Sherlock didn't quite know what it meant to be "one of the gang", as Molly had put it. He treated it like a new academic pursuit, studying the dos and don'ts of her closest circle and doing his best to fit in with their delightfully mundane traditions. It was sweet, really, even he could admit it, that Molly's friends who had scorned him so much for months had been able to put their grievances aside and welcome him with open arms purely for Molly's sake.
It wasn't like St. Bart's, where even if he had been open to the idea of having more than one friend, he had always felt as though he was watching his classmates through a glass wall. Able to observe them, but never quite reach them.
Molly's group weren't his first choice of acquaintances, and he was sure they felt the same, but he was starting to understand the basic human joy of being included and participating.
Even if he found their choice of activities banal, Molly's presence made them the most enjoyable things in the world. He relished in the extra two minutes of her company he could acquire by walking with her to her next class, wine and board games when he could watch her cheeks flush and, much to his chagrin, having to excuse himself after one particularly competitive game of Twister.
He couldn't bring himself to mention the "I love you" situation. A drunken mistake on her part, he was sure of it. Easy to mistake himself for Tom, even if they were a few measly inches apart. He knew it wasn't meant for him; he didn't need the added heartbreak of hearing the confirmation straight from her mouth. The same mouth that Tom seemed to be constantly attaching himself to and making Sherlock wince every time he witnessed their public displays of affection.
But if his Molly was happy, then he was happy, and whatever rude comments popped up in his brain when he looked at Tom's cocker spaniel face, he would tuck them safely away for her sake.
Meena, however, was not so easily fooled. She sidled up to Sherlock one evening several nights ago, moments after he had returned from the bathroom following the Twister incident, placing a hand provocatively on his knee and leaning in close.
'So,' she mused, 'got a girlfriend then, Sherlock?'
He shifted uncomfortably, trying to gain an extra inch of personal space.
'No, no I don't.' he said cautiously.
'I see. Shame. Eye on someone else then?'
'I…no, um, no, of course not,' he stuttered, careful to keep his eye fixed on hers and not on Molly. He didn't want her to see them close like this and get the wrong impression.
Meena dropped her façade, removing the hand from Sherlock's knee and sinking back into the couch, allowing space between them as the corners of her mouth lifted into a small smile.
'Relax,' she said softly, 'I won't tell.'
Sherlock didn't respond, knowing that anything he did say would only incriminate him further.
Meena took a swig of her drink, an unnaturally pink pre-mixed spirit, and sighed.
'Tom won't last. He's lovely, but I think we can all see that he's just a Band-Aid for a much deeper wound,' she said pointedly.
'I'm not quite sure I understand,' Sherlock muttered, allowing himself a brief glance at Molly from the corner of his eyes which elicited an immediate laugh from Meena.
'Look,' she said, serious now and holding his eye constant. 'I've heard the whole story. You're some sort of boy genius, heart of stone that apparently beats only for my best friend. You were a twat in high school, and now I'm guessing you've grown up a bit and seeing her here with someone else is making you wish you weren't, am I right?'
Sherlock gave a shameful nod and allowed her to continue.
'Just give her time,' she said gently. 'She's never said this, and I'm sure she'd kill me for saying it now, but there's not a doubt in my mind she loves you too. She's just been through a lot and she needs to figure all that shit out with Tom on her own.'
…
Sherlock's memory was interrupted by a pair of soft, petite hands coming from behind him and placing themselves over his eyes.
'Beware!' Molly's voice came from over his shoulder, deepened in a hopeless attempt to sound scary. 'It's the Christmas Gruffalo, here to deliver gifts to the grumpiest of children.'
Sherlock couldn't help but smile as he turned around to see Molly beaming, standing in the middle of the courtyard, mostly deserted as most students headed home for Christmas, and offering up a perfectly wrapped gift with his name on the tag.
'Who, me? Grumpy?' He jested, taking the gift and careful to not tear the paper as he began to unwrap.
Molly's hands, clad in poorly knitted Christmas-coloured gloves, were over her mouth as she attempted to contain her excitement. Rolling out from the paper was a red and green striped scarf, hand-knitted, ridiculously long and unmistakably wonky.
'I made it myself!' she said gleefully, holding up her gloves to him. 'Look, we match!'
'Oh, Molly you really didn't have to,' Sherlock protested as Molly shushed him and stood on her tiptoes to wrap the scarf around his neck four times.
'I know. But you look positively festive,' she grinned, 'it's hilarious.'
'Very funny.' Sherlock rolled his eyes in a display of discontent, although he was unable to conceal his smile at her sweet gesture.
He remembered John's message, mustering up the courage to ask her about her Christmas plans. It was an innocent enough question, he reasoned, nothing more than casual conversation between friends. He had avoided asking her, but it was now only two days until Christmas Eve and if there were plans to be made they would need to be made now.
'So, will you be home for Christmas this year?' Sherlock queried.
'Uh, I'm not sure yet,' she answered softly, her eyes glued to the ground. 'It's sort of…hard, you know, being home. I just…I hate being there. Knowing that he's not going to be. And seeing all our stuff it's just like…everything's triggering.'
Sherlock immediately regretted asking, noticing all the joy drain from Molly's face as she refused to meet his gaze.
'I understand. I'm sorry' he uttered softly, pulling her in and allowing her face to nuzzle in between the folds of his coat and into his chest. He felt the sharp rises and falls of her back against his hands as she began to cry.
'Oh, God, no, I'm sorry,' she sniffled, worming herself out of his arms and wiping her face. 'Just a bit of a sore spot at the moment. Mum thinks I'm being selfish not wanting to go home because it means she'll be alone on Christmas, and I know she's probably right but I just know it's going to be such a miserable day.'
'Come to ours,' Sherlock blurted, the words escaping his mouth faster than the thought had formed in his mind. 'You and your mother are very welcome for Holmes family Christmas, then neither of you will be alone and you won't have to spend the day at the house if you don't want to.'
Molly was speechless at his kind offer, opening her mouth to protest and say that she couldn't possibly intrude like that but being cut off by Sherlock extending his pitch.
'Tom can come to!' he exclaimed. Why did I say that? I hate Tom. 'If that would be more comfortable for you.' Sherlock mentally kicked himself. Fantastic. Now you're implying she should be uncomfortable around you.
'That's very sweet,' Molly responded awkwardly, wanting to talk about anything but Tom. 'He's…he's actually already gone. He left a few days ago to go see his parents in Cornwall…Are you sure about this?'
Her doe eyes were full of so much hope and appreciation, and it filled Sherlock's heart with that annoyingly fuzzy feeling to know that he was the one who did it.
'Of course. I think my mother likes you more than me anyway,' he joked, trying to make her laugh as he was desperate to bring her smile back to him.
It worked, and Molly once again thrust herself into his arms, squeezing him so tightly it knocked all the air out of him. 'That would be amazing. Thank you,' she mumbled, her words muffled into his coat but still firm and sincere.
'Anytime,' he smiled at her, brazenly stroking her hair and placing an unquestionably non-platonic hand on her cheek to address her. It would be far too easy to lean in those few extra inches and kiss her, and far too easy to allow himself to fantasise about how lovely that would be.
He removed himself from her arms quickly, composing himself and offering his best "best friend" smile.
'Perfect, well, we'll get the train in together tomorrow.' He said, tossing the end of his scarf theatrically over his shoulder as he sauntered away to the sound of Molly's laughter.