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I was listening to the radio, and the host shares a small story about this proposal, where this guy is about to propose to his girlfriend in a restaurant and right when he’s about to do it, a guy holds up the place. The guy about to propose gets so frustrated, he takes the robber out and without missing a beat goes right back to proposing. If this just doesn’t scream a sherlolly proposal! I could completely see this happening. If any beautiful sherlolly fic writers would be down to writing this one shot, I’d be super happy because I can’t write for shit. Lol
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“Molly- there is something that I- for some time- that I- there is something-”
Damn this whole thing! He should give up now. There is no point. He knows her answer. He knows of her stashed weddings mags. He knows she murmurs their wedding song in her sleep. He’ll ask later what it is… It’s vaguely familiar though. and the though of her restless soft, murmuring lips is endearing and he remember with a sudden furious conviction why he has to ask.
Marking her with his love bites isn’t enough. Kissing her in front of their friends isn’t enough. Acquiescing to her need to told “I love you” outside of their flat isn’t enough. And she’s Molly. This proposal isn’t about him- not really. it’s about her. The added benefit is that she’ll be legally his, and a ring to signify it.
Sentiment and attachment are a weakness? No. Mycroft. It’s bloody inspiration. He’s never solved cases faster in his life. The leading motivation no longer being to prove his intelligence, but to allow himself more time with a special petite chocolaty-eyed, chestnut-haired pathologist.
he resumes his rehearsal,”Molly I-”
“-Sherlock!” she comes bustling in like the clumsy, beautiful wonder she is. His clumsy, beautiful wonder. With a quick peck to the lips, she drawing away to seat herself opposite him.
She’s wearing a white cocktail dress, natural waist, a-line hem. Tall cobalt, suede heals, and a simple gold chained pendant matching her stud earrings. Warm like her smile, and complimenting the rose of her cheeks. He couldn’t be bothered to deduce her. Her being here, with him, said it all. And she was a solved mystery that could never bore him.
“Y-you look beautiful, Molly,” she blushes. A ridiculous reflex that he hopes she’ll never grow out of.
“Sherlock,” she breathes his name, and for a second he thinks it’s arousal. A thought that makes him blush, and his gusset feels a bit tighter. But her eyes were wandering towards the door. He had to act fast so as not to lose her attention.
“Molly there is something I want to ask and-” but he wasn’t quick enough; though he did have her full attention.
“Everyone, hold up your hands and kneel on the floor!”
He wasted no time in turning to assess the intruders. He had been meticulously planning this night for months, and rehearsing his speech for nearly twice as long. Tonight was not going to be a victory for them, that was fact in the consulting detective’s mind.
Within seconds, and milliseconds of opening doors of his Mind Palace, Sherlock had his plan.
Tonight was not going to be the night they were robbed, or worse; killed. Tonight was the night he was going to propose to Molly Hooper.
“What the- oi!” One of the men rounded his gun towards them; the leader. A confident gunman. Several civilians hissed warnings and admonished him with messages along the vein of “don’t be a hero”.
Thankfully they were in a high quality Chinese Restaurant, one that Molly had never been to; expensive and hard to reserve; apparently also a choice place for a robbery. This specific kind of place offered genuine Chinese chopsticks, ceramic and aerodynamic. Hopefully the odds were in his favor.
He picks up his pace, walking head-on towards the head of the three robbers, and with the flick his wrist a chopstick lodges itself into the barrel. Thankfully his assessment that the other two were ignorant of gun use, and would likely opt for hand-to-hand combat, was correct. He dodged a fist from his right, without turning his profile; keeping his eyes on the gunman. Maximizing use of his peripheral, he swoops his right arm around the man’s extended arm to hook his neck into a sleeper hold, spraining the criminal’s neck, then extending a long leg to his left square into the second’s chest; hard. He passes out from the loss of air and shock. The leader was still fidgeting with lodged chopstick.
Sherlock reached him promptly, punched him in the throat, and quickly (though carefully) sprained the wrist holding the gun. Careful not to help him pull the trigger. Ceramic shards would have jettisoned off and made a rather untimely mess.
All three perpetrators incapacitated, he pivots on one heel to halt abruptly, Molly standing before him.
“Yes…My answer is yes, Sherlock.”
Every fiber in his being lights up and explodes in a mist abhorrently pleasant glee, that he swoops her up and kisses her leveled lips. They stay that way, until they’re breathless and blushing from the cheering crowd’s applause.
“Wait- how’d you know?”
“Oh Sherlock, after all this time and you still think you’re the only one us who can deduce people?” she moved in closer to his ear, her temperature rising and her heart thundering in her rib-cage,”you couldn’t have possibly missed that I’m not wearing any knicker, hmm?”
He shuddered, and breathed out a short laugh; almost moaning, “There’s always something.”
They kiss again, damning the cheers and distant sirens.
The End… and Happy Beginning!