theonewhocounted | (no subject)

Christmas had, historically, been sort of a miserable time for Sherlock. As a child he'd been to far too many family parties with far too many cousins who smelled like tomato soup, where he'd been subjected to far too much noise and general overstimulation. Though he had a soft spot for the Nutcracker--one of the first ballets he'd seen as a boy--and he loved the rush of peace that came late on Christmas Day when everyone had gone home and it was over, Christmas itself hadn't been a great deal of fun. Now that he was an adult who could choose what to do with his time, the idea of choosing to celebrate was far more appealing, especially since it was with the woman he loved.

A cursory internet search had revealed to him that many couples experienced some sort of anxiety when going away on holiday for the first time. Oddly, Sherlock found he wasn't particularly nervous about anything in their relationship: the past two months had been good, as they truly settled into being flatmates as well as lovers. Even his pre-holiday visit with Eurus had been strangely peaceful, the two of them improvising a variation on a Debussy sonata to one another.

(That didn't stop him from having occasional nightmares about losing everything he'd managed to rebuild for himself. But the threat in those always came from the outside world, not the idea of someone he loved turning against him.)

And now, they were spending Christmas together. Trying to change the future so the past wouldn't cast its shadows as heavily.

Or they would if they made it to Heathrow on time.

"I called the cab two minutes ago," he said, tucking his phone back into his pocket, before pointing at Toby to address him. "And you, don't eat or urinate on anything else I own. Mittens."

(Okay, he'd had to get used to living with a cat. Which wasn't as consumingly euphoric as most cat fanciers made it seem.)

Molly wouldn't say she was entirely devoid of anxiety. Maybe because she had lived in the world as half of a coupled pair far longer than Sherlock and thus knew where monsters may lie, she knew that travel could strain even the best relationship. When people got tired, hungry, or potentially lost, their true colours were more likely to come barreling out. What she supposed she and Sherlock had going for them was that Sherlock couldn't hide his true colours behind the Great Wall of China. She'd seen every shade of his terrible moods and much of his bad behaviors as well, before they had even become a couple. Traveling with him couldn't possibly bring out anything worse than the drugs.

Molly supposed she was just curious (and a teeny, tiny bit nervous) to see what vacation Sherlock would be like. She really had no clue. Even when there wasn't a case and they were out enjoy a day or a date night, there was always the possibility of a case looming. The whole of London was a potential case in waiting. And then there was her own schedule - odd hours, long shifts, thinking about work even while not at work. It had been far too long since she had taken a proper holiday herself. It was overdue, for both of them.

She smiled at Sherlock as she grabbed her roller bag. Of course he'd called a cab already. Toby ignored them as they made their way out of the flat and onto the street. The cab wasn't waiting yet, but it rolled up soon after and they were off to the airport, Mrs. Hudson waving at them from the doorway of 221.

Once they were truly on their way, Molly let out a breath. It was a bit of relief to just be done with the part before the leaving - the planning and packing and all that. Now, whatever happened would happen.

"How would you feel about a 'no phone on holiday' rule?" she asked as she looked over at Sherlock who was on said phone at the moment. "Except for maps and photos and googling restaurants."

She knew boredom was his nemesis and the phone was part of his way of coping, but it seemed a shame to spend the money to go to a beautiful new place and spend half of it looking at a screen.

For a moment he almost bristled, ready to protest, but at her clarification he found himself settling again. By now he had lost count of the small moments like this where he was reminded of how glad he was to have a partner who knew him so well. There was no need to hash out a compromise where she had already foreseen what he might be concerned with.

"More than acceptable," Sherlock replied, one of his hands dropping briefly to squeeze hers. "I was going to tell you, but as part of your Christmas present I have all my professional contacts muted. Scotland Yard, forensic labs, Barts, everything."

That gift extended to redirecting his email and business-related calls for the rest of the week, as well as informing his brother he would be unavailable--it was no less than the promise of his undivided attention being devoted to this holiday. He couldn't think of many better ways to show her that he understood this was important and wanted it to succeed.

Molly was pleasantly surprised when she received no push back to her request and she squeezed his hand in return with a fond smile. A smile which turned into more surprise at his next statement.

"Oh, Sherlock," she said, getting a little bit emotional about it. Asking him not to look at his phone every 5 minutes was one thing, but asking him to cut off all possible avenues that could lead to a juicy case was another. She hadn't even entertained the idea that it was an option. She knew the man she was with and she had accepted a certain kind of life the minute she realized that this was real. It was part of who he was. But apparently, he wasn't done surprising her yet.

"Thank you."

She leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

"You won't regret it."

Even if he was still fairly clumsy about articulating his emotions, he had learned that there were things he could do that would have the same impact as words, that would help him bridge the gap. The softness in Molly's expression, the happy surprise, told him that his message had been received and understood; the kiss confirmed it. Sherlock leaned into her, fingers lacing through hers, his own smile broadening.

"I don't doubt it."

*

The flight was reasonably short--around three and a half hours, not long enough for Sherlock to lose interest in the list of monuments, museums, and restaurants he had made. They were spending a week in Florence, with a day trip to Pompeii just before Christmas (the sole one of his professional contacts he hadn't muted was the archaeologist they would be meeting there, who had owed him a favor for years, but he doubted the woman would need to call him before the day of their visit).

He hadn't been back to Italy since his time as a 'dead' man, and found that the prospect of revisiting the city with someone to share his interest stoked an emotion that was part excitement, part greed, and part something like tenderness. Sherlock had spent much of his life without real opportunities for that sort of connection; having the woman he loved offer it to him--not just at home in their element, but for a whole week in a foreign city--only contributed to his enthusiasm.

(On their way off the plane, though, a woman bumped into Molly and nearly knocked the contents of her purse askew; out of sheer reflex Sherlock committed the offender's face to memory before hurrying them along to the baggage carousel.)

Of course, since this fell under the category of big gestures, Sherlock had made certain they would be staying somewhere with an excellent location and a great deal of on-site advantages. A suite at the Hotel Brunelleschi, with a view of the Duomo that gleamed like another enormous moon in the evening sky, fit the bill perfectly.

Molly, herself, had thought the flight too short. After all, it was only her second time in first class in her life. She had only just become accustomed to the luxury when they started to make their descent. For his part, Sherlock had looked like he was born in first class. That sort of thing would have made the old Molly feel insecure - like she wasn't posh or proper enough for the man by her side. New Molly pushed those feelings aside because she knew her place, knew he not only accepted her penchant for thrift store clothing and moderately priced wine, but found it an endearing part of who she was.

She didn't have to worry, however, that the luxurious part of the trip was over, not once the taxi pulled up in front of their hotel. Her brief run-in with the woman at the airport (where Molly was concerned at first that she might have been pick-pocketed) was all but forgotten as they checked in and were brought up to their lavish suite with the most exquisite view.

"You have truly outdone yourself, Sherlock," she said, almost breathless from the idea that this was theirs for an entire week. It was almost too much. "I'm embarrassed to say that sightseeing may have just dropped a bit further down on my to do list."

Which was saying a lot for someone like Molly who always had a mile-long list of things to do and see while on holiday.

He rumbled a laugh, wheeling his suitcase up to the foot of the bed before closing the distance between them so he could wrap his arms around her from behind. Sometimes he simply liked to rest his chin on her head or her shoulder, just for the warm contact and the comfortable sensation of her familiar form against his.

"That sounds ideal for tonight, at least." His tone was playful, a promise rather than an immediate suggestion. "I take it that means we're getting room service so you can explore."

Having been raised casually posh, his encounters with the realities of money had long been rather odd--after all, it was the motive in more than half the murders he investigated and two-thirds of the total crimes he consulted on, and he'd always had more than enough of it. Sherlock suspected he'd never quite understand why the fuss was so intense or why Molly fretted about certain things. But it hadn't caused any real problems between them, and he liked that he had the means to indulge her.

Besides, there was a gorgeous, wondering look that tended to steal over her face when she was really fascinated with something (indulgence or not), and Sherlock was realizing he couldn't actually picture a future without opportunities to tease it out of her.

She rested her arms over where his wrapped around her and turned her head to kiss his temple.

"Mm, maybe," she said. "I wouldn't mind enjoying this view over dinner. But if you wanted to go out, that's fine too."

As long as they got to spend some of the night out on their private balcony with the amazing view and the jacuzzi tub.

Sometimes Molly bristled a bit about how cavalier Sherlock was with the idea of money - how it really meant nothing to him. The only people who could feel that indifferent to money were people who never had to deal with not having any. Sure, Molly was never poor per say, but her parents always had to be careful and so had she. And while Sherlock had insisted that she not pay any portion of the rent at Baker Street, she had in turn insisted that she pay for things like groceries to make up for it. Molly had no desire to be a kept woman.

But she also wasn't a fool. If he had money, well then he had money. She couldn't exactly tell him not to use it how he wanted. And if he wanted to use it to make their holiday far more luxurious than it would be if she were making the arrangements, then she would just consider herself lucky and appreciate the gift.

"Did you have anything on the to do list for the rest of today?"

“Mm, not for tonight.” He smiled against her cheek. “The museums and so forth are closed by now, but we could take a walk. Pick out some places to go tomorrow. I like the idea of dinner with a view, though.”

A shared meal had become a kind of intimacy between them, a moment for both of them to slow down and be together. Though the nature of his work (and her morgue shifts) meant they didn’t always have a consistent routine, he now looked forward to the time they spent across a table or curled on the sofa—quiet oases for his consistently-rattling brain. By now he had a small reservoir of these moments in his mind palace to dip into whenever he needed to reach for a few seconds of calm.

“Shall I get us a menu, or did you spot a place in the guides you’d rather visit tonight?”

"I think taking a walk and then ordering room service sounds wonderful," she said as she reached up to ruffle his hair. She liked the idea that it would be just the two of them as well. It would be a nice, low-key start to the week. It would give them some time to plan too - there was a lot to see and do. With her work schedule leading up to the holiday, she hadn't had a lot of time before leaving to really think too much about it and she was sure Sherlock had some ideas to share.

"I suppose we could order dinner now and just tell them what time we want it delivered later."

“Ah, I like the way you think.” He made a small, thoughtful sound as he consulted his mental map of Florence and what they would be close to. “We’re about ten minutes from the riverside—the Arno, to the south—and about six minutes from the Cathedral, if you want to get a closer look. Depends on what sort of view you’d prefer and how many gelato places you want to resist on the way back.”

He was only half teasing. It was easy to be playful with her, now, to joke without hurting. Certainly he could still throw formidable verbal barbs at lying clients and incompetent cops, but his thoughtless moments with Molly had become vastly less frequent.

“Let’s go to the riverside,” she said, realizing that Sherlock’s brain would be terribly helpful to have on holiday. They would hardly ever need to consult a map or ask directions. He had probably also catalogued the open and closing times of every potential tourist attraction and triangulated the nearest gelato place and coffee shop to each.

“And who said anything about resisting desserts on holiday? My goal is to eat as much gelato as I can - even if it’s before dinner.”

She smirked at him before going to grab a scarf and jacket out of her suitcase, knowing that the temperature would probably drop quite a bit as it got toward evening.

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

He laughed, pleased and rumbling, as he snagged his own coat, scarf, and gloves. “Could try an experiment to see how long we can subsist on wine and gelato. Come on.”

Hand in hand, fingers tangled, they made their way out of the hotel and into the streets of Florence. It was an overcast day, and the sunset had been little more than a smear of muddy pink in the sky; now it was mellowing to a soft blue twilight. Their shadows were almost bright blue as they cut across the pools of light cast by the street lamps.

As they turned south, towards the river, Sherlock ran his gloved thumb over the back of Molly’s knuckles.

“Should we lead with a museum day, tomorrow? Art, science, history? Or should we investigate the Cathedral? I haven’t been to see the Gates of Paradise since I came here on a school trip as a boy.”

"All in the name of science of course," she said with a teasing smile as they headed out - the butterflies still fluttering in her stomach a bit even though she had lost count of the times they'd held hands at this point. She'd never tire of it.

Her senses took in all the new sights and sounds as they walked along. She loved exploring new places - seeing things for the first time, imaging what life was like for the people who called this place home.

"There's something about a church in morning light," she said to his question. "I feel like they were made for that time of day. Assuming that we make it out of the hotel while it's still morning."

She looked over at him with a slight smirk.

His answering grin was lopsided, his voice warm with a laugh.

"Between the room service and the company that'll be a challenge," he remarked. "Suppose I'll have to exercise more self-discipline than I planned on, this holiday."

This close to Christmas, the holiday trappings provided an interesting contrast, just as they did in London--fairy lights and tiny LEDs and fresh branches of evergreen needles decorated buildings hundreds of years old. Already they'd seen several buildings whose stone steps had smooth grooves worn in them from streams of visitors dating back centuries. Had Sherlock been a few inches closer to normal, he'd often reflected, he probably would have gone into archaeology for the chance to spend his life unraveling the distant history in cities like this, solving mysteries generations removed from his own life.

But archaeology probably wouldn't have thrown him into the path of a talented and gorgeous pathologist, so he had no real regrets.

"That or we could go to bed early."

"Or we could remind ourselves that we have all week to see the cathedral?" she suggested with a grin. Usually out of the two of them, Molly was the one who was better with self-discipline, but they were on holiday after all. It was a time to indulge, have a lie in, eat the gelato, drink the wine, etc. etc.

She turned from looking up at Sherlock and caught a glimpse of the water in the distance ahead. Molly always had a love for the water. Maybe it was from growing up so near the ocean, but she always felt most at home and at peace near water - whether just walking nearby or in a boat or swimming. When she didn't have such a hectic work schedule, she used to try to get to the community pool nearest her flat a couple times a week to swim laps. Sometimes she thought about starting to go again, but hadn't made it there yet.

"You know, it just occurred to me that I have no idea whether you like to swim or not."

That would probably seem quite the odd, out-of-the-blue question to most people, but she knew that her genius not-boyfriend would probably follow her unspoken line of thought without batting an eye.

"I do, actually. Not in this sort of weather," he added, half-teasing, "but I was always bothering my parents to take us to the beach in the summer. Not to mention that most of the time if I was playing pirates somewhere I could actually get in a canoe or a dinghy I'd inevitably fall out or drop my oar overboard and have to swim back to shore."

Of course he'd noticed, in years past, the wet hair and the faint smell of chlorine on her, little phenomena that had stopped recurring after a certain point--she'd been a regular swimmer, then stopped. Probably work-related. It did bring up a thought, though, one that had tugged at him on and off for some time.

"All right, time for things I can't deduce--have you ever been snorkeling, or scuba diving?"

Molly loved hearing Sherlock talk about what he was like as a child. She wished she knew him then. She wondered if they would have been friends or if he would have been too smart for her.

"I'm going to have to add that to my very short list," she joked with him at the question. There hadn't been much he wasn't able to deduce about her, but every now and then...

"Snorkeling, yes. Scuba diving, no. Although I have always wanted to try. I like the idea of it. And I am going to guess that you have done both."

Her deduction skills were nowhere near to his, but she sometimes liked to make educated guesses even when she had hardly any solid input to do so.

Based on what he knew about Molly's own childhood, there was a part of Sherlock that sometimes took an odd kind of comfort from imagining them as friends had they met far, far earlier in their lives. Of course there was no way to tell now, but it was an idea he rather liked. It was one of those far-from-logical things he didn't talk about if only because he wouldn't know how to begin, but at least he knew he was in the company of someone who wouldn't make fun of him for it.

(Besides, thinking about the two of them as children had started to spark Sherlock's curiosity about what a child of Molly's would look like, a curiosity that was steadily growing greater.)

"I have scuba dived twice, and both times it was work-related. Evidence retrieval rather than fun, which is not to say it wasn't fun at all. Though I like the idea of going looking for shipwrecks. Probably not much pirate gold to be found these days, but plenty of history."

They were close enough, now, that they could just see the river between buildings--a ribbon of gleaming reflected light.

"My turn to guess--your snorkeling was largely in the Mediterranean?"

Molly had similar thoughts that often accompanied the vision of a too-smart, mop-topped toddler running around Baker Street, playing with Rosie and terrorizing Toby. She didn't let herself dwell too long on the idea though. While she would usually have had the children conversation with a partner by this point in a relationship, she had been far too nervous to bring it up with Sherlock. This was his only relationship of significance ever and she had no idea what to expect should the topic be breached. And what would she do if he was not interested in having children? Would she be willing to give up being a mum for him? She wasn't sure.

"My snorkeling was only in the Mediterranean," she confirmed. "A trip to the Greek Isles after uni."

Still one of the most beautiful places she had been. Although, right now, Florence at dusk with its old, picturesque buildings and lights shining off the water of the river, was giving the turquoise waters off Greece a run for their money. Maybe it was also the company, warm by her side, bathing everything in a contented glow. She looked up to admire him for a moment as they continued to walk.

Despite his deductive skills, Sherlock hadn't quite been able to figure out where Molly stood on the idea of children. She hadn't brought it up and she'd never really said much about it to him during their friendship; he was unsure what exactly about a person's behavior indicated a desire to have a baby. Part of him almost hoped they would have a scare to force the discussion, but thus far Molly's birth control had proved more than equal to its job despite their very active sex life, and the idea of fiddling with it was borderline offensive to him.

He glanced down at her, and not for the first time was struck by how happy she looked at his side. Years' worth of trouble and strain had melted away from her; she was relaxed, contented, pleased. It was a sight that seemed to astonish him anew each time he really took it in--he'd so rarely made anyone happy in his life, and now he lived with someone who was happy to be with him, whose day he could reliably improve.

Seeing her like this was, he sometimes thought, the closest he ever felt to being the good man John and their friends insisted he was.

"Maybe we'll arrange a return trip this summer," he murmured, his smile helpless.

Maybe when they returned, she would have to volunteer the two of them to babysit Rosie. It wasn't often that she and Sherlock did so together. Usually, she was watching Rosie so that Sherlock and John could go off on a case together. Spending a day with the little girl might help her start the conversation. She knew Sherlock was good with her and seemed to enjoy teaching his niece the important things of the world (proper tea preparation, types of insect larvae, and sleight of hand, to name of few), even if she did not understand any of them yet. Watching him with her always did make her biological clock tick rather loudly. She was surprised he hadn't heard it himself. Unless, he had noticed and had chosen to ignore it.

Either way, she really did need to woman up one of these days and just get out with it.

The look he was giving her now, made her push the issue to the back of her mind. It wasn't important in this moment. The two of them strolling along, happy to just be together with no other purpose was all she really needed.

"Really? I would like that," she beamed at his suggestion. "Maybe I can learn to scuba dive in the meantime so we can go together."

She wasn't sure how long it took to get certified, but maybe she would look into it when they got back to London.

There was something almost touching about her offer to learn a new skill in order to join him--so few people had ever been willing to reach out to him at all, and now, for the sake of a holiday, Molly was at least willing to entertain the idea of putting in time and effort to make certain they could do one more thing together. Warmth bloomed through his chest, secret and pleased.

"Then I'll look into it," he replied. His gloved thumb stroked over her knuckles again. "Provided you're not sick of me by next summer, of course."

She smiled at his response.

"Never," she said simply to his second statement. Because it was as simple as that. If she hadn't gotten sick of him by now, it was doubtful she ever would. And she was certainly never going to get bored with him around.

They had almost reached the river's edge, now, and something about the conviction in her voice and her honey brown eyes made him squeeze her fingers a little tighter by way of reply.

Truthfully, he was having difficulty thinking of a scenario in which he got bored of being in a relationship with Molly--at least not a plausible one. There was so much about her he couldn't deduce, so much that was constantly evolving, and there were so many comforts small and large they had learned to provide for one another that only increased over time.

"You know, speaking of trips." There were other surprises to reveal over the next few days; he could let this one go a little early. "I've arranged a day trip for us, three days from now."

Molly smiled brighter at the squeeze of his hand around hers. She knew it was his way of saying "thank you." She squeezed his hand in return, "you're welcome."

"A day trip?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Whereabouts?"

Molly did love a good surprise, and Sherlock was pretty ace at delivering them. While she had a few ideas of where they could travel to for just a day, she would let him reveal his plans instead of her trying to guess. She knew he liked a good reveal as much as she liked a good surprise.

"A few hours south of here," he said, coyly, his smile taking on a sort of warm self-satisfaction. "Pompeii. A former client of mine is on one of the excavation teams, so we'll be able to tour some of the newer sites."

It seemed only appropriate that the two of them, who had been brought together by death and a desire to uncover seemingly lost facts, take a trip to a city whose death had given the world one of the best-preserved records of the distant past.

As soon as he said the direct they'd be going, she thought she knew.

"Oh! How exciting!" she said, eyes lighting up. "How did you know I've always wanted to go there?"

Which was sort of a silly question to ask Sherlock Bloody Holmes. Of course he knew. And of course he had a former client who worked there too.

That startled, happy look on her face engraved itself into his mind, to be tucked away in the ever-expanding wing of his mind palace dedicated to Molly Hooper; it cut through the evening chill.

"Aside from all the bookmarked articles on your laptop giving you away?" he teased, nudging her gently with his shoulder. "It seemed appropriate, seeing as we're already in Italy."

He was still a touch too awkward with his emotions to know how to admit that he wanted to be there for the first time she saw the city, that he wanted to watch her discover things she'd only seen in photographs.

Molly huffed out a laugh.

"That obvious, huh?" she asked. She'd forgotten that phase she went through of reading all those articles on the place. What other bookmarks had she forgotten about? Well, too late to worry about that now. Anything incriminating he's already seen. She did have a whole bookmarked folder full of wedding dresses and flowers and other wedding planning things from when she was engaged to Tom. She would have liked to see Sherlock's face at finding that.

"Well, for once I'm glad to be so transparent."

She smiled and leaned up to give him a quick kiss in thanks.

"And I'm lucky to have someone who cares enough to seek out my interests and make them happen."

The compliment brought his steps to a slow halt, as did the kiss--and he found himself reaching up to curl his hand around her shoulder, holding her gently in place so he could have a good long look at her.

For nearly forty years of his life he had lived life from the awkward vantage point of seeing everything but never being fully understood himself. Trauma had made him grow armor as broken skin grows scar tissue; he had learned to expect that most people would misinterpret him even if he was sincere with them. Day by day with Molly he had learned what it was like to be seen clearly, to trust that the vulnerable and damaged and ragged bits of himself were safe with another human being, to be told that, yes, he was capable of making someone happy.

And in a calm clear wave, like a reflected image appearing as ripples settled, he realized what the point was of church and a party.

He leaned down to kiss her again--slower, this time, lingering as the right words strung themselves slowly together in his mind.

"It's my pleasure, Molly," he murmured, as they parted. "I hope you know that."

Molly looked up at him, a bit of a question in her eyes when he proceeded to stop and observe her for a moment. But his expression was soft and pleased, so whatever he was seeing in her must be something good.

Just when she was about to fill the awkward silence with something, he was leaning down to kiss her again. It was a kiss that made her toes curl in her shoes and a warmth to bloom in her chest. She often forgot that expressing these kinds of emotions was new to Sherlock. She did not think her comment was any big declaration or would effect him as such. It was simply just the truth. But comments like this always seem to surprise Sherlock. They seem to mean so very much to him and he was just so appreciative of every word. It only solidified her theory that part of the reason why Sherlock turned his emotions off a long time ago was because he felt too much.

"I do," she said as she looked up at him with an adoring smile. And she hoped he knew he deserved every word of gratitude she could give to him. "And I'm so glad to be here with you. I hope you know that."

His smile was slightly helpless, a rare secret softness filling the little space between them. To anyone simply walking by, he must look like nothing more than a happy bloke with his girlfriend--but Molly, close as she was, would be able to see that this was a moment with genuine meaning to him. And he knew, he knew she could always see past his masks somehow to the parts of him that mattered but that he'd never known how to deal with, and not for the first time he was grateful to be seen.

"I do." He stole another, briefer kiss from her smiling mouth. "If you haven't changed your mind about pre-dinner gelato, we can grab some before we head back."

Moments like this with Sherlock sometimes threw her off guard because they would arise almost out of the blue. One comment or note of thanks and suddenly there was a true warmth and gratitude around him centered in her direction and it could be overwhelming - to be so cherished by this man. If anyone were looking at them right now, they would probably see a woman stupid in love with her boyfriend, realizing that the feeling was entirely mutual.

"i never change my mind about gelato," she said with a smile. "I'm sure you have a specific place in mind?"

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Sorry for the delay! I was on holiday myself. :)

Welcome back! :D Hope you had a great time!

I did! It was so nice.