Yet another Anonymous prompt on Tumblr: molly is on a date with a wealthy man at one of the guys charity functions which happens to have criminal working there in which sherlock and nsy crash to arrest the man.
She really should not be surprised. Sherlock had made a habit out of ruining her relationships. Why would tonight be any different?
She had first met Charles when she was running late one morning. In her hurry, she had slammed into him, falling down and spilling her coffee all over the man. When she noticed the hospital director looking at her in horror, she realized this must be the new benefactor everyone had been warned about. In the midst of her apology, however, he had helped her up and kissed the back of her hand. He then proceeded to ask if she was available to accompany him to a party the following Saturday, effectively shocking her into silence. At that moment, she understood exactly how Cinderella had felt when she met her prince.
When he called her with the details, she realized that "party" actually meant "gala." She splurged on a dress that cost her a month's wages, a dark blue number that made her feel pretty. She and Mary Watson then spent the entire day making sure she looked perfect, her hair half-up and curled in ringlets. She was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when she heard the knock on her door. She gaped at Mary, butterflies in her stomach. She had not been this nervous since Sherlock told her he needed her help to fake his death.
Telling herself not to think about the detective, as he had made it clear he was not interested, she bravely opened the door and smiled at Charles. He handed her a large bouquet of roses, which Mary said she would put in water, and held his arm out to her. She gripped it and giggled, feeling giddy. Maybe her bad luck with men was finally changing.
She was having a wonderful time, her date charming her with a story of his two-year-old son, when a ruckus at the entryway drew her attention. Over the heads of the couples dancing, she could make out a head of dark curly hair. Oh, please, not tonight. Not again, she thought desperately. Of course, her pleas were for naught.
The crowd parted quickly, revealing none other than Sherlock Holmes, DI Greg Lestrade, and a shame-faced John Watson, who was looking at her in pity. Mary must have told him of my plans, then. Sherlock, however, seemed not to have noticed her. He strode up to one of the waiters, a greasy-haired man with his hand currently inside an unsuspecting woman's bag. At the realization that he had been caught, the man attempted to flee, only to meet with Sherlock's imposing figure.
He gulped at the expression on the consulting detective's face and held out his hands to the detective inspector, who quickly handcuffed him and led him outside.
Sherlock, it seemed, had finally detected Molly's presence and marched over to the corner where she was still standing awkwardly with Charles. He gave the man one glance, before turning to Molly. "What have a told you about avoiding relationships, Molly? Has he mentioned that his wife left him when it was revealed he had fathered a bastard child with his secretary? From the look on your face, I should say not. You're welcome. Good night."
With that, he walked away, a sheepish John Watson trailing behind. The doctor mouthed "I'm sorry," to her before following Sherlock out the door.
Molly looked to Charles, who was still staring in alarm at the spot Sherlock had previously occupied. "I take it he was right," she said calmly, before rushing away. She briefly wondered if Sherlock was right, and she should shun romantic entanglements in the future.
She stepped out into the cool night air, trying to understand why it was she always attracted the wrong men. "Molly!" a baritone voice called from her left. Sherlock was leaning against the wall, obviously waiting for her.
She glared at him and kept walking.
His hand around her wrist stopped her, and he twisted her around until they were face to face. "What do you want, Sherlock? Do you want to belittle me some more? Mock me for my horrible taste in men?" She hated how bitter she sounded but felt a small glimmer of satisfaction when he winced at her words.
"Molly, I am sorry. John told me that was a bit not good."
"A bit not good?! Sherlock, I could write a book on all the things you have done or said to me that are 'a bit not good' as you put it!"
"I know, Molly. Please let me make it up to you. Would you like a coffee? You really do look beautiful in that dress." He was rambling.Sherlock bloody Holmes was actually ramblingbecause of her. Her inner thirteen-year-old did a little jig before she squashed that down.
"What do you need, Sherlock? If this is some ploy to convince me to give you body parts –."
"No! Honestly, you really do think the worst of me, don't you? You. I need you. Recently, it has come to my attention that I lash out when I see you with other men. Irrational, yes, because I know you are still in love with me, but true nevertheless. I would like to buy you a coffee because I believe I may have… feelings for you." She gaped at him in astonishment, seeing the honesty in his ever-changing eyes.
"Sherlock, I don't know what to say."
"Say yes, Molly. And I will do my best to ensure that I do not hurt you again in the future. I suspect I will indubitably muck up again, but I can promise that I will try."
She smiled up at him and nodded. He gripped her hand and led her down the street to a quiet café, talking animatedly about their latest experiment.
