for a little longer, chatting with Molly and Sherlock and discussing what would be the prefect date for their wedding.
Half an hour later, John and Mary announced that it was time to go home, and they asked Molly if they would drop her off on their way home.
"That would be love-" Molly started.
"I will take Molly home. No need to concern yourself." Sherlock interrupted Molly, typing on his phone.
"Are you sure? Molly's house is on our way anyway, and it is getting late." John said while wearing his jacket.
Sherlock glanced at Molly, who was sitting on the couch and staring at him in confusion, trying to decipher why he would say that, before he looked at John and said, "Yes, I am. I will take Molly home. You can go."
"Molly?" John turned to ask Molly again, tilting his head to the side.
Sherlock glanced at Molly again, this time with a nervous look, as if willing her to accept his invitation. Not understating why Sherlock would want her to stay any longer, but still curious to find out, Molly cleared her throat then turned her eyes to John and Mary and said with a smile, "It is okay, Sherlock can take me home later, but thanks for offering."
"Alright, then. Have a good night." John shrugged, before taking Mary's hand and leaving the flat. Silently, Sherlock stood up from his chair, walked to the window, and gazed through it. Behind him, Molly waited patiently.
Two minutes later, Sherlock watched John and Mary driving away in their car, then he turned around to face Molly. The stare contest lasted for twenty seconds before Molly decided to end it.
"So, did you want to tell me something?" she asked tentatively.
"Actually, yes." Sherlock replied, a little bit nervous, which Molly noticed immediately.
"Sherlock, is something wrong?"
"No, I just…. There is something I wanted to give you."
"O...okay." Molly murmured.
"Just a moment." Then quickly, Sherlock ducked into his bedroom before closing the door behind him.
Three minutes later, Sherlock emerged from his bedroom and walked straight to where Molly now stood beside his leather chair.
"Close your eyes." He demanded.
"Excuse me?"
"Close your eyes." He repeated impatiently.
Molly narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"Not good, Sherlock. Where are your manners?" John's voice echoed in Sherlock's mind palace.
Sherlock remembered his magic word, which he said with a small smile, "Please."
Reluctantly, Molly closed her eyes, still curious about the meaning of Sherlock's strange behaviour. Eyes still closed, Molly could hear him moving around her, and then suddenly, she felt his breath at the back of her neck.
"Sherlock?" Molly asked in a low voice, not sure what to do now.
"Keep your eyes closed, please." Sherlock mumbled.
Doing as he said, Molly kept her eyes closed, clenching her fists into the fabric of her jumper nervously.
Several moments later, Molly heard a snap behind her. Holding her breath in anticipation, she exhaled soundly. But before she could utter another word, she felt the coolness of something metallic against her neck and collar bone. She gasped at the sudden sensation, taking an involuntarily step backwards, colliding her back with Sherlock's chest.
"Sherlock, what-?" Molly asked breathily.
"One more moment." Sherlock commented in a low voice. Molly felt cool fingertips touching the nape of her neck lightly before she heard Sherlock's whisper against her ear. "Now, open your eyes, Molly."
Slowly, Molly opened her eyes, and she glanced down, staring at the cold object that touched her skin a few moments ago, startling her. To her utter surprise, it was a necklace. Without a word, Sherlock gently put his hands on Molly's shoulders, urging her to turn right, positioning her in front of the mirror that stood at the top of his fireplace. In the mirror, both Molly and Sherlock stared at the necklace around Molly's neck, or more specifically, staring at the exquisite pendant that was now nestled against Molly's upper sternum.
"A bluebird necklace?" Molly murmured.
"Yes." Sherlock simply answered, his hands still on Molly's shoulders.
"But, why?"
"Because I have seen you."
Molly's eyes snapped to meet his in the mirror.
"I don't understand." Molly shook her head in confusion.
"I have seen you in the graveyard, in a cold windy day. You were wearing my Belstaff; the one I left in your flat before leaving."
Molly gasped in surprise, then lowered her eyes in embarrassment.
Slowly but steadily, Sherlock raised his right hand from Molly's shoulder and lifted her chin in order to meet her eyes in the mirror.
"You wrapped my coat around yourself for warmth. With every sharp blow from the wind, you would tighten it around your body like a shield." Sherlock continued, his thumb drawing small circles on Molly's shoulder.
"I am sorry, I didn't mean to-"Molly stammered, her cheeks already pink from embarrassment that he caught her wearing his coat.
"What would he think now? That I am a teenager?" Molly thought.
Sherlock shook his head quickly, moving his hand from her chin to her lips to silence her. Molly swallowed nervously, staring at him in the mirror. She felt dizzy, her mind trying to cope with the unexpected situation, while her body was humming for being close to the man she loved.
"I was happy that I left a part of me to keep you warm, to keep you safe." Sherlock said.
"I- I don't know-"Molly tried to form a coherent sentence but failed.
"I am not angry at you. I was happy I left behind a memory of me to keep you company until I come back to you."
"Come back to me?" Molly whispered in astonishment, watching him in the mirror.
"Surely you know by now, my dear Molly."
Sherlock placed both hands on Molly's shoulders and turned her around to face him. He cupped her face in his palms before he leaned forward and muttered, "You were the secret Moriarty knew nothing about. You were my secret, but not anymore." And then he leaned further to place a gentle kiss on Molly's lips. For a moment, Molly was so shocked she didn't reciprocate, but as Sherlock's lips urged hers to open up for him, she raised her hands to cup the nape of his neck before she returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm.
As the lack of air became dizzying, they ended the kiss, resting their foreheads against one another. They both took several deep breaths, and it was Molly who leaned backwards first to gaze at Sherlock's eyes. The curiosity was eating her up.
"Why a bluebird?" Molly asked, glancing at the necklace around her neck.
"Oh, my dear Molly, don't you know?" Sherlock smiled kindly.
"Know what?"
"Bluebirds always huddle for warmth in winter." Sherlock explained, "Just like you and my Belstaff." He added with a chuckle.
"Really?" Molly smiled widely.
"Yes. Eastern bluebirds may huddle together in a tree cavity or hollow log in groups up to ten." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly.
"Ten?" Molly asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, I don't like to share. So only the two of us will be enough." Sherlock laughed.
6 days down, 1 to go.