He lowered the binoculars with a frustrated sigh. They wouldn't be coming tonight. Not on Christmas. Even criminals took the day off to spend with their families. Mycroft hadn't been able to get enough intel on the time of the meeting, only the location, but something told him that he better be prepared for a long wait. Meanwhile, his brother was likely lounging in front of a roaring fire, a glass of scotch in his hand and the satisfaction of being able to spend the day alone, if their parents hadn't guilt tripped him into a visit that is.
The wind whipped around the roof of the abandoned factory where he was perched in wait. Bloody hell it was freezing. Leave it to Mycroft to have him do all the dirty work. He adjusted his scarf tighter around his neck and pulled down his cap to cover his already frozen ears.
Stealthily he made his way along the edge of roof and found an alcove that still had a clear view of the pavement below but was slightly better shielded from the cold. Feeling able to relax for the first time in days, he leaned against the brick wall and looked up. The endless dark sky stretched out above him with a dazzling array of stars that could never be seen in London.
London. He imagined all his friends at their various parties and gatherings that evening. John likely wouldn't be feeling much of a desire to celebrate the holiday this year, nor Mrs. Hudson for that matter. Lestrade would be probably be trying to drink away his feelings with the rest of the Met crew who didn't have families to go home to. Molly would be...
Molly. What would Molly be doing? At least the others thought he was dead and had had a few months to begin to move on with their lives.
Molly was stuck with the burden of his secret.
It was only a year ago that he'd become aware of his strong attachment to the pathologist. And it had unfortunately come at the most inopportune time as he'd managed to insult her only moments before.
Stupid fool, he was.
He cared for Molly - deeply - and had tried to make that clear before he'd left. If there was one person he would give anything to speak with at that very moment, even just to wish a happy holiday, it was her.
Instead he could only look up at the nearly-full moon and imagine everything he would say to her if he had such an opportunity. Perhaps one day he would.
Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper, he whispered finally, the words visible in the cold for a brief moment before dissipating in the night sky.
The warmth of the room from the crush of people had become nearly suffocating. She needed air, space, somewhere where she could hear her own thoughts.
"I'll just be a moment," she yelled out to Meena over the pounding music and quickly headed to retrieve her coat before her friend could argue.
The cold night air that hit her as she stepped through the door provided instant relief. Besides a few smokers talking quietly near the building, the street was silent as everyone was tucked away in their flats for the night. Without a destination in mind, she started walking along the pavement enjoying the quiet and the chance to stretch her legs. A strange restlessness had overtaken her from the moment she'd woken up that morning, Christmas morning.
Thankfully she hadn't had to spend it alone this year. Meena had decided to throw a party for everyone who hadn't been able to make it home due to work or who didn't have anyone else to spend the holiday with. Good cheer was in the air and the alcohol was plentiful. It wasn't the worst way to spend a Christmas.
But she still felt like something was missing. Or honestly someone. Sherlock - who was currently busy hunting down a network of criminals in some God-forsaken place and spending Christmas all alone.
It wasn't like the Christmas they'd spent together had been great, but she knew that he'd changed that night. She'd seen it in his eyes when he was apologizing to her.
Her heels clicked along the pavement as she hurried along. It was getting colder and she'd left her mittens and scarf behind, but something kept her moving forward. When she found herself in front of the sign, she laughed to herself. Subconsciously she'd been heading towards the gardens around the block from Barts where she often brought her lunch on nice days. On more than one occasion Sherlock had accompanied her there as he rambled about the details of whatever case he happened to be working on. Once or twice she'd found him waiting for her there when he needed help with some urgent lab work. They even had a special bench under an oak tree where they always sat and talked.
Not surprisingly it was completely empty that night. She wound around the pathways until she found herself at their bench and sat down on the cold damp wood with a sigh.
The moon was nearly full and shown brightly through the bare tree branches. She gazed up at the sky and tried to think of everything she would say to him if he were sitting right next to her at that moment. Would she have that chance again?
Merry Christmas, Sherlock, she said softly followed by a silent wish for his safety before she stood and headed back.