Mind Boggled

My contribution to Broomy's Valentine's Day Challenge. Happy Valentine's Day, 100years-to-live! Fluffy smut-free goodness for your enjoyment!

"Um, I have pay, happy, pap, pay..."

"You already said 'pay'."

"Oh, um, OK. Then I have mouse, mousy, mousse..."

"Moose is spelled with two O's, Molly, and there's only one O showing. How can you possibly have 'moose'?"

At Sherlock's impatient question, Molly looked up and made sure he saw her rolling her eyes as she huffed in exasperation. "Mousse like chocolate, or the kind you put in your hair, you git. Not the kind that hangs out with squirrels."

Sherlock squinted at Molly in a very familiar way. The squint said "I have no idea what you're talking about" and the squint said "Nor do I care to find out" – in no uncertain terms. So instead of trying to explain Rocky and Bullwinkle to her boyfriend (one year and counting, who'd have thought she could put up with him that long?), she just rolled her eyes and huffed, "It's a real word, Sherlock. If you want to challenge me, just say so." Then she gave him her very best "I dare you look," knowing she was on solid ground.

The game was Boggle and Molly, to put it bluntly, was kicking Sherlock's elegantly clad butt. Just as she'd kicked his butt at Scrabble and modified Monopoly (winner being the one with the most money and property at the end of an hour) and Life. He had beaten her at Cluedo (no surprise there) and Jenga (she was something of a klutz outside of work), but surprisingly, in spite of his extensive vocabulary, he'd proven particularly inept at word games.

It wasn't the most romantic way to spend Valentine's Day, perhaps – playing games after she'd challenged him to prove that 'most board games are boring and predictable' – but it was her first with Sherlock and she was enjoying every second of it.

The year they'd spent as a couple had been the most deliriously happy twelve months of Molly's life. And the most frustrating, since Sherlock was hardly a conventional boyfriend (including the fact that he loathed that term and vehemently protested whenever Molly or anyone else called him that, although he had no alternative to offer that didn't make Molly cringe).

She'd moved into 221B two months into the relationship, after practically having lived there since The Moriarty Return (thank God THAT was over). Sherlock's overprotectiveness toward her during that period had been her first clue that his feelings for her had changed from friendship to something deeper. After he'd rescued her (well, Mary did the actual rescuing, much to his chagrin, but Molly wasn't keeping score since he'd taken down Moriarty while Mary was sneaking her out of the building where she'd been kept for the most terrifying week of her life), they'd shared a kiss that had been everything Molly had ever imagined a kiss from Sherlock Holmes would be.

And now here they were, cozy and warm inside 221B, lounging in front of a roaring fire while rain poured down outside, playing games and drinking wine and sharing their first Valentine's Day together.

And Molly was still kicking Sherlock's butt at Boggle. When they tallied up their lists, she was ahead by 30 points (as predicted, he'd challenged 'mousse' and she'd proven him wrong) and he was pouting. Since that generally signaled the end of his patience for a particular game, she started to put the pieces away, surprised when he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "One more game," he said with a small scowl. "A chance to even the score."

She grinned and put the clear plastic cover over the base holding the letter cubes, then handed it to him to shake up while she readied the small hourglass-shaped minute timer.

A few minutes later they were once again going over their lists, comparing the words to see who had won this round.

"It's a ridiculous game," Sherlock grumbled with another petulant scowl, this time directed at the notepad he held clutched in one hand. "I don't see what the point…"

"Just list your words, Sherlock," Molly interrupted him with a giggle. She fully expected to win this round judging by the way he was acting, and couldn't wait to see what game he chose to play next. Probably something requiring manual dexterity again, but that was fine; she didn't mind him stacking the deck against her, as it were, when she was so clearly ahead of the game – as it were, she thought with an internal giggle this time. If she wasn't one hundred percent positive he would lecture her about her childish sense of humor (guilty as charged and no repentance about it), she'd repeat her thoughts aloud.

"Fine," Sherlock said with an exaggerated sigh for emphasis. He looked down at his notepad and began reeling off his words. "I've got harm, harem, mare, ream, drama, dream, marry and me."

Molly, who had been busy crossing words off her list that duplicated his, frowned and looked up at him, confused. "Sherlock, 'me' is a two letter word so it doesn't count, you know that! And there's no way you...could...have..."

Her words trailed off into silence as she suddenly realized that he was holding a ring between two fingers. A diamond ring, with what appeared to be matched sapphires on either side of the central gem. "Is, is that..." she managed to stutter, feeling her heart accelerate and her cheeks flaming. She closed her mouth and stared at the ring for a moment longer, then up at him. "Sherlock," she finally managed, although her voice was rather alarmingly squeaky, "are you...proposing?"

"That depends." His voice was deeper than usual, husky, and his eyes seemed very, very blue as they stared into hers.

"On what?" Molly asked in a half-whisper, nearly holding her breath in anticipation of his response.

"On whether your answer is yes or no."

With a squeal of delight she hurtled herself into his arms, toppling them both over onto the floor. Sherlock let out a distinct "oomph" as his head hit the hardwood, but Molly was too busy laughing and crying and saying "YES" over and over again to notice. Afterwards, they were both too busy kissing one another – once Sherlock had slipped the perfectly-fitting ring onto her finger – to notice if the entire flat burned down around them.

All in all, it had turned out to be the very best Valentine's Day ever.