As always, thank you for your continued support :) Something a little longer than usual, hope you enjoy it.
R is for Remembrance
Tom was not having a good week. It had started off badly, with traffic making him late for a very important meeting, progressed to awful when he'd started planning a surprise party for his mum only to find out that Molly had put aside the weekends of, before and after her birthday for other plans, and ended up as a total write off. It wasn't a cumulative effect either, he could deal with work and sorting out family gatherings, negotiating with Molly when she could get time off at weekends, life could be a bit crappy at times, the total write off was based on one singular event: the arrival of his mother-in-law to be. Molly's mother rarely visited, the two having busy lives and living far enough apart meant that it was an effort on both sides, and resulted in them mostly keeping up to date via text and the odd phone call, thus a visit was a big deal, and an unannounced one unheard of. He supposed it was intended as a nice surprise, until Molly arrived back at the flat having been crying, accompanied by Mr and Mrs Holmes, then all bets were off. There was a hand over of sorts between the two older women, and then the realisation that really sent his week down the pan hit him: it was the anniversary of her dad's death. He was in a lot of trouble.
Molly had endured an equally terrible week, for very similar reasons to her fiancé. She'd had a group of medicine undergraduates visit to peruse the pathology department, which inevitably meant dealing with students who fainted, vomited and worst of all, mocked whist she was trying to give a balanced account of her chosen career. Then she'd heard about Tom's plans to surprise his mum for her birthday, after the way she'd been treated since the incident with the helicopter and the Holmes brothers, there was no way she was going anywhere near that woman without a battle plan and an exit strategy. She hadn't lied about working those weekends, the rota wasn't in yet, but she definitely hadn't offered to work if they needed her…
To top it all off, he'd forgotten all about her dad's anniversary. She'd been drinking at Baker Street on the Thursday, trying to avoid thinking about the next day and arrived home a little later, and a little more intoxicated than usual. This had led to a row, and the confession of her spending evenings hiding in Baker Street, which in turn had Tom shouting accusations of infidelity. The night before the most horrid day of her year was not the time nor place for these, and she was in no position to deal with them, so she stormed off, intending to end up at a friend's house but inevitably her feet led her straight back to Baker Street. Molly groaned as she approached the steps to the front door, hesitating as she considered going to Greg's instead, her choice was taken away however as Sherlock himself opened the door, and all but dragged her up the stairs into his flat. She supposed this was the detective's way of being considerate, as he thrust some coffee into her hands and stormed off into his bedroom, leaving her alcohol addled brain to try and process the last 90 seconds. She put the coffee down next to the sofa and tried to hang up her coat, with the minor issue that she'd left it in her own flat and walked across London without noticing, she quickly checked her feet, and as she suspected, she was wearing her slippers. Molly sighed heavily to herself, before flopping onto the sofa and sipping at the coffee.
Sherlock was a little out of his depth, as although he often stayed at Molly's, he was struggling to recall a time she had stayed at Baker Street. He figured that after making her sleep on her own sofa, he should probably mimic her hospitality by allowing her to sleep in his bed, as unsettling as he found the notion. It wasn't that his room was untidy, or full of secrets, it was simply that even from a young age no one went in his room, with the exception of his mother occasionally to wake him or berate him for hiding/burning/eating something of Mycroft's. After coming to the conclusion that his train of thought was becoming increasingly sentimental, he decided that logically, there was no reason for him not to offer her the bed, he may not sleep tonight anyway, and she'd need a good night's rest before tomorrow. He sent a quick text to Molly's mother, informing her that it may be in her best interest to visit her daughter tomorrow, before returning to the living area, where Molly was watching some dreadful US show about wedding dresses and drinking her coffee. They passed the time in silence, while Molly sobered up, and Sherlock took mental notes of what was being said, in case Molly took him dress shopping in the future. After the third episode, Sherlock realised why she wasn't being her irritatingly chatty self, at some point in the last hour and a half she'd fallen asleep and he'd sat there watching a programme about wedding dresses by himself. He quickly turned the television off and scooped Molly up from the uncomfortable position she'd manoeuvred herself into on the sofa and put her on his bed. He looked down at the small bundle on his bed and frowned, last time she'd been drunk and he'd ended up putting her to bed, it had been in her flat, there was nothing for her to change into here. He didn't fancy rifling through Mrs Hudson's wardrobe while she was asleep, so he simply removed Molly's slippers, tucked her in and left.
Molly awoke the next morning with a throbbing in her head, tucked up in a ridiculously comfy bed in unfamiliar surroundings. The first thing she noticed was how there was an underlying smell of tobacco, then she rubbed her eyes and looked more closely around her and saw the periodic table on the wall, and realised she was in Sherlock's room, in his bed. She sighed and heaved herself out of bed, it would be a cold walk of shame in her slippers this morning. Maybe she should just get a cab. Molly shuffled along the hallway into the kitchen, where she found a blank piece of paper she assumed was supposed to be a note, a cold cup of tea and Sherlock's parents.
"Good morning Molly, what would you like for breakfast?" Mrs Holmes asked, pre-emptively putting what looked like a new kettle on to boil.
"I…" Molly tried to respond, before bursting into tears. Mrs Holmes smiled sadly at the weeping young woman before engulfing her in a warm hug.
"You don't have to do this one your own," The older lady comforted softly, "It never gets any easier, you know," she continued, slipping the dressing gown her husband has just passed her over Molly's shoulders, before leading her to the sofa. "You think of them at milestone moments, and debate over whether talking to a gravestone is healthy. Just because they are no longer living physically doesn't mean they can't live on in your mind and your life. It's natural to want their approval in things like marriage." Mrs Holmes paused as she received her tea from her husband, letting a soothing silence wash over the room while they drank their tea.
To most Brits, there isn't much that can't be solved with a proper cup of tea, and in this case, while the tea couldn't bring her father back to life, it calmed Molly down considerably. Once she had drained her mug, it was instantly replaced by a plate of hot, buttery toast, which she wolfed down, before being hustled into the bathroom. Mrs Holmes was moderately terrifying, and Molly was beginning to understand why Sherlock went out of his way to avoid her. Her own mother wasn't quite so determined, but in her absence Molly was grateful for some direction and comfort. It wasn't until she got out of the shower that she realised she had no clean clothes for today – or any outdoor worthy shoes for that matter – and she didn't particularly want to re-dress in the clothes she slept in last night. Luckily for her, Sherlock being scared of his mother meant he would not have been allowed to leave her without the correct provision, and as such had been round to her flat to pick up some clothes. The flip side to this was that Sherlock and Molly had very different ideas about clothes. She looked at the strange bundle of things hanging on the back of the door, and shook her head fondly. Every time he'd had to fetch her a change of clothes, usually because he'd made a mess of his surroundings which just happened to include her, he'd never had to bring her a change of underwear. Either she'd been at work, as in the case with the exploding orange innards, thus having a change of clothes in her locker, or she had taken pre-emptive measures and had a few overnight bags packed at the back of her wardrobe, however, since Tom, those bags had been unpacked and used for the pair of them to go away, and unfortunately Molly hadn't thought to re-pack one recently.
On the 10th anniversary of her father's death, for the sombre visit to his grave she had some bright purple frilly French knickers she'd never worn and a fluorescent orange bra she had been meaning to throw out, coupled with a white blouse, grey trousers she wasn't sure she owned and her signature cherry cardigan. For reasons unknown, she had no socks, or tights, or foot covering devices of any kind; he always missed something. She rolled her eyes and got dressed, unsurprisingly self-conscious about the visibility of the orange bra under her shirt, she hoped he'd thought to bring her coat, as her cardigan wasn't an awful lot of help. As she shuffled bare-foot into the bedroom to see if the vainest man in England owned a hairdryer, her phone pinged.
Second drawer down on the left -SH
Having no idea what may be in this mystery drawer, Molly opened it to find a creepily immaculate sock drawer, her phone pinged again
Take the fourth pair along in the back row - SH
John wants to know why I'm texting you about socks – SH
He broke my nose again – SH
Molly was thoroughly amused by the texts as she removed the specified socks and put them on, red and blue stripes, which went well with the purple and orange of the rest of her underwear. She giggled to herself as she exited the bedroom and re-emerged in front of the Holmes parents in a fit state to be seen (wet hair notwithstanding), sighing in relief when she saw her coat on the hook.
"If you could send a car Mike, that would be lovely," Mrs Holmes said to the bookcase, Molly could almost hear Mycroft rolling his eyes at his mother's abbreviation of his name.
Fifteen minutes later an unsubtle black Jaguar pulled up outside Baker Street, Molly made a note not to inform Sherlock of the bug in his flat and get the feed from Mycroft, that could be good fun to watch when she was bored. The three of them bundled into the car, the driver already knowing the destination.
Molly and Mrs and Mrs Holmes were dropped back at Molly's flat several hours later, with the former emotionally exhausted and looking forward to a hot bath and early bed. Sherlock had warned his parents ahead that Mrs Hooper would be waiting for Molly, so when they arrived they wouldn't feel obligated to stay. The last thing he needed was his mother to make a not so subtle comment about where she was last night and Tom's lack of involvement today, which would only add further fuel to Tom's imaginary fire. He was already growing impatient with the rumours and gossip following him around courtesy of some dubious tabloid attempts at journalism, and Anderson's highly followed blog. Why anyone would read that idiots theories and suppositions about Sherlock and his life Sherlock would never understand, but it meant his 'friendships' as John would call them were being broadcast to the world. Subsequently, it revealed their identities, locations and workplaces to people who may hurt them because of him, which given the incident with the bonfire last November, was still a very real risk.
Sherlock's warning about Mrs Hooper, however, had not extended to Tom or Molly, so when the former arrived home early from work to find his mother in law on the sofa with a displeased look on her face, and no words to say, he elected to silently curse Sherlock for being an utter tosser and trying to make him look bad. These sentiments were repeated when Mr and Mrs Holmes appeared at the door with Molly around 10 minutes later. Molly herself was both ecstatic and relieved to see her mum, almost forgetting to thank Mr and Mrs Holmes, as they hovered in the doorway.
Hellos, goodbyes and thankyous dealt with, Molly and her mum sat on the sofa, backs to Tom, ignoring him completely. He was certainly in the dog house tonight.