Chapter Text
“How about Sweden?” Sherlock Holmes asks Molly Hooper casually one day while they were both working in the lab at St. Barts.
“What?” Molly looks confused as she cuts her eyes above the microscope she was adjusting.
“Holiday, let’s take one,” he says, not looking up from his microscope. “Also, you were right, it was a genetic disorder that killed him.”
Sherlock peers up then and smiles at her. Grabbing his phone, texting and then calling Lestrade, he steps outside the lab.
“Okay, let’s do this,” she says, even though he was already gone from the room.
Logic might say that a chalet in the countryside would be a safer, more private option. Sherlock has that in mind too, but for now being in the most obvious place would be the safer option.
Molly was not as accustomed to extended travel like Sherlock and he wanted to consider her comfort as well. She had always said she wanted to go to Sweden. He had heard her say that in casual conversation when it had come up and had saved the memory. Of course, booking one of the best luxury boutique hotels in Stockholm was sure to provide her some respite. He had grinned a bit too widely when he saw a review that called it a perfect urban bolthole and drew John’s attention.
“What is that grin for?” John asks.
“It's a private matter.,” Sherlock says attempting to hide his smile.
“Ooooh, I see,” John emphasizes. “Holiday planning then?’
Sherlock almost frowned, but to be honest he is quite happy at the thought and cannot hide it.
“Yes, John, proper holiday planning.”
Sherlock prepared Molly for all that could happen on the trip, all the scenarios he could imagine so she was aware of them. They both were practical people, he thought. She’d appreciate the knowledge going into it. “Of course, these are hypotheticals. I am sure the most we’ll have to endure is some annoying cameras if they discover us” he assures. Nearing the end of the conversation, he notices her looking a little lost in thought. He pauses to give her space to speak her mind.
“I was thinking about doing something to my hair,” she says absently, looking off into space. He raises an eyebrow but tries an encouraging look.
“Always have thought about shorter hair, maybe even blonde?” she laughs a bit unconvincingly.
Sherlock smiles warmly, “I fell for you as you are. I am not asking you to change for this trip and my concerns if you don’t feel comfortable. But it might keep some attention off you since there are rumors going about us around London. But if you have wanted to do this for a while, please do. Your hair, your choices. I’ll always love it.” He knows it was a bit of a lie; he might hate it. But he also knows she needed the encouragement.
He deduces her disassociating from the trip and from other moments in life and the signs become clearer each day. She developed a mild case of PTSD from the near-death experience with Eurus, which was understandable. He knows her excitement is genuine at times and relishes it, but her mental state of being had weakened. While he found therapy oddly helpful, he has not shared that he had been going. Only Mycroft knows because, well, he knows everything. He had thought Molly was doing okay, managing and moving forward, but the more clarity found him, the muddier her state became. Their holiday planning had brought out the dissociation as a way for her to deal with the stress, he knows that. But ultimately it was his fault, all of it, always. That guilt made him strive to make the trip therapeutic for her if at all possible and to assure her of their future. Guilt was not the relationship base he wanted. He loves her deeply, that he knows. His heart was finally open and bleeding and he had embraced, it just as hers started closing up to protect itself. Perhaps he would get rid of the guilt, but for this, he would always have regret.
Molly smirked at his matter-of-fact approach to her changing her appearance, but she still felt parts of herself cracking under the pressure of her own demons.
Maybe this will help, she thinks to herself. A different me. I need to try it out. I don’t feel like myself much anymore lately, anyway. Being his, well whatever she was, was new. Time to shed some of those old ways.
Sherlock composes on the violin while waiting for her return to keep his mind occupied. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he is nervous. His Molly is all colorful jumpers and brown ponytails. He isn’t sure about the change and any effect it will have on him.
When Molly returns from the salon, she pauses before going inside. She loves her hair, of course, and had felt her spirits lift at seeing a new person in the mirror. Bright blonde, just below her chin. It would be easier to take care of, as well. Of course, he can’t wait to see. Face the music, literally, she reminds herself. She tried a big grin when she caught his eye as he looked up from his violin, but her face immediately falls when he becomes unreadable. Oh God, he hates it, she thinks.
But she could not be more wrong. He stands up without a word, and he gets me every time he does that, just holding my eyes with his and locking me in place, she reflects. His hands go to her face and into her hair as he runs his fingers through it slowly.
He leans down and kisses her, covering her mouth with his with immediate passion. Once he releases he smiles genuinely. “I love it. Really. It suits you.”
She breathes out finally. “Oh thank God, I thought you hated it for a moment.”
His brow furrows,
“Do you like it?” he asks gently. She nods grinning. Running his fingers through it again and mentally noting how the products in it smelled, he grins back.“Plus I won’t get my fingers as tangled when we have sex,” he risks with a smirk as he plays with a stand of hair. She smacks his chest playfully with her hand, but her eyes darken to match his. She went in for another kiss and he meets her, both lost in the moment, But he eventually pulls back, tenderly kissing her before bringing her into a tight hug. Her heart falls a bit and she feels her insides ache to be as physically close to him as they were a few weeks ago.
“I would love to Molly, but I do have much to do before our holiday starts tomorrow,” Sherlock says with regret “Once we are there, we will be free of the burden of London. Be patient with me until then?” he asks. “Plus, you have shopping to do.”
She raises an eyebrow at him and then frowns as she gets what he is saying.
There’s the Sherlock face she knows, irritated.
”Oh, don’t frown at me. Not my idea, though I agree with Mycroft, as much as those words taste terrible in my mouth. He has a personal stylist meeting you outside the Knightsbridge station,” he says with a big smile. He is trying to make it convincing. “Besides, he is trying to be sweet in his own way.”
Molly’s jaw drops a bit. There were nothing but high end stores, including bloody Harrod’s, over there. N o Marks and Spencer’s for her , she thinks.
“Looking the part will keep suspicion away that it is you. I cannot promise there won’t be interest, but it will be more in the line of ‘who is the stunning blonde woman on his ar?’’ Plus, you deserve a shopping afternoon. A treat before the holiday.”
Molly sighs. “It's a poor excuse, but I’ll take it.” A darker part of her mind wants to latch onto a deeper, more unsettling meaning behind it all, but she pushes that away and buries her face in his chest for the moment. He knows that her thoughts have turned dark and it makes him hold her a bit tighter. When she lifts some of the pressure and moves back, he kisses the top of her head, then her forehead.
“I will see you in the morning, picking you up at your flat in a cab. Then it's on to Heathrow and fresher air for us both. Proper holiday,” he smiles warmly. “I love you.”
She smiles back, trying to hide the way her thoughts are turning.“Yes, proper holiday. See you in the morning. I love you, too.” And with that, she turns to leave. Both feel the ache that separation now gives them, but duty calls.
-:-
Molly checks her Facebook absently while waiting for the assigned stylist to meet her. Like all things related to Mycroft, they arrive at 13:00 on the dot. Molly is taken aback when the woman approaches her.
“Hello Molly,” she says, offering her a slender hand with a bright white smile. “My name is Gemma Smith, it is wonderful to meet you.” She is about 5’10” and stunning, polished from head to toe, ginger hair just below her shoulders in perfect waves. Molly feels herself shrink standing next to her, but she senses a kindness in her voice and it helps assure her.
“Molly Hooper.” Molly offers her hand back and gets a strong handshake in return.
“Sorry, being as I work with police and dead bodies I have never had much occasion for fashion,” Molly apologizes as they walk “I mean going out with friends and such, sure, but well…”
“It’s okay, Molly.” Gemma shakes her head bit and smiles reassuringly. “I go home and put on pyjamas the same as you and watch telly. I just have nice clothes and a job that pays for them.”
And a bloody model’s body, Molly thinks to herself.
But as they peruse shops, Molly becomes more comfortable with Gemma. She could charm anyone , she thinks, and finds herself enjoying having someone make most of the decisions regarding clothing.
Gemma asks questions about comfort, tastes, colors, and brands. Molly is sure this is for business only, not her trying to make friends, but Molly finds her company very pleasant and genuine. There is a hint of the flare for life that Mary had and it makes Molly miss her for a moment.
“Look, you love color and patterns, and you are eclectic. I don’t want to change that but let’s sophisticate it a bit, okay?” Gemma assures Molly. ,
Well, at least it isn’t going to be court clothes or a drastic step away from my usual. Though she wouldn’t mind that. Her own skin seemed to bother her more these days and she relishes looking in the windows as they pass and seeing a different haircut and color, like seeing another person. She cannot shed her skin, but she can change the outside and maybe find a new person out of it.
In Harrods, they browse through cocktail dresses. She finds plenty that are obviously sexy but she can’t see herself being comfortable in them. Gemma makes her try on one. Molly shakes her head. ”No, I am not sure that a low cut v half way down my chest is for me.”
Gemma narrows her eyes in thought. “Hmm, let me look one more time for you. Stay here.”
She comes back with a satin sleeveless aubergine dress, boat necked with the most luxurious ruching. Everything about it screams that it can be worn multiple times to a number of occasions, so her practical side likes that and yet, it reminds her of something she can’t quite recall.
“Oh,” Molly says out loud with emotion.
Gemma beams, “Well, I didn't expect that. It's not most flashy of dresses, but there is an element of luxury to it. And that fabric under a man’s hand, well...” She giggles a bit.
Molly goes red-cheeked. Gemma says plainly, “Secret's safe with me. Let’s try it on,” handing her the dress and nudging her into the dressing room.
Molly slips it on and zips as much as she can, but gets help from Gemma who waits outside the dressing room. Her mind flashes to a future thought of Sherlock helping her in and out of the dress, and she can feel herself turn red again. But nonetheless, Gemma is right. As she looks in the mirror, Molly can see the fabric is luxurious, slinky against her skin and hugging her curves. I have hips? She hasn’t seen them in awhile. And the color, well, there it is . It reminded her of her favorite shirt of Sherlock’s. This is a sexy dress without being obvious. She takes a deep breath, and smiles at Gemma who was biting her lip.
“I’ll take it,” Molly says confidently.
“Victory!’ Gemma smiles big and bites her bottom lip again. “If I didn’t know you were with him, I would ask you out myself. That fits you like it was bespoke,” she says while scanning around Molly, checking the fit. Molly pulls a face that is odd instinctively, though she takes the statement from Gemma as a compliment. Gemma softens her face in response, “Sorry, bit too much honesty there. But if nothing else, it should give you confidence in how he will see you in that dress, right?”
Molly nods. “You are gorgeous, and I am flattered. But I am straight as a pin I am afraid,” she admits with a reassuring smile.
Gemma laughs a bit to lighten the mood. ”Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And you are in love, that is obvious. And who wouldn’t be, at that one you got? I might be gay, but I am not blind. Congratulations on that catch.”
Molly blushes and smiles fondly.
Gemma smirks sheepishly, “I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable though. I have a type, what can I say.”
Molly half laughs, “I know exactly what you mean, having a type.”
Gemma cheerfully changes the subject. “Now onto casual outfits and perhaps a bathing suit?” Molly looks at the dress price tag and chokes and coughs at the 825 pound price tag. Gemma grabs her arm to steady her, and shakes her head, both looking at each other through the mirror. “You are in with the Holmes now, money doesn’t mean the same.” Molly drops the tag and nods, but still feel the shock of the moment.
-:-
Molly stumbles into her flat, arms full of bags and her new dress. She laughs thinking of how Gemma had thought she was cute, but with no time to focus on anything else as she has to pack. She really does need a hanging bag, but she had looked up methods to pack for no wrinkles, and also she assumes she can get the dress pressed when she arrives in Stockholm. Everything feels quiet in her flat and she does not want the thoughts to fill her head again that she has successfully pushed away most of the day. She knows Sherlock might be busy, but she risks a text anyway.
I hope I get everything packed in this carry on bag since you insist we don’t check any luggage-MH
I have all confidence in you...how was shopping?-SH
Lovely, just what I needed. She works for Mycroft or just hired? Might have a new girlfriend if this doesn’t work out ;)-MH
She grins to herself with that tease.
Girlfriend? I’ll fight her for you if I need to. But I am not surprised. That blonde hair really does suit you. You continue to surprise me, please never stop-SH
Molly laughs to herself a bit and he starts to write again before she can respond.
You should get some sleep, Molly. I wish I was there tonight but alas chasing a couple more things down with John before we leave. Forgive me that. You’ll have my arms tomorrow. Good night xxx-SH
Stay safe, please. Good night xxx-MH
She hopes she doesn’t need them tonight, like she had one night, her body wrecked from crying. It had happened not long after their confessions. She had called and he had come, no questions asked. Held her from the minute she met him at the door until she made him leave the next afternoon. Made sure she ate and drank, and sat in silence as she needed. She reminds herself of these moments when she doubts. Its something he would have been incapable of years ago. With those thoughts, she wills herself into a fitful sleep.