Night at the Cafe

"Bang!"

An alarming thud landed at the foot of the staircase, but Mrs. Hudson didn't even flinch from sipping her tea, just merely screeched, "Sherlock Holmes! How many times have I told you NOT to slide down the banister?!" Said man stood absolutely still counting the seconds, then just as predicted, there was an awful hiss of a chair being scrapped along the wood floor followed by short deliberate steps of heels clicking. Judging by its sound, Sherlock concluded his landlady had gone out with her friends that afternoon donned in her favourite dress. That pastel blue dress with the white floral pattern was always worn with those particular heels he heard just now, and she only wore that dress if she had somewhere special to be.

He merely rolled his eyes and huffed annoyingly a reply, "Far too many times, I lost count after the third day I discovered this was the most efficient way of travelling down the flight of steps. It has been exactly two months now, I have no desire to change my newfound habit." He straightened his coat and scarf, then whipped out his Sword. Besides, If you think about Mrs. Hudson, this is actually the safest means of travelling given my condition. If I were to travel by dreadfully ordinary and conventional means, then there is always the chance of me missing a step or misjudging a distance, to which I could fall and break several bones. That would only create a plethora of unnecessary issues." He stabbed the floor twice as if to emphasise his point.

"it really isn't the safest way, but just be careful and come home in one piece all safe and sound, can you do that for me?" Before he could open his mouth to reply, Mrs. Hudson smothered him with a bone-crushing hug.

Nope! I won't have broken bones from falling down the stairs, it will come from my landlady. How reassuring... Ugh! Gives me the chills just imagining this!

"Mrs. Hudson!" He finally managed to say whilst trying batting away her hands, and failing at it, "I'm fine. Do stop fussing over me. My scarf was tied perfectly fine, now the seams are twisted. No! My coat collar Always stays up. Molly likes it that way, and it annoys John. Double success. Goodbye. I will come home later. Do keep yourself warm though. It is suppose to drop tonight."

Braving the cold winter winds and armed with his Sword, Sherlock sauntered to the café where he and Molly had planned to meet for a meal. There was no reason to rush; it was barely a ten minuet walk but he didn't want to be late, for Molly was never late on their meetings.

Molly caught sight of him crossing the last intersection, thus rushed to the end of the pavement to greet him. A little voice in her head observed: Sherlock, just look at you! Six months ago no one would have even imagined this, you taking on the streets without a single faltering step. You doubted yourself too. I'm so proud of you.

"Sherlock!"

He stopped and smiled at his name. Only one person in the world was able to call his name in that exact manner with a specific pronunciation and syllable stress.

"Molly," he reached out for her. The hand received a quick squeeze from a small delicate one. "How are you? Hungry?"

"I'm fine. Not hungry. Let's have dinner," she replied with a voice full of humour. He hooked his free arm around her petite form, and they entered the café together.

The discussion during dinner was lively and somewhat work oriented, so much talk of dead bodies and crime scenes would have turned away most from dinning, but the couple thrived in that topic. It was, as awkward as it seemed, their bonding element. Cadavers.

Listening to Sherlock describe his latest success from the Yard, Molly absentmindedly reached out and straightened out the folds on his scarf. He became aware of her touch a moment later and stopped mid-sentence, "Molly, how much time have you been spending with Mrs. Hudson?"

"Not particularly more than usual, why do you ask?"

"Because this," clasping his hands over hers and chuckled at the thought from earlier, "is exactly what Mrs. Hudson fusses about constantly. She straightened my scarf just before I left the flat."

"Well then, I can only surmise that she also reprimanded you for sliding down the banister again," she battened his hand away playfully continuing to straighten his appearance, "oh don't look so surprised. I know you better than you think. You did, didn't you? Only because the Watsons are away right now. It's good they live with you so you don't do it often."

"Why must everyone worry about it? I did it all the time as a child, granted it did drive Mummy furious, but Mycroft did it too! Can you imagine the little plump doughnut rolling down the stairs! It was such a sight to see. Father always laughed which made Mummy angry with him too." Sherlock chucked at the memory.

"What I would give to see my brother-in-law to be in that state! I can only dream of such a silly moment," Molly's expression lost the cheerfulness a second later," I worry, Mrs. Hudson and the Watsons worry because we never forgot what happened that one time you tried that stunt. I'm sure you remember too, don't you? It scared us Sherlock, maybe not for you because you were not conscious for most if it. Her voice grew more and more unsettled at the events replayed in her mind, "Just went flying down the banister and flung yourself right into the front door with a solid thwack then the floor equally hard. Knocked you senseless for quite a time all because you misjudged the length of the banister left to slide. We saw the after effect, a lifeless heap of coat and sprawled out limbs."

Sherlock rubbed her hand gently, "Molly, I don't forget, I never will. It never will happened again. It won't happen again. Ok?"

"Can you promise me not to do it ever again, please?" She kissed his hand, "You don't know Sherlock, it could happen again. What if no one was home when it happened, you would have been there for a lot time without care."

"Very well, I will do my best to refrain from it. I'm sorry I frightened you," he kissed her hand, "Is our dessert ever going to come?" Sherlock huffed an annoyed sigh, so Molly glanced around the room hoping to catch sight of their tray, then her eyes grew wide when she saw the sweet. "Sherlock, what on earth is this? This isn't on the menu at all, so extravagant!"

"I take you like it then given your expression of surprise. The owner owes me a few favours so I asked for his specialty dessert as partial payment of it. He was the head chef at a well-known high class restaurant, but the management changed so he started up the café instead. A few mishaps in between so that's where I helped out." He inched his fingers across the table until it came in contact with the cold plate, then pushed it in front of his pathologist. "Eat, I assure you it is quite good."

Molly giggled softly at the fancy chocolate covered dish sitting before her, she took a strawberry and bite of cake on her fork and examined it, "It looks too pretty to eat!"

"Of course you would say that," Sherlock stifled a small laugh, "...just eat it, it'll taste bad if you let it sit out too long." Molly ate her bite and took another one. "Open," she said cupping his chin with her free feeding him a bite of the heavenly dessert. "Thank you Sherlock, I really enjoyed this. All of it." With a mouth full of chocolate fluffiness it was impossible to respond, so he just nodded and smiled.

Taking turned feeding each other they finished off the dessert quickly, but not before creating a little food fight, seeing who could get the most chocolate whipped crème on the other person's face. With full tummies and happy hearts, hither two lovebirds set off to their next place on their Favourite Places List: the park at night because of its serenity with barely anyone wandering its grounds.

A-N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

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