Yippie! Okay, we like the gifts. Awesome. I'd now like to introduce you to Molly's mum and aunt. They are a hoot and might be loosely based on my own family and me. Who knows?! Perhaps they're completely fictional and resemble no one at all (not bloody likely!). I don't have any images for this chapter, but I do for part four and they will be up on my tumblr and AO3 accounts. I'll mention it with the update which I'm hoping to post on Friday, God willing.

Beta love to MizJoely for all her help and encouragement. She is the best! Also, to MrsMCrieff for answering Brit questions as I'm an ignorant Yank!

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

Part 3

"I don't understand," her mother said. "I… I…" She picked up her wine glass and drained it.

Thankfully, Aunt Ann was right there with a freshly opened bottle. "What's to understand, Kath?" she said as she poured.

"But.. but… but..." Mum continued to stutter.

Molly grabbed the bottle away from her aunt and topped off her own glass. "I'm with Mum on this one, Annie…" She took a gulp then rubbed her forehead. "I'm so confused."

The older women had sat and listened to the whole story. They had, surprisingly, kept their comments to themselves during Molly's retelling of the visit to Sherlock's flat; the wine had made an appearance during the silly gifts and the strangely personal ones. She'd brought the scarf and earrings along as a sort of show and tell. Glasses were refilled as she wove a tale of quirky oddness and confusing emotions all culminating with the alarming gift she'd received the day before. Her mother was still in shock, apparently.

"But…"

"You sound like an idiot, Kathy," Ann said with a chuckle. "I really don't see why you two are freaking out. It's not like he gave you a sculpture of his dick..."

"Ann!" both Molly and her mother exclaimed at the same time.

Her aunt rolled her eyes. "Or lingerie. The way you built it up, I was expecting crotchless knickers or something!"

Molly huffed. "You don't understand how out-of-character this if for him though!"

"No, I really don't. He's a man... they're all basically the same," she said with a shrug. "So he sent you clothes, big deal. He's got it bad for you, what'd you expect?" She stood and made her way to the fridge. "We need sweets!"

They didn't need sweets. They'd been eating all day but Molly wasn't about to argue with her favourite aunt when she was wielding cheesecake. She'd had to wait long agonising hours before finally broaching the subject with the two women, suffering through Christmas brunch, Christmas dinner, gifts, puddings and far too much alcohol. Okay, so the booze had been a welcomed distraction, but she couldn't actually sit and talk about her problem until most of her extended family had finally stumbled home, presents and children in tow.

It had been excruciating.

Her mother, still in shock - and probably a bit drunk judging by her rosy cheeks - said, "I just… I was sure he wasn't interested. After everything…"

Dropping off several covered dishes on the kitchen table, Ann patted her sister's back. "Mr. Tall Dark and Brooding is clearly in love with our Molly, Kathy. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"He's not in love with me, Ann!" she said, picking up a fork and taking a bite of cheesecake without even cutting a slice.

"When did you stop calling me Auntie Annie? Hmm?" the older woman asked, feigning wistfulness. "Uni? Or was it when you became a big-shot doctor?"

"Can you be serious for two seconds?" Molly snapped.

"Don't eat from the pan, sweet-pea!" her mother scolded as she stood, swayed on her feet, then retrieved several small plates. She might be tipsy but Katherine Elaine Hooper was still a lady! "I just feel awful. I told you to give up on him and now… this!"

"There is no this! This is not a this!"

"Seems a lot like a this to me," Ann said with a smirk as she loaded her plate with a small helping of each dessert (and an extra large portion of sticky toffee pudding). "You need to look at the entire situation, Molly."

"What does that even mean?"

Ann took a bite, washed it down with some wine, then pointed her fork at her niece. "After what he said that day at his flat…"

"We were talking about my usefulness at work!" Molly interrupted petulantly.

"Watch your tone with me, young lady, I'm trying to make a point." She booped Molly's nose. "And you're wrong, by the way, he wasn't talking about you professionally. I might have thought so had he not sent you a silk scarf, a dozen roses and black diamond earrings."

"Black what?!" Molly all but screeched. Okay, maybe I should back off the wine...

Her mum picked up the earrings and looked at them closely. "Yep. I'm with Annie on this one. Those aren't crystals, pea-sweet."

"You're drunk, Kath!"

"I'm perfectly sober, you cow!"

"God, why did I come to you two with this? I should have just gone down the pub!"

"You came to me, my dear naive niece because I'm a woman of the world…"

"How does you being a slag in your twenties help our Molly right now?" her mother asked with a sloppy grin.

"Mum!"

Ann turned to her younger sister (younger only by eighteen months, but younger nevertheless) with narrowed eyes and said, "Shall we inform your daughter about the summer of '74, Katherine?"

Molly's mother's face turned a bright red. Standing, she rushed, well, stumbled, to the sink to fill the kettle. "I think it's time for tea, don't you?"

Normally, Molly quite enjoyed their antics, especially when they were in their cups, but she had just a few short hours to decide what to do with The Box and… invitation? Really, it was more of a request or, knowing Sherlock as she did, it was nearly a demand.

She hadn't dared bring The Box with her.

No. Nope. No way! Just telling her mum and aunt that Sherlock had bought her clothes (not funny t-shirt type of clothes, either!) had been hard enough. It felt so… intimate, so not 'friend zone'. Frankly, it felt dangerous.

It now sat atop her chest of drawers. She'd been tempted to not even move it; simply leave it, untouched, on her coffee table, but she was afraid that Toby would take his frustrations out on its contents. It was roughly the size of his litter tray, after all. Damn, she thought. That might have solved all her problems. Maybe I should have encouraged him to piss in it…

"Piss in what?" her mother asked. "And who are we talking about now?"

"Oooo! Is your boy into the kinky stuff, luv?" Aunt Ann said, eyebrows wiggling like mad.

It was official. If she was speaking what she thought she was only thinking, she must be drunk! Dropping her head to the table with a thud, Molly decided to let her aunt and mother giggle and whisper about naughty things whilst she tried to work through everything on her own. They were clearly too drunk and jacked up on sugar to offer any assistance.

There had to be some other reason he had sent her clothes. Some ordinary reason... Of course! she thought, her head jerking up. "It's… It's for a case," she blurted out. "That's the only logical explanation!"

"A case?" Ann asked. "If so, why does it match the other gifts?"

"Like the scarf?" Mum followed up.

"And the earrings..." Ann added.

"Black diamonds earrings," Mum whispered, her hands cupped around her mouth as if they weren't the only people in the kitchen - in the house, actually

"And, of course, there's the note," her aunt said with a grin.

Damn her! Was she secretly related to the Holmes? Wouldn't that be a kick in the pants? "What note?" Molly asked defensively. She hadn't mentioned the bloody note!

Ann sat back, crossing her arms over her chest and smirked. "Let us not play games, child. Just because you failed to tell us about it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

Her mum gasped, her mouth hanging open in shock. After several seconds she slapped her hands down on the table. "Tell me you brought the note!"

Molly stood. "Cackling old hens," she grumbled. "Of course I brought it!" She stormed into the sitting room and dug Sherlock's note out of her coat pocket. Returning, she carefully unfolded it, handing it to her aunt. "It's vague and… strange. Good luck figuring anything…"

"Are you being deliberately obtuse, girlie, or simply in denial?" Ann interrupted. She showed the note to her sister.

Mum sighed. "I've never been so happy to be wrong about something in my life," she said with a girlish grin.

Ann patted her sister's back. "You've never been good at this sort of thing, Kath. How many times did David ask you out before you realised he was asking you out?"

With a sad look, Mum answered, "Six."

Molly smiled fondly. She'd heard the story of her parents' convoluted courtship many times, but it never got old. "He got you in the end, Mum, that's all that matters," she said, giving the woman an affectionate nudge.

"I got him, actually."

"Exactly!" Ann said with finality. "So, learn from your mum's mistakes and pay some bloody attention."

"She's right, luv."

"And whatever you do, wear the clothes he sent. A bloke like his gifts to be acknowledged."

"OH!" her mother interjected. "You should also wear that lovely new coat Louisa got you!"

"God yes! You did get lucky this year, I hope you know that! I'd kill for that coat." Pulling a face, she turned to her sister, and grumbled, "Why the hell did Stephen get me a hammer?"

"Maybe our brother thought you needed to get nailed," Mum replied with a snort.

Ann laughed, nearly falling over. "Hopefully he got that wife of his some pliers to pull the stick out of her arse." Both women lost it; they both hated their sister-in-law and never missed a chance to mock the woman.

Throwing her hands up in the air, Molly stood and said, "I give up. We're all drunk and full of far too much sugar. We'll talk about this in the morning."

Ann got up, still laughing, and carefully refolded the note. As she gave it back to her niece, she grabbed Molly by the shoulders, pulling her into a hug. "Of course we will, doll. Then you're off to see Bernadette," she said as she patted Molly's cheek.

She started to walk away as if those words meant anything to Molly. "Who the Bernadette and why do I need to see her?"

Aunt Ann paused, replying, "My face girl. Who do you think keeps me looking ten years younger than your mother?" Mum huffed. "After all the crap food you've eaten, not to mention the binge drinking…" She raised an eyebrow as if she hadn't encouraged Molly's alcohol consumption all evening. "... you need a bit of rejuvenation." She pointed to Molly's chin. "And you have a pimple. Mustn't meet your young man looking like a cross between a haggard old woman and a spotty teen." With a kiss to her forehead, the woman left the room.

o0o0o

Those idiots were convinced that Sherlock's latest gift, plus the note - mustn't forget the note! - indicated true romantic interest. The clear light of day had not brought Molly any kind of enlightenment. A headache, a rolling belly and sore muscles, she had in spades but no form of clarity.

Now, however, she was returning to London with, admittedly, glowingly soft skin (Bernadette was clearly some kind of sorceress!) but still no idea of what to do about The Box or his… entreaty? Petition? Why am I suddenly thinking like an 18th-century romance author? Well, that was likely due to his choice of meeting place. Really though, what was she to make of… Looking down at the note, she read it for the, oh, hundredth time…

Molly,

Meet me at Kenwood House, Hampstead, 8pm, Boxing Day.

Sherlock

For the love of God! Was she to assume the outfit was just another gift or was she to wear it to the meeting? Because it was nothing more than a meeting, she was sure of it. Probably a case. Most likely. Certainly not a date, as her mother and aunt had tried to convince her. No. Absolutely not.

The roses, the scarf, the earrings (Ann knew nothing about fine jewellery! Those were crystals, not black diamonds!) meant nothing. He was still being silly, that's all. It was all some elaborate skull related joke.

Unless…?

Unless it wasn't.

Those two old hags had only made things worse!

o0o0o

It was 6.33pm and Molly stood in her bra and knickers, staring at the skirt and - gulp - shirt lying on her bed.

She hadn't looked closely at the shirt, far too distracted by the skirt (the adorable, black skirt adorned with white skulls) when she'd opened the package on Christmas Eve. Now, however, she knew exactly what she was seeing.

It was his shirt. Sherlock Holmes had given her one of his white oxfords.

Bloody fucking hell!

What was she supposed to make of that? Frankly, she was glad she hadn't realised it before her trip to Aylesbury. Aunt Ann would have had a field day with this piece of information… and clothing.

"Well, start as you mean to go on, Hooper," she said to herself as she picked up the designer button-up. She couldn't remember where she'd heard the quote, or if it was even relevant, but it felt right, for some reason. Nonetheless, she had to piss or get off the proverbial pot.

Oh, that little... He gave her his own fecking shirt! And our silly, sweet Molly is still so confused. PLEASE! I'm begging for a review. I had far too much fun with auntie and mum here and would love some feedback. Thanks so much for reading. ~Lil~