A/N: Just a heads up! I've changed the rating of this fic to M, because of what I've decided for the later chapters. Once again, thanks to all those who reviewed, and hello to the new followers!
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Sherlock was standing by the window, absently plucking his violin strings as he stared out into the dark sky overhead. Flakes of snow were falling unendingly to the concrete ground below, gradually melding into a blanket of white. A wrong note issued from his violin and he grimaced – it'd been a while since he played.
He was fortunate that Molly had the sense to retrieve his instrument from Baker Street when she went there two months ago. She'd claimed that she wanted to keep it as a memento, and John had allowed her to. Of course he did. He still couldn't handle being in close proximity to any of his items for long periods of time. That was why he was in Australia now, having a sunny Christmas instead of a snowy one. Everything had been so different a year ago, and as much as he tried to, Sherlock couldn't stop the dull ache pulsing in his chest.
He sighed inwardly as he fingered another chord. He couldn't play it properly with his bow since Molly's neighbours would notice, but he figured that pizzicatos were better than nothing. At least it had kept him occupied for the past week he'd been back from Scotland.
The trip had yielded only average results. While he had managed to obtain some vital information to build up a few key profiles, they were still nowhere close to finding Moran, which was frankly the only person he cared about taking down. The Woman hadn't made much progress either. The only comforting thing was that she had decided to remain in Budapest for Christmas.
Molly's cheerful voice from the kitchen forced his fingers to stop.
"What?" he snapped, irritated at the interruption.
"Would you come here please?"
He entertained the thought of saying no, but he didn't really want to deal with an upset Molly on Christmas. It would probably make him feel worse. Sherlock placed his violin down reluctantly and went over to the kitchen, breathing in a trail of something sweet.
He quirked an eyebrow questioningly, noticing the flushed excitement on Molly's face. She was wearing a green Christmas jumper patterned with reindeers, the sort of thing he absolutely detested.
"The puddings are done," she said happily.
"The what?"
"Puddings, Sherlock!"
"Oh."
"Come on, I made you one," she said, beckoning him closer to her. With a slight roll of his eyes, he went forward, taking the plate from her. He had to admit that it did smell rather nice.
They started to eat, Molly happily chatting to him about random things that he wasn't really paying attention to. He could see that she was livelier than usual. He deduced early on that she used to spend her Christmases with her father, who passed away five years ago. She didn't have any close friends or family members (she wasn't close to her mother – they were similar in that aspect), so her holidays were usually spent alone.
His teeth suddenly made contact with something hard. His brows creased and he removed the object from his mouth.
"What's this?" he asked her, holding out a round penny.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you that I buried some pennies in the puddings," she said, looking a bit sheepish.
"I can see it's a penny Molly, but what's it doing in my food?"
She frowned before realising that he was completely clueless. "Sherlock," she giggled. "It's a Christmas tradition. People usually put little tokens in puddings!"
Well, this was new information. He must have deleted it from his memory long ago, since anything to do with Christmas annoyed him, especially those cliché Christmas movies with predictable plots he could deduce within seconds.
"What's it supposed to mean?" He took a large bite of his pudding (which tasted rather good), turning the penny in his fingers.
"It's for good luck. I thought you'd need it."
"You do know that it never works, right?"
"Of course I do!" she said, looking mildly affronted that he thought this way. "I just thought it'd be fun."
She looked away, and he knew that she was second-guessing herself, wondering if she had acted foolishly. He wasn't sure if it was because of the sweetness in his mouth, but he didn't want her to think this way. The thing was, he did appreciate this gesture. Silly as it was, it was undeniably Molly. It seemed like something Mrs Hudson would do as well. The memory of her forcing him to eat some disgusting gingersnap cookies last Christmas came flooding back and his lips twitched slightly. He was just about to say something when a loud knock sounded from the doorway.
"MOLLY!" An extremely shrill voice called. Molly's spoon cluttered against her plate and her face went a shade paler.
"Oh god!" she cried, getting up from her chair and looking around with panic.
"What?" He was thoroughly perplexed by the turn of events. The woman's annoying voice drifted from the corridor again and Molly grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to stand up.
"It's my mother!" she hissed. "Shit! What is she doing here?! How am I going to explain you?!" She was on the verge of tears. He would've laughed at her silly expression if he wasn't secretly panicking as well.
The woman rapped on the door again and Sherlock suppressed an urge to snap at her. He forced himself to focus and only one viable option came to mind. It was ridiculous, but it was going to be the only way he could stay without being discovered. From the tone of her voice, he doubted that Molly's mother was intelligent.
The plan would work just fine.
"Hi mum!" Molly said with more enthusiasm than she felt. Her mother never came over for Christmas unless something happened with her husband, whomever it was at the time. She was probably going through her third divorce or something. "What're you doing here?"
"Hello," her mother smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I came to spend Christmas with my darling daughter of course! Something smells good!"
"Mmm. I made pudding."
"Would you like some, ma'am?" Sherlock's voice drifted from the kitchen entrance. Molly drew in a breath and steadied her shaking hands before turning to look. She was shocked at the transformation.
Sherlock wasn't recognisable at all. Sure, his features were all still the same. But instead of his usual brooding face, his expression was now gentle and sweet.
"Hullo," her mum smiled, her eyes flickering to Molly. "And who might this handsome young man be?"
"Mum, this is Ryan. He's my er…boyfriend." Oh my god, I just called Sherlock my boyfriend!
"Hello Mrs Lawrence," Sherlock said politely, shaking her mother's hand. Her mum gave Sherlock the once-over and seemed satisfied with what she saw; she was completely unaware of whom she was actually staring at.
"Call me Elizabeth, please. Mrs Lawrence makes me feel old." She turned to Molly. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend!" her mother whispered loudly, obviously intending for Sherlock to hear.
Molly gave a nervous laugh and Sherlock shot her a look. "We just met a few months ago, mum. His family is away, so we're spending Christmas together."
"Oh, how SWEET!" Molly saw Sherlock discreetly roll his eyes and she chewed on her lips to stop herself from smiling.
"Shall we go for a walk, sweetheart? You know how much I missed London!" Her mother tugged at her arm. Her mum didn't like being in her flat for very long – the mess always put her off. And she couldn't stand being in a house so small, coming from her large Upper East Side flat in New York.
"But it's late, mum."
"Molly Elizabeth Hooper, are you really going to refuse your own mother a walk on Christmas?"
"Erm…ok then," she agreed reluctantly.
"Do you want to come along too, Ryan?" Her mother asked, her voice dripping with sweetness.
"No thank you, Elizabeth. I'm not that fond of the winter air," Sherlock said.
"Ah…alright then. I'll just take my Molly with me." But her mother didn't budge.
The three of them stood there awkwardly for a moment, not quite knowing what to do.
"Well, aren't you going to kiss him goodbye?" Her mother clicked her tongue at her. "You two are a couple! Be more affectionate! I don't want you losing another boyfriend, you're not young anymore!"
Molly felt her face burning at her mother's words. She swallowed hard and faced Sherlock. His face still sported a sweet expression, but she could see his eyes hardening. She silently begged him with her eyes, hoping that he would follow through with the act.
Sherlock bent down and swiftly captured her lips, giving her a chaste kiss. It was exceedingly normal, but Molly's heart was thumping so heavily, she thought he would be able to hear it.
"Bye Molly," he smiled, still scarily in character. He should've become an actor.
Soft, sweet, warm.
They tasted just like the puddings she'd made.
Sherlock's eyes widened when he realised where his thoughts had strayed to. He picked up his violin quickly, forcing his mind to retreat into the safety of his mind palace with the aid of his music.
He steadily ignored that one room that would open to patterned cardigans, a pleasant vanilla scent and lab equipment.
Molly returned mentally exhausted. Her mother had complained incessantly about her husband wanting to divorce her because of the "one tiny affair" she had. She couldn't understand why her mum wouldn't admit that it was her fault, but decided to remain silent on the subject. It wasn't like her mother was going to listen to her.
She was also trying not to think about the fact that she had somehow agreed to go for dinner with her mother in two days.
With her "boyfriend".
"How was it?" Sherlock asked. He was sprawled across her couch, watching the telly and looking utterly bored.
"I don't want to talk about it. She makes me tired."
He huffed out a breath of laughter. "Of course she does. She's an idiot with a level of intelligence that is lower than Anderson's."
"Sherlock!"
"What? You obviously agree."
"We don't really get along, but she's my mother. Don't say things like that."
"Not good?"
"No."
He hesitated. "Point taken." That was as good as an apology coming from him.
She sat down beside him, swatting his long legs away. She wondered how she was going to go about getting Sherlock to agree to come to dinner with her. He'd probably want to kill her.
She started worrying her bottom lip – an old habit of hers whenever she was nervous.
"If you chew your lips any longer, they will bleed," he commented.
She started, unaware that he was observing her.
"Just ask," he drawled in his bored voice. "You obviously want something from me."
"How did you know?" she squeaked.
"Do you really want me to go into the details? I can start deducing you right now, but I was under the impression that you dislike it when I do that."
"Yes I do, don't start," she said, her cheeks starting to get hot. "Erm…my mum, she wants to meet me for dinner in two days. And she er…she really wants to see you again too, so –"
"You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend again and come to dinner with you," he finished for her.
"Well…yes," she answered sheepishly. "Would you?"
"No."
"Please?"
"I don't like your mother Molly, and I have no wish to interact with her again."
"Come on, Sherlock," she pleaded. "I'll never hear the end of it if I don't bring you along!"
"No."
"It'll just be a couple of hours! And dinner will be more bearable if you were there!" She could see his resolve wavering a bit. "Please?" she tried again. "Just two hours."
"Fine," he grumbled, looking like a sulky child. "But I'm not sitting beside her."
"I think I can deal with that," Molly giggled. "Thank you."
He waved his hands dismissively, and she looked at him fondly. It suddenly occurred to her that it was close to midnight – Christmas day was almost over.
She hastily went into her room and removed a small, wrapped box from her wardrobe. She had gotten it while he was away. She went back out and handed it to Sherlock with a shy smile.
"Merry Christmas."
He frowned and sat up, swinging his long legs in front of him. He took the present from her and opened it promptly. A small bumble bee preserved in a rich honey-gold substance sat in the middle of the box. "How did you know I like bees?"
"You told me once, when we were in the lab." She could tell that he had forgotten about it. But then again, he rarely paid attention to their conversations.
He was silent for a long while, and she thought she'd done something wrong. Maybe he thought that her present was stupid, since there was no practical value to it. She was just about to open her mouth when he suddenly stood up and walked over to her.
He lowered his head, and she thought that he was going to kiss her cheek again, like he did last Christmas. Instead, he went for her forehead, pressing his lips lightly to her skin. She had to remind herself to breathe at his touch.
"I didn't get you any present," he confessed.
"It's fine."
"It is?"
"Yeah, you spending Christmas with me is a good enough present."
Her words seemed to have momentarily stunned him, like he couldn't understand why she would find his company pleasant. He stood there gazing at her, her present still in his hands.
"Thank you, Molly," he finally said.
Hours later, as he lay on the lumpy sofa with his fingers steepled under his chin, Sherlock found himself committing an image of the preserved bumble bee in the room he had determinedly ignored just hours ago.
He placed the bee right beside the image of a smiling Molly in her green Christmas jumper.
When he walked out of her room, he didn't bother closing the door.
I won't be able to update in the next few days because my uni schoolwork is getting hectic (sobs). But I'll try to get it up asap!
Please tell me what you think of this chapter! :)