Molly had just finished up an autopsy, but couldn't keep her mind off of her love. Just like clockwork, the brooding detective came through the doors, but lacking the usual spring in his step. She could see the pain he felt when their eyes locked.
"Is that Eliot Smith?" he asked, pointing at the cadaver. Molly nodded. "I need to look him over for clues."
"Of course," she gave a small smile. "Just finished his autopsy. Obviously took a blow to the head."
"Yes, obviously, but there should be a mark on his wrist," Sherlock added. "He was high from the drugs when it happened."
"Mhmm, I have it on record here, actually," she showed him.
"Ah, thank you, Molly," he replied, looking over the report.
"Sherlock?" she asked in the same tone she used in the stairwell those years ago.
"Hm?" he sounded, still studying the information. His jaw dropped dramatically when she took his chin between her thumb and forefinger gently, making him look at her.
"I'm sorry that we fought the other day," she told him. "I don't like fighting with you, it's just Christmas and us in the same room never mixed well before." It was that moment that Sherlock realized Molly was hesitant to spend Christmas with him because of how their past ones played out. He had insulted her, quite cruelly, on one Christmas and killed Magnussen on another. It wasn't the best track record.
"My Molly," he spoke softly, wrapping her up in his arms. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I was an idiot that Christmas. I should have kissed you properly. There's absolutely nothing wrong with your mouth or your breasts, darling. I was being a jealous git and there was no excuse for my behaviour. You're so beautiful just the way you are. You have every reason to refuse spending the holiday with me, but if you choose otherwise, I promise you this Christmas will be different. And every Christmas from now on."
"Really?" she asked, keeping her tears at bay.
"Really," he assured her with a smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
The following Friday, a black car that contained Mycroft and Sherlock had arrived at Molly's flat. The youngest Holmes exited the car to help her with her suitcase for the long Christmas weekend. After everything was packed away in the boot, Molly slid in the seat, sitting between the brothers, though she opted to sit more closely to Sherlock.
"What if they don't like me?" Molly asked, clearly worried.
"Nonsense," both Holmes brothers spoke in unison. Mycroft cleared his throat awkwardly, allowing Sherlock to continue the conversation.
"They're going to love you, Molly, trust me," Sherlock told her, squeezing her hand affectionately. "I adore you and so will they." This seemed to help her nerves as she finally relaxed beside him, eventually falling asleep for the rest of the car ride.
When they arrived, Sherlock helped Molly with her suitcase and they strolled up the little pathway up to the door where Mycroft was begrudgingly receiving a hug from their mum.
"Don't be such a Grinch, Mikey," she teased. "William, at last!" Molly felt her lips tug upward into a smirk at the sound of Sherlock's given name. "And you've brought your lovely girlfriend! It's so good to see you, dear!" Mrs. Holmes embraced them both in her arms.
"Good to see you too, Mrs. Holmes," Molly smiled.
"Well, come on in, you two," she urged them. "You'll catch your death out here." With Sherlock's hand gently pressing against the small of her back, leading her inside, Molly already felt happy to have accepted his invitation after all.
Author's Note: Things are looking up for the weekend ahead. Who thinks Molly's about to have the best Christmas ever?