Chapter 3
Sherlock turned the corner of the old St Bart's hospital building driving down the back alley to the end and the pulled into a large gated yard. He glanced at his wristwatch, mentally calculating it would take Molly about five minutes to walk the distance from the women's locker room to the fire exit at the end of the laundry.
She'd texted him as soon as her shift was over asking him to give her some more time to shower and change, and to wait for her precisely where he was right now. Sherlock started to exit the car with one eye on the door expecting her to come at any minute.
Once outside he carefully observed every single detail of the surroundings, "I don't think there's any danger around here" Molly's voice surprised him. She had taken less time than the expected five minutes. "Or are you checking the weather? Looks like we're having a white Christmas this year, at least in Somerset".
He smiled at her as he moved forward to meet her halfway, reaching for her wheely-suitcase, "If that were the case, consider yourself challenged to a snowball fight" Sherlock said cupping his hand over hers. Their eyes met and locked. When he saw her blush slightly and bite her bottom lip, he instinctively slipped his fingers between hers.
It seemed to Sherlock time stretched endlessly. Her thumb lightly brushed his little finger for a fraction of a second and he found himself holding his breath. If these were the premises he wondered how he could travel for two and half hours with her sitting next to him, and keep his body reactions under control.
"Challenge accepted" she lowered her eyes as she cleared her throat, "But you must know that when I was a child I was the terror of all my older cousins" she disentangled their fingers and let him grab the suitcase's handle to carry it to the boot. "Uh…we'll see about that" was his reply as he stood stiff as a cod and she casually strolled towards the car.
Sherlock couldn't help but watch her, enjoying the way her parka didn't fully covered her legs. Contrary to usual Molly was not wearing trousers. Sherlock had seldom seen her wearing a skirt, even more rarely a mini skirt, and that was one of those very rare times.
He knew he was staring but he just couldn't stop…his mind didn't seem to wander from thinking about whether Molly was wearing stockings or tights. All he wanted to do was put his hands up her skirt and find out.
"Oh, my goodness!" he thought rolling his eyes and fisting his hands trying to control his breath and erratic heart, "What the hell is wrong with you? If you keep going like this, you'll jump on her bones before you even get to Agatha's Mansion!".
"So…have you been a good boy?" she asked chuckling, "W-What?" Sherlock asked jerking out from his momentary stupor, blushing up to the tips of his ears fearing not only he'd been caught in the act of ogling her like a stupid hormone-flooded teenager, but that she had even guessed his thoughts.
Molly pointed to the red sports car, "Mrs Hudson's Aston Martin…you must have behaved well if she lets you drive it". He regained enough of his composure and grinned as he started towards the boot, "Oh, not particularly! Being nicer at Christmas isn't my thing, you know" he winked at her as he loaded her luggage. As he approached the driver's door he added "The truth is, I drove Mrs Hudson to the train station last night and she told me to use her car for the rest of the week".
Molly made her way round to the passenger side and looked at him frowning, "Why the train station? Didn't she leave by car with John, Rosie and Anthea?". Sherlock shook his head, "It seems her sister isn't very well. A trivial flu, but Mrs Hudson preferred to go to her since her nieces live abroad and won't be back for these holidays" he explained starting to get into the car.
"Well, it's perfectly understandable…nevertheless I'm going to miss her" she said as she settled back into the seat, "Yep, everyone will miss her" agreed Sherlock starting the engine but before leaving he turned to her and with a mischievous grin asked Molly if she really felt ready to spend five days with his parents and brother.
"Stop being a drama queen like you usually are!" she giggled fastening her seat belt, "Your parents are lovely people, and your brother…", "…is obnoxious, sarcastic and snooty" Sherlock interrupted with a snort of amusement. She darted him a reproachful look, "Actually I was going with…strict. Anyway, if you're afraid of getting bored, then I promise I'll do everything to make sure that doesn't happen".
At her words Sherlock's just raised an eyebrow and smirked by himself as in quick succession, like a fast forward movie trailer, his imagination started to play out in his head vibrant scene of not boring activities she could engage him in.
She, him. Clothes thrown higgledy-piggledy on the floor, a tangle of limbs, moans, whispers. Naked skin against naked skin. She on top of him, he on top of her. Kisses, caresses, love bites, sweat.
"Sherlock?", he blinked at the sound of her voice, "Sherlock are you okay? You seem distracted today". "No! I mean…yes, yes I'm fine. We'd better get going or we'll be late for dinner and my parents are fussy when it comes to sitting down to eat" Sherlock felt his ears' tips turned pink as he realized he was babbling nonsense.
—
Molly had expected Sherlock to be, if not in bad mood, then at least annoyed at being forced by his mother – she wondered what on earth the old lady might have said to make him agree – to go to Agatha's Mansion for the Christmas festivities.
Instead he was…cheerful. He smiled warmly and made a couple of jokes, even challenged her to a snowball fight! But beyond this cheerfulness of his, Molly had the feeling there was much more. The way he'd looked at her as he walked over to help her with her suitcase seemed to be different.
If he wasn't Sherlock Holmes she would have sworn he was flirting with her. But he was Sherlock Holmes and flirting was not in his vocabulary. And yet…
If she thought of his hand resting on hers or of his fingers intentionally entwining hers, she felt her cheeks blush deeply. In so many years she knew Sherlock, he'd never touched her. Purposely. Yes of course, they had exchanged hugs, kisses on the cheeks and, working closely together, they often had physical contact, but he had never knowingly done what he had done just before.
An intimate touch, as if they were two lovers. Out of sheer instinct Molly had rubbed her thumb against his little finger, and she could swear she felt it twitched at that fleeting contact. Was it then also possible he'd felt the same shiver down his spine she'd felt down hers?
She frowned, "Don't be silly, Molly" she inwardly scolded herself as she shifted her gaze out the window, trying to dismiss that flimsy thought. She forced herself to enjoy the colourful Christmas lights that graced every house, shop and street in London but her treacherous mind kept playing her thoughts back to Sherlock's eyes, smile and touch.
By accepting Mrs Holmes' invitation, Molly knew she might run the risk of giving into her feelings for Sherlock and the fact that she felt he had a more…friendly attitude towards her didn't help. But that didn't mean, she sternly reminded herself, he was courting her. Why should he?
She had to stop keeping deluding herself that one day he would wake up and realize that simply being friends wasn't enough for him either. There was no reason to expect it. Nothing had changed between them in the past months, weeks or days. Nothing would change in the days to come. Not even Sherlock's feelings for her. Not even the fact he wouldn't act on them.
Wasn't it on that certainty she was considering moving to Scotland? The final decision still not taken but the week end spent in Edinburgh with Edwin Jones had been, from a working perspective, so exciting and stimulating that the balance of pros and cons leaned decisively for the former.
She was still reeling but, deep down, she knew it was the right choice to make. Those vacation days were to serve her to clarify once and for all her ideas on the matter, but above all to make Sherlock, as well as all the others, part of this decision of hers.
"Edinburg isn't that far, just an hour and a half by plane. This isn't goodbye", this Molly would tell to all of them in response to their obvious initial dismay and subsequent displeasure.
She contemplated Sherlock out of the corner of her eyes. He was focused on driving, hands tight on the wheel and eyes on the road. Gorgeous, more than ever. The perfect profile of a Greek god with those chiselled cheekbones and cupid lips. Her heart seemed to be beating ten to dozen as she folded her hands in her lap.
She had promised herself not to give in to fantasy during those last few days she would spend with him, instead…how long had they been together? Less than an hour and her thoughts were already a complete mess.
—
The rest of the trip passed quietly. As soon as they left the London traffic, Sherlock relaxed and began giving Molly a detailed account of the latest case he had been involved in. One of those rare cases that didn't require autopsies or laboratory analysis, but pure and simple observation and deduction.
Molly listened carefully and without ever interrupting him, fascinated as always by the way his mind analysed events, worked out statements and then drew the right conclusion. It was a fortune he used it for good purpose, though she knew he didn't like to be seen as being on the side of the angels.
They were about twenty minutes away from their final destination when the first, sporadic snowflakes began to descend merrily, as if dancing in front of their windshield's car.
Sherlock saw Molly's face light up with a smile, "Apparently you were right" he said letting a smile crinkle even his lips. She laughed, her golden eyes bright with girlish glee as she kept turning her head from side to side to get a better look at the sky and at the snowflakes that meanwhile were descending ever bolder and wider.
By the time they got to Agatha's Mansion it was snowing hard and unabated. The ground in front of the old, detached, Victorian-era house where Sherlock pulled up Mrs Hudson's car, was already covered with a white layer of snow and judging by how leaden the sky was, the snow's inches would be increasing by leaps and bounds.
Molly got out of the car first, wrapping her colourful scarf tightly around her neck and looking raptly at the lights and the splendid Christmas decorations in white and gold tones, affixed to the staircase and the veranda's colonnade, not to mention the wonderful wreath at the black front door.
"Oh, gosh! Your mum sure knows how to get you in the holiday spirit!" she exclaimed, giggling amused and rubbing her hands against the cold, "Indeed! No doubt about that!" before seeing Sherlock's annoyed expression, it was his tone that struck Molly. "What's wrong with you?" she asked as she circled the car to reach him, walking carefully because of the snow.
"Anything strange?" Sherlock asked gesturing to the space in front of the house. Molly let her gaze wander and the whispered "No cars", well aware she was stating the obvious. "Precisely!" Sherlock snorted as he shook his curly head with incredulous expression on his face, "There's no one else here but the two of us, Molly" he murmured.
Her eyes widened as she turned her attention to the front of the house. No, it was impossible they were alone. The Christmas lights on the porch were all on, as were those in one of the rooms on the ground floor. "No! Surely there's an explanation!" she exclaimed partly terrified and partly excited at the idea of having to be alone with Sherlock. It was in fact absolutely unthinkable to go back to London that same evening. Not with that snowfall.