Work Text:
“Do you love John in that way, Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson.
“Do you love me back, Sherlock?” Molly.
“Don’t you see you need to love someone, Sherlock?” John.
The violin screeched.
“No! I don’t. Not him, not her. Not in that way. No.”
Snow swirled in deep shadows on the walls. On the sofa, baby Rosie squealed.
“I see. Does my anguish amuse you?”
She gurgled.
“Fair enough, Your Highness.”
Music filled the space. In this moment, there were no intrigues, no cases and most importantly, there were no Valentines.
Just them, watching the snow.