AN: I have not written a word in five years, but I felt like giving this little You've Got Mail ficlet a proper ending as best I could. Enjoy my darlings and have a lovely Autumn!
"So he could be married, an geriatric pensioner, a serial killer..."
Molly cut him off with a laugh, noting his eyes flicker with interest at the last option. "He is not a serial killer, Sherlock!"
He eyed her dubiously. "I think we have established your track record with men is highly questionable and this man, if he is in fact a 'he'-"
"Would you shut up?" She rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee with a smile, enjoying the warm spice that juxtaposed the cool fall breeze that wrapped around them.
Sometime over the past few months, there had been a ceasefire between her and Sherlock. She wasn't sure what exactly had caused the Consulting Detective to stop warring with her over the smallest of issues in her own lab, but she would never look that gift horse in the mouth.
And suddenly, their work together flourished and she found herself in an unlikely friendship with the very man she once swore to hate for all eternity (she may have been a little plastered when making that vow so she didn't feel guilty breaking it).
Had anyone told her when she first butted heads with the man that she would one day stroll through the park with him and bare out her relationship troubles, she would have laughed and told them to get their head examined well.
Yet here she was, sharing coffee with him, and elbowing him teasingly when he huffed at her.
"Have you even asked him if he is in a relationship?"
"Of course, Will said he is unattached."
"'Unattached' is ambiguous, he could be in a dozen other online relationships wherein he has not met the other party and so considers himself unattached."
Molly tilted her head and furrowed her brow at him. "He wouldn't do that, I know him."
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "Do you? He stood you up, did he not?"
"A month later," Sherlock tsked. "Doesn't speak highly of his integrity or punctuality."
The sting of that night hadn't faded as much as Molly had hoped. To be stood up was insulting enough. Then to run into your sworn enemy, at your most vulnerable emotionally, was the cherry on top.
Sherlock had immediately deduced the entire affair, from being stood up by an online suitor, her "desperation" to be loved, the overdone makeup, to the damn the lingerie that wasn't quite tucked beneath her dress strap. Humiliated, Molly had lashed out with words she still regretted. The stricken look on Sherlock's face was enough to penetrate her anger with immediate regret.
He swept from the coffee house that night and she saw not one glimpse of him for nearly six weeks.
"Sounds like someone else I know," she mumbled around another sip. The sudden rush of eye blinks as he processed what she said made her smile softly. "But he apologized and that is what counts...not when he did it."
"Indeed," he agreed. "Nevertheless, I think I should stay with you until he arrives. I will be able to tell instantly if he has lied about anything."
Molly vehemently shook her head. "Absolutely not! The only reason you know about this is because you read my emails, which I have yet to decide your punishment for."
She laughed when he looked guilty for just a moment, then immediately took on an air of indifference.
"Don't worry," she nudged him slyly. "I won't be mean, but you might be out of body parts for experiments for a couple days."
He swallowed hard. They were almost there, in a matter of minutes, everything would be out in the open.
Molly quickly finished her coffee. He took her empty cup and tossed it with his in a nearby bin.
"Almost time," Molly said, checking her phone. "This is where you leave."
Sherlock ignored her and took out his own phone, feeling the full force of her glare.
"Sherlock," she warned. He would never tell her, but when she growled at him and stomped her foot, she was adorable.
He felt a tug on his sleeve and pulled out her grasp.
"That wouldn't do anything for the situation," he drawled. His brother was well aware, the great big fat bloody spy, of what was occurring between Sherlock and his pathologist. In fact, he was fairly confident this entire park was being recorded and, good or bad, the outcome would be on the cloud for all eternity.
He hoped for a good outcome...it would be a lovely home video to share with their children.
Then again, a bad outcome would be blackmail material against him for a lifetime.
She was getting impatient now, he glanced at her, that furrow between her brows begging for a kiss. Though he did not think she would appreciate that at this moment.
"I let you walk with me here, with the understanding you would leave before he gets here!" She hissed.
"I never agreed to that," he couldn't help poking the bear. "I am a citizen of this nation, freely enjoying the beauty of this lovely park."
"I'd believe that if you didn't have your nose in your phone and if you didn't regularly complain about the weather, people, and parks."
She crossed her arms, fingers tapping anxiously.
He made a show of turning slowly and pointing at a nearby bench. "I shall simply wait over here to ensure you are not mauled by a serial killer or a geriatric pensioner."
As he sat, a couple walking by gave him and his wide smile a generous berth. Molly huffed and continued frowning but seemed to accept he was not going to leave entirely.
He glanced at his phone. Three minutes.
Molly was nervously wringing her hands and looking around. The park was fairly busy for late afternoon. Couples taking advantage of the cool weather and clear sky were meandering about, a few runners, some kids calling out as they chased each other around.
He admired how the sun illuminated her hair, shining red and gold amongst her usual brown tresses. Her lips were redder than normal, she'd been biting them. And though her complexion was pale, the hot coffee had warmed her up and there was a slight red blush on her cheeks.
Neither of them spoke as the minutes ticked by. For the first time in his life, Sherlock was uncertain as to the outcome of a situation. But he had one last chance and he wasn't going to screw it up. Not again.
"He's not coming again, is he?"
He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared over at her. She looked forlornly at her phone, which proclaimed fifteen minutes past the allotted meeting time. With no message.
She opened her email, her thumbs aimlessly hovering, as she tried to decide what she should say, if anything.
"Don't say it, Sherlock," she turned away from him, no doubt to hide her face.
Standing, he strode over to her and gently turned her back to him.
'Why do I keep doing this, falling for a guy who lets me down? Jim, Tom, Will, yo-" she cut herself off, flushing madly and averting her eyes. "Maybe I should take your advice, stop dating entirely and give up on a relationship."
"Molly, stop, I was wrong. That night at the cafe, I was in a terrible mood and I took it out on you," he desperately wanted to wipe the resignation from her eyes.
"But you had a point," she said. She looked down at her phone, the email thread with Will staring back at them. Under her breath, he heard her say, "I should give up."
He took her phone from her and pocketed it, grabbing something else from his coat and holding it tight. She opened her mouth, no doubt to demand he give her phone back, but he cut her off.
"If we had started off our professional relationship on a better note, if I had treated you as an equal intellect from the start...would we be more than we are now?"
She had to lick her lips to speak through a suddenly dry mouth. "What do you mean, more than we are now...more than friends?"
"But Sherlock, you don't see me like that. If this is about what I just said, in no way was I trying to get you to -"
"You're wrong," he smiled. "I do see you like that."
She blinked. "What, romantically?"
"You're an intelligent woman, you understood my implication."
Ah, there was the frown he loved. "As a note, Holmes," she poked his chest. "Insulting a woman you suddenly claim to be romantically interested in...not a good thing."
"Noted," he quipped. "Now, back to the issue at hand. Were this online man, who has stood you up twice now, not in the picture, would you want to be with me?"
Her eyes twinkled. "Are you the only other option?"
With a pout, he rolled his eyes and sighed. "Molly Hooper..."
"Just checking, after all, this is all very sudden." Her levity faded as she looked around, though he knew the only man that fit the description of the man she was looking for was standing right in front of her. Her gaze drifted back to him and he watched the interplay of emotions run across her face. "You're a dear friend now, and I do like you, but until today, I didn't think you saw me as anything more."
But Will had told her otherwise. And it was time to reconcile him with Sherlock.
"Oh, Hooper. I've thought of you as so much more for quite some time."
He opened his hand to show the silver hair bow laying in his palm. She stared at it in shock, knowing he had to have followed her that night from the cafe after their fight and watched her yank it from her hair and throw it to the ground. And he picked it up and kept it. When she raised her eyes to his, he was startled to see tears.
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, at your service."
"You?" She whispered. "Will was you, all along?"
Sherlock smiled softly. "I'm sorry I am late."
With a tearful cry, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Immediately, he hauled her close and lifted her higher in his arms. She giggled and broke the kiss, to his disgruntlement, only to rain kisses all around his face.
"You," kiss "absolute" kiss "sodding" kiss "idiot!" kiss "I will" kiss "never" kiss "forgive" kiss "you" kiss for "this!"
Before she could continue her attack of pecks and threats, he covered her mouth with his and proceeded to snog her until he was sure she had forgotten all about his duplicity.
And if she hadn't...well, he had a lifetime to try.
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