Happy Birthday to my fabulously patient housemate. You put up with me on a daily basis, and I have finally, finally written the next chapter. Love ya!
"Molly Hooper, will you do me the greatest honour and, no… ah Molly, Molls. God's sake Molly, will you marry me? Maybe?" John Watson shook his head violently, hoping to erase the words that had just clumsily fallen from his lips, in the silence of his and Molly's empty flat. He was treading a steady path into the, now worn, carpet of the room he had once occupied. Pacing was an understatement.
He'd been taking more and more 'moments to himself' when Molly popped out to the shops or to work. The second John knew he was alone in the flat he would find himself aimlessly staring at the same object that held a good eighty percent of his attention at all times. Sitting on the rarely used sheets he used to sleep in, the deep blue around him calming his thoughts. It had all started in that room, it made sense to seek the comfort of the familiar features; the strong influence of Molly's late father still held true, the tin cars still parked neatly on the window sill, but little bits of John peeked through the cracks. He could see his clothes hanging neatly in the wardrobe and would have chuckled at how Molly required so much of her own wardrobe space, meaning he found himself with no more than one outfit in their shared room, but again the eighty percent of his attention beckoned the remaining twenty.
"Okay, Molly. I love you. Will you please…" Sounds too desperate. She's allowed to say no, she could still say no. "Would it be alright if I asked you to marry me?" Would it be alright? Christ I need help!
John's feet began to thud softly over his familiar tracks once again, the repetitive motion helped him think, or at least took his mind back to why he was fumbling with a strangely petite ring box in his left hand. The box was a deep blue, crushed velvet affair, and if it hadn't of been an antique he would have certainly turned his nose up at it. When he popped it open, checking for the fifth time in the last minute that the ring hadn't somehow disintegrated, been teleported or something equally illogical, his eye caught the sparkle of the neatly set stone. He'd spotted the ring in an antique shop, one he'd become well acquainted with. It was Molly's favourite place to wander, she loved to get lost in the dust of leather-bound first additions, or fantasise over the glimmer of jewellery that brought to mind her mother; John had simply frequented the shop for the love of the smile on her face. When he'd seen a new addition to the shop window, John had made every rash cliché decision in the book, storming to the cash register and outright buying the engagement ring before having really considered the engagement. He loved Molly, that was certain, and having seen such a lovingly crafted piece of aging silver twining together like leaves and meeting at a perfectly opal emerald, there was no place else he could imagine it but Molly's slender finger.
The emerald was a beautifully cut stone, the deep green suited his perception of Molly more than any diamonds on a classic band would have, she'd mentioned her love of the stone and had worn a simple set of the stones on more than one of their dates. The set matched the ring perfectly and John was proud of his choice matching the gift Molly had received from her father on her eighteenth birthday. And who cares if we haven't discussed marriage yet?
The ring had been in John's possession for over two weeks now, and in that time there had been an unnecessary amount of rehearsed speeches, ever one falling flat to John's wishes. It was how to say it; he couldn't quite form the words without his tongue fumbling at the first syllable, either that or the words sounded forced and he wanted to say no on her behalf. Bringing it up in conversation would be too casual, yes, their relationship had fallen easily into the domesticity of a ten year relationship, but that didn't mean a proposal should be any less special than those done by wild young lovers in passionate, fast-paced love. John Watson, though, was neither casual nor, wild and young, he was traditional and that's what he wanted in a proposal.
"Molly Hooper, I have loved you for longer than I dared admit, from that God awful day to this very second it has grown exponentially and will forever continue to flood my heart. You brought light to my darkened vision and breath to my aching lungs and a second without you love would last to long. Marry me?"
"John… I can't say yes…"
It's been an extremely long while I know. I have few and far between excuses, but this is getting finished and soon!
I love you all, if you're new, hey! If you've stuck by me through all of the many chapter-less months, well done my friends.
Okay doaky, see you for more soon, let's clear up that cliff hanger shall we...