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M is for Molly's Day
Today was an annual occasion Sherlock was blackmailed into participating in. Before John was on the scene, Lestrade saw a lot more of the interactions between Molly and Sherlock, mostly a one-way barrage of insults. Greg decided that Molly deserved to be thanked for all her patience and restraint, and had come up with the concept of "Molly's Day", one day a year where Sherlock has to do whatever Molly asks or at least treat her well, as a thank you for being an arse the rest of the time. Unfortunately, Sherlock didn't see its purpose, claiming that she'd do it all anyway and it would interrupt his work. It was only after Greg had threatened firstly not to let him on cases, but also to make any evidence of her dismembering him with a scalpel mysteriously disappear in the event that she snapped that he agreed. Thus, an uncomfortable, begrudging compromise was born. Every year, in the week before her birthday, he would have to do something nice. It just so happened that this particular year, Tom had organised something for the same day. Just a coincidence they would assume- but the universe is rarely so lazy.
"Molly!" Sherlock called out loudly into the silence of her flat. He heard groaning and fumbling before a dishevelled looking Molly poked her head out of the bedroom door.
"Sherlock it's 6.30am, it's my day off. Why are you here?" She asked, stifling yawns. He smirked,
"Hurry up and get dressed, our plane leaves in two hours."
"Plane?" She said, wondering if she'd forgotten something.
"Yes plane, now hurry up. Lestrade said I had to do something 'extra special' this year apparently. Or he'd make sure that every case I work has Anderson on it," Sherlock spat.
"Of all days, you chose this one? Tom was going to take me out for a surprise!" Molly groaned she knew her fiancé would not be impressed.
"I've already sorted anything I think you'll need. Quickly now, Molly." Sherlock said, holding up her handbag.
"What's going on Molls?" Tom's sleepy voice carried through the walls.
"Sherlock," She sighed, Tom sat up, a look of displeasure clear on his face,
"It's not even 7, it's your day off, just tell him to get lost." Tom snapped, gesticulating towards the door.
"I can't…" She said slowly biting her lip; Tom was about to question why when Sherlock barged through the door,
"We both know she won't, although she hasn't told you why… Come on woman, his Lordship is waiting for us a Heathrow." Sherlock said impatiently,
"Wait, Mycroft?" Molly stopped in her tracks, why on Earth would Mycroft be waiting for them?
"Lestrade was very forceful about how much you had to enjoy this." Sherlock sulked,
"I'm ready; I'll see you later darling, sorry," Molly kissed Tom on the cheek and bolted out of the bedroom. Sherlock followed, turning around in the doorway,
"Happy Molly's Day." He said with a mischievous smile, before slamming the bedroom door, and ultimately the front door. Tom shook his head, what was he supposed to do with two tickets to a show he detested but was willing to sit through for her birthday? Then a great idea hit him, sell them and buy tickets to the football instead. There had to be some perks to putting up with their extremely unorthodox relationship.
They arrived at Heathrow with half an hour to spare; the car that had brought them there deposited them in a back entrance, where Mycroft stood looking very bored.
"So good of you to turn up," He drawled,
"I never understood why it takes women so long to get ready." Sherlock complained,
"You wouldn't little brother," Mycroft said with a smirk, Molly eyed the two curiously, for all their outward mirth they were just like any other pair of siblings, albeit with a more intelligent level of bickering.
"Where are we going?" Molly asked brightly, trying to diffuse the tension.
"All in good time," Sherlock said almost playfully, Mycroft shook his head at his brother's tone.
"Everything's in order," Mycroft stated, he took a step and paused, "Definitely not involved" He mocked.
"This is a product of blackmail and you know it. Try not to start a war before I get back, Mycroft." Sherlock growled,
"Happy Molly's Day," Mycroft said nonchalantly, as the two parted ways, Sherlock with Molly in tow.
It was late when Sherlock dropped Molly back to her flat; she was exhausted and absurdly happy. They said goodbye on the doorstep, Sherlock giving her another soft kiss on the cheek before sweeping off into the night.
"Do you know what time it is?" Tom asked as she entered,
"No, Sherlock stole my phone, and for some bizarre reason my watch too." Molly said through a stifled yawn,
"It's 11.30 Molls," He told her, holding up his watch as proof.
"I'm so sorry Tom, but you know what he's like," Molly sighed, supressing another yawn,
"What is Molly's Day?" Tom asked curiously, as they headed inside to bed.
"The one day a year he has to be nice to me, Greg blackmails him into making up for a year's worth of misdeeds in a day." Molly explained, it seemed perfectly reasonable to her, and was usually the highlight of her year. It had happened for many years, and as far as she was concerned, long may it continue! One year he'd taken her sky-diving, the next she'd asked him to leave her in peace- and he did ,for a full 24 hours! The fact he barrelled in the second that was up and demanded a foot was by the by.
"Where did you go?" Tom asked, trying to keep his voice soft and failing.
"Paris," She replied, just audible, it was well known that she'd always wanted to go, and it would have been the perfect honeymoon…
"That was going to be your Honeymoon surprise! What did you do?" Tom confirmed her suspicions, sighing heavily and trying to remind himself that he should be happy for her.
"We had breakfast up the Eiffel Tower, then went on a specially arranged guided tour of the Louvre, walked around some gardens, and then ended up having dinner in the most ridiculous restaurant I've ever seen. Think Heston Blumenthal, but more weird." Molly said excitedly, it really had been a marvellous day. "Oh, and he bought me this dress while I was having a massage…" She winced slightly, she had just described the most perfect day of her life, and it didn't have anything to do with the man she was marrying. "To be fair, he owed me for the two spent dead, two years of lying to John, and the head that I got him shortly before he disappeared." Molly tried to justify the situation, Tom sighed,
"Let's go to bed, Molly." He sounded utterly defeated.