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“You’re an arse,” Molly swears, not quite chuckling as she reaches for another chip. Her soft brown hair is pushed into her signature ponytail, but she’s wearing more makeup than usual, a fact which has not gone unobserved by the famous detective across from her.
“How am I an arse?” Sherlock demands indignantly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. Molly does laugh at this, the image of Sherlock Holmes being casual just too much for her not to respond to. “I think it’s a perfectly reasonable question.”
Molly raises an eyebrow at him. “Where is this coming from? We’ve been together nearly a year and now you start worrying I’ll cheat on you? And with a woman no less?”
A server approaches their table, interrupting whatever response Sherlock was working so hard to form. He clears their plates, leaving just the basket of chips in the middle of the table for them to share. Sherlock watches him go before continuing the conversation.
“John has said, and his dating history has proven, that a woman’s sexuality is a moving target,” Sherlock reasons carefully, steepling his fingers the way he does when he’s either in no mood to explain anything, or fully prepared to explain every detail.
“He got that from a book,” Molly replies plainly, shrugging her shoulders. “He’s far from astute on these matters and he got that from a book. Do you even know what it means?”
A soft pink blush creeps almost imperceptibly across Sherlock’s cheeks as he toddles for a response. “It means that you might not be the same tomorrow as you are today?”
Molly laughs again, swirling a chip through some leftover gravy and taking another bite. “’Might not be the same,’ Sherlock? What does that even mean? You think I’m going to wake up tomorrow and suddenly be into women?”
Sherlock frowns, but whether it’s at the absurdity of the conversation or the levity of Molly’s response isn’t clear. “Perhaps,” he grumbles.
“I think it means you can’t assume you know what a woman likes and what she wants. It might change, it might not be clear. But for what it’s worth, I am into women,” she replies lightly. An image of the innocent, naïve Molly Hooper from the lab enters Sherlock’s mind and he smiles wryly at the strength of the woman in front of him.
“So are you going to cheat?” he asks, more clinically than Molly would prefer.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m into men, too, does that mean I’m going to cheat?” Sherlock stammers, not having considered this argument, and Molly flushes with her victory. “Males, females, whatever, I’m into you, Sherlock Holmes.”
His eyes suddenly sweep the restaurant and he nods, satisfied that it’s mostly empty. Molly glares suspiciously at him for a moment and opens her mouth to ask a question. Before she can form words, Sherlock slides forward out of his chair and onto one knee. Offering a small velvet box from his pocket, he smiles up at her.
“So then, would you like to marry me?” he asks, smirking. Something about the smirk seems ill-placed but very fitting nonetheless, and Molly laughs.
She tousles his hair and kisses him on the forehead. “You’re an arse,” she repeats, holding her hand out for him to slide the ring onto her finger.