‘’Pain tends to heal as time passes, but personally I don’t want time to heal my wounds. You may think you can escape the pain and forget it, but that’s nothing more than stagnation. You can’t move forward without the pain.’’ - Ciel Phantomhive
A Sherlolly Christmas special for all you lovely people.:)
Every conversation in the flat drew to a stop as everyone turned to look at the pair by the fireplace.
Sherlock stood holding out a prettily wrapped gift to St. Bart’s head pathologist.
Molly blinked in confusion.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry, Sherlock. That’s, uhm… not really my area.”
At their spot by the window, John was shaking his head, while his wife Mary, for perhaps the first time in her adult life, looked lost.
DI Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson exchanged worried glances. After all, the scene was far too familiar. And such a shame too. This year’s Christmas Party at 221B was going so wonderfully, before Sherlock decided to pull this… whatever it was he was trying to pull.
Although, this time, it was Sherlock handing Molly a present, and asking her to deduce him instead.
Things did not bode well for either.
“Molly,” Sherlock repeated patiently, “deduce me.”
The pathologist was starting to look a bit miffed.
“Sherlock, I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but whatever it is-”
“Molly, please…” John’s head shot up in surprise at the detective’s pleading tone, “could you please just humor me?”
Molly took a deep breath, looked around to find everyone watching them, then bobbed her head to the side.
“Very well. Uhm…”
She thought back to that dreadful incident a few Christmases past, recalling how Sherlock did his deductions, and trying to do the same.
She looked at the present he held in his hand, then looked at the presents he got for the others, under the tree. The one he held had much nicer wrapping paper, glinting silver with tiny gold stars, while the others had regular red and green giftwrap.
“Yes. You’re on the right track, Molly.”
She looked up in surprise. She hadn’t said any of her thoughts out loud. But then again, this was Sherlock. He probably deduced her thoughts from the direction of her eyes and the expression on her face. Or maybe he could read minds, and that was his best kept secret.
“Go on,” he prodded.
Molly bit her lip, eyes scanning the gift. It had a bow wrapped around it, a lovely shade of violet. In fact… Her eyes went to Sherlock -particularly, the shirt he was wearing: the aubergine one whose buttons were straining to hold on for dear life across his broad, broad chest. It was her favorite. And also the exact same shade as the ribbon.
“That is correct. Keep going. Here.”
He handed her the present, and she took it hesitantly.
In one corner was a card. She looked up at him uncertainly, and was puzzled to find him staring rather intensely at the gift, his expression tinged with… nervousness? Anxiety?
With shaking hands, she opened the flap, and gasped.
On the card, in Sherlock’s bold, scrawly hand, was written just three words.
“I love you.”
Several exclamations of surprise could be heard across the room, but the two people at the center of the whole scenario were oblivious.
Molly’s eyes remained fixed on the card, hands still shaking, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.
Sherlock took a step towards her and bent his head, reminiscent of that other Christmas, but this time instead of his lips on her cheek, she felt them against her own, fleetingly.
He straightened up and looked down at her, his face open and vulnerable, no longer masking his anxiety as he awaited her reply.
Finally, she lifted her eyes to his, a tear finally spilling down. A huge smile broke across her face, and their audience had to avert their eyes at its brilliance, according the couple a tiny bit of privacy for this moment. No words needed to be exchanged to express their delight at the turn of events.
There was no one in the room, however, happier than the consulting detective himself, as his pathologist launched herself into his arms. He briefly wondered if she had noticed that he placed the two of them directly underneath a mistletoe, before she proceeded to kiss him properly.
they were passing through regents park on the way home and sat down for a little bit of lunch (that’s a wrap in john’s hands)
based off this quote sort of:
One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk with me in the Park. For two hours we rambled about together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who know each other intimately.