"I'm bored", he complains, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, looking up at her with a pout.
"Told you you would be", she retorts unbothered, ignoring his pout completely, turning a page in her book.
For a while he admires spots of light sancing on her pale little hand.
"Since when do you read novels, anyway? You detest them."
"I changed my mind. Now I quite enjoy them."
She smiles at something in her book. Or at him, he isn't sure.
The wind plays with a strand of her hazelnut hair.
"If you're turning into one of those silly hens who can think of nothing else but matrimony, I'll stop calling on you, no matter how long we've been friends."
The book is snapped shut. Placed in her lap. When he looks at her, her dark eyes are calm and observing.
"Then it's time to part ways, Mr Holmes."
The ease with which she says this...
A sting in his heart.
"Don't be ridiculous", he snaps after a moment and takes a drag, filling his lungs with smoke, trying to quench the queasiness he feels in his stomach.
"I'm two-and-twenty, Sherlock. Matrimony is on my mind, indeed."
"Why would you ever willing chain yourself to a fool, who most certainly will never admire nor respect your medical studies?! You're cleverer than that, Molly Hooper."
"Oh, he is a right fool, I give you that. But he does accept and encourages my interest in medicine and I have no doubt this won't change after I bind my fate to his."
At first he rolls his eyes, but then his head snaps up.
"You have a suitor?"
"Don't sound so shocked", she laughs and flicks his high cheekbone, like she has done a thousand times before. "I'm a good match!"
"Who is he?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
His mind is racing and he spits out every male name in their aquaintance, sorted by how well they may fit to his childhood friend.
Even Watsons.
It's her turn to roll her eyes at him now. She mumbles something under her breath and picks up her book. Continues to read.
Ignoring him.
It takes Sherlock way too long to pick up her meaning.
"You can't be serious."
The book snaps shut again. Dark eyes unsettle him.
"Why not?"
"I'm not a husband! I wouldn't know what to do with you! With us! Like that!"
"If I recall correctly, it was always you who wanted to play house."
"When we were children!"
Molly huffs and re-opens her book. Reads.
She feels an ocean away. Drifting further away with every second.
"I will make you miserable. You wouldn't be happy with me", he tries to make her see reason.
"You're right. It was a stupid idea. Forget I said anything."
He can't. He won't. And she knows that.
"I'll just marry someone else. Tom, perhaps. He's agreeable."
"You only like him because he looks like me."
"That's not true and you know it."
He's never looked kindly on Molly's and Abbott's friendship. Every time he calls her by her Christian name he wants to sew his mouth shut.
All this is upsetting. Thoughts and images of Molly and Abbott as man and wife are tumbling around in his head, making him ill.
It becomes too much and he flicks his cigarette away only to bury his head in her lap, throwing an arm around her.
He hasn't done this for years. But when her fingers wander into his locks, he feels the same comfort and happiness he's felt as a boy.
Molly...
"I don't want you to hate me", he mumbles into her peach skirt. "I couldn't bear it."
His eyes fall close as she combs her fingers through his hair, sending shivers down his spine.
"I could never. You know why."
The tenderness in her voice is enough to make his heart ache. He nods, pulling her close.
"We'll learn it together, Sherlock, how to be husband and wife. Like we've always done."
"Alright", he whispers, reaching for her free hand, interlacing their fingers. He's never done that before.
But it feels nice. Very nice.
He stares at their joined hands while the wimd rustles through the trees and their hair, making music.
By the time the sun is setting and Molly gently pushes him off of her, Sherlock is still frightened, yet he takes her hand again as they walk back to her house.
A fortnight later, the fear has lifted enough for him to kiss her.
Almost a year later the fear is merely a faded memory and he can't wait for the tedious ceremony to be over so she's his forever; and he hers.
As it was meant to be.