"Goodbye, sweetheart. Be good for Nanny," Molly instructed her daughter, giving her several kisses goodbye.
Sherlock, for his part, gave his daughter one kiss on the forehead and said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning, sweet pea. Daddy loves you."
Sherlock usually still maintained a reserved demeanour when it came to showing affection for his daughter in public, but at home he was just as affectionate with her as Molly was, sometimes even more so. He loved playing games with her like peekaboo and tickling her to make her squirm with delight. He would blow raspberries on her tummy to make her laugh as well. Victoria was definitely the apple of her father's eye.
Baby drop-off completed, the couple headed back to the waiting taxi, upon which Sherlock gave directions to take them to the Ritz.
Molly took his hand in her excitement. "We're going back to the Ritz restaurant? That was such a lovely evening last year. Thank you for thinking of it." She wondered if he had made a reservation for them to stay overnight again, and then dismissed it. First of all, she had work the next day, and secondly, Sherlock had told her their bedroom was off-limits, so he obviously had plans for them to return home after dinner. Hmm, I think Sherlock's deductive reasoning on things is rubbing off on me, she thought in silent amusement.
"You're welcome, love." He turned his head and sniffed her neck appreciatively. "You always smell so good." He nuzzled her neck, then kissed it, and she giggled. Then he murmured in her ear, "You also look ravishing in that dress, sweetheart, and if you weren't wearing a coat right now I'd be trailing my hand up your thigh through the slit in your dress."
Molly blushed. "You and your innuendo, Sherlock," she returned softly, turning her head to whisper into his ear.
His eyes danced as he responded. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sweetheart. I'd simply like to place my hand on your bare leg, nothing more, nothing less." Then he smirked and she knew very well that he was definitely thinking impure thoughts.
He captured her lips with his own, taking her breath away and leaving her in no doubt of the promise of delightful things to come later that night.
When they arrived in front of the Ritz hotel, Sherlock helped Molly to alight and they walked into the luxurious establishment they had frequented on two other occasions.
Sherlock took her immediately to the lift and they were soon on the way to the top floor and the revolving restaurant.
Once they had exited the lift and walked to the restaurant, Sherlock spoke to the man standing at the entrance. "Good evening," he said politely. "I have a reservation for two at seven o'clock for my wife and myself, under the name Sherlock Holmes."
The man beamed at him. "I recognise you, Mr. Holmes. It's an honour to meet you." Sherlock inclined his head in acknowledgment, and the man tapped a few keys on his computer, then frowned. He looked at Sherlock and said, "Seven o'clock, you say? I don't seem to have your reservation here."
Now it was Sherlock's turn to frown. "What do you mean, you don't have my reservation? I made it the day after New Year's."
The man gave him a look of concern, then tapped a few more keys. "I'm very sorry, sir, I've checked every reservation for this evening and your name is not among them."
Sherlock's lips tightened. "This is ridiculous," he expostulated. Molly laid a placating hand on his arm and spoke.
"Could we perhaps be seated at another time then?" she asked, hoping to defuse the situation, as Sherlock's colour was heightening and he was beginning to flex his fingers in agitation.
The man, whose name tag read Robert, gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Madam, the restaurant has been booked completely for the last month for this evening. I'm sure you understand that Valentine's Day is a special occasion."
Sherlock shook Molly's hand off and folded his arms. "Here's the problem, Robert," he said, stressing the name Robert rather unpleasantly. "As you said yourself, it is Valentine's Day, and whether my reservation is showing or not, it was made. Why else would I be here?" he pointed out logically. "It is not as if I can find another place at short notice in which to take my wife for a lovely dinner. So I suggest you find a way to accommodate us." His tone was haughty, icy.
Molly gave Sherlock a warning look. Right now, he was acting more like the Sherlock of old, acting superior and high-handed, and she didn't like it at all. "Sherlock," she pleaded, "let's just leave. It's not his fault."
Sherlock didn't seem to be listening. "I demand to see a manager."
"Yes of course, sir. One moment, please." Robert placed a call and then said, "Mr. Knightley will be right with you." Then he added nervously, "Now, if you don't mind, there's another couple behind you?"
Sherlock huffed but stepped aside and the other couple gave their names and reservation time, which was confirmed. They were ushered into the restaurant even as Sherlock glared at their retreating backs.
"Sherlock," Molly hissed. "Let's not spoil this night. I don't care where we eat, as long as I'm with you."
His expression softened somewhat as he turned to look at her. "But I wanted to give you a wonderful night, Molly, to show my appreciation for you."
"You show your appreciation for me every day, honey," Molly said sincerely, even as she noticed a man approaching them.
"Good evening - Mr. Holmes, I take it? And your lovely wife? My name is George Knightley. What seems to be the problem here?" asked the newcomer.
Sherlock's expression darkened again. "The problem is that I made a reservation for this evening and now Robert here," he gestured at the man still standing at the entrance to the restaurant, "can't seem to find it."
"I see," said Mr. Knightley thoughtfully. "Do you by chance know when you placed your reservation?"
Sherlock seemed somewhat mollified at the man's attention. "As a matter of fact, I do," he said in a more pleasant tone of voice. "It was the day after New Year's."
Mr. Knightley nodded. "I thought that might be the case. We had an issue with our online server on that day, and I know for a fact that several reservations were lost, because we received a number of phone calls from people asking why they had not received an email confirmation about their reservation." He stroked his beard. "I don't suppose you recall receiving a confirmation email yourself?"
Sherlock furrowed his brow, thinking. "As it happens, I didn't even think to check. I had no issue on the first occasion I made a reservation, so I just assumed it had gone through."
The manager looked sympathetic. "I really am truly sorry about the inconvenience, Mr. Holmes. Unfortunately, I cannot create extra chairs and tables in the restaurant at a moment's notice. However, to compensate you for your obvious inconvenience in coming here this evening for no reason, may I offer you and your wife a free lunch here on Easter Sunday instead?"
Molly reached for Sherlock's arm again and gave it a squeeze, then gave him a pleading look, which finally, he understood.
"Very well then," he said grudgingly. "I suppose there's nothing else that can be done."
Mr. Knightley beamed. "Very good. If you'd like to come over to the computer, I will make the reservation for you myself and show that there will be no charge for your meal or any drinks you might choose to consume with the meal."
"Thank you, Mr. Knightley," responded Molly, before her husband could make any more snarky comments about the inconvenience of taking a taxi for no reason.
With the reservation made, and even a confirmation number given to Sherlock to prove it was indeed so, Molly ventured a question.
"Our daughter will be eleven months old by then, can she be accommodated as well?"
"Of course, Mrs. Holmes. When you arrive, just tell a staff member you will be needing a high chair for her," Mr. Knightley responded, and Molly gave a sigh of relief. She was glad they would not have to make alternative arrangements for Victoria after attending church on Easter Sunday.
When Sherlock and Molly headed back towards the lift, he still didn't look happy. "Now what are we going to do?" he complained. "It's not as if we can go to some other restaurant at this point, I'm sure they are all booked for the evening." He pushed the button for the lift with more force than was necessary and it immediately opened as several people alighted.
Once the lift was empty, Sherlock and Molly stepped into it. "Sherlock, as I said before, I don't care where we eat. We'll just get some take-away. Isn't Joe's Fish Shop open until nine?"
He groaned in despair. "Fish and chips on Valentine's Day, how romantic," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
Molly laughed and tapped his arm playfully. "I haven't had a good piece of codfish in awhile, so don't knock it."
Sherlock sighed. "Fish and chips it is, I guess," he said in a resigned tone and Molly laughed again.
She was rather glad when they stepped back outside the hotel, because it had been getting uncomfortably warm in there with her coat still on, and no doubt, Sherlock was feeling the same.
As soon as they had entered a taxi and he had given directions to take them to Joe's Fish Shop, Sherlock impatiently loosened his tie. "Hate wearing these things," he grumbled. "Unfortunately, it's the dress code for the Ritz restaurant, so I guess at least now I don't have to wear it."
Molly reached over and pulled the tie off completely, then unbuttoned the first button of her husband's shirt. "There you go. Every cloud has a silver lining, doesn't it?"
Sherlock pouted at her. "But now, nobody is going to see how beautiful you look in your new dress and envy me."
Molly leaned her head against his shoulder. "The only person I care about thinking of me as beautiful, is you. We'll find another occasion when I can wear it, okay?"
He took her hand and kissed it. "OKay."
When they arrived at Joe's Fish Shop, Sherlock asked the driver to wait while he went in, stating that he did not want Molly to have to walk home in her high heels and the cold, which she very much appreciated.
Fish and chips duly bought, the taxi driver drove them several blocks further and halted in front of their home.
Once they were back in the flat, with outerwear and footwear removed, Molly grabbed plates from the cupboard and they both took a piece of fish as well as some chips, then sat at the kitchen table. It was close to eight by this time and she was really hungry, so enjoyed the meal just as much as she would have at a restaurant. In celebration they also opened a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling grape juice and toasted one another, acting like idiots and pretending they were getting drunk. Molly loved it, letting her hair down and just enjoying time with Sherlock.
"A toast to my beautiful wife," said Sherlock, clinking his glass with Molly's, and they drank.
Then it was Molly's turn. "A toast to the only consulting detective in the world," she declared, and they clinked glasses again.
It was silly and immature and tremendous fun.
Eventually tiring of their game though, Sherlock and Molly headed into the sitting room, whereupon Sherlock announced, "Alexa, play Shape of You," then held out his arms for Molly to step into them as the female voice responded and the song started.
Molly loved this song, and Sherlock knew it. It had been used on several occasions to heighten their romantic expectations of an evening - rather successfully too.
Molly twined her arms around Sherlock's neck and teased his curls in the way she always enjoyed doing, while he held her close with one hand stroking the bare skin of her back just above the line of her dress, and his other hand at her waist. She closed her eyes, letting the romantic music swirl around them as they moved slowly, sensuously together.
Taking advantage of the thigh-high split in her dress, Molly rubbed the leg of Sherlock's trousers with her bare foot and Sherlock responded to the sultry gesture by moving his one hand to cup her bottom and squeeze it gently. Then she felt his lips on hers, warm and every bit as sensual as the movements they were making to entice one another. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as they kissed. Kissing was definitely something they indulged in frequently.
Usually, Sherlock removed his mouth from hers first to kiss her on other parts of her face, but this time Molly decided she would take the lead and she moved her own lips to kiss those wonderfully high cheekbones, the corners of his lips, the place where his dimples appeared when he was grinning at her.
She moved her mouth down to kiss that mole on his neck, a few centimetres lower and larger than the one she had on the opposite side of her own neck, and she felt his response, both in his body and in the way his hand caressed her bottom again as his chest began to rise and fall a little quicker. Knowing that she excited him as much as he excited her was always a thrilling sensation.
He groaned a little as her lips moved upwards again to suck lightly on his earlobe, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, he pulled away from her slightly, disappointing her.
Things had just been going well. The song had finished playing already, so perhaps Sherlock was going to request another one? Molly certainly didn't need another one to get in the mood and apparently neither did he as she had already discovered with their bodies pressed so closely together. "What's wrong, Sherlock?" she questioned him, frowning a little.
Sherlock was fumbling in his pocket. "Nothing's wrong, sweetheart. I just forgot something, and when you were kissing me, it reminded me."
Molly was confused. Was his mind wandering while they were kissing? She was always totally focussed on him and nothing else. What could have distracted him?"
He pulled a small jewellery box out of his pocket. "Open it and you'll understand what made me remember this," he instructed her.
Molly gasped when she opened the hinged lid. Inside the jewellery box was a pair of earrings, a pair that perfectly matched the necklace she was wearing, with hearts in four identical different shapes and colours that descended from the gold posts that would go into her ears. Even as she gazed at them in wonder, Sherlock spoke.
When you were touching that lovely tongue of yours to my earlobe just now, it reminded me I hadn't given you your present yet. I had intended to give it to you while we were at the restaurant this evening."
Molly smiled at her husband. "So that's why you told me not to wear earrings, it wasn't just that my hair covered my ears."
Sherlock's dimple appeared in his cheek as he smiled back at her. "Excellent deduction, my love. I had actually planned to give you those earrings as soon as we sat down at our table, so you would be able to wear them for the evening."
"They're beautiful, Sherlock. Thank you."
"Would you like me to hold the box so you can put them on now?" Sherlock offered.
"Of course," Molly responded, and he took the box from her while she pushed back her hair and put in the earrings, then announced, "Now I need to take a look in the mirror."
She walked to the mirror over the mantelpiece and stood on tiptoes, admiring the way they looked in her ears. "They are so beautiful," she breathed again.
Sherlock came up behind Molly and slid his arms around her waist, then pushed her hair further aside with his nose so he could press a kiss against her neck. "Not as beautiful as you, my love, but I'm glad you like them." His hands drifted upwards to give her breasts a gentle squeeze, before dropping them down again to her waist.
She turned in his embrace and pulled his head down to hers so she could press her own kiss to his lips, before saying, "I love them. I love everything you give me, material or otherwise." She continued, "Actually, I have a gift for you as well, although it's not nearly as expensive, but it's in the bedroom so I can't get it for you."
"Is it wrapped?" Sherlock asked.
Molly smiled slightly. "Of course it is. It's in the bottom drawer of my nightstand."
Well then, I'll go and get it for you, and you can hand it back to me as if you've had it all along," Sherlock told her. "I'd like the gift exchange to be completed before we move on to the next phase of this evening," he added mysteriously.
"Alright," Molly agreed. She knew that whatever Sherlock had in store would undoubtedly be special and she hoped her gift for him, small and inexpensive though it was, would also be appreciated.
She watched as Sherlock walked into the kitchen then disappeared along the passage to their bedroom. She heard the toilet flush a minute later, and knew he had made a quick detour. She would probably be needing to do that at some point as well, but for now, she could wait.
Author's note: Well now, what did you think of this chapter? Did you like seeing a little bit of the "old" Sherlock coming through when his plans for the evening were ruined?
Bit of trivia for you - Mr. Knightley is named for the male protagonist in Jane Austen's Emma which I have just finished reading on audio. Have you read it?