A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. And a special thanks to my beta, Claudia, who has been a life-saver. Hope you've all enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing, and there will be more in the future!
"Happy Birthday!"
Sherlock smiled a tight-lipped grin as he was pushed into the living room of his parent's house two weeks later, an enormous homemade "Welcome Home" banner stretched across the doorway.
"Happy Birthday, mate!" repeated John as Molly moved around to help Sherlock from the wheelchair and onto the sofa. His surgical cast had been replaced by a fiberglass one, but with one arm out of commission as well, he had been relegated to a wheelchair until his shoulder was strong enough to use crutches. It had been decided that the stairs at 221B would be too difficult to navigate, so his recovery would take place with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.
"Happy Birthday, Darling," said Mrs. Holmes as she snuck in and planted a kiss on his cheek as he struggled against it, Mr. Holmes approaching from behind and ruffling his hair.
"Thanks, Mum," Sherlock drawled, gently batting his mother away from hugging him again.
"Martha and I baked you a cake," Mrs. Holmes said, gently cupping her son's cheek, much to his chagrin. Molly stood in the corner with Mary, making faces at Abigail and laughing at her pleased reactions. The door opened once more, announcing the arrival of Mycroft and Lestrade, the latter sporting a bit of a blush after noticing everybody looking at their simultaneous arrival.
Mr. Holmes reached Mycroft first, pulling him into a hug, surprising everyone when he pulled Lestrade in as well. Mrs. Holmes rose and gave both men kisses on the cheek, smiling knowingly at Lestrade.
"Welcome, Greg, it's so nice to see you again."
Lestrade babbled an incoherent greeting, following Mycroft over to Sherlock.
"Hello, Brother Mine, alive but still not quite kicking, I see," Mycroft joked, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes and nod at him.
"Yes, hilarious, Mycroft."
"Happy Birthday," Mycroft drawled, pulling an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handing it to Sherlock.
Sherlock opened the envelope and peered inside quizzically. "Plane tickets?"
"Yes. Did I or did I not overhear you and Doctor Hooper discussing the taking of a holiday?"
"Yes, yes you did," Molly approached, taking the tickets out of Sherlock's hands and throwing her arms around Mycroft's neck. "Thank you so much, Mycroft!"
Mycroft awkwardly patted Molly's back as she released her attempted hug and inspected the tickets more closely. "These don't have a destination on them."
Mycroft turned to address Sherlock. "I have made the arrangements with Martin. He shall fly you to whatever destination you and Doctor Hooper so choose without my knowledge."
Sherlock ventured a small smile at him. "Right, like Martin was ever able to keep a secret."
"You have my word," Mycroft answered, turning to walk away. "So glad you're home, Sherlock."
"Who's Martin?" asked Molly, sitting gently on Sherlock's lap, still staring at the tickets.
"Our brother," Sherlock answered, rubbing his hand up and down Molly's back and leaning his head against her shoulder.
"What?!" she shouted, turning so quickly Sherlock winced slightly. "Sorry!"
"Well, half-brother…it's a long story."
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"I don't see why we have to do this," Sherlock said, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrests of his seat.
"You said you wanted to go on holiday," Molly answered from right next to him, reaching over to loosen his grip on the seat. "You never told me you were afraid of flying."
"I'm not afraid of flying, I'm afraid of falling. And when I said I wanted to go on holiday I thought we could go somewhere to solve cases…like…a different morgue or something."
"Sherlock, you are going to go on holiday, sit on a beach, sip fruity cocktails, and not think about murder for eight whole days."
Sherlock gave the most pathetic whine he could muster. "That sounds so boring."
"I know. It's wonderful!" Molly gloated as she leaned over to give him a solid kiss on the mouth, just as they were approached by the flight attendant.
"Hello! My name's Arthur! Are you really Skip's brother?" The young man had an elfish smile and bright eyes.
"Half-brother, yes," said a voice from behind him. Molly had to stifle a gasp as she looked at who appeared to be a shorter, skinnier, and ginger-headed Sherlock with freckles. "Mycroft called and said Sherlock wanted to go on holiday with his girlfriend-I had to see that you were a real person."
"Martin! Why aren't you flying the plane?!" Sherlock cried, his eyes wide and all the color draining from his face.
"Relax, my first officer is still up there," he turned back to Molly. "Martin Crieff, it's nice to meet you."
"Molly Hooper, nice to meet you too, Martin," Molly shook his outstretched hand in awe as Arthur turned back around to hand Sherlock a drink.
"Here you go, Mr. Holmes-Mum always makes this for me when I get nervous. Nice flight!" He turned and walked back to the galley.
"You probably shouldn't drink that," replied Martin.
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"I told you this was a bad idea," scowled Sherlock as he gingerly lowered his searing red arms.
"And I told you that you needed sunscreen," Molly answered from the door, carrying in their beach bag and setting it by the door. They had spent the day on the beach, Molly with a novel and Sherlock with some old cold case files Molly had surprised him with. His cast meant they were unable to get into the water, but that didn't mean Molly hadn't enjoyed the look of Sherlock Holmes shirtless and in swim shorts. He collapsed heavily on the couch and allowed his crutches to fall to the floor beside him.
Molly emerged from the bathroom of their rented cottage a few minutes later with a bottle of aloe and a DVD in her hands. She inserted the movie into the player and approached Sherlock on the couch. "Budge up, we're watching a movie."
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, hefting himself up only enough for Molly to fit underneath him, falling back so his head rested on her stomach. "What inane romantic comedy have you chosen this time?"
"Oh, shut up, you'll like this one," she said as she squeezed a generous amount of the green gel into her hands, smiling at the yelp he made when the cold liquid came into contact with his burned shoulders. He continued to pout until the opening scene began. Dark water filled the screen, a child's voice ringing out from the deck of a large ship.
"Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate's life for me,"
Sherlock sat up a little straighter, his eyes widening. "Is this a movie about pirates?"
"Aptly, ones from the Caribbean," Molly joked.
Two hours later, Molly had very nearly fallen asleep, despite Sherlock watching the entire movie at rapt attention, making not a single scathing remark.
"That movie was brilliant, Molly!" he turned around to face her, shocked at her drowsy appearance.
"I'm glad you liked it."
He turned back around, settling against her chest in the closest Sherlock Holmes could ever get to a cuddle. "Jack Sparrow is a stupid name, though."
Molly laughed. "Says the man named 'Sherlock.'"
Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. "Please, like Hooper is any better."
"Well, what would you like me to change it to, you berk?"
"How do you feel about Holmes?"
Molly stiffened, feeling Sherlock tense on her chest. He raised himself onto his elbows, cautiously looking into her face.
"Did you just…" Molly stammered, her eyes wide, unblinking.
"Yes," he answered, licking his lips and staring back at her.
"Sherlock, I…"
"No, no, it's fine. I totally understand, it was too quick. Just forget I-"
He had started to get up, only to be stopped by Molly grabbing his face with both hands, pulling him back down.
"Yes."
Sherlock raised his eyebrow, uncertain as to what she was affirming. "Yes…what?"
"Yes…I'll marry you," she answered, her face breaking into a gigantic grin. She pulled his face down to hers for a kiss.
"Oh, right. That," Sherlock answered, his eyes still closed from the kiss. "I don't have a ring or anything, I hadn't actually planned on asking you-"
Molly kissed him again, effectively shutting him up. "I don't care. As long as I get to be with you."
Sherlock returned her smile, a wide, genuine grin that he so rarely wore. He leaned down to kiss her once more. "So…what now?" he asked, his fingers absently rubbing her sides where his hands rested on her body.
"Well, Doctor Watson recommended lots of bed rest, so maybe we should get you to bed," she said, bringing her hands up to run her fingers through his tangled hair.
"Molly, it's barely six o'clock, why would I go to bed now?"
Molly stared at him meaningfully, waiting for the penny to drop. Finally, his eyebrows raised and his eyes lit up.
"Oh. Oh."