E-mails and Emotions - Chapter Four

She opened the door to her office and stared at the computer sitting innocuously on her desk. It was the big day, the fourteenth, Valentine's Day and as she stared at the dark screen across the room she felt a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. Would her admirer send another Valentine today, or would the upcoming meeting this evening be deemed sufficient?

She crossed the small space and sat down at her desk and stared at the computer. Damn, she needed a cup of coffee in order to gather courage enough to turn the darn thing on and take a look at her email list. She stood up walked out of her office and down to the canteen, where she purchased a cup and returned to her office, trying to convince herself she really enjoyed the bitter burnt flavor. Molly sat back down and continued to stare at the empty screen for an additional ten minutes before she reached over with slightly trembling fingers to press the button that activated the machine.

There It was, the email was just sitting there waiting for her to open up and read. Just one click away. She had convinced herself late last night as she lay sleepless in her bed that it all had to be a hoax, a cruel practical joke. She could think of at least three people who called themselves friends who would absolutely be up to the task, but now she desperately wanted it to be all to be real. Just once in her sad somewhat love-starved life, Molly Hooper wanted to be cherished, loved for who and what she was. She wanted to be held in high esteem and to know with out a doubt she was loved. That wasn't too much to ask was it?

Her hand hovered over the mouse. It would be so romantic if there really was a mysterious guy out there waiting to fulfill her every desire. Molly's imagination was vivid, but bulked at that last thought. No one ever had all their desires met. She could settle for someone who at least seemed interested in her and was willing to attempt to act out a few of her best fantasies. Molly grinned to herself, one or two fantasies wasn't too much too ask. After all, a girl had to have her dreams. It was the fault of whoever this was anyway, she decided. Anyone who was bold enough to send cheesy e-valentines, even if she secretly thought they were very romantic, deserved to have to participate in a fantasy or two. She flushed a little as her favorite one came to mind.

One way or the other this whole thing would be over soon and she would get back to being herself again. Plain old Molly from the pathology department, proficient and ever practical Molly, owner of one cat Molly. Woman with an overactive imagination and a slightly damaged penchant for a certain brilliant detective who was currently gadding about Paris Molly.

She clicked and opened the email and was slightly disappointed that there were no new requests on the page. Yesterday's comment about her hair was still the last entry. She scrolled down and clicked on the "More info" button.

There in the middle of a plain white screen was a picture of an ostrich feather which had been dyed a very vibrant shade of purple. Underneath were the cryptic words: I would always notice.

"Oh my!" Molly exclaimed. She stared at the screen. With a thudding heart she realized she knew who was sending the Valentines. She quickly went back and carefully read all the Valentines again. Reading them, knowing the identity of the sender gave the words deeper meaning, or at least she thought they did. Was she going crazy? She returned to the screen which contained today's Valentine.

There was only one other person in the world beside herself who knew about the significance of purple feathers. Memory of a wet soggy day three and a half years ago crashed into her mind. . .

ɸ

It was less than a week after "The Fall." Sherlock was temporarily camped out on her couch, waiting for the paparazzi to tire of his story long enough for him to escape the country. Already he was bored beyond belief. She had returned home to find her usually neat flat in utter chaos. She had found him in her bedroom sitting on the floor in front of her closet casually going through a box of mementos from her parents.

"Sherlock! What do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

Sherlock replaced a gold pocket watch and lifted out a long flat box. He looked up at Molly with no sign of realizing he was invading her privacy. "Bored" he muttered as he lifted the lid on the box which revealed at least two dozen fancy valentines and curiously enough an equal number of purple tinted ostrich feathers of the type milliners used to decorate hats. Sherlock glanced up at her with raised eyebrows.

"Clearly the cards were kept for their sentimental content. Why feathers?" He asked.

Molly smirked and sat down on the floor beside him. Aren't you able to deduce them?"

Sherlock huffed with annoyance. It was a sound Molly secretly loved to hear.

"Obviously they have sentimental value. They have some connection to your parents, as everything in this box contains keepsakes about them." He pointed to the feathers Molly was gently caressing. "Those were a gift from your father, as they are packed with the cards he gave your mother. The fact that there are quite a few of them, and that they are of varying size and shades, tells me that they were probably collected over a span of time rather than all at once. It is why they were collected I find a mystery."

"I haven't thought about these for years," Molly said softly as she gathered the feathers up in her fingers and gently spread them out in a fan shape. She looked at Sherlock and grinned.

"Are you sure you want to know? It's a true love story. You might not want to contaminate your brain with such silly maudlin thoughts," Molly fanned the impromptu fan back and forth and audaciously batted her eyes at Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at her curiously. He hadn't seen Molly in such a relaxed mood for ages. He quite liked it. He nodded his head and said. "If it is too sentimental I can always delete the information. Please proceed."

Molly bowed her head and tipped the fan against herself in the age old language that meant assent. She knew all about Sherlock's rather odd selective memory. Goodness knows, she had found herself victim of it often enough.

"You know my father was a research scientist?" Molly asked.

"Yes," Sherlock acknowledged.

Walter Hooper was an name quite renowned at the Dunn school of Pathology at Oxford; his work in Microbiology was still standard reading five years after his death.

"Dad was a person most would consider a little difficult to be around. He was opinionated and tended to be rather stern. We never doubted he loved us though. Dad could get really wrapped up in his work," Molly reminisced. "He often came home from the lab and would disappear downstairs in the basement where he would work on his personal projects for hours at a time. In that regard, You remind me a lot of him," Molly said absently, not catching Sherlock's startled glance.

"Mum would put up with it for a time, but eventually it would all get to her and she would go to the head of the steps and yell down at him at the top of her voice," Molly giggled. "I can still hear her doing it."

She looked at Sherlock sideways as she fluttered the feathers back and forth. She cleared her voice and imitated her mother, "Walter Hooper! You get up here immediately. Your own daughter won't recognize you if you stay down there much longer. I'm having an affair with the milk man you know! He appreciates me. At least he knows I'm alive! I declare Walter, I could dance down the street naked with a purple feather in my hair and you wouldn't notice! Maybe I'll strip down and do that right now!" Molly giggled merrily. Sherlock watched her expressive face with fascination.

"That always did the trick," Molly laughed. "Dad would pop up out of the basement and for the next few days he would be the model father and husband. Of course it never lasted. In a month or so Mum would be yelling down the steps again. But it worked for them. I don't remember them every fighting more than what you would consider normal for any couple and they were always quick to make up. He always gave her a purple feather every year with her Valentine card." Molly petted the feathers in her hands gently. "He said she could have them made into a headdress like the showgirls wear in Las Vegas and if she ever got to the point of carrying out her threat he wanted her to be the best looking naked lady on the street!" Molly lay back on the floor and laughed helplessly.

ɸ

Molly abruptly came up out of her daydream. She stared at the purple feather on the computer screen. What was Sherlock trying to tell her? What did all this mean? She stared several seconds more before she remembered to scroll the page a little. Yes, there it was. The grayish line of small type awaited. She quickly copied, cut, pasted and enlarged the image to reveal today's secret message:

I would give you my heart, but I have been informed that I don't have one.

Molly thought quietly for a few moments and then picked up her phone and took the rest of the day off. She grabbed her coat and purse and headed home in a rush. She didn't normally take off work, but this was important. She wanted to look her absolute best this evening.

ɸ

Molly was very nearly a nervous wreck as she climbed out of the cab in front of the hotel that evening. She thanked the tall doorman who held the heavy brass and glass entry door open for her. She walked slowly across the impressive lobby to the top rated restaurant located to the left. Oh God, she thought to herself, what was she doing here? Immediately repenting her mild curse, she squared her shoulders and walked up to the entry and gave her name. She was expected. The maître d' smiled courteously and escorted her to a small very private plant enclosed corner which had been reserved for her.

"Your date will be with you momentarily," the maître d' assured her quietly as he seated her at the small table. "He wishes to convey his regrets that he is not here at the time of your arrival. The Duke of Cambridge is dinning with us this evening and requested a moment with him." He smiled at Molly's widened eyes and assured her that he would personally make sure that 'her date' did not become unduly detained.

A few moments later Molly looked up from her glass of water and he was there. He always seemed to be able to sneak up on her. He stood there, looking undeniably handsome. Sherlock Holmes wore well fitting suits daily and always managed to look top notch. Tonight, he had outdone himself. The black suit was new. Molly noticed. The fit was incredible. The creamy white shirt underneath gleamed slightly with narrow satin stripes in the same tone. Molly swallowed. Was that... yes...he was wearing a bow tie! She thought she just might swoon.

"Thank you for coming tonight Molly," his deep voice vibrated gently against her ear as he helped reseat her at the table. Molly hadn't been aware that she had stood up at his arrival. "I'm sorry I was not here when you arrived," he apologized. "I was unavoidably detained for a few minutes. I hope it did not make you feel too uncomfortable?"

"The Duke of Cambridge?" Molly asked.

"Ah well, I was able to aid his family in a small matter a few years ago and for some reason he wished to personally thank me," Sherlock made it sound like a matter of little or no concern.

"Oh," Molly managed to squeak.

"You look lovely tonight, Molly," he said with a husky tone in his voice. "Your hair is particularly beautiful, and your dress is as lovely as I remember." Sherlock gazed intently across the small table at her.

"Thank you," she breathlessly managed. She knew she looked her best tonight. After leaving work she had managed to book a last minute appointment at her favorite hair salon. It was amazing what a wash, trim, and curl could do for a girl's confidence. She especially loved the new highlights her beautician had convinced her to try. Her hair had never looked better.

Sherlock continued to guide the conversation. He was witty and managed to have her seeing the Paris streets and events as he regaled his stories. He was perfect. They placed their order and when the food and drink came Molly found it was outstanding. After eating, he lead her out to the dance floor. Who knew Sherlock Holmes knew how to waltz? Molly was a quick study and managed not to do too poorly. It was all perfect.

"Sherlock, Did you mean those things you said in the emails?" Molly asked shyly.

Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable but his gaze was direct and warm. "Yes, I did, Molly. I have always found it easier to text and email in my communications with others. Less chance of misunderstanding. I sensed earlier this month that I was beginning to lose you. You seemed distant and less caring. I knew I needed to take action before it was too late. Was I wrong?"

Molly shook her head. "No, you were not wrong. I gave up hope on you wanting anything more than just a friendship."

Sherlock frowned slightly and ran his fingers through his hair. "When you closed up on me," he said finally, "I felt disturbed. Something was missing. I am a creature of habit, and I soon realized I missed your affection. I missed it so much I not only wanted it back, but I wanted more. I still want more. Am I too late? Molly?" His voice contained a raspy note that nearly broke Molly's heart.

He had moved his chair so that they sat side by side. Molly gently raised her hand to caress his face. He looked into her gentle eyes and was relieved to see the answer to his question.

"Oh Sherlock, I will always love you. It will never be too late as long as we work together." The two heads blended together and lips met in a kiss of promise for the future.

At last, Sherlock pulled back slightly and fished about in his pocket. He pulled out a small slender box and handed it to her. "I had this made just in case," he said and placed it into her hands. "It's a comb for your hair."

Molly's fingers trembled slightly as she opened the box imprinted with a famous Parisian Jeweler's name. Inside the velvet lined box lay the most beautiful piece of jewelry Molly had ever seen. She gasped in delight. It was a delicate purple feather. From the silver teeth designed to grip in her hair, to the delicate curve of the cloisonné purple fronds, the feather was exquisite. Nestled near the bottom of the quill were three small cloisonné roses surrounded by six small diamonds.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

Sherlock removed the comb from it's box and carefully pulled her hair back from the right side of her face and placed the comb so that it held her hair back as the feather nestled firmly behind and slightly above her ear.

"A promise for the future," he whispered, "in case you ever need to yell down the stairs. I will not only not forget you, but I will come up and join you and we can both dance naked down the street together if you like!"

"Oh Sherlock!" Molly's voice wavered with emotion "I..."

Whatever she was about to say was lost in a emotionally satisfying kiss that promised to go on for some time. As the waiter approached the table he realized the couple were too busy with each other to want anything more from the menu. He discretely walked away and allowed them to enjoy the dessert of each other.

Happy Valentine's Day!

A/N For your information, the first three e-Valentine's are real and were sent to me by my ever-loving hubby Doctor Napalm. His valentines inspired this story. My personal favorite of course is Captain Kirk (beam me up hottie!)

The purple feather background story is completely fictional, however the purple feather threat is not. Ladies, I have first hand knowledge that the threat works, though I have yet to have to carry through on it. Personally, I like Sherlock's suggestion at the end best! LOL!