1I'm a lying liar who lies. I said that Resolutions was going close out the series started with Boxing day, but I was wrong. But this will be the end. Probably. Most definitely, maybe.
A/N: I wrote this as part of my one-year fanfiction/LJ anniversary. It wasn't planned–just like the other two before it–but the idea just came to me while writing my other anniversary fic and I couldn't help myself. I wanted to post it for my anniversary(31, July) so it was a bit rushed–please keep that in mind and excuse any mistakes.
Warnings: This fic is fluffier than Toby.
Disclaimer: I'm obligated to tell you that I don't own Sherlock.*crosses arms and pouts* So there.
Hope you enjoy!
"So, big day coming up," John commented as he sipped his morning cuppa, leaning against the counter while Sherlock looked down his microscope at some sort of specimen John wasn't particularly keen knowing the identity of until after he'd had his breakfast.
"Hm," Sherlock replied in a non-committal tone.
"You made any special plans, then?" John went on.
"For what?" Sherlock enquired, distractedly.
"For next week."
Sherlock raised his head to his flatmate and blinked owlishly at him.
"You do know what next week is, don't you?" John niggled.
Sherlock huffed. "Of course I do. But I don't know what it has to do with me making plans."
John sat his mug down on the table and leaned his hands down on the surface toward Sherlock. "What's next week, Sherlock?"
Sherlock sighed and answered indulgently, "Next week is New Year. A day that ordinary people use to as an excuse to get pissed to the point of alcohol poisoning and snog and shag complete strangers. Not something I'm exactly known for participating in. So I ask again, John, why would you think I would make any sort of special arrangements, hm?"
John grinned at him in disbelief. "Are you joking me right now? You really don't know?"
Sherlock stared at him blankly but for the sharp hint of annoyance in his eyes.
"What happened one year ago next week, Sherlock? What event took place?"
Sherlock said nothing.
John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh bloody hell. It was the first time you kissed Molly, you git! New Year is your anniversary!"
"Oh," Sherlock remarked, catching on. "And that's a big deal, I suppose? For ordinary people that is?"
"If by ordinary you mean women, then yeah, it's kind of a big deal. At least from my experience," John added.
Sherlock's brows pulled together in consternation as he considered the amount of women in John's past; he supposed it was a fairly wide focus group.
"Oh," he said again. "Well, Molly isn't an ordinary woman," he asserted proudly. "If she were, I wouldn't be involved with her, would I? I'm sure such meaningless occasions won't matter to her."
John just raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He picked up his cup and took a sip. "All right," he said. "If that's what you think. I disagree but it's your bollocks on the line, not mine."
Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh. "Fine. What is it one does for an anniversary then?"
"Well..." John drawled. "You've got to get her a gift for one– "
"But I just got her something at Christmas," he complained.
"Yeah, a Christmas gift. Now you've got to get her an anniversary gift."
Sherlock groaned. All these gifts he had to buy; Christmas, Valentine's day, birthday and now anniversary. It wasn't a matter of money that bothered him; if he could he'd just hand Molly his credit card and let her buy whatever she wanted–however John had admonished that idea when Sherlock had posed it at Molly's birthday. The point, John had said, was that you spent the time and care to think about the perfect gift. And that, was what Sherlock had a problem with; the tedious task of spending hours shopping round for just the right thing. He had much more important things to be doing with his time.
"Fine," he spat. "I'll get her a another gift. What else?"
"Well, it's customary to take her out somewhere nice–though, someplace nice usually means reservations and being as how you've only got a week and it's New Year..." John sucked in air through his teeth. "Well, I wouldn't count on getting one anywhere worth while, mate. But, good luck." He gave Sherlock a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, then picked up the paper and carried it, along with his coffee, into the sitting room.
A few hours later, Sherlock sat in his chair by the window, idly strumming his bow over the strings of his violin as he contemplated his predicament; he wished that Lestrade would call with a case and rescue him from having to deal with this anniversary business at all–Molly was always very understanding with him when he was on a case. She wouldn't bother with this anniversary nonsense if he were working.
It appeared that John had been right about no tables being available in any of the acceptable restaurants in London–most were booked full for parties and such.
Sherlock had gotten so desperate he'd even phoned Mycroft to ask if he could pull some strings. His brother had told him that if he needed his help swaying something in Parliament, he could help, but brokering dinner reservations for New Year's Eve, well there Sherlock was on his own.
Sherlock stopped playing and tapped his bow on the arm of the chair.
Before they had entered into a relationship, Sherlock had told Molly to not expect too much from him. And, she hadn't. But, that didn't stop Sherlock from wanting to meet these imaginary expectations that Molly made no demand for him to live up to. He liked seeing her face light up with surprised delight whenever he did something right and...boyfriendly. He enjoyed it as much as he detested the not quite hidden look of disappointment she got when he did something wrong–though as usual he was clueless as to what it was he'd done wrong.
If he didn't make some effort for the occasion of their being together for an entire 365 days–which when he thought about it, Sherlock was really quite shocked he'd kept up with this that long. He usually got so bored with things quickly. But he just couldn't get enough of Molly–If he didn't do something to show her how special it had all been he would undoubtably see that hurt look in her eyes.
So, he had no choice–he had to do something.
He took to strumming his violin again.
He closed his eyes as he allowed his brainwaves to dance along with the melody.
Then, suddenly, as often happens when his mind is flowing freely with the notes, he had it.
His eyes popped open. He surged to his feet and bellowed, "Mrs. Hudson!"
Sitting at home watching 'Glee' on DVD while cuddling up with her cat, Toby, was usually one of Molly Hooper's favourite things to do; she related to the show's lead the over-achieving lovelorn Rachael Barry. In the beginning she understood the singer's longing for someone who didn't feel the same way. And it had given Molly hope when Rachael had finally garnered the affection of Finn, that she would also someday win over her own unrequited love.
And, now, she had.
Molly had been in a relationship with Sherlock for an entire year now–though it didn't really seem like it had been that long given how much time they had spent apart. The Consulting Detective and boffin was often busy with cases or experiments and when he was, he reverted back to his old ways of treating Molly; like she didn't exist. His slights hurt sometimes, but Molly reminded herself who she had chosen to get involved with and the fact that he had warned her in the beginning things would not be easy and she shouldn't expect too much of him.
But, despite that, Sherlock had come through on all the big things.
On Valentine's day–despite the sickening sentiment behind the holiday(his words)–he had given her flowers and chocolates(John's suggestion). Molly had given him a human heart in a jar from the lab to experiment on–she hadn't thought he would appreciate something normal like a tie.
He had surprised her as well on her birthday–and not just by remembering it–with a party at his flat. Again Molly suspected that she had John to thank for the idea, but Sherlock's going along with it was still something special–Molly knew how insufferable he thought her friends were, but had let them be invited to 221B anyway.
So, Molly hadn't thought it was too unrealistic to think he might surprise her again on this special night.
Technically New Year's day is their official anniversary, but Molly counts the beginning of their relationship from the moment Sherlock first kissed her at midnight one year ago.. Molly had scheduled the night off just in case. It hadn't been an easy thing either–everyone wanted to have New Year's eve off. Mike Stamford had finally agreed to give her the night when she reminded him of how many other holidays she had agreed to work over the years.
Now, though, as the sounds of the New Year's revellers drifted up from the streets of London, Molly wished that she hadn't gone to the trouble. At least at Barts she would have work to distract her and down in the morgue she wouldn't have to listen while everyone else had a good time.
Pressing her lips together tightly, Molly picked up the remote and turned up the volume, trying to drown out the noise. As soon as she did, her mobile went off with a text alert. She muted the telly and leant over to retrieve her phone from the coffee table. Toby let out a mewl of protest when Molly's leaning over caused her to press down on the cat.
"Oh, sorry, Toby," she cooed, but un-excepting of the apology, Toby leapt off of her lap and settled himself at the other end of the sofa. Molly frowned–now she didn't even have her cat to cuddle with. She sighed and picked up her phone.
At Barts. Need you. Come now.
Well, Molly thought, spending the night elbow deep in viscera might not be the most romantic, but at least we'll get to spend our anniversary together–even if he doesn't remember it.
She sighed and typed in a reply.
On my way.
Molly hadn't bothered to change out of the comfy oversized jumper she had been wearing while lounging about in her flat, but had replaced her pajama bottoms with a pair of old jeans and swapped the fluffy house shoes for ratty trainers. Her hair was in a messy ponytail.
Before she had started actually dating Sherlock, she never would have dreamed of him seeing her in such a state, but as she got closer to the man, she realised that when he was busy with a case or an experiment, she could walk into the lab naked and he wouldn't so much as blink.
So, she figured, as long as she had to spend her night off–not to mention, anniversary–at work, she might as well do it in comfort.
She hiked up her bag on her shoulder as the doors to the lift dinged open and she stepped out and started for the morgue.
Her steps faltered as she got closer and heard the faint sounds of a violin drifting down the corridor.
Her brow knitted together as she walked on slowly.
"Sherlock?" she question as she tentatively pushed open the door to the morgue. She gasp as her head peaked inside.
Her eyes swam as she looked about the morgue; there were two candles flickering on the work-top. A bottle of wine cooling on ice. Two wine glasses and two silver plate covers laid out as well.
Sherlock was standing their–looking gorgeous in his suit and dark purple button-up as he weaved the bow over the strings of his violin.
He finished out the piece and lowered the bow. He looked at Molly and inclined his head toward her.
"Ah, Molly," he greeted and checked the clock on the wall. He smiled seeing how close to twelve it was. "Right on time."
Molly shook her head in wordless wonder.
"What... What is all of this?" she asked once finally able to speak.
Sherlock swept his bow toward the work-top.
"Our anniversary dinner," he replied. "Obviously."
He crossed the room and put his hand on the small of Molly's back, leading her over to the work-top and sitting her down on one of the stools, before sitting himself in the one opposite her.
"I know it is more conventional for a couple to celebrate such occasions in a nice restaurant–but as I informed you in the beginning Molly; are relationship will not be one for convention. And, honestly, who needs a fancy restaurant when one has the culinary expertise of Martha Hudson at their disposal," he added with a smirk as he lifted the cover off of Molly's plate.
Molly let out a choked laugh.
"Molly, you're crying," Sherlock admonished. "You know how I feel about that."
Molly sniffed and cleared her throat. "Sorry. I can't help it. This is just so..." She shook her head, not finding the words.
"Yes?" Sherlock prompted, intrigued.
Molly looked at him and smiled brightly. "It's just so perfect!"
Sherlock's mouth twitched at the corners and Molly could swear she saw a hint of relief pass through his icicle eyes from the flicker of the candlelight.
"Well, I'm pleased that all is to your liking, Molly," he murmured as he picked up the wine bottle and filled the glasses.
"Thank you," Molly said picking up her glass and taking a sip. She laughed, shaking her head as she set it back down.
"What?" Sherlock asked, brow raised.
"I just... I can't believe you actually remembered, that's all," she told him.
Sherlock huffed. "Of course I remembered. It's a very special occasion."
A knowing smirk curved the corners of Molly's lips. "I'll have to remember to thank John for reminding you," she murmured, taking another drink of her wine.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, then smiled as he caught the twinkle of playfulness in her brown eyes.
He sighed. "Well, I knew there was a good reason I kept him around."
"So, Molly," Sherlock ventured, "as I have never done this before, I'm at a disadvantage to know how we proceed; should we eat first or exchange gifts?"
Molly bit her lip and began to nervously twirl the end of her ponytail. "Gifts?" she squeaked.
"Yes, John told me it was customary to exchange gifts for one's anniversary."
"Molly Hooper," Sherlock said, his face stern as he leaned in slightly. "Did you forget to get a gift for your boyfriend on our one-year anniversary–tsk tsk. How thoughtless of you."
Molly huffed defensively. "Well, I would have gotten you something–I thought about it. But, I thought if I got you a gift and you didn't have one for me you would feel bad and think I was disappointed. I also didn't really expect you to want to celebrate our anniversary–I figured you would think it too silly and sentimental."
"Well, of course I do," Sherlock conceded. "I think it is incredibly silly and sentimental–and pointless."
Molly stiffened, her lips pinching together. "Then why did you even bother to do all of this." She waved her hand over the display.
"Because it makes you smile," Sherlock said quietly, not looking her in the eye. "And I do enjoy making you smile, Molly."
"Oh," Molly said, her cheeks flushing. She smiled. "Well, in that case, I'm sorry I didn't get you anything, Sherlock. I'll make it up to you, promise."
Sherlock leaned forward and wrapped one hand around her wrist, while the other brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face. "Don't worry, Molly, I'm sure we can think of something you can give me."
His voice had that low husky tone that made Molly's mouth go dry. Her pupils began to creep out slowly, their black eclipsing the brown irises.
Sherlock felt his own pulse begin to jump.
"Yes," he said as his eyes flicked down to watch Molly's tongue peak out and wet her lips. "I think we should definitely start with the presents."
Molly nodded eagerly.
"Me first," he said and whipped out a small silver wrapped box from his pocket and placed it before Molly.
Molly smiled up at him as she took the box and began to peel away the wrapping. She lifted the top of the box and looked inside. Her smile dropped as a frown pulled between her brows. She was looking down at the bracelet with the pink heart Sherlock had given her last year on Boxing day.
"Erm... Sherlock? W-what's this?"
"It's your bracelet," he replied. "Obviously."
"Yes, no, I know that, thank you," said Molly. "And not that I don't love it–because I do. I love it just as much as I did the first time you gave it to me. But you do realise that your suppose to get new gifts every time not just the same ones over and over." She giggled nervously.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "Take it out of the box, Molly," he ordered patiently.
Molly did, still looking puzzled.
"Now read the back."
Molly twisted the heart and looked at the new inscription:
Property of SH.
Molly still looked confused as her fingertips traced along the inscription that matched the one on the magnifying glass she had given Sherlock the same day he'd given her the bracelet.
"It's my heart," Sherlock said. "I gave it to you that day–maybe even before then–without realising it, now I want to make it official. You own my heart, Molly Hooper. You are my heart."
A lump formed in Molly's throat and her vision blurred with tears.
Sherlock sighed in exasperation. "Molly, you're crying."
"Yes I am and it's all your fault," she replied, voice wobbling. "If you don't like to see me cry then you shouldn't do such sweet things, Sherlock Holmes, you sentimental fool!"
Sherlock stiffened in affront.
"You take that back right now!" he demanded.
"Never," she said as she got up from her and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck, leaning in and kissing him soundly.
"Now it's time for me to give you your gift, I think" she purred against his lips. She leaned back and smiled at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. She stepped away from Sherlock and started walking toward the door.
"Clean that stuff off the work-top, will you?" she asked Sherlock.
He looked after her with a crease between his brow. "Where are going?"
Molly looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Just clear it off and set it aside will you?"
Sherlock frowned, but did as she asked.
"Thank you," Molly said and continued to the door. She peeked her head out and looked both ways down the corridor.
"Good," she said when she saw no-one and pulled her head back inside. She shut the door and turned the lock.
A smile curved Sherlock's lips as he caught on to what she was doing.
"There," Molly said, turning back to Sherlock. "Now we can proceed without any interruptions."
"Good thinking," Sherlock told her.
Molly came back to him and put her arms around him again. "Now, Sherlock, would you like to unwrap your present?"
Sherlock chuckled as he took hold of Molly and lifted her up to sit on the work-top she had him clear off.
He pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her hungrily as he worked her hair out of its ponytail. He sifted his fingers through her loose locks causing her to moan into his mouth. He pulled back, panting slightly and looked down at her beautifully flushed face.
He rested his forehead against hers and stroked her cheek.
"Happy anniversary, Molly Hooper," he rumbled. He brushed his thumb over her swollen bottom lip. Molly's tongue swiped out and ran along the tip of his finger, before pulling it into her mouth, sucking and nipping at it.
"Happy anniversary, Sherlock Holmes," she breathed. "Now please, hurry up and open your present!"
Sherlock laughed thinking that maybe this anniversary business wasn't such a waste of time after all.
Thanks for reading everybody. I know that was so full of sap you could probably make a gallon of maple syrup, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Please let me know what you thought.