The Anniversary

[theonewhocounted]

When Sherlock tells her to clear her calendar on December 16th, she has no idea what he's up to. And he isn't exactly being forthcoming with the details. Every time she tries to trick him into revealing something about the plan, he is (of course) two steps ahead of her, easily sidestepping the question or only hinting at the answer. So when the morning finally comes, she has no idea what to expect. With Sherlock there is no way to prepare for or guess at what's to come, so her plan is just to go with the flow, let him lead the way. He likes to do it anyway.

He's already up when she awakens and she pulls on her robe before padding out into the sitting room to find out what he's up to. A fire is going, which is good because the rest of the flat is chilly.

Comments

[punchmeitssubtext]

A lot of things have changed, over the past year.

Rosie has grown enough to begin pulling herself upright, standing, her babbling only just beginning to form words. Though John isn't dating yet, he's found a new therapist, and has made slow but steady progress out of the shadows. Mycroft actually comes to Baker Street sometimes simply to see his brother, and though it takes time and quite a lot of patience he's actually turning out to be a rather decent and interesting bloke under the Sahara-dry humour and the cold facade. And, bit by bit and all at once, Sherlock has been changing as well.

He's still blunt, and fairly socially oblivious, and somewhat insecure; he still needs periods of silence, to soothe his nerves when he grows overstimulated from the constant stream of incoming information and emotion. He still has nightmares about the Aquarium, consciously looks away from it or closes his eyes if he's in a car and it's on the skyline. But there are other changes, long-overdue ones, as he's opened up and begun to acknowledge how much he feels as well as observes. He's allowing himself to be vastly more than a detective: now he's a godfather, a brother, a son. And a lover.

Things haven't been perfect. (Especially not after Sherlock's introduction to Molly's mother, which, while not disastrous, was not what anyone might call a runaway success. The woman is, in Sherlock's opinion, not at all the mother Molly Hooper deserves.) But they have been better than Sherlock could ever have anticipated. He can't recall a time in his life richer than this. Because now he knows what it's like to have not only friendship but an intimate and tender connection with someone who can drag him down out of his mind palace and into the world. He understands what it means, now, to have someone to come home to, someone whose heartbeat lulls him to sleep, someone who shelters him when he's vulnerable. And though the guilt over Mary's death lingers, he finds it easier and easier to accept that he can be happy.

Molly makes him happy. He didn't think anyone ever would, not the way she does.

And that deserves some recognition.

So he puts thought and effort into the plan, and slyly evades her efforts to weasel any part of the surprise out of him, until finally it's December 16th and he can reveal what he's been plotting for more than a month now.

When she comes into the sitting room, he's already mostly dressed, though he hasn't bothered with a blazer or shoes yet. The skeleton mug is sitting on the coffee table waiting for her.

"There you are." He finds himself smiling, the kind of small, fond smile he didn't know he was capable of until she drew it out of him. "Good morning. You look well-rested."