"Mary, I don't really think I need-"
"Don't be ridiculous! It's adorable and totally you!"
Molly twirled around again, examining herself in the long mirror. "But I don't have any excuse to wear it."
Mary grinned. "Who says you need a reason to wear a little dress like that? Come on, Molls, it looks amazing on you!"
They had passed by a sleeveless ivory dress in the window of one of Molly's favorite stores, and Mary had insisted she try it on immediately. Featuring a fitted top and a flared, knee-length skirt, the dress was practical but also pretty. Though appearing plain at first, a small stitching pattern covered the entire silhouette, which Mary called "Halfway between a houndstooth and a polka dot, how cute!". Molly had to admit, as much as she didn't want to spend unnecessary funds, the dress did look perfect on her petite frame.
"You're not going to let me leave without it, are you?" Molly sighed, pushing back the curtain and slipping into the fitting room.
"Nope," replied Mary, grabbing her purse as she stood. "I'll ring it up for you while you change back."
The pathologist stuck her head out at Mary's offer. "Oh, no, Mary, please! I'll-"
"Go." Mary said sternly, trying not to smile but failing miserably.
It was now four in the afternoon, and Mary hadn't heard from either John or Sherlock in hours. Beginning to worry, she pulled out her trusty mobile and sent her husband a text.
Okay? We're just grabbing Molly a dress and then we're headed home. MW
The pair were out of the store and halfway across the mall before they heard back.
He's driving me up the bloody WALL - give me something, anything to tell him, PLEASE! JW
Mary rolled her eyes, and Molly giggled. "What is it?" She asked curiously.
"According to John, our consulting detective is being a right royal pain in the arse," Mary answered, beginning to type a reply.
"No, wait," Molly interrupted her. "I'll handle it." She pulled out her own mobile, Mary watching with interest.
William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you had better behave yourself. John is trying to be nice, and you will not ruin his attempts by blowing up half the flat, understood? Now, unpin the Cleudo board from the wall this instant and be civil. MH
Ten minutes later, the pathologist's mobile went off.
Thanks, Molls. You're a lifesaver. JW
I try. MH
ooooo
"The victim is the murderer. It was a suicide," declared Sherlock proudly.
"Sherlock, for the tenth time, that's not how the game works," John pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep from strangling the detective.
"Then the game is wrong," Sherlock frowned. "When you have eliminated the impossible-"
"Alright, alright," John sighed. "You win, again." He glanced at his watch. "Hey, it's almost dinnertime. Are you going to eat something?"
Sherlock paused thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I will, John. Angelo's?" He plucked his mobile up off the top of the skull, where it had rested for the past two hours or so. Marching into the kitchen to place the order, he left John to clean up the remnants of the infuriating board game.
If I never see another Cleudo board again, thought the doctor, it'll be too soon.
He was just placing the box on top of the mantle when he heard his mobile chime.
She'll be at her flat by ten. When is he coming? MW
John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Only a few more hours left.
Midnight, overly dramatic as always. JW
Okay - she'll be ready. MW
"They're on their way, John," announced the detective loudly as he threw himself into his armchair. Upon noticing John's mobile in his hand, he suddenly looked anxious. "Is everything-"
"Fine. She'll be at her flat by ten, plenty of time."
Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief before beginning to send an array of rapid fire texts to seemingly every number in his address book with a ferocious intensity.
"What are you doing now?" John asked, settling himself across from his friend.
"Arranging things," replied the detective distractedly. "I'll need to run a few errands after dinner."
The army doctor simply shook his head, gazing past the consulting idiot and out of the sitting room window.
Had it been raining all evening?
ooooo
"You're sure you're okay, Molls?" Mary asked, shrugging her coat on as she picked up her purse.
"Yes, Mary, thanks so much," Molly reassured her, giving her friend a hug before she left. "Don't you worry about me, I'll just curl up with my Downton Abbey, promise."
"Alright, I'll leave you to it, then." Mary grinned, and Molly reminded her to say hello to John for her, closing the door with a sigh of relief. It had been a long day, and she was very much looking forward to a quiet evening on the couch.
She looked over at the black box tied with a purple bow lying on her kitchen table with a small smile. The pathologist fully expected to have to entertain her detective tomorrow at Bart's, and she couldn't wait to give him his gift, which she herself had made from the supplies in the lab. As she opened a window to let in some of the cool air from the rain that had begun outside, she couldn't help but marvel at the incredible luck she'd had in constructing the entire project unnoticed, though she had broken at least five rules in the process. I suppose I'm always breaking rules for Sherlock Holmes, she laughed to herself, turning on the television and settling down with a hot cup of tea.
Two hours later, Molly was ready to fall asleep, despite the steady downpour that was now drowning poor London outside. She stood up, yawning, and slowly shuffled off to her room to get ready for bed, snatching the shopping bag containing her new dress from off the corner of one of her kitchen chairs as she went. She pulled it out to hang it up in her closet, but couldn't resist trying it on just one more time. The pathologist had just slipped it over her head when she heard her mobile chime with an incoming text. At midnight? Must be Sherlock, she figured, rushing to answer it in case it was something important.
She was rather surprised (and even a little disappointed) to find that the text had not come from Sherlock at all, but from Mary.
Still awake, Molls? MW
Molly frowned at the screen but typed a response anyway.
Yes... Why? MH
The pathologist puzzled over the strange text but was soon jarred from her thoughts by a tiny sound drifting into her sitting room over the noise of the storm. She listened for a moment as the sound grew louder, then changed in pitch. It changed again, and again, and suddenly Molly realized she was listening to music. A slow, beautiful waltz began to fill her sitting room, interrupted only by another text message.
I think you had better go see who that is. MW
Molly gave a tiny gasp - it can't possibly be him, he'd never bother in this rain - but she rushed to the open window anyway, her entire face lighting up at the sight of a figure in a long coat standing beneath her, violin tucked under his chin.
"Sherlock?" She called. The detective looked up, startled, but he grinned when he saw it was her.
"Hello, Molly," he called back. From her height, Molly could see that the detective was thoroughly drenched, his hair a dripping mess.
"Where-" she broke off, suddenly having an epiphany. "Did you walk here, in this rain?"
"Yes," he replied nonchalantly. Upon noticing her expression, he added, "I have a coat."
"Why? Why would you walk all the way to my flat from Baker Street in a downpour?" Molly sounded confused, but there was also something Sherlock couldn't recognize. He supposed he might figure it out later in his mind palace, but right now, there were more important things to consider - such as what he was going to say.
As much as Sherlock thought things through, he always missed something.
"I came to see you," he said, instantly regretting the words the moment they were said. "Obviously," he continued, and Molly thought he looked a great deal... Nervous? Here was a man who had stared down the barrels of guns and faced the most terrifying people in all of London, let alone the world - and he was nervous over her? She couldn't help but smile.
"And, I, um, I wanted to tell you that I... I enjoy your company, Molly."
Why was this so damn hard? Mary had told him it didn't really matter what he said until the end; that she would care about those words more than any of the others. But he'd done his homework on the subject, and he really didn't think this was the way you were supposed to start.
"My company?" Molly stifled a giggle.
As the detective scrambled for words, he noticed the pathologist was wearing a dress. Why? Hair let loose, no jewelry- he stopped himself. He was not deducing her, he was asking her a question, he reminded himself. And he'd better hurry up before she closed her window and he missed his chance entirely.
"Yes, and I-" he paused, dropping his head and muttering, "No, that's not right... Hang it!" He looked up at her with a forlorn expression. Where were his Watsons when he needed them?
He felt his mobile buzz in his pocket, Molly's own screen lighting up in her sitting room.
Come on, now. Focus. God knows I did it, and we all know how that turned out. And if an ordinary, washed-up ex-army doctor can do it, then so can a brilliant consulting genius. JW
Sorry, Molls, we didn't practice this bit with him - probably should have, in hindsight. MW
Molly crossed back to the window, smiling as Sherlock pocketed his mobile. "You were saying?" She asked gently.
The detective took a deep breath and slipped a hand into his other coat pocket, wrapping his fingers around the tiny box inside before continuing.
"I care very much for you, Molly, and I-" He stopped.
Here he was, in the rain, underneath her window. He had walked blocks to get here, and he had stood here for half an hour simply wondering if he should turn around and walk right back to Baker Street, but he did not. No, he had stayed, and he had stayed for her. If there was ever a time for him to tell her he loved her, it was now.
"I love you, Molly Hooper, and though you are deserving of a much greater man than I myself could ever hope to amount to-" Here, the detective lowered himself down onto one knee, effectively soaking an entire leg of his Italian custom-measured trousers. "Will you marry me?"
He pulled out the tiny black box, opening it to reveal a diamond engagement ring.
The pathologist opened her mouth to let out a gasp, but no sound came out. Instead, she covered her mouth with both hands, standing in silence as her eyes widened and seemed to fill, though it may have been the dim street lighting deceiving the detective.
Suddenly, after a painfully slow second or two, Molly disappeared from view. Sherlock frowned, standing up with the ring still lying exposed on its velvet cushion. Did I do it wrong?
He watched the window for any sign that she might be returning to give him an answer, but the sitting room remained empty, to his great disappointment. Defeated and slightly... Heartbroken? Yes, this must be what it feels like - the detective had just turned around to walk back to his flat when a small scuffling noise from inside of the pathologist's flat made him look up.
All at once, her front door burst open and Molly came tearing across the pavement, sprinting right at him and paying no mind to the rain or her bare feet.
As she closed the gap between them, he beamed, holding out his arms and catching her, lifting her up and swinging her around. When he set her down again, she placed a hand on either side of his face and gently brought him down to her level. "Yes," she said breathlessly, kissing him, and as Sherlock wrapped her up in the folds of that truly ridiculous coat, the consulting detective swore that he would never, ever let his pathologist go again.
ooooo
Thank you all for being so very and truly patient, as I know it has been a bit of a wait for this chapter (though a worthwhile one, I hope!).
It is unbelievable to me how many kind reviews I have received - thank you for taking the time to share your lovely opinions with me!
[And finally, yes, yes, an epilogue is coming, dear readers - surely you didn't think I'd end without telling you what was in Molly's box?]
~London Belle
P.S. - if you'd like to see a picture of Molly's ivory dress, here is the link (It's the dress on the far left.):
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