A quicker update for you, hopefully it's better than the last one, enjoy!

R is for Rome, Reassessment and Realisation

Molly snuck out of the flat at 4.30 am, which was justifiable for driving to a conference in the north somewhere. She was greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a bored looking Sherlock, who hailed them a cab to Heathrow. The cab journey was silent. The flight was silent. Customs in Rome was silent. Molly had attempted chatter on a few occasions, but was silenced every time with a single look from the curly haired man. She wasn't best pleased with his sulking, but let it wash over her along with the warm Italian sunshine. To her surprise their final destination was a lecture at La Sapienza University of Rome, on the exact topic she was researching for her next paper. After grilling the lecturer, with Sherlock helping translate, they found a small restaurant for lunch, and although Molly had no idea what had been ordered for her, she thoroughly enjoyed it. Then they sauntered around the streets, where Molly took pictures of the beautiful architecture, and did a little window shopping while Sherlock followed in amused silence until they happened across a little boutique that had some of the most stunning jewellery Molly had ever seen in her life. She paused briefly in front of the window, a fleeting notion that one day someone would buy her pretty things for the sake of it crossing her thoughts. She sighed lightly, before turning away to continue on, not wanting to aggravate her travel partner any more than she already had been by simply existing.

"Molly," Sherlock said firmly, grabbing her attention,

"What now? How could I have possibly offended you this time?" Molly snapped, expecting a lengthy deduction on how liking sparkly things was a hangover from societal need and a lack of parental love, but instead he simply gestured towards the door, as if expecting her to go into the shop. It wasn't that she didn't want to, but there were no prices in the window, there was no way she could afford anything.

"Molly," He repeated, a slight edge to his voice,

"I can't afford anything in there!" She hissed back at him, trying to not make a scene. He simply rolled his eyes, as if she'd missed something vitally obvious,

"This is a second Molly's day, correct?" She nodded her head at his statement "You always get a present on Molly's day."

"You can't spend that much!" She replied, her voice much higher pitched than she would have liked.

"Fine. Consider it a gift from mummy, 'seeing as she's got no grandchildren to spoil, you're the next best thing'," He said, trying not to be too impatient, and producing a very reasonable impression of his mother. Molly's eyes widened in terror and shock, but before she could argue, Sherlock had put one hand firmly on her shoulder and directed her into the shop. After half an hour of deliberation Molly settled on a necklace that she could wear under her jumpers, an intricately decorated locket that she could put a picture of her dad in and count as her something new for the wedding. She was quite taken aback that Sherlock thought something like this was justifiable for her, it made her wonder just how much some of the other Molly's day trinkets and outfits were worth, and just how much money he had access to. She knew that Mr and Mrs Holmes were not averse to spending, they holidayed often and could afford to do their food shop at M&S, but that didn't mean they could afford to pay for Sherlock? That and he was nearly 40, he should be able to fund himself. She supposed that maybe Mycroft earnt more than a miserable middle aged man could spend, and Sherlock regularly siphoned it off? Or he had businesses no one knew of? A trust fund? Was he actually taking money from clients?

"Don't worry about my income Molly, it is more than sufficient for just me. Believe it or not I do something similar to this for John once a year, and I keep an eye out for Gavin when he's going through his divorces. Best not tell them though, I have a reputation to uphold." He smirked, and looked at his watch, they'd have to start making their way back to the airport soon. "Seeing as you wouldn't permit me to get you something in that shop, I still owe you a present,"

"You really don't have to get me anything," Molly tried her best not to stammer, she could not help but feel embarrassed that her socially inept friend bought her better gifts than her husband to be. It should have been a warning flag early on, even before Tom knew that Molly had worked with the then disgraced detective, that he seemed unable to quite hit the mark with birthday, Valentine's and Christmas presents, even less so with ideas for dates and special days out. She'd forgotten over the two years Sherlock had been absent just how well thought through Molly's Day was, and the feeling of being truly pampered. For a moment she hated Tom for stopping her enjoying her day, and making her embarrassed at his failure to spoil her properly. It wasn't the money that was spent or the destinations abroad, it was the 'little things' like aimless wandering and window shopping without complaining, or the pathology lecture closely related to her own work. One year Sherlock had taken her to Mycroft's house, and they had spent the entire day moving things slightly out of place and hiding his supposedly secret cake stash. Then they had gone back to her flat and hacked into Mycroft's security system and laughed so hard at his reaction that their throats were hoarse.

"Stop thinking Molly. We need to make our way back to the airport," Sherlock chided gruffly, he knew that she didn't want to deal with facing the reality that her relationship wasn't what she had originally thought, and he certainly didn't want to deal with the fallout of that on a plane.

"Ok" Was all Molly could manage, running a little to catch up to the long-legged man.

The journey back was as quiet as the one there, except this time Molly wasn't concerned about Sherlock's sulking. She was too wrapped up in trying to process the re-emergence of issues in her relationship she thought had abated of late. They seemed to have been moving back to where they were around the time they got engaged emotionally, but when she analysed the situation a little further, she realised that they didn't spend any time together any more. Mondays he was at the pub, Tuesdays she was at Baker Street, Wednesdays was Tom's gym night, Thursday she was at Baker Street and Fridays they sat in silence while he watched fishing and she read. In between times she had her monthly meeting with Mrs Holmes, and Tom went out with John and Greg to bitch about Sherlock, usually while she was elbows deep in one of his corpses. She hadn't been doing that much extra work for experiments and cases, and Sherlock had almost stopped frequenting her flat, but they were still not quite the couple they were before, despite Tom's numerous protestations that Sherlock was the problem. She sighed heavily, she knew they'd have to address this comprehensively when she got home and he would shout a lot for her lying to him about where she'd been and over the issues he'd almost certainly have with the locket being gifted to her. A nagging in the back of her mind said that in the long run she'd have to choose, and she knew who would win.

Sherlock accompanied her to the flat door, as was his custom, Molly often wondered if he thought she was going to get lost between the cab and her front door, but more recently had come to realise the level of decorum instilled in both brothers by their mother. They picked and chose what of their numerous etiquette lessons they actually practised, but apparently taking a lady to her door was one of them. She thought that as a modern, emancipated woman she should feel offended or stifled by this behaviour, but in reality she felt safe and special, because he was going out of his way for her. There was no way Sherlock was doing it out of anything other than begrudging obligation, but it still made her feel good about herself, another feeling she had come to realise she didn't associate with Tom that often. Their relationship had become too comfortable too early on and she'd fallen into a routine, that if she was honest, she was fairly ambivalent towards. She got companionship and the odd shag, and Tom got to pretend he was good at something, but that wasn't enough any more, she needed her old life back. She couldn't help feeling like she'd just been taken back home after some teenage date. Sighing in resignation, she stuffed her hands in her pockets only to find a small pouch in there that definitely wasn't there before. That bastard had bought the earrings in the window while she wasn't looking.