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[theonewhocounted]

The Bright Spot Meme


(Was there every a more suitable meme for dear Molly?)

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[punchmeitssubtext]

"Would you do 'something that begins with this letter' or 'something this color', or what?" He leans back, trying to picture her as a little girl. Would she have worn her hair in plaits, or loose? Dresses or jeans?

(Much later he'll find himself wondering, Would we have been friends when we were that young? There's no way he could know, but for some reason he likes imagining it.)

[theonewhocounted]

"When I was really little it would be colour," she said. "I guess probably because I learned those first.

"Then when I got older we would do letters and a little bit of both. Whatever we felt like. I also had a backseat bingo set where you would try to find the different signs along the road and try to get five in a row."

The answer to all of those things he wonders about her as a child would be 'yes.' Although she always wore jeans more than dresses, especially when she got older. As for them being friends as children, she thinks maybe they would have. She was always a bit of an outsider, never really fit in with the other girls. Her best friend until she was in middle school was a boy actually.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"We had one of those too. Made up our own rules for it after a while. They got really baroque if we were in a mood with each other." He pauses, then adds, "Come to think of it, that's sort of how we lost our Nintendo privileges. We got in a fistfight over a Tetris challenge and Mum made the power cord to the console disappear. Never did figure out where she hid it, actually."

[theonewhocounted]

Molly is surprised they had Nintendo. It smashes all her preconceived notions of him and Mycroft just reading large book and creating science experiments and making all the lego men do their bidding (that one's mostly Mycroft).

"Honestly, I'm having a little trouble picturing you and Mycroft playing video games," she says.

[punchmeitssubtext]

(Maybe some day he'll tell her about the month he spent making a pirate ship out of an arcade cabinet he found in a skip in town. Granted, it was taken over all too quickly by a pregnant fox while the family spent a week in France, but he finds he wants to see her reaction to that part of the story too.)

"It didn't last long. Less than a year before Mum drew the line at Tetris fistfights." He grins and downs more of his tea. "I suppose, though, our parents thought it'd keep us from getting murderously bored when we couldn't tear about in the yard or the woods."

He takes another moment to study her, to imagine and appreciate all the things he can't possibly know.

"Were you an outdoor girl? Climbing trees when you weren't supposed to? Or more the type who wandered off at the museum to look at the bones the other kids didn't think were interesting?" he half-teases.

[theonewhocounted]

"I always kind of prefered Dr. Mario," she said, thinking about her own Nintendo years. "The colourful capsules and the germs you were trying to eradicate. And I guess wanting to be a doctor, it appealed to me on that level too."

She's still folding burp cloths as she thinks back on the hours she spent in the den on their little telly trying to line up coloured pills on a screen, racing her friend Tim in two-player mode.

"I was an outdoor girl until I got to an age where my mum decided it wasn't lady-like to be out playing in mud with the boys," she said with a shrug. "She was always a bit old-fashioned that way. But my dad used to take me fishing and showed me how to prepare the fish we caught. Those were the first bodies I ever sliced and diced."

If he were her other friends, she would realize how flip she sounds and apologize about joking about dead bodies, but she knows it won't bother Sherlock for her to talk about them that way.

"I was the museum girl too, though. When I got older. Didn't make me very popular, as you can imagine."

[punchmeitssubtext]

Not only does it not bother Sherlock, he loves that she can talk about corpses as casually as he does. Part of the appeal. And he tucks away that bit about Dr. Mario, because he remembers that game too and because there's something about it that suits her so well it charms him all over again.

He looks at her with faintly narrowed eyes over the lip of his mug, trying to picture her as 'the museum girl'. (And, yes, he can't help but remember being eight and getting in a world of trouble for breaking into an exhibit at the British Museum for a closer look--although now, he finds himself thinking about how that incident would have gone if he'd been able to share the adventure instead of taking it as proudly and stubbornly alone as he's done for several decades.)

The thought that she didn't have a lot of friends, though--that's new. He's always sort of thought of Molly as one of those people to whom connection comes vastly more easily than to someone like him, and it's odd to realize that hasn't been a constant in her life. That she may have been, at some point, almost as lonely a child as he was.

"Popular's overrated," he says, the least awkward way he can think of to say I understand, and now we're here together, which is better. "I'd probably have made you show me how you'd butcher a coelacanth."

[theonewhocounted]

"Popular is definitely overrated," she says with a smile. "I think back on it and I know me and my little group of misfit friends were having loads more fun geeking out over science and making our own radio shows than the popular kids who were just trying to keep up with each other all the time. How stressful it must be, all that fitting in."

She smiles at him, assuming he was also an outsider like her. Although she imagines that while she was someone who nobody paid much attention to so she wasn't bullied so much, Sherlock would have been the kid to drawn more attention to himself and might have been more of a target. She imagines it's not all Eurus' fault for why he locked his emotions away.

"A coelacanth? Is that a type of fish? I don't think we had those in Portsmouth."

[punchmeitssubtext]

One of the things he's always envied, hated, and loved about his brother is how well Mycroft can make himself fit in with other people. Not that Mycroft is friendly, but, well, Sherlock's had less and less inclination to pour his energy into social graces every time someone's called him a freak, and that's happened a lot more to him than it has to his brother. (At least, that he knows of.) And he's always so infuriatingly calm about it.

And yet Molly Hooper--Molly, who's emphatically not a freak, who has a heart that's not essentially a hot mess with a pulse and a highly competent brain--finds negotiating social bullshit just as exhausting as he does.

For a second that weird falling feeling hits Sherlock again.

Her question, though, pushes it safely to the back of his mind to be processed later, and he huffs out a laugh.

"They're living fossil fish. Thought to be extinct until they were rediscovered in 1938. Not sure if there are any specimens on display in Portsmouth, though, or would have been when you were younger."

[theonewhocounted]

Molly was called a freak once by a boyfriend when she made the mistake of answering him honestly about how her day had been during her pathology rotation in med school. She'd been feeling so pleased about how much she was enjoying the rotation and he was entirely appalled by how excited she seemed about doing post-mortems for a living. That relationship didn't last long after that and Molly stopped talking about her work with boyfriends.

"Oh, interesting," she says sincerely about the fish. "I think if there had been one in Portsmouth, I would remember it."

The last burp cloth is folded and added to the pile before she puts all the folded piles back into the laundry basket so they can be put away.

"If you don't mind, I might start getting ready for the ballet so I'm not holding us up when John returns."

It'll take her arguably longer to get prepared than him. She wants to do her hair up and put on some more makeup than usual.

[punchmeitssubtext]

(She'd probably better not tell Sherlock about that. He will find out who the man was and go out of his way to humiliate him in public, because that's almost as satisfying as dropping someone out of a window three or five times. If he's learned any useful social attitude from his mother, it's that you don't call an intelligent woman a freak, or at least you shouldn't if you want to keep your front teeth.)

"Right. Any preferences for dinner, or shall we improvise?"

[theonewhocounted]

"I don't know, something like tapas maybe?" she suggests. "Where we can split some small plates. I hate going to the theatre after I've eaten too much."

Molly checks the baby monitor and sees Rosie is still dead asleep. It's likely she'll still be napping when John returns.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Narrows it down considerably." He smiles and fidgets his phone out of his pocket again, pulling up a list of potential options between here and the ballet. "Go get ready, then, I'll change when you're done."

He pauses, and then looks up at her, frowning slightly.

"It's not horrible manners to bring an overnight bag, is it?"

[theonewhocounted]

She smiles.

"It might be if I wasn't already planning for you to come over after," she says. "Which I am. If that wasn't clear."

She leans down to give him a quick, reassuring kiss before speaking into his ear.

"And just so you know, before we took the edge off earlier, I was very much ready to forgo dinner and the ballet altogether just to get you back there quicker."

She stands up again and gives him a bit of a mischievous smile before she picks up the laundry and heads down the hall to put it away and then get ready.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Well. As much as he'd like to show her off to the dancers and anyone else who might recognize him, any plans he might have been developing to do exactly that evaporate when she murmurs in his ear. And it takes a real effort to keep that edge from surging back in full force--largely imagining his brother in his Lady Bracknell getup, to counter the thoughts of how Molly might look at him once they get back to the door of her flat.

He stares after her for a second before getting up to drag his suitcase into his room and grab something smaller. Something that has just enough room for a change of clothes, his toothbrush, his phone charger, and the variety pack of condoms he picked up on his way back from the train station.

This is, he decides, going to be an amazing night despite the fact that the chance of running into an interesting murder on the spot is vanishingly slim.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly puts away the baby things quietly in the nursery and takes a moment to watch Rosie sleeping before she goes and grabs her dress which is hanging in the nursery closet and her other small bag. She then goes into the bathroom to get ready.

About 25 minutes later she steps out of the bathroom wearing a dress she'd managed to find time to buy while he was gone, along with sheer black stockings and a pair of black pumps. It's a more subdued style than some of the things she owns but it still has colour and sparkle while still being elegant. Or at least, she hopes. Because Sherlock always looks like he's stepped out of a bloody Armani ad and usually she doesn't care how she looks in comparison, but now that they're essentially a couple, she doesn't want to look too outlandish next to him.

Honestly, she knows he thinks a lot of her wardrobe is a wreck and she's never going to be terribly fashionable or sophisticated, nor does she think she should have to be to please a man, but she does want to please him. And if that means trying a little harder not to look like she lives at a second-hand shop, then she's okay with that.

Her heels click down the hall as she heads to the sitting room to see what Sherlock is up to.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He's taken the time to put away the remains of their tea and change (and several moments of running through a meditation exercise to make absolutely sure he doesn't follow her down the hall and interrupt her), finding a dark purple shirt he knows always makes her stare a little longer at him and a fresh suit. It's a dramatic look, he knows, in contrast to his pale complexion, but he does feel like showing off.

When she comes in, he's got his back to her, fidgeting with his phone again--sending reminders to various contacts that he is 100% Not Available for the next 36 hours.

"Right. So tickets are confirmed, there's this place called Barrafina that's a bit of a walk from the Opera House but if we cab it straight there we can--"

And the rest of the sentence just sort of falls apart like a house of cards when he sees her.

Well. That's a fairly different style on her, and she looks more comfortable in it than she did in that Christmas dress, which improves it tremendously. And while he will always be at least a little fonder of her ugly jumpers than he likes to admit, when she really cleans up, she looks pretty damn good.

"...uh," he manages. "I. Did. You say something?"

[theonewhocounted]

It's the reaction she hopes for (what any woman hopes for), but does not set herself up to expect from him. She would have been happy with a nice compliment or even just a quick 'very nice." To actually make him speechless, is a surprise and a gift to her self-esteem. After all the jabs he's given her wardrobe over the years, he deserves the fish out of water look he's sporting right now.

She smiles and blushes. Her hair is up in a low bun with a few soft tendrils escaping and her makeup is just a bit darker than usual - an attempt at a smoky eye and a deeper shade of lipstick.

"Nope. Don't think I said anything," she answers, feeling a bit cheeky. "What were you saying?"

Unsurprisingly, Sherlock looks as dashing as ever. She is fond of the purple shirt and makes plans in her head to wear it herself later.

[punchmeitssubtext]

The massive engine in his brain tries to turn over again.

"I." In less than a week the way he sees her has changed radically. Now there's a layer beyond the deductions: he can see her confidence sparking, bringing that hidden, fascinating, constantly evolving Molly to the surface. His next attempt at talking comes out blurred, mostly consonants running together, and he has to shake himself slightly to jar his swimming brain back into place.

(If Irene knew, she'd probably want to take notes.)

"Um. The--tapas bar. We can cab it over as soon as John gets back, that'll give us time to walk to the Opera House. That's a new dress."

[theonewhocounted]

It's very early on, but Molly is pretty certain she will never tire of making Sherlock Holmes speeches (or as speechless as Sherlock Holmes ever gets) and that pleasure is written all over her face at the moment. It's the sort of pride she imagines he felt when popping open her bra with one hand or when he put Rosie to sleep in 5 minutes.

"It is," she says, looking down at the dress, smoothing out the skirt with her hands. If she felt incredible in it in the department store, she now feels like a bloody model. "I bought it for tonight."

Worth every shilling.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"It's. That's a good cut on you."

And before he can start stammering like a teenager at his first dance, thankfully, he hears John's key in the door. He's always a lot steadier when John's around.

(Although, come to think of it, John's never really been around him when he's been in a situation like this. He hasn't even seen the two of them together since before Sherrinford.)

"Great. Well." He grabs his overnight bag off the sofa. "Better go let him know his consult fee's in the fridge and his baby's still the slimy delight of her godparents."

[theonewhocounted]

"Thanks," she says and tries not to feel too disappointed that he's not told her she looks beautiful or anything that she would normally expect of a date. He's not a normal date and his lack of speech says more than words probably could anyway.

Her attention turns to the door and she feels Sherlock's relief at having been saved from whatever that interaction was they were having. He seemed rather uncomfortable with it.

"Well, let him get in and settled before we run off," she says to him as she goes to transfer some of her things from her every day purse to the black clutch she's brought to go with her dress. She hopes Sherlock won't mind tucking the rest into his overnight bag so she doesn't have to carry it around.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"What's this about you running off--" John manages, and then he looks up and sees the two of them. "Oh Jesus. I've got bloody James Bond and Moneypenny in my house."

"You're hilarious," Sherlock says.

"Hello to you too, Sherlock. Molly. Sorry, where did you say you were going again?"

"Royal Ballet. The resident choreographer owes me a favour--"

"Yeah. Of course he does. You fancy bastard." John gives him a cheeky grin.

"You say that now, but when Rosie's hanging off your knees begging, 'Oh, please Daddy, please can we go to the Nutcracker this year,' remember this moment as you ask for my fancy assistance."

John laughs, which is always a relief to Sherlock these days.

"Okay, okay. Molly, you look great. How was Rosie today?"

[theonewhocounted]

Molly looks on amused at their exchange. Sherlock and John have a great sort of relationship and she's glad to see it getting back on track lately. It's awful when they're on the outs for some reason or another, and after Mary, Molly wasn't sure they'd ever get back to this easy sort of rapport.

"Thanks, John," she says at the compliment. "Rosie was a doll today. She only fussed a little bit after you left and only a couple times during the day, but easily fixed by diaper changes or bottles. We had a walk and some tummy time and Uncle Sherlock recited some Shakespeare to her - nothing obscene.

"She's still down for her nap now."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"It was Henry the Fifth," Sherlock says, before John can ask about the Shakespeare. "I still think there's some stuff in Othello you could let me do."

"Or you could read Goodnight Moon, she likes that one. Anyway--that's great, Molly, I'm so glad to hear it. Sounds like a good day all round." John's smile quirks a little, and he adds, "Too early to hope it's the first of many?"

"Not too early, no."

"Good. Well then. Anything else I should know before you two head out?"