Sherlock Holmes waited outside of the door. He had called upon his brother, Mycroft, to find out where Doctor Hooper resided. Apparently, her parents had both passed when she was only sixteen, hence why there was never a coming out party for her. She had been residing with her cousin, Meena, and her husband, Gideon Wadsworth.
"Ah, hello, Mrs. Wadsworth, is Doctor Hooper available?" Sherlock asked.
"Are you that Holmes fellow?" Meena asked. "Because if you are, I'm afraid you are not welcome and will not be invited inside."
"Well, good news then, I do not wish to enter; I only wish to ask if Molly would take a stroll with me. I need to explain," Sherlock informed her. "I need to apologize." He paused a moment. "Please, Mrs. Wadsworth; I misworded some things and it might quite possibly kill me if I cannot do anything to make up for it."
"I'll let her know," Meena said. "If you would be so kind to wait in the sitting room."
"Thank you," Sherlock nodded. He waited as was asked of him. Mere seconds passed when he heard Molly's voice down the hall.
"If you think I am going to give that infuriating man one more second of my time, you are mistaken!" she huffed, stopping short when her eyes landed on the very man she was disgusted with.
"I am sorry to have wasted your time, Mrs. Wadsworth," Sherlock spoke solemnly. "Good day to you, Doctor Hooper. I apologize for my behaviour earlier." He began to walk towards the door in defeat, his heart breaking with every step he took. Upon grabbing the door knob, he felt a small hand on his arm.
"Thirty minutes; that is all the time I am giving you to make things right, Mister Holmes," Molly spoke firmly.
"That is all the time I need, Doctor Hooper," Sherlock replied. Molly noticed the way his eyes lit up. She slid her arm through his and allowed him to lead her out of the door.
"What was all that about, Mister Holmes? At the hospital? Do you honestly believe asking to court me was a mistake?" Molly asked, her voice breaking.
"It was not meant to sound as if it was a mistake to ask you, but rather that I am the mistake," Sherlock explained.
"I do not understand," Molly admitted. "I do not think you are a mistake."
"You would if I told you about my worst habit," Sherlock told her. "I am trying to cease from continuing it."
"Whatever it is, Sherlock, you can tell me," Molly insisted. His heart hammered in his chest at the sound of his name on her lips. It sounded right, as if she was the only one meant to say it.
"Before I do, just know I would understand if you no longer wished to be in my presence ever again," Sherlock said. Molly waited for him to tell her more. "I use a seven percent solution of cocaine to help my thought processes. I realize it is a nasty habit and you deserve much better than a man who ruins himself for the sake of detective work."
"The woman who was injected with an overdose of cocaine," Molly stated. "That's what set you off."
"You are not horrified by my confession?" Sherlock asked, a bit confused.
"Not at all; more concerned than horrified," Molly admitted. "If you are willing to quit such a habit, I am willing to help you through it. Oh, Sherlock, you really thought that would deter me?"
"You are a most endearing woman, Molly Hooper. I do not deserve such a precious gift," Sherlock spoke softly.
"Though we've only known one another for a short time, I find myself in a position of undying loyalty and—" she stopped short before admitting too much. "I feel as though I know the truth of your heart."
"And what is the truth of my heart?" Sherlock asked with curiosity.
"You have a good heart, Sherlock Holmes, and though you put up many walls, I feel it to be an honour for you to have allowed me to reach past them," Molly explained. "Some claim you do not have a heart at all, but I disagree. You care deeply for those closest to you, as shown by your visitation to me today." A moment of comfortable silence passed between them.
"I do have another confession to make," Sherlock stated.
"Oh?" Molly pried.
"William is my real first name," he admitted with a chuckle. Molly giggled along with him.
"My, Mister Holmes, I feel quite betrayed," she teased. "Whatever shall I do with you?"
"Allow me to escort you to the theatre tomorrow night?" Sherlock asked.
"I would be honoured to," Molly replied. She lifted her free hand, holding her fan, stopping their stroll to face him. "For the sake of ignoring society's expectations, may I suggest something?"
"If you would like to," Sherlock encouraged, unsure of where this was going. Molly opened her fan, touching it to her lips. His heart leapt in his chest. "Why, Miss Hooper, are you sure?"
"Quite so," Molly answered, batting her lashes. Sherlock leaned in ever so slowly that Molly could not wait a second longer. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket, urging his lips to press against hers firmly. As their lips brushed against one another, Molly drew her fan lightly across his cheek. I love you. They parted and Sherlock gently touched his fingers to his cheek.
"And I love you, Molly Hooper," Sherlock whispered.
The next night, Sherlock was seated next to Molly at the theatre. They were there to see Shakespeare's Hamlet. Their fingers would brush up against one another every now and then. It was always completely accidental, of course. She wore a locket around her neck which contained a lock of his now slicked back curls. He had given it to her during the carriage ride to the theatre. The intermission came quickly.
"Would you care to join me in the foyer?" Sherlock asked.
"But of course, Mister Holmes," Molly smiled.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" he further inquired.
"Immensely," she answered. "Though, I must say I am enjoying your company much more." She carried her fan in her right hand, in front of her face. Follow me. And follow her, he did. She led him to a hidden alcove, out of the way of prying eyes. Not bothering to signal him with her fan, she stood on her toes to kiss him.
"You are quite audacious, Miss Hooper," Sherlock breathed into her ear. "I most ardently love you, as I have fallen hard for your beautiful mind and kind heart."
"And I, you, my love," she whispered, caressing his cheek with her gloved hand.
They returned to their seats for the last half of the play. Molly was thoroughly entertained with the scene playing out before them. Hamlet had told Horatio how he plotted to overcome Claudius's scheme to have him murdered. The actor suddenly collapsed on stage, ironically, much to the shock of the audience and cast members. Molly stood, followed by Sherlock.
"That man has been poisoned," Molly spoke up, raising her voice for all to hear.
"And what makes you qualified to know such things? Your intellect must not be that high," a man in an outer seat spoke haughtily.
"I suggest you think twice before approaching Doctor Hooper in such a manner," Sherlock snapped. "If you had one ounce of intelligence, you would recognize her brilliance and qualifications. Do not dare to speak to her ever again, for you are undeserving to even lay your eyes upon her beauty." The rude man in question sank back down into his seat, visibly shaken.
Once all was taken care of, thanks to DI Lestrade's arrival, Sherlock led Molly to their awaiting carriage. He had deduced that the person responsible for the lead's death was the very cast member who played Horatio. It was perfectly timed for irony and the hopes of not being suspected.
"I am sorry that we were not able to finish the play," Sherlock said as the carriage took off.
"It is quite alright," Molly laughed. "There is nothing more exciting than a murder to solve."
"Perhaps you were made especially for me, Molly Hooper," Sherlock grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"I cannot help but agree the same about you, William," Molly smirked. He blinked rapidly, in shock at the use of his true first name. He loved the way she caressed it on her lips.
"I—well, I was going to send this to you, but I want you to have it now. You may read it in my presence, if you wish," Sherlock offered her an envelope. She opened it carefully and unfolded the letter, beginning to read to herself.
Darling Molly,
I tend to convey my thoughts much better on paper than with the spoken word. Have I ever told you how much I adore your soulful brown eyes? I feel honoured just to have them gaze upon me. To be graced by your presence is a precious gift that I shall cherish each and every day. I have fancied you since the very first day we met and I choose to believe the feeling was mutual. You have awakened my heart, Molly Hooper, and it only beats for you. Though it is a bit fast, our whirlwind romance has shown it can withstand anything. If it is not too soon, I should like to call upon you tomorrow.
Yours always,
William.
"Yes, you may call upon me tomorrow," Molly smiled. "And Sherlock?" He nodded for her to continue. "It does not matter the amount of time, but the quality of the time that is spent together." This seemed to ease him, as he had plans to execute; plans for their future.
"Mister and Mrs. Wadsworth, may I request to have a private word with Doctor Hooper?" Sherlock asked. They nodded knowingly. Molly entered the sitting room after their departure.
"Mister Holmes," she spoke sweetly. "To what do I owe this visit?"
"Miss Hooper, it has come to my attention that I simply cannot think of anyone else I would want to spend my life with," Sherlock smiled, stepping closer to her, closing the gap between them. "I would be honoured if you were to agree to be my wife. I promise to cherish you every day, as I am deeply in love with you. Should you choose to accept my proposal, I promise to do right by you and hope to make you very happy." He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Marry me."
"Yes," she answered quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "I will marry you." Sherlock slipped the delicate band of rose gold onto her finger. The center was set with a pearl, small diamonds clustered on either side of it. "I love you." And then he was kissing her, not caring that the Wadsworths were peeking around the corner. Who knew that upon meeting a doctor he truly admired, Sherlock Holmes would fall fast for her? He certainly did not see it coming, taking it in stride, as the famed consulting detective did love to be surprised every once in a while. And pleasantly surprised, he was.
Author's Note: and so ends this prompt! I am finally nearly caught up on them lol!