Boyfriend Material Part Two

[darnedchild]

Summary: Sherlock has made it quite clear that he’s not boyfriend material, but that was before Molly needed to find a tactful way to avoid the attentions of a persistent admirer. Perhaps it’s just a matter of semantics.

Rating: T

A/N - Written for Glitterkitty4ever, for winning my 250 Followers on Tumblr giveaway. This fic takes place after TFP and is very nearly canon compliant. There is one teeny, tiny, huge, gigantic difference that makes this an AU – Mary Watson lived.

Boyfriend Material

Part Two

He was late.

Sherlock had assured her that even though he’d caught a case the day before, that he would be at her place in time to go over a few details to ‘get their story straight’ before leaving for the restaurant.

But here she was, settling into the chair across from Michael without her promised escort.

Michael smiled and gestured toward the empty chair to her right. “I thought your boyfriend was going to be joining us?”

“He, uh, got held up with work.” She looked around for a waiter, hoping to flag one down and order a glass of wine. Or three.

He nodded and tutted in sympathy, but Molly got the impression that he didn’t really believe her. Almost as if he suspected that she’d made up having a boyfriend. Which she had, but it was a little insulting that he thought so.

She took a deep breath and forced a smile to her lips. “He’s consulting with Scotland Yard on a case at the moment. You know how it is.”

Michael reached for his glass, a pointed reminder that she really wanted a drink of her own. “He’s a cop?”

“Detective,” Molly automatically corrected. She finally made eye contact with a waiter and watched him head toward their table. “Consulting detective.”

The waiter stopped at her side and let her request a glass of wine, then offered to bring Michael another. “Are you ready to order?”

Michael said yes as Molly shook her head no. They stared at each other for a long moment, long enough for the waiter to shift his weight from foot to foot. “I can come back.”

“Yes, please.” She tore her attention away from Michael to smile apologetically. “We’re still waiting for someone.”

The waiter murmured that he’d return shortly with their drinks, and quickly edged away from the table. Molly watched him walk off, wishing she could join him.

“You look lovely. Really lovely.”

Coming from someone else, someone who didn’t make her irrationally uneasy, she would have been flattered. She forced a half-hearted smile to her lips and said thank you.

“Listen, Molly, I was wondering if-“ Michael began.

She held up a hand to stop him. “Hold that thought. I have to-to visit the powder room. I’ll be right back.” She tried to sound as apologetic as possible as she slid her chair back and stood up.

Molly hurried to the ladies and leaned against the wall just inside the door. She spared a moment to take a deep breath, then pulled her mobile out of her purse and furiously began to text the current bane of her existence.

Where are you? Damn it, Sherlock, you promised. – M

It was nearly two minutes later, when she’d resigned herself to going back out there and making some excuse as to why her ‘boyfriend’ had bailed on her, when her phone chimed.

No kiss? I really must be in trouble. – SH

Really? That was what he chose to focus on? The lack of the ‘x’ she usually ended her texts with?

You don’t deserve a kiss, virtual or otherwise. – M

That’s harsh. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘kiss and make up’? - SH

That’s only for people who don’t leave their friends hanging. Unless you’re in hospital or actively saving someone’s life at the moment, you need to get your arse over here and help me! – M

Sixty long seconds without a reply, and Molly growled in frustration. “Fine. Fine. It will be fine. Michael’s perfectly harmless. I’m just being silly. It’s just a friendly dinner, over in an hour and a half, tops.”

She was just about to drop her mobile into her purse when it chimed again. Molly quickly held it up and read the reply.

Quit hiding in the loo. I’m here. – SH

Molly sagged in relief. Her phone chimed one last time.

X – SH

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Sherlock stood when she approached the table, and pulled out her chair. As she slid into her seat, she saw a cluster of jonquils on the table in front of her. They were cradled in the sort of clear wrap that florists favoured, with a bright yellow ribbon tied around the stem.

Molly raised her shocked eyes to find Sherlock watching her closely as he slid into his chair, looking utterly contrite. “The case broke late this afternoon, and I’ve only just left Lestrade. Forgive me for being late?”

Her fingers brushed against soft petals. “Did you catch them?”

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head as if he couldn’t believe she was even asking. “Of course.”

“Then you are forgiven.” To her surprise, her irritation really was fading now that he was there. The flowers definitely helped. “Where did you get these?”

“I helped a florist prove he had no idea his delivery driver was smuggling stolen coins and gemstones in the funeral arrangements. I had Lestrade swing by the shoppe on the way here. Apparently, I forgot to inform him that it wasn’t for the case until we were already there.”

She giggled as she imagined how irritated Greg must have been. Sherlock smiled in return, then his eyes softened as he focused on her lips. Molly was almost positive that he had begun to lower his head toward hers just a fraction; and then Michael cleared his throat and the moment was gone.

Molly blushed, more embarrassed that she’d imagined that Sherlock had been about to kiss her than she was about momentarily forgetting Michael was sitting across the table. “Uhm, sorry. Sherlock, this is Michael Carlson, the friend I told you about. Michael, this is Sherlock Holmes, my . . .” They never did settle on what she was supposed to call him, since the ‘B’ word was verboten.

“Soon-to-be fiancé,” Sherlock supplied. Her head whipped around to stare at him, stunned. He lifted her left hand and pressed a brief kiss against the back of it. “We’re just waiting until we find the perfect ring to make it official.”

Molly nearly snatched her hand back. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

Sherlock tucked their joined hands under the table to rest against his leg. He squeezed her fingers to remind her that they had an audience. “I know we agreed not to announce it to all and sundry, but most of our friends already know. What’s one more?”

She dug her nails into his thigh in retaliation, and forced a smile to her lips. “If you’re sure, darling.”

He winced, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the sting of her nails or the saccharine sweet ‘darling’.

The waiter appeared with their wine and quickly took their order, promising to return with a carafe of water for Sherlock.

Once he was gone, Michael sat back in his chair and shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re engaged already. You haven’t even been dating, what?” He appeared to be doing the math since the symposium in Brussels in his head. “Two months?”

“Nearly engaged,” Sherlock clarified. “We haven’t been dating that long, but we’ve known each other for years. Friends to lovers, if you will. I know her better than I know my own brother.”

Molly almost rolled her eyes. Considering the enigmatic nature of the elder Holmes son and Sherlock’s (sometimes feigned) avoidance of all things familial, he had set a rather low bar in his comparison.

Michael nodded slowly, his eyes darting back and forth between Sherlock and Molly. “I haven’t really heard that much about you.” While it was true that she hadn’t spoken about Sherlock by name that often, she had mentioned him more than a handful of times in the past. And even if she hadn’t, it was rude to mention it to her almost fiancé. “Molly said you’re a private detective?”

“Consulting,” they both corrected at the same time.

“What’s the difference?” Michael seemed genuinely confused.

“I take private clients when I’m bored or someone has a particularly interesting puzzle for me, the rest of the time I offer my services to the police as a consultant on their more difficult cases.” Molly was rather proud that Sherlock managed to explain that without insulting the intelligence of anyone at NSY (or Michael).

She gently squeezed Sherlock’s thigh to show her appreciation for his tact. The muscle beneath her hand tightened and flexed in response.

“As a matter of fact, that’s how we met. I was working with a detective and the case brought us to the morgue at St Barts.” She’d only ever seen the expression on his face once before, that brief moment in the hall in Howard Shilcott’s building. “By the time I walked out of the room, I knew she was the most dangerous person I’d ever met.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Michael asked. Molly was thankful he’d asked but she had no clue what Sherlock was talking about either.

“She made me want things I thought I would never be able to have. Things I foolishly denied us both for years.” Sherlock lifted her fingers to his lips once again. “And now I can’t imagine wanting to live a life without Molly in it.”

Molly knew he was talking about their deep, albeit slightly unconventional friendship and she couldn’t agree more. She loved Sherlock so much, and knew he loved her in return; the thought of losing that was . . . well, unthinkable.

She smiled and leaned up to press a quick kiss against his cheek.

Their food arrived and Molly pulled her hand free to reach for her napkin. “So, Michael, what are you planning to cover in your lectures?”

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

After dinner, Sherlock offered to make sure Michael made it back to his hotel safely. When he stepped off the kerb to flag down a cab, Michael leaned into her personal space to quietly reminder her that she was supposed to walk him around St Barts the next day. Then he asked her out to lunch.

“My treat, of course. Someplace near the hospital . . . or the restaurant in my hotel has excellent reviews. That would be perfect, actually; I could show you my lecture notes. I’d like your input on a few things before I speak to Doctor Burtan.”

Molly’s jaw clenched. Oh, he probably thought he was so smooth. Inviting her up to look at his notes, the subtle reminder that he was here at Doctor Burtan’s invitation and that Molly had been tasked with escorting him around London and the hospital. And the sheer nerve of him to do it with her almost fiancé standing not far away!

Her first instinct was to tell him to bugger off, but that little niggle of doubt that suggested she might have misunderstood him made her temper her tongue. “I’m not sure about lunch. I may need to spend my break catching up on a few things in the lab.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Michael smiled, showing enough teeth to remind her of a small shark. “I’m sure Doctor Burtan can arrange for someone to fill in for a few hours.”

“And here’s your ride.” Sherlock moved to Molly’s side and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close against him. “All set to take you to the hotel. Off you pop.” He titled his chin toward the vehicle idling nearby.

“Right then. It was a pleasure meeting you, Sherlock. Until tomorrow, Molly.” Michael ducked into the cab and it pulled away a moment later.

As soon as the cab was out of sight, Molly stepped away from Sherlock and glared up at him. She searched for the words to ask him what the hell he’d been thinking, but he spoke first. “You’re bursting to tell me off for the engagement thing, I can tell. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be someplace warm and comfortable while I’m lectured. Yours is closer. Would you prefer to walk or a taxi?”

He had a point, it was chilly and she was dying to kick off her shoes. “Mine. Are you going to pay?” she asked with a hint of teasing suspicion.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been reading John’s blog again, haven’t you?” He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Fine. Yes, I’ll pay.”

Even though she was still annoyed about the ‘engagement thing’ she couldn’t help but grin for most of the ride to her place.

She’d barely managed put her jonquils in some water and dump her heels just inside her bedroom door when her mobile rang in the purse she’d left in the sitting room. “Pour me a glass of wine and I might, might consider telling you where I’ve hidden the ginger nuts.”

He called over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen, “Back of the junk drawer next to the sink. Tell Mary hello for me.”

Molly fished her phone out of her bag, not bothering to question how he knew where the biscuits were or who was calling. “Hello, Mary.” She tossed her purse on the table in front of her settee and sank into the soft cushions.

“So how did it go? Was he as creepy as you remembered? Did Sherlock scare him off? Was the food any good? Because John is taking me out on a date night next week and we’d like to try someplace new.”

“Fine, yes, no, and yes in that order.” Molly watched Sherlock pull out her junk drawer and fish around until he pulled out the fresh packet of ginger nuts, which he held up triumphantly. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Uh oh. Didn’t Sherlock make it clear you were taken? I knew I should have done it,” Mary huffed. “I suppose it’s too late now. Unless . . . Oh, what if I show up next time you three are all together and say that I’d been a complete pillock giving you up without a fight and beg you to take me back?”

Molly tried to interrupt, but Mary was on a roll. “We could say Sherlock was your rebound relationship. You know, completely meaningless, you were only in it for the sex, etc.”

“Mary. You can’t. He said we were practically engaged.” She put her aching feet up on the table next to her discarded purse.

There was a moment of silence from the other end of the line. Then a puzzled, “Pardon?”

“He said we’re just waiting until we find the perfect ring to make it official.” Molly rested her head against the back of the settee and mimed eating a biscuit in the hopes that Sherlock would bring her some with her wine.

“Michael said that?” Mary asked.

“No! Sherlock.” He looked up at the sound of his name. Molly shook her head.

“Oh my God!” Mary began to laugh hard enough that Molly could tell she was having trouble catching her breath.

Molly could hear John in the background, asking what happened.

“Sherlock . . . Sherlock proposed,” Mary gasped in the midst of her laughter.

“What?!” Suddenly it was John’s voice on the phone, and Molly realized he must have taken it away from Mary. “He what?”

“He didn’t, not really, he just told-“

She didn’t get to finish her explanation because Mary managed to wrestle the phone back from John. “Ignore him, Mols. So, Sherlock declared his intentions to make you the Mrs and that didn’t scare the creeper off?”

“While Sherlock was getting a cab, he asked me to his hotel for lunch tomorrow. I mean, what is he expecting me to do, sneak around on my soon-to-be fiancé for a lunch time quickie?”

Suddenly there was a glass of wine dangling in front of her face. Molly took it with a grateful smile and looked up to see Sherlock’s scowl. “You’re not going to his hotel.”

“Of course I’m not. I’m not stupid, Sherlock.”

“I didn’t—That’s not what I meant.” He ruffled both hands through his hair, then put them on his hips.

Mary’s voice drew her attention away from him. “Is Sherlock there? Give him the phone.”

Rather than argue, she held out the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

Sherlock looked at the mobile in her hand as if it were a snake preparing to strike. He swallowed hard and reluctantly reached out to take it. “Hello, Mary.”

Molly sipped her wine and tried to figure out what Mary could possibly be saying with Sherlock’s face as her only clue. He realized she was watching him and turned so that his back was to her.

“There’s definitely something off about him . . . No, that won’t . . . I agree, but . . . But . . . No, that won’t be necessary. I-I can find something. No! I wouldn’t do that. Do tell John to shut up.” He stared up at the ceiling for several seconds. “Yes. Fine. No, I’ll tell her. Goodnight, Mary.”

He took a deep breath, then slowly turned and passed the phone back to her. His normal colour seemed to have drained from his face, and his eyes were focused somewhere around her knees as if he were attempting to avoid accidentally making eye contact.

“Sherlock? What’s happened?”

Her wine glass was plucked out of her hand and drained in one go before he answered. “Mary’s throwing us an engagement party on Saturday.”

“I’m sorry?” Surely she’d misheard him.

He headed toward the kitchen to refill the glass (and probably to stay out of her reach). “Well, it’s more of a dinner party where we’ll be getting engaged. Try to act surprised.”

Molly planted her feet on the floor and stood before moving across the room with as much menace as her tiny frame could muster. “Sherlock.”

He filled the glass and slid it across the counter that divided the dining/sitting area from the kitchen toward her. Then he slid the half-empty packet of ginger nuts toward her as well, as if he were trying to placate her with biscuits and booze. “It’s just going to be us and Mary and John. And Michael, of course. And a few of our friends. Who will all be in on the secret. Probably.”

“I’m going to murder you. And then I’m going to cut you up into little pieces and scatter your parts across all seven continents so that no one will ever find you.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Really, Molly, don’t be overly dramatic. You’d never be able to get human remains to Antarctica.”

His hand crept toward the biscuit packet and Molly snarled, “Touch another ginger nut and you really will be a dead man.”

He pulled his hand back just as slowly. “Are you still planning to lead Michael around the hospital tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately.”

Sherlock nodded. “Then I’ll meet you for lunch.”



Part One / Part Three